THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 2"- 
 
 76 
 
 A 
 
 > 
 
 A 
 
 // 
 
 CJL^T^ 
 
 v- 
 
 / r^s

 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH 
 DRAMATISTS
 
 THE S. & K. DRAMATIC SERIES. 
 
 THE TRUTH ABOUT THE THEATEE 
 
 Anonymous. Net $1.00. 
 
 FOUR PLAYS OF THE FREE THEATRE. 
 
 Authorized Translation by Barrett H. Clark. 
 Preface by Brieux of the French Academy. 
 
 "The Fossils," a play in four acts, by Francois 
 de Curel. 
 
 "The Serenade," a Bourgeois study in three 
 acts, by Jean Jullien. 
 
 "Franyoise' Luck," a comedy in one act, by 
 Georges de Porto-Riche. 
 
 " The Dupe," a comedy in five acts, by Georges 
 Ancey. Net $1.50. 
 
 THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES. 
 
 Prof. Joseph Edward Harry. Net $1.00. 
 EUROPEAN DRAMATISTS. 
 
 A Literary and Critical Appraisal of Strindberg, 
 Ibsen, Maeterlinck, Wilde, Shaw and Barker. By 
 Archibald Henderson, M.A., Ph.D. Net $1.50. 
 
 GEORGE BERNARD SHAW: HIS LIFE AND 
 WORKS. 
 
 By Archibald Henderson, M.A., Ph.D. Net 
 $5.00. 
 
 SHORT PLAYS. 
 By Mary MacMillan. Net $1.25. 
 
 THE GIFT A POETIC DRAMA. 
 By Margaret Douglas Rogers. Net $1.00. 
 
 LUCENT PEHR. 
 
 By August Strindberg. Authorized Translation 
 by Velma Swanston Howard. Net $1.50. 
 EASTER (A Play in Three Acts) AND STORIES. 
 By August Strindberg. Authorized Transla- 
 tion by Velma Swanston Howard. Net $1.50. 
 
 ON THE SEABOARD. 
 
 By August Strindberg. The author's greatest 
 psychological novel. Authorized Translation by 
 Elizabeth Clarke Westergren. Net $1.25. 
 
 THE HAMLET PROBLEM AND ITS SOLU- 
 TION. 
 By Emerson Venable. Net $1.00. 
 
 HOW TO WRITE MOVING PICTURE PLAYS. 
 
 By W. L. Gordon. Net $1.00. 
 See page 227 for description of above Books. 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 
 CINCINNATI, U.S.A.
 
 CONTEMPORARY 
 FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Studies on the Theatre Libre, Curel, Brieux, 
 
 Porto- Riche, Hervieu, Lavedan, Donnay, 
 
 Rostand, Lemaftre, Capus, Bataille, 
 
 Bernstein, and Flers and 
 
 Caillavet 
 
 BY 
 
 BARRETT H. CLARK 
 
 Author of "The Continental Drama of Today," "The 
 
 British and American Drama of Today," 
 
 Translator and Editor "Four 
 
 Plays of the Free 
 
 Theater," 
 
 etc. 
 
 CINCINNATI 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 1916
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 COPYRIGHT IN ENGLAND 
 
 1st Edition September, 1915 
 2nd Edition July, 1916 
 
 VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 
 INOHAMTON AND NEW YORK
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 The studies on Lavedan, Lemaitre, and Don- 
 nay, are reprinted in revised form, from my 
 Three Modern Plays from the French; that on 
 Hervieu from the translation of The Labyrinth; 
 certain sections on the Theatre Libre from my 
 Four Plays of the Free Theater. To Messrs. 
 Henry Holt, B. W. Huebsch and Stewart & Kidd, 
 I acknowledge my indebtedness for their courteous 
 permission to reprint this matter. 
 
 1 1 1 6559
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHARACTERISTICS ix 
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE xxi 
 
 FRANC.OIS DE CUREL i 
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 18 
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 40 
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 52 
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 68 
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 86 
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 102 
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 121 
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 137 
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 151 
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 167 
 
 ROBERT DE FLERS AND GASTON-ARMAND DE CAIL- 
 
 LAVET 178 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHIES AND LISTS OF PLAYS . . . .199 
 
 INDEX , 219
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 IN this little collection of studies I have tried 
 rather to afford the reader some insight into the 
 works of a number of the more important repre- 
 sentative French dramatists of the past twenty- 
 five years, and trace in an informal manner some 
 of the chief characteristics of these writers, than 
 to compile a historical study of the contemporary 
 Parisian stage. As practically every dramatist to 
 whom I have devoted a chapter is still putting 
 forth plays, and many of them are well under 
 fifty, such an attempt would lack finality. 
 Twenty years hence that compendium can be 
 written. 
 
 Since Professor Brander Matthews' illuminat- 
 ing study on the French dramatists nothing has 
 appeared treating the average playwright who 
 typifies the essential French spirit of the day. 
 Professor Matthews' book ended at about the 
 point where this begins. 
 
 For a number of reasons it has been thought 
 advisable to omit a consideration of Maeterlinck 
 from this volume : to begin with, he is not typi- 
 cally French: his Belgian origin, his ideas, his 
 plays which are foreign to what the average 
 Frenchman knows and recognizes, do not admit 
 him to the ranks of the French dramatists. He 
 is a world-figure because he is a world-thinker; 
 
 ix
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Rostand, too, is a world-figure, but only because 
 he has lifted what is most French in the nation 
 into a high realm of art. There are, besides, some 
 six or seven entire volumes devoted to the study 
 and analysis of Maeterlinck. For these reasons 
 he does not find a place in the present collection. 
 Those dramatists whom I have included are the 
 ones who have stood, during the past quarter cen- 
 tury or more, for the drama of the day, and, 
 with the single exception of Rostand, constitute 
 the average, but an average, as I shall try to in- 
 dicate, which is of the highest excellence. 
 
 I have not of course mentioned or taken up all 
 the dramatists of distinction or merit; I have 
 merely touched upon many of those, for instance, 
 whose connection with the Theatre Libre en- 
 titled them to a position of honor as being his- 
 torically important. I have spent little time on 
 men of letters, as such like Paul Bourget and 
 Jean Richepin who have turned to the theater 
 rather as an avocation, with greater or less suc- 
 cess; I have allowed others, like Pierre Wolff, 
 Remain Coolus, Georges Courteline, Emile 
 Fabre, Tristan Bernard, Abel Hermant, Jules 
 Renard, Pierre Veber, Maurice Hennequin, 
 Lucien Descaves and Albert Guinon, to give way 
 before those of greater renown and originality. 
 Some of the younger writers, Paul Claudel, Marie 
 Leneru, Henry Kistemaeckers, and Sacha Guitry, 
 possess characteristics which place them apart and 
 leave them beyond the pale of a book of this sort. 
 It may be that I have failed to do justice to some 
 of these. But the well-established dramatists, 
 however, to whom separate papers are devoted, 
 
 x
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 represent the principal tendencies of the French 
 stage of recent years. 
 
 With the exception of Rostand and Brieux, and 
 perhaps Henry Bernstein, none of the dramatists 
 here treated is well known in the United States. 
 Rostand is, of course, world-famous because of 
 Cyrano de Bergerac and Chantecler; Brieux first 
 attracted notice because of the rather inordinate 
 praise which Bernard Shaw heaped upon him, 
 while Bernstein is known to us only through 
 four or five poor adaptations of his most popu- 
 lar plays. 1 Hervieu, Donnay, Bataille, Lave- 
 dan, Flers and Caillavet, have each, through 
 the medium of some sort of adaptation, made 
 their way for short runs to our stage, but 
 they are no more than names to the average play- 
 goer. In book-form, the modern French drama 
 is all but inaccessible to the English reader: 
 scarcely twenty plays of Brieux, Hervieu, 
 Capus, Porto-Riche, Lavedan, Donnay, Lemaitre, 
 and Curel are available in English. 
 
 That we do not know the modern French drama 
 is due partly to the fact that it is so essentially 
 " French " that its subject matter is totally for- 
 eign and therefore distasteful to us. Although 
 we have accepted the frank and sincere treatment 
 of sex by a social worker like Brieux, we have not 
 so far been able to adopt the French point of view 
 or rather the European point of view and 
 consider sex plays as works of art. We may take 
 pride in the fact that we will not appreciate the 
 beauties of Bataille's La Femme ntte, or Porto- 
 
 1 A translation of The Thief has just appeared (Drama 
 League Series). 
 
 xi
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Riche's Amoureuse or Donnay's Amants, and we 
 may very possibly be right in asserting that the 
 French nation places far too great emphasis on 
 sex, but we cannot as students of the drama close 
 our eyes to facts or to a whole art which is based 
 upon a principle with which we heartily disagree. 
 We should at least have an opportunity of study- 
 ing serious plays some of which have been ac- 
 cepted by critics and audiences as masterpieces 
 which will live by reason of their essential truth 
 and their literary style, as well as their subject 
 matter. If the French nation is producing such 
 plays, it is a duty at least to consider them, and 
 not quarrel with the dramatists who for the most 
 part have done their best to paint the life of their 
 time as they saw it. 
 
 In gathering my material I have often had occa- 
 sion to speak with some of the authors on this par- 
 ticular point. Scarcely one of them could under- 
 stand the attitude of the average Anglo-Saxon. 
 When I asked Maurice Donnay which play he 
 would prefer to have translated as a typical ex- 
 ample of his work, he replied at once : " Amants." 
 I said that the play would not be accepted on the 
 stage, and I expressed a doubt as to whether in 
 book form in would be read in the sympathetic 
 mood it was intended to arouse, and told him that 
 it ran the risk of being criticised on the ground of 
 its immorality. "Why?" he enquired. I then 
 attempted to explain our attitude toward sex plays 
 and told him that we demanded for the most part 
 atonement in our plays and our literature for vio- 
 lation of the conventions surrounding sex-rela- 
 tionship. Donnay very willingly averred that he 
 
 xii
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 could not quarrel with that attitude, but what did it 
 have to do with the case in question? He tried to 
 prove nothing in Amants; he merely wrote what 
 he saw and felt! On another occasion I asked 
 Francois de Curel why most of his plays were 
 caviar to the French public, and he said that with 
 the exception of his latest play, La Dame devant 
 le Miroir, sex played but a minor part in his works. 
 He then added: "The French dramatists treat 
 of love because it is the only subject which every 
 member of the audience understands, and a drama- 
 tist must of course appeal to the masses." I then 
 asked why practically all the dramatists kept in- 
 sisting on the old theme, the triangle, and he re- 
 peated what he had said before and shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 If the drama be a representation of life, we must 
 conclude that the French nation in Paris, at 
 least, for there is no drama outside the capital 
 is prone to lay too much stress on sex. But if this 
 is a fact, we obviously cannot find fault with the 
 dramatists. We may, if we are so inclined, criti- 
 cise the French people, but we must at least admit 
 that they are frank. There is not so great a dif- 
 ference between nations that simply because as a 
 people we either fear or bring frank sex treat- 
 ment to our stage, or are unable to produce drama- 
 tists able to do so, are therefore blameless. We 
 must argue rather that the Frenchman is braver 
 and more of an artist than the American or the 
 Englishman. If our American drama is to reflect 
 American life, we must be sincere. There are 
 women in America like Porto-Riche's Amoureuse, 
 but we have not as yet dared to place them on the 
 
 xiii
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 stage; it is not Puritanism which prevents our so 
 doing, but fear of looking facts in the face and 
 the want of a Porto-Riche. " Free-love " unions 
 exist in our land, and the partners are not always 
 punished. Donnay told the truth, which was not 
 after all so unpleasant, but we have no writer as 
 yet who would or could write an American Amants. 
 
 Still, the everlasting husband, wife, and lover, 
 is tiresome. If sex is one of the greatest ele- 
 ments and motive-forces in life, it is not the only 
 one. Even the French have recognized this, and 
 occasional plays Brieux's L'Engrenage and La 
 Robe rouge, Curel's Le Repas du lion, Rostand's 
 Cyrano, Bourget's La Barricade, and Fabre's Les 
 Fentres dores break the monotony. But the 
 fact remains that they have no Galsworthy, no 
 Granville Barker, no Bernard Shaw. Their essen- 
 tial provinciality, exclusiveness, snobbery possibly, 
 have prevented their branching out. For a time 
 Antoine forced the Parisian public to a knowledge 
 of Ibsen and Bjornson and Hauptmann and Tol- 
 stoy; during the past twenty years Lugne-Poe and 
 his Theatre de 1'Oeuvre have presented foreign 
 works from time to time, but the French public 
 will have its own plays depicting its own little 
 round of life. 
 
 There are few contrasts more striking than that 
 between Paris and Berlin as theater centers. 
 Something over a hundred new plays are produced 
 annually in each city; Paris counts but ten or twelve 
 new plays by foreign authors, Berlin not many 
 more by native writers. Paris knows practically 
 nothing of Pinero and Jones and Barker and Gals- 
 worthy, and misunderstands Shaw with unfailing 
 
 xiv
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 regularity, whenever the proverbially small band 
 of enthusiasts is fortunate enough to organize a 
 production of his simplest plays. During the 
 season of 1914 two or three plays of Galsworthy 
 were produced in a number of German theaters, 
 and three translations issued in book form; Shaw's 
 Pygmalion was produced and printed nearly a 
 year before it was seen in London; Mrs. War- 
 ren's Profession ran at a People's Theater in Ber- 
 lin during the greater part of the winter, while 
 ten or twelve of Shaw's plays made their ap- 
 pearance regularly in some twenty cities of the 
 Empire. The past season in Berlin counts among 
 its productions of foreign plays, some of the best 
 works of Shakespeare, Wilde, Strindberg, Bjorn- 
 son, Ibsen, Tolstoy, Gorky, Brieux, Flers and 
 Caillavet, Tristan Bernard, Synge, Hamsun, Pail- 
 leron, and Croisset. In Paris the season was an 
 unusual one, for Lugne-Poe afforded his audience 
 their first opportunity of seeing the Playboy of the 
 Western World, and achieved the extraordinary 
 feat of making a success of Carl Rossler's Five 
 Frankfurters. An adaptation of a play by Paul 
 Lindau had a successful run at the Theatre An- 
 toine, while Bahr's Das Konzert failed at the 
 Rejane. That very nearly completes the list of 
 foreign plays for Paris. The Frenchman's ig- 
 norance of foreign drama might be urged as an 
 excuse for his own narrowness, but as a rule he is 
 willfully ignorant. 1 
 
 a M. Adolphe Brisson (in Le Theatre, 1912) said: "The 
 other countries except perhaps in its own narrow way, Bel- 
 gium drag out a languishing and poverty-stricken existence. 
 Ibsen and Bjornson are no more. Gerhart Hauptmann is written 
 out. Bernard Shaw is scattering. Read the articles of the 
 
 XV
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 The French attitude seems to be: We have 
 good dramatists of our own; why therefore seek 
 to know of those of other countries, most of whom 
 have doubtless learned their technic from Scribe 
 and Augier? This may be well for France as a 
 nation, and the Germans on their part may be 
 forced to look abroad for lack of native talent, 
 but the French suffer because they choose to iso- 
 late themselves, theatrically. 
 
 As a rule, then, we shall find the French drama- 
 tist somewhat narrow both in subject-matter and 
 treatment, but on the other hand, we shall ob- 
 serve an intensification, a power of concentrating 
 upon character, and a technical facility of the high- 
 est order. From the generalities of Scribe they 
 have come to particularize and have given us full- 
 length portraits which are contributions to litera- 
 ture and the drama. Each phase of daily life we 
 find pictured in detail with striking verisimilitude. 
 Capus draws the little merchant, the boulevardier, 
 the cocotte, with an unerring hand; Lavedan 
 paints the aristocrat, contrasting him with the par- 
 venu bourgeois; Porto-Riche, Bataille, and Don- 
 nay, the lovers; Bernstein sums up in tensely 
 dramatic situations the tremendous forces at 
 
 foreign critics; they speak only of disappointed hopes, regrets. 
 . . . ' We have in London,' says Mr. Walkley, ' a number of clever 
 purveyors, but no great dramatist.' M. Delines describes the 
 emptiness of the Russian stage, which is reduced to seeking its 
 pleasure in the old-fashioned works of Turgenev and Tolstoy. 
 Austria's sole contribution is one play, Faith and Fireside, 
 written by a newcomer, Schonherr. M. Prater assures us, even, 
 that in this piece 'cleverness takes the place of talent.' In Hun- 
 gary, M. Melchior Lengyel produced his Typhoon . . . the only 
 interesting play of the season. In the United States absolute 
 barrenness of literary works. . . ." 
 
 xvi
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 work in modern society. Hervieu is largely in- 
 terested in the more abstract questions concerning 
 mankind; he maintains a distant attitude and 
 judges his fellow-creatures in well-patterned 
 thesis plays; Brieux, more warm-blooded, batters 
 the prejudices of the day and attacks the institu- 
 tions of men on the one hand, and draws memo- 
 rable pictures of the peasantry and the bourgeoisie, 
 on the other. Curel stands apart, coldly dissect- 
 ing the abnormalities of modern victims of society. 
 
 With few exceptions and these are to be 
 found among the works of Curel and Brieux 
 the plays of these men are all variations of the 
 piece bien faite; the average excellence of con- 
 struction becomes tiresome in the long run. We 
 long for a little of Frank Wedekind's brutality, 
 Hauptmann's negligence, Andreyev's intentional 
 crudity. We weary of " good writing." Per- 
 haps if the Academy were not so often uppermost 
 in the mind of the French dramatists, and its 
 coveted portals not so readily accessible to the 
 dramatic brotherhood, France would have a more 
 vigorous drama. 
 
 If the plays of Henry Becque and if Andre 
 Antoine's epoch-making Theatre Libre ushered 
 in a new dramatic movement, influencing most of 
 the dramatists of modern France and led them 
 to observe life more carefully than it had been 
 hitherto observed, if Antoine revolutionized the 
 art of acting, he was still unable to kill the so- 
 called Romantic drama an end, which he him- 
 self has declared, he never desired. 
 
 In 1898 the French critic Augustin Filon in his 
 book, De Dumas a Rostand translated as The 
 
 xvii
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Modern French Drama hailed the dawn of a 
 new era and wrote enthusiastically of the Revival 
 of Verse on the Stage. He said: "But the 
 crowning fact to which I have striven to give 
 prominence in this my last study, is the revival of 
 verse on the stage. And it is not only dramatic 
 verse which is now flourishing in several theaters, 
 lyrical verse has its share in this revival, and ap- 
 propriates one evening a week at the Odeon. At 
 the Bodiniere it is quite at home, and although 
 much that is impure mingles with the poetry in 
 the amusement provided at the famous Butte, it 
 must be recognized that poetry holds the first 
 place there, and has become indispensable. A 
 quarter of a century ago, it would have been sim- 
 ply ignored, but from an outcast it has become a 
 queen." William L. Courtney, in his introduc- 
 tion to M. Filon's volume, writes: "We have 
 got now to the latest phase of French dramatic 
 art, which is nothing more nor less than a real 
 romantic revival." The moment seemed an aus- 
 picious one : Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac and 
 Jean Richepin's Le Chemineau had just appeared, 
 and it did seem that authors and public, turning 
 from the Antoine school, had found in Romance 
 a new channel. But the " revival " was only mo- 
 mentary. To-day, in spite of poetic plays by such 
 writers as Andre Rivoire, Paul Claudel, Rene 
 Fauchois, Gabriel Trarieux, Albert Poizat and two 
 or three others, the tendency in drama is realistic. 
 Rostand, since Cyrano, has written but one ro- 
 mantic play L'Aiglon. Chantecler is modern 
 in spirit. Richepin, in spite of Par le Glaive and 
 Don Quichotte, has done nothing comparable with 
 
 xviii
 
 CHARACTERISTICS 
 
 Le Chemineau, while his latest play was an unsuc- 
 cessful trifle: Le Tango! Miguel Zamacois, in 
 Les Boufions and La Fleur merveilleuse, has in- 
 dubitably contributed charming poetic romances, 
 but he is a pleasing exception. Jean Aicard's ro- 
 mantic verse-plays are not popular, and Le Pere 
 Lebonnard, his best known, is a modern work in 
 which verse happened to be employed as a medium. 
 France continues in the line of her traditions. 
 If for a time Naturalism broke out, in its most vio- 
 lent adherents like Jean Jullien, Georges Ancey, 
 and Emile Zola it was only for a short time, 
 and the early Theatre Libre writers, like Brieux, 
 have since the first aggressive days, settled down 
 and established a sane equilibrium. The Capus', 
 Donnays, Lavedans, and Pierre Wolffs, are 
 lineal descendants of Scribe and Dumas fils and 
 Augier. The French drama seems doomed to be 
 the drama of tradition; this is at once its virtue and 
 its defect. As a result of inbreeding it may oc- 
 casionally fall into corruption, but by reason of 
 specialization a well-balanced, highly-finished me- 
 dium of expression emerges. This is France's 
 contribution. If we demand novelty, an infusion 
 of new blood, we must wait for a revolutionary 
 genius, another Moliere. 
 
 xix
 
 ANDRE ANTOINE is now past his prime, though 
 he continues with indefatigable zeal one of the 
 most difficult of tasks: that of directing the Odeon 
 Theater. Almost any day a large, strongly-built, 
 stoop-shouldered man, his eyes fixed steadfastly on 
 the ground, may be seen in the vicinity of the 
 Odeon. His face, every feature of it, gives evi- 
 dence of a crude, almost brutal, forcefulness; it is 
 at the same time the honest open face of the bour- 
 geois, with an added air of inexorable determina- 
 tion. Once a revoke at the head of a small band 
 of co-workers, he is now the respectable and rather 
 conservative manager of one of the state subsi- 
 dized theaters. 1 
 
 March 3Oth, 1887, is a memorable date. On 
 that evening a group of amateurs, under the direc- 
 tion of an employee of the Gas Company on a 
 salary of three hundred and fifty dollars a year, 
 presented four new and original one-act plays upon 
 a little stage improvised in a hall situated in the 
 inconspicuous and high-sounding Passage de 
 1'Elysee des Beaux-Arts, not far from where the 
 notorious Moulin-Rouge now stands. The ex- 
 
 1 Since the above was written, Antoine has been forced to 
 resign his position as director of the Odeon. As he was threat- 
 ened with bankruptcy because of certain unwise ventures from a 
 business point of view, his friends organized a benefit for him, 
 allowing him to leave for Constantinople, where he now directs 
 a theater. 
 
 xxi
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 penses for that performance were defrayed almost 
 entirely by the young Antoine, who had arranged 
 that the production should coincide with his pay- 
 day, the joth of the month. The upshot of it all 
 was that one of the little pieces was immediately 
 accepted at the Odeon, and what was of far 
 greater import a new movement was started. 
 The experiment received some notice, but practi- 
 cally no financial foundation. The first perform- 
 ance had exhausted the meager resources of the 
 young director, and it appeared as if the theater 
 would fail through lack of funds. He managed 
 to collect enough money to risk one more perform- 
 ance, however, and on the next convenient pay-day 
 May 3Oth made a second attempt, giving on 
 this occasion Emile Bergerat's La Nuit bergam- 
 esque and Oscar Metenier's En Famille one 
 verse and one prose play. This latter perform- 
 ance drew to it among other well-known literary 
 men, Alphonse Daudet, Francisque Sarcey, and 
 Emile Zola. Antoine was encouraged now to pro- 
 ceed and carry out the ideas he was at the time 
 beginning to formulate. He accordingly resigned 
 his position at the Gas Company, and devoted his 
 time and energy to getting subscriptions for the 
 fall season. We are- told that in order to econo- 
 mize he carried invitations to subscribers by hand, 
 thereby saving considerable postage. 
 
 The season opened on October I2th, with two 
 plays, L' 'Evasion in one act by Villiers de 
 1'Isle Adam, and Soeur Philomene, a dramatiza- 
 tion of the novel of the same name by the Gon- 
 courts. By the end of the year seventeen plays had 
 been produced, among them Tolstoy's The Power 
 
 xxii
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 of Darkness, Jullien's La Serenade, Hennique's 
 Esther Brandes all for the first time in France. 
 Again Antoine's success left him nearly bankrupt, 
 but he set about getting subscribers once more, 
 and by the end of his second season he had taken 
 in more than forty thousand francs. Together 
 with material success came encouragement, from 
 the public, the critics, the press in general; the 
 company, now receiving salaries, was able to de- 
 vote all its time to acting. The Theatre Libre 
 moved into a larger house, and assumed a position 
 of importance in the French playgoing world of 
 the day. 
 
 Antoine founded his theater with the idea of in- 
 ducing new and original dramatists to produce 
 works which the prejudice of managers and public 
 otherwise afforded no opportunity of producing. 
 The French stage of the day was so conventional 
 that only plays written according to accepted stand- 
 ards would attract audiences. At least this is 
 what the managers thought and the result was 
 the same. Together with conventional plays went 
 conventional acting and conventional stage-setting. 
 
 Antoine felt that all this was wrong, and he did 
 his best to set it right. Adolphe Thalasso briefly 
 sums up the " esthetique " of the new venture in 
 his book on Le Theatre Libre: " Plays in which 
 life supplies movement begin to take the place of 
 those in which movement supplies life. Compli- 
 cated plots give way to simple stories; the play of 
 intrigue is offset by the study of reality; characters 
 become natural, classic; the tragic and comic are 
 no longer mingled: the genres have become dis- 
 tinct. Interminable, vagarious plays give way to 
 xxiii
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 short, concise, rapid ones. The tirade disappears; 
 bombast and bathos are relegated to the back- 
 ground. ... no more ' raisonneurs ' . . . facts 
 alone explain the philosophy of the piece. The 
 eternally sympathetic and benevolent character is 
 likewise driven out. The authors go to the very 
 sources of life for the morality of their plays. 
 So much the worse for morality if their ' moral ' is 
 immoral! Such is life and the theater should 
 be not an amusement, but an image of life. Tech- 
 nical gymnastics are thrown aside: the human 
 heart needs more than the tricks of the trade in 
 order to be explained. The theater of to-day 
 must be a revolt against that of yesterday. As in 
 all revolutions, there is a good deal of exaggera- 
 tion, for the new methods are driven home with 
 hammering blows. To attain the desired end, the 
 revolutionists overstep the bounds, and in striking 
 down the guilty, the innocent are not spared." 
 
 This at least is a statement of the ideals of the 
 theater, which were, needless to say, not always 
 lived up to; the long traditions of French drama 
 could not so easily be thrown to the winds. Often 
 even in the most iconoclastic of the Theatre Libre 
 plays, we are conscious of the influence of Scribe 
 and Sardou, and occasionally the technique of the 
 piece bien faite is the only redeeming feature of 
 these plays. Yet this point should not be too 
 strongly urged, for there was ever a conscious ef- 
 fort to throw off what was bad and conventional 
 in the past, and seek new roads, new means of 
 expression fitted to subjects which had hitherto but 
 rarely found a place in the theater. 
 
 Antoine's new methods of acting and manag- 
 xxiv
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 ing, his contribution to what is now spoken of as 
 the art of the theater, do not properly belong in 
 the present discussion, which is confined to outlin- 
 ing the beginnings of the modern movement in 
 France. It may be said in passing that he did 
 much to modify the Conservatoire style of acting, 
 and that to-day at the Comedie Franchise many 
 of his " reforms " the actor's turning his back 
 to the audience while speaking, for instance are 
 accepted without a murmur. Very shortly after 
 the foundation of the Theatre Libre, Antoine had 
 some difficulty in holding his company together, so 
 great was the demand for new-style actors at such 
 old and well-established theaters as the Renais- 
 sance, the Porte Saint-Martin, and the Gymnase. 
 To-day many of the little band of amateurs are 
 among the best-known actors of the French stage. 
 It is of course impossible to say whether the 
 extraordinarily large number of dramatists who 
 had an opportunity of offering their first works 
 under Antoine would otherwise have entered the 
 field of the drama; it is probable that such born 
 men of the theater as Lavedan, Porto-Riche, and 
 Pierre Wolff, would sooner or later have made 
 their way to the popular theaters. But whether 
 Brieux, Jullien, Hennique, Ancey, and above all 
 Curel would have used the drama as a medium is 
 more open to doubt. Of these, Jullien, Ancey, and 
 Hennique, have been successful only under the 
 Antoine regime; while they did much for the 
 movement in its day, they were later unable to 
 adapt themselves to such modifications as were 
 necessary to meet with popular approval, and 
 
 xxv
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 ceased writing for the theater. Brieux, assimilat- 
 ing what was best in the new methods, made it his 
 own, and continued to modify it, combining his 
 innate sense of the theater with what he had 
 learned from Antoine. Together with Curel, who 
 has less than Brieux modified his methods, he is 
 the most original thinker of the French stage of 
 to-day. Curel, like Hennique and Ancey and 
 Jullien, was never a popular writer, has neverthe- 
 less continued to produce his plays and maintain 
 his position apart and hold it with honor. 
 
 Antoine discovered Brieux and Curel. When 
 Brieux was a poor obscure editor in Rouen he sent 
 to Antoine the manuscript of his first important 
 play, Menages d 'artistes. This bourgeois study, 
 with one or two strong scenes and a great deal of 
 good " milieu " painting, attracted the young man- 
 ager who produced the same author's second play, 
 Blanchette, a play which has held the stage to this 
 day. In the paper on Curel I have related how 
 that writer sent Antoine the manuscripts of three 
 of his plays, under three separate names, and how 
 the manager accepted all three. 
 
 Porto-Riche was another for whose plays An- 
 toine literally forced an audience. In producing 
 La Chance de Francoise he opened the way for 
 Amoureuse. Courteline, too, that ingenious comic 
 writer, received his first encouragement at the 
 Theatre Libre. Would Boubouroche otherwise 
 have seen the light? Emile Fabre, the virile au- 
 thor of L' Argent and Les Venires dores, has fur- 
 nished the stage with plays of society and finance, 
 which still hold the stage. Paul Ginisty, Pierre 
 Wolff, and Albert Guinon are among the numerous 
 
 xxvi
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 others who received their first impetus under An- 
 toine. 
 
 No one man can turn the tide in so great and 
 important a movement as that in which Antoine 
 labored. A few years before the founding of his 
 theater, Henry Becque, the father of stage Nat- 
 uralism in France, produced two plays, La Paris- 
 ienne and Les Corbeaux, which went far to influ- 
 ence the new writers. The Come die rosse, of 
 which La Parisienne is the typical instance, became 
 de rigueur, while Les Corbeaux was accepted as 
 the " Bible of the Naturalists." Becque and An- 
 toine, then, with their associates and followers, 
 gave Naturalism a chance in the theater, and ac- 
 complished at least a revolution in the taste of the 
 public. If that taste has since become modified, 
 it was but a wholesome reaction against what was 
 most violent and transitory in the new movement. 
 The good remains in Brieux and Curel and 
 Porto-Riche and Fabre the bad has already 
 died a natural death. 
 
 Not long ago Curel had occasion to render hom- 
 age to Antoine in the following words : " I be- 
 lieve that the greatest service rendered by the 
 Theatre Libre was that of liberating the modern 
 French stage from all schools and literary coteries. 
 A day will come when greater justice will be done 
 pur dramatic era, when the full extent of its orig- 
 inality and independence will be fully realized. 
 The originality and independence of which I speak 
 are due for the most part to the Theatre Libre." 
 Brieux lately wrote as follows : " He [Antoine] 
 it was who discovered for the public a great num- 
 ber of authors whose works had never been pre- 
 xxvii
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 sented, certain among whom would never have had 
 a chance of production without his aid. He intro- 
 duced Ibsen for the first time to the French na- 
 tion, and Frangois de Curel to the public at large. 
 Antoine created a taste for mise en scene which 
 was more artistic, and did not constitute an insult 
 to the spectator. . . . He reduced the number of 
 scenic conventions, he encouraged new authors 
 by affording them success, and aroused in the 
 hearts and minds of the masses the power to 
 understand and feel in the presence of noble dra- 
 matic works. It is not his fault if the public is 
 nowadays but rarely given the occasion to satisfy 
 that appetite for better things which he went so 
 far to train, and which now seems about to disap- 
 pear for lack of proper nourishment." 
 
 XXVlll
 
 VISCOUNT FRANCOIS DE CUREL is the only 
 dramatist considered in the present collection 
 for whom playwriting is an avocation. His 
 large fortune, extensive business and, above all, 
 his keen interest in hunting, occupy the greater 
 portion of his time. His ten plays cover a 
 period of more than twenty years; the first eight 
 were produced between 1892 and 1900, the 
 ninth in 1906, the latest in 1914. Curel writes 
 then to please himself, and if his efforts be 
 judged according to the criterion of popular ap- 
 proval, he has not often pleased the public. As 
 he himself once said, he was ideally situated to 
 wait for ideas and the necessary impetus and in- 
 spiration to develop them. He has never been a 
 " man of the theater," he was never forced to 
 write down to his public. Following his own in- 
 clinations, and writing only when writing came 
 naturally and easily, his work bears the imprint 
 of great care both as to style and content. Ab- 
 normal cases in the psychology of crime, heredity, 
 sex pathology, character analysis of the subtlest 
 and most evasive sort, are what fill his strange 
 plays. There is never any conscious effort to 
 please or popularize, so that it is not difficult to 
 see the reason of the failure of nearly every work. 
 The love element, pure and simple, so cherished 
 
 I
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 by all audiences, especially the French, is never in- 
 troduced per se : he may at times tell a love story, 
 but it is stripped of its romance, perhaps even of 
 its legitimate appeal. This continual insistence 
 upon the abnormal in human nature doubtless tells 
 against Curel as a commentator on human nature 
 in general, but we may always be sure to find in 
 his works a sincere, masterly, and complete treat- 
 ment of whatever strange corner or unfrequented 
 byway of science the dramatist chooses to consider. 
 
 In the Rue de Crenelle, one of the old streets 
 of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, stands the ances- 
 tral mansion of the de Curels. Under the high 
 gate and through a spacious court-yard I made my 
 way one afternoon, up to one of the huge wings 
 set apart for the use of Monsieur de Curel on the 
 occasion of his rare visits to Paris. A short, 
 thick-set, ruddy-complexioned, black-bearded man 
 greeted me with a merry smile and cordial hand- 
 shake. He looked like a brownie. I had imag- 
 ined the author of Les Fossiles as a severely de- 
 meanored aristocrat, serious, even cold in manner, 
 but to be met by a jolly, almost hilarious little 
 fellow was something of a surprise. He almost 
 bounced into his library, and there put me into a 
 large comfortable arm-chair before the fire. He 
 then proceeded to balance himself on the arm of 
 another chair. 
 
 " I must apologize," he said, " for not knowing 
 a word of English. It's quite inexcusable, for I 
 have English blood in my veins ! " 
 
 To every question he gave willing and concise 
 answer, but I suspected that " the Drama " was 
 not one of his hobbies. Just what his pet hobby
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 was I was not long in learning. The moment 
 there was a lull in the conversation he asked me 
 to excuse him a moment. " I have something 
 that may interest you! " While he was gone, I 
 had occasion to remark the many pictures that 
 hung on the walls of the library and hall, and 
 noted examples of Monet, Manet, Cazin, and Mil- 
 let. Was this man, too, an art collector? His 
 strident voice called me into another room, where 
 he bade me be seated at a table, upon which he 
 spread some forty or fifty snap-shots. Beaming 
 with pride, he asked me whether I liked hunting, 
 and then proceeded to explain each of the pictures : 
 Francois de Curel with a rifle slung over his back 
 and a boar or deer at his feet, was the subject of 
 most of these. Then there was Francois de 
 Curel with two foresters, Francois de Curel in 
 front of one of his hunting-lodges on his estate 
 in Lorraine : Francois de Curel as hunter was evi- 
 dently more attractive to him than Francois de 
 Curel as a dramatist. " I love the country," he 
 exclaimed, " it is my home. I come to Paris only 
 to superintend the production of a play or on other 
 business. In Lorraine I look after my affairs, 
 my factory, and my estate. Meantime I hunt 
 I write occasionally. You see, I'm a bachelor, and 
 I spend the long winter nights, sitting in front of 
 a huge fire, with my dogs curled up about me, and 
 read. I don't think I'm to be pitied, now, do 
 you? " Again he laughed that genial laugh, and 
 the author of L'Envers d'une salute was less him- 
 self than ever. 
 
 Frangois de Curel was born at Metz in 1854. 
 He was a precocious and avid reader; in his Re- 
 
 3
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 pome a I'enquete de M. Binet he says : " In my 
 early youth, almost at the time I began to read, I 
 felt that the writing of books was an enviable 
 and honorable profession, the greatest of profes- 
 sions." He says elsewhere in an interview 
 " At the age of five I read all the Robinsons I 
 could get hold of: Crusoe, Swiss Family, etc. I 
 devoured them and pondered upon them." Not 
 long after, he " devoured " the classics and from 
 time to time made modest attempts at original pro- 
 duction, told and even wrote little stories for the 
 amusement of his comrades. His scientific stud- 
 ies the family wished him to become an engi- 
 neer for some time prevented his following the 
 literary profession. He did however try his hand 
 at fiction and at the age of thirty-one published 
 his first novel, L'Ete des fruits sees, which was 
 followed by Le Sauvetage du Grand due, four 
 years later. In this novel Frangois de Curel 
 gave promise of considerable talent for the thea- 
 ter, so that the critic Charles Maurras wrote in 
 exhortation : " Au theatre ! Au theatre, M. de 
 Curel!" 
 
 One of Curel's biographers Roger Le Brun 
 recounts the following incident, and aptly re- 
 marks that it indicated in no uncertain manner 
 the " dramatic vocation of the author." " A 
 happy opening to his career awaited Curel at the 
 very outset. Weary of calling on the various 
 theatrical directors, after having suffered humilia- 
 tions as a result of his attempts to gain the good 
 will of the high officials appointed by the govern- 
 ment to manage the Theatre Franqais and the 
 Odeon, he thought of Antoine who at that time 
 
 4
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 (1891) had recently founded the Theatre Libre. 
 Simultaneously, Curel sent to the young director, 
 three manuscripts, under three different names: 
 L' Amour brode, L'Envers d'une salnte, and La 
 Figurante. As soon as he had read the plays, he 
 wrote complimenting the three authors and im- 
 mediately produced L'Envers d'une salnte! " 
 
 This play is typical of the author's methods 
 and choice of theme. Its origin was a paragraph 
 among the " faits divers " of one of the daily 
 papers, which ran somewhat as follows : " A 
 woman was once arrested on a charge of murder. 
 Great influence was brought to bear in the case, 
 the court and the public were made to believe in 
 her innocence; she was defended on the ground of 
 insanity. The supposed maniac was thereupon 
 sent to an asylum, where she remained for a num- 
 ber of years. One day she contrived to escape, 
 and went at once to her family." From this sim- 
 ple incident Curel took the broad outlines, and 
 made a psychological study of penetrating depth. 
 Julie had, nearly nineteen years before the play 
 opens, attempted to kill the young wife of the 
 man she loved (by pushing her into a ravine) ; the 
 injured woman, understanding Julie's attitude 
 when she committed the deed, does not divulge the 
 secret, and allows those concerned to believe that 
 her " fall " was accidental. Julie then goes into a 
 convent. The man for whose sake she attempted 
 the murder, she learns one day, is dead. There 
 is nothing now in the way of her returning to her 
 mother and sister. This she does. At this point 
 the play opens. Curel is interested and chiefly 
 concerned in a close analysis of Julie's attitude of 
 
 5
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 mind. Her jealousy of Jeanne, the wife who has 
 meantime told her husband of Julie's crime, Julie's 
 evil influence on Christine, Jeanne's daughter, and 
 her eventual return to the convent, are the bare 
 materials with which Curel constructs his play. 
 The struggle between one individual and another, 
 the purely intellectual duel between two women for 
 the memory of a man both had loved, the auster- 
 ity of the dialogue, the whole atmosphere of im- 
 pending doom, are reminiscent of Strindberg and 
 Ibsen. And yet the young author in his first play 
 was in no sense an imitator: he had simply, with- 
 out perhaps being aware, assimilated their method 
 of treatment. The play is further remarkable in 
 that it is a play in which the characters are women. 
 I should mention the unimportant Georges, 
 Christine's fiance, but he is purely accessory, and 
 M. de Curel once told me that when he re-writes 
 the play he will omit the man. 
 
 Curel's preoccupation with the abnormal is seen 
 in all his plays. He seeks out the strange occur- 
 rences in life, shapes the facts into a simple story, 
 and then proceeds to analyze motives. Situations 
 are for him only excuses for soul and mind analy- 
 sis, otherwise his stories would be merely skillfully- 
 contrived melodramas. L'Invitee, the third of 
 the plays in order of production, is little other than 
 a variation on the theme of the first. 
 
 Les Fossiles the second play is something 
 of a departure. Like Henri Lavedan's Le Prince 
 d'Aurec, it is concerned with the French aristocracy 
 of the day, only it is a family tragedy, not a satir- 
 ical comedy. Curel, himself a noble, knows well 
 his class and, while judging its ideals, its aspira- 
 
 6
 
 FRANCOIS DE CUREL 
 
 tions, its splendid snobbery and true nobility of 
 heart, is sufficiently detached as an artist to realize 
 the pathos of the situation. Since the founding 
 of France's latest Republic the nobility has been 
 placed in a difficult position : with no offices to fill 
 under an administration whose principles it can- 
 not accept, looked down upon as a class by the 
 Republicans, it can only hold high its head and 
 strive to preserve its traditions. Curel takes an 
 old family, the de Chantemelle, assumed to be 
 famous in the annals of the history of France, and 
 places them in a dilemma whence only a crime can 
 save them. Robert de Chantemelle, the young 
 heir, learns that he has but a few months to live. 
 As he is about to leave for the South, he confides 
 to his mother that he has a son, by his mistress, 
 who was until recently a protegee of his mother. 
 The Duke, Robert's father, is informed of this 
 fact, but out of consideration for Robert and more 
 especially because he sees a way of perpetuating 
 the family line, he does not tell Robert the truth 
 of the matter: that Helene has been his own mis- 
 tress as well, and that the child in question is his 
 own son, not Robert's. The family then decides 
 to adopt the infant, and legitimize him by allowing 
 Robert to marry Helene. This he does, but 
 trouble immediately arises from the fact that He- 
 lene, fearful lest the family should estrange her 
 from her son, begs to be allowed to take the child 
 with her after Robert's death, which is imminent. 
 She wishes to educate him in her own way. This 
 precipitates the tragedy, for the future Duke de 
 Chantemelle must be educated as such. The 
 Duke then reveals the truth to Robert, declaring 
 
 7
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 that one of them must die. As Robert's days are 
 numbered, that one will be Robert. Exposure in 
 a cold climate means sure death to him, so that 
 when he leaves for the family estate in the Ar- 
 dennes, his fate is sealed. The last act takes 
 place at Robert's coffin, just before the interment. 
 Robert's will, which contains his last wishes for the 
 education of the heir, contains the essence of what 
 the " fossil " nobility has to say of its dying hopes : 
 
 " In the name of the Father, the Son, and the 
 Holy Ghost I, Robert Charles-Henri de Chante- 
 melle, about to appear before God, ask forgive- 
 ness of my family for all the evil I have done 
 them, and solemnly swear that I bear in my heart 
 not the slightest trace of resentment toward any 
 member of it. I wish my father to know that I 
 perfectly understood and sympathized with his 
 great grief at seeing our race about to disappear. 
 He forgot that he was a father only to remember 
 that he was a Duke. He was able to lay aside the 
 most sacred of personal feelings; / had the 
 strength to stifle within me the desire for ven- 
 geance. And what vengeance ! I thank my God 
 for taking my life as soon as possible. That, I 
 hope, is the seal of my forgiveness. 
 
 '' When I am dead, I wish the following things 
 to be done : 
 
 ' . . . Claire [his sister] need have no regrets 
 in my regard. Only when she realized that I 
 could not live did she recognize how great were her 
 responsibilities. How ready she is to expiate her 
 well-intentioned crime, committed because she was 
 too jealous of the glory of our family! 
 
 " I should be inconsiderate if I myself recorded 
 8
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 what she has promised to do. I leave to her the 
 task of explaining in what way and to how great 
 an extent she means to devote herself. Claire will 
 represent me among you. I place Helene and the 
 child in her care. Whatever she asks, it is I who 
 command it. 
 
 " I ask my parents to give to Helene the Cha- 
 teau des Ecluses in Normandy. She has promised 
 me to go there and consecrate her life to the edu- 
 cation of her son. If she ever allows herself to 
 depart in the least detail from this end, she may 
 be considered to have perjured herself. The oath 
 she made to me I had a right to demand in return 
 for my forgiveness. 
 
 " As soon as Henri shall have arrived at the 
 age of fifteen, I authorize Helene to take him to 
 Paris in order that he may enjoy the educational 
 advantages which can be found only in that city. 
 The future Duke de Chantemelle must be educated 
 with the idea that his rank is not an excuse to dis- 
 pense with personal merit. Let nothing be neg- 
 lected in making him a modern man, in the deep- 
 est significance of the term. Let him be in sym- 
 pathy with his own generation, and understand its 
 glory. In prolonging our hatred, we are court- 
 ing disaster; our feuds were legitimate of course 
 when the blood was still warm which had been 
 shed in the Revolution; but these feuds now only 
 indicate a degenerate tendency and selfish egotism. 
 The Revolution guillotined our grandparents who 
 were at first so warmly partisan of her cause, but 
 that is no reason why we should make of that a 
 pretext in order to be hostile to the social better- 
 ment of our time. Let us remain true to our tradi-
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 tions in sacrificing our lives by generous errors, 
 thereby establishing it as a fact that the nobility is 
 a school of disinterestedness, pointing out the way 
 to the generation, daring of thought, fearless of 
 heart. ... It seems to me that the day of the 
 aristocracy is past; it has been recruited too much 
 from the moneyed classes, too little on the basis of 
 true merit. It has ever been closed to the great 
 men who have sprung from the people, and the 
 people have reciprocated. Before it finally disap- 
 pears, it must give, by means of a pious lie, the 
 same impression given by those gigantic fossils 
 which turn our minds back to prehistoric antiquity. 
 u Later, when the heir to our name is grown to 
 manhood, I demand that Claire tell him the man- 
 ner of my death, and how his grandparents, his 
 aunt, and his mother have sacrificed themselves, 
 in order that he, now a tiny helpless infant, might 
 preserve in honor the family name. He will un- 
 derstand that this name, transmitted by means of 
 a terrible crime, should be borne with superhuman 
 dignity. Let Claire repeat to him the words she 
 spoke to me not many days ago : ' Our existence 
 ends with yours, but what of it? The field has 
 been searched in order that one little flower may 
 survive ! ' 
 
 Les Fossiles is more human, more balanced, 
 more " popular," than any other Curel play; there 
 is not so much of the purely abstract as in L'En- 
 vers d'une sainte and La Danse decant le Miroir, 
 and a good deal more action, contrast, color. It 
 is a picture of human beings as well as an analysis 
 of human motives. Depicting as it does the trag- 
 
 10
 
 FRANCOIS DE CUREL 
 
 edy of a race, the agonies of a dying pride, the 
 struggle between ancestral feeling and personal 
 love and inclination, it is one of the noblest works 
 of our time. 
 
 Curel's attempts at comedy have been unsuc- 
 cessful. L' Amour brode and La Figurante are 
 marred by preciosity of style and uncertainty of 
 purpose. The author seems to be wrestling with 
 new ideas. The next important play, however, 
 shows in no uncertain manner that he was once 
 more master of his material. Up to the year 
 1897, he had been concerned largely with ques- 
 tions relating to those problems which torture the 
 individual and render troublous the relation of one 
 human being to another. In Le Repas du lion, 
 he widens his field. He asks this question: what 
 will a born capitalist do when his sympathies are 
 on the side of labor, but when influences so great 
 are brought to bear that he must fight against 
 the side which he believes is in the right? The 
 struggle is a most interesting one, and would have 
 made excellent material for a play, but Curel has 
 instead entered into a long disputation on Christian 
 Socialism, thereby retarding the action. Le Re- 
 pas du lion is nearly twice the length of L'Envers 
 d'une sainte, and yet we are left with the impres- 
 sion that less is accomplished than in the earlier 
 play. Curel the dramatist forgot that too much 
 talk, even in a French play, will eventually ruin 
 it. A careful selection of the significant points in 
 the story he originally outlined would perhaps 
 have made of Le Repas du lion a great play; it 
 must, however, be accounted as one of his least 
 successful works. 
 
 II
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 The next play, La Nouvelle idole, is much bet- 
 ter. This is another " case of conscience." A 
 doctor, Albert Donnat, who is so bound up in his 
 profession that he loses sight of the ultimate pur- 
 pose of science, is suddenly brought to a realization 
 of the fact that all his knowledge will not benefit 
 humanity as effectively as the blind unquestioning 
 faith of his little victim. Should one human be- 
 ing be sacrificed to scientific research in order that 
 others may be saved? That is this doctor's di- 
 lemma. Donnat is experimenting with cancer on 
 a young consumptive girl who is apparently with- 
 out hope; suddenly she is cured, but has meanwhile 
 been inoculated with the deadly cancer vaccine. 
 Then comes the awful revelation. But and 
 here Curel the idealist steps in both the girl and 
 the doctor have grown spiritually and morally by 
 the tragedy, although both are condemned to 
 death : for the doctor himself has been inoculated. 
 Louise, Donnat's wife, had for some time past, 
 found her husband impossible to live with, and had 
 determined to leave him, but she is finally recon- 
 ciled. She too has learned something of the hero- 
 ism of scientists and the faith of their victims. 
 
 ALBERT. I do not believe in God, but I die as if I 
 did : that thought gives me peace. My great power comes 
 from the fact that I am understood by that little saint who 
 is dying at my side. I feel that there is a mysterious bond 
 between us. Her faith is my faith. My salvation is 
 having her take my hand and guide me toward some sort 
 of great splendor, what, I do not know. You see, I have 
 decided to think and act like a great man, as any brave 
 man would. It may be illogical, but will ther.e ever come 
 a day when one can arrive at the heights of greatness 
 
 12
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 merely by acting according to one's intelligence ? For the 
 time being, the intelligence has its own logic, and the spirit 
 something that I cannot understand, but that Antoinette 
 would be able to define in a second. . . . Yes, when the 
 time comes for a human being to die in a different manner 
 from that of a dog, die nobly, then we must look to the 
 humble who adore God, to those burning hearts that love 
 with your heroism. That is where the philosophers should 
 learn their lessons in logic. 
 
 LOUISE. [Falling into his arms.] What, have you 
 really learned something from us? Albert, then I can 
 live with you, and enjoy that communion I have always 
 dreamed of? Now there is no barrier between us! 
 
 ALBERT. [Freeing himself.] No barrier? [Indicat- 
 ing the place on his chest where he has been inoculated] 
 You have forgotten . . .! 
 
 And the curtain falls. Here again is true tragedy. 
 
 La Nouvelle idole, like the rest of its author's 
 plays, was never very successful, although during 
 the spring and summer of 1914 it was revived for 
 a number of times at the Comedie Franchise. 
 Curel enjoys " succes d'estime " for thirty or forty 
 performances, but he has never had a long run. 
 Admired, respected, almost idolized by his con- 
 freres and by the press, he must be accounted the 
 Dramatists' Dramatist. Since La Nouvelle idole, 
 Curel has written but three plays : La Fille sau- 
 vage, in 1902, Le Coup d'aile, in 1906, and La 
 Danse devant le miroir, in 1914. 
 
 La Fille sauvage is another very curious study 
 in abnormal psychology. A savage girl, only a 
 trifle above the state of a female beast, has been 
 captured in a distant kingdom of Africa. A 
 Frenchman, who is attracted by the creature, is 
 
 13
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 granted permission by the king to take the fille 
 sauvage to France and try to raise it a few rungs 
 in the ladder of civilization. Through six long 
 acts we assist at the metamorphosis of the char- 
 acter of the young girl, who becomes at last to all 
 appearances a cultivated and attractive young 
 Frenchwoman, and ends by returning to Africa, 
 broken-hearted as a result of her falling in love 
 with her protector. The play holds the attention 
 of the audience mainly by reason of its bizarrerie. 
 The strange story, the mingled intellectual and 
 emotional appeal, the suspense aroused by wonder- 
 ing what will happen next, constitute its chief qual- 
 ities. Without doubt, Curel wished to compare 
 the civilization of Europe with that of the savages, 
 but he became too absorbed in the purely adven- 
 turous side of his story, and in so doing, produced 
 a work so confusing that it fails to convince. It 
 cannot be considered much more than a curious 
 melodrama. 
 
 In Le Coup d'aile Curel wished to tell about the 
 psychology of glory, but he made the fundamental 
 error of associating true glory with La Patrie. 
 This error, he once confessed to me, became evi- 
 dent when the play was first produced. He then 
 recounted the following incident: a friend once 
 asked of a class of young students, " What is 
 glory?" and received the unanimous answer, 
 "The flag and the Patrie!" "In Le Coup 
 d'aile," continued M. de Curel, " I took the flag 
 merely as a symbol of glory, not as the living in- 
 carnation of it, and when my hero insulted it, he 
 became immediately unsympathetic. That was not 
 what I wanted. Had I heard that answer from
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 the school children, I should not have written the 
 play as I did." Yet, in spite of its spiritual mis- 
 carriage, the play contains a splendid portrayal in 
 the character of the chief personage. 
 
 After Le Coup d'aile followed a period of 
 nearly nine years' inactivity. When, in the fall of 
 1913 a new play by Francois de Curel was an- 
 nounced, with Madame Simone as the principal 
 interpreter, it seemed as if a voice from the past 
 were heard. 
 
 The press was practically unanimous in its 
 praise of La Danse devant le miroir, when it was 
 produced at the Nouvel-Ambigu in January, 1914. 
 Yet once more the play enjoyed only a very short 
 run. In many ways, this work is the most subtle 
 and complex of all; that is doubtless the reason 
 for its failure. The idea, expressed by Paul- 
 Adrien Schaye, in an interview with the author, is 
 this : " The author has wished to symbolize the 
 solitude in which the lover finds himself before the 
 woman he loves. He believes he sees her as she 
 is, yet he sees only what she seeks to be for him. 
 She has understood the ideal which he seeks in her; 
 while she loves him passionately, and strives to 
 resemble that ideal of his, in order to make herself 
 more acceptable in his eyes. She casts aside her 
 true personality, and seeks to assume that which 
 he wants. She plays a comedy, and acts a pious 
 lie. That is the woman's role. And the man 
 thinks in the same way, because he loves her, and 
 believes that his passion should be shared equally 
 with his partner. He too knows what she wishes 
 him to be, and loses no time in appearing as such ; 
 he masks himself in order to be more acceptable to 
 
 15
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 her. So well is this all accomplished, that each of 
 the lovers possesses only a reflection of the other's 
 desire, an appearance, not a reality." Upon this 
 abstraction has the author built a tense and moving 
 play. Regine " imagines that love can be trifled 
 with; she wishes to prove the strength of her 
 lover's affection. She wants to know whether 
 Paul is a hero. Will he, she asks, sacrifice even 
 his honor for her? She allows him to believe that 
 she has been seduced, that he ought to save her 
 by marrying her, for she is expecting a child. But 
 Paul has been told by a friend of Regine that this 
 is a lie, yet he cannot resist the temptation to ap- 
 pear in a heroic light, so that the two lovers, wish- 
 ing all the time to see one another as they really 
 are, play a dangerous comedy, which results in 
 a tragedy. The night of their wedding they 
 want to clear up all the deceptions of the past. 
 . . . Yet each is condemned to solitude: the ob- 
 ject of one's affection remains merely a mirror 
 which reflects one's own image, distorted and fals- 
 ified. During a lucid interval, Paul sees that the 
 only way he can leave a magnificent and worthy 
 memory of himself is to commit suicide, and this 
 he does." The exceedingly difficult task of mak- 
 ing this story real was marvelously accomplished. 
 Whether we accept or reject Curel's hypothesis, 
 if we find it hard to believe in the characters or the 
 situation, we cannot deny that he has done his 
 work with the greatest skill and insight. As a 
 technical accomplishment, nothing in recent years 
 has been seen in France comparable with it. 
 
 The French have always been largely preoccu- 
 pied with sex as subject-matter for their plays, 
 
 16
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 especially during the past quarter century. Fran- 
 gois de Curel, one of the most original and high- 
 minded men of the time, has had the courage to 
 seek in other fields for the material which he has 
 turned to such noble use. If he has not been suc- 
 cessful, it is largely because he has left to others 
 the facile exploitation of sex for its own sake, and 
 applied his genius to the unraveling of intellectual 
 problems. He will stand out in the history of the 
 period as a man of genius with the courage of his 
 convictions.
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX or Brieux, as he prefers to 
 be known won his international reputation over- 
 night, as it were, partly as the result of the some- 
 what extreme praise of Bernard Shaw in the pref- 
 ace to the Three Plays by Brieux. Those particu- 
 lar works of the French dramatist which the Irish- 
 man chose to introduce to the English-reading pub- 
 lic were written primarily to arouse and shock the 
 public of the day, and are in all likelihood not 
 those by which Brieux will be longest remembered. 
 Shaw is a self-confessed social-worker, interested 
 in plays and literature by reason of their social 
 import, and it was but natural that he should be 
 attracted to such plays as Damaged Goods, The 
 Three Daughters of M. Dupont, and Maternity. 
 
 In France, however, Brieux was for a number of 
 years referred to as the " author of Blanchette" 
 and in my opinion, if he takes rank eventually 
 as it seems probable he will among the first 
 dramatists of his generation, those works so highly 
 lauded by Shaw will be forgotten, and Blanchette 
 and its more human companions will remain true 
 specimens of his art. Damaged Goods is after all 
 of purely educative value, much of its purpose has 
 been accomplished: it broke the "conspiracy of 
 silence." Maternity has at least served to call 
 attention to the fundamental defect in the current 
 French concept of motherhood. A more general 
 
 18
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 problem, and one which will be in existence longer 
 than the problems treated in Damaged Goods and 
 Maternity is that which serves as the basis of 
 Blanchette. For centuries children, better edu- 
 cated than their parents, will feel the gulf separat- 
 ing them from those who sacrificed in order to 
 give them the means of educating themselves. 
 The Red Robe, while it attacks a definite defect in 
 the legal system of the day, is so distinctly human, 
 that when the defect disappears, the play will re- 
 main: the Law is destined to remain a very im- 
 perfect institution, and authority in human hands 
 will never quite be tempered with mercy. 
 
 My first impression of Brieux, as he sat before 
 a cafe in the Rue Royale, was a vivid one: a 
 heartily robust, modest yet assertive man of 
 middle age, ruddy, almost insolently healthy, 
 Dressed in a common blue serge suit, wearing a 
 " Derby " hat, smoking a cigarette, and sipping 
 a coffee, he reminded me of an Englishman or an 
 American, playing the role of a Parisian. 
 Slightly above medium height, rather thick-set, 
 with a fine, open, clean-shaven face, short, curly 
 grayish hair, sparkling blue eyes, upon closer in- 
 spection he presented the appearance of a French 
 peasant who had however lived long enough in 
 Paris to acquire a fair amount of metropolitan 
 " polish." Genial, communicative, at times rather 
 satirical, he strikes one as a self-made titan, a 
 cosmopolitan man of the world, yet withal essen- 
 tially French. 
 
 Brieux is among his contemporaries one of the 
 broadest and least prejudiced of men. It is dif- 
 ficult to imagine Maurice Donnay in London, there 
 
 19
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 is something almost ridiculous in the effort to pic- 
 ture Alfred Capus trying to acclimatize himself to 
 Berlin, or Anatole France delivering a course of 
 lectures in Chicago, but Brieux somehow looks as 
 if he had traveled far and he has: in neighboring 
 European countries as well as in the Far East, and 
 it is far from incongruous to imagine his undertak- 
 ing what he has often contemplated : an American 
 tour. Brieux's cosmopolitanism is in his charac- 
 ter, and the success of Damaged Goods in Amer- 
 ica and Germany is due to something beyond its 
 novelty of theme. 
 
 Brieux is ready and able to discuss any number 
 of modern " live " topics social or literary. I 
 have often sounded him on American and English 
 politics and literature, and found him up-to-date, 
 well-informed, interested. 
 
 As to his private life, Brieux is modestly silent; 
 interviewers avid of details and anecdotes are 
 gently sent away. " I was born," he once told 
 me, "in 1858, but of what possible interest can 
 that be?" It is perhaps of more interest to us 
 than to him, yet in this place we shall have to be 
 content with the briefest outline of a biography, 
 pieced together from two or three monographs and 
 a few facts gleaned from conversations. 
 
 He was born in Paris fifty-six years ago. His 
 father was a carpenter. He attended school up to 
 the age of fifteen, when he was forced to go to 
 work. He was an early and ardent reader of 
 the classics: French, German, and Latin. Latin 
 he taught himself, by the way. Before his twen- 
 tieth year he had made attempts to write plays 
 in verse and in his twenty-second year he wrote 
 
 20
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 a one-act verse play on a historical subject in col- 
 laboration with Gaston Salandri, called Bernard 
 Palissy. This was performed at the Theatre 
 Cluny. Giving up his position he turned to news- 
 paper work, in which he remained for seven years. 
 At Rouen he was editor of La Nouvelliste. 
 " The importance of his long residence in Rouen," 
 says P. V. Thomas, the author of a short mono- 
 graph on Brieux, " can hardly be overestimated; 
 not only did he thus escape being caught up in any 
 of the literary fads and fancies of the boulevards, 
 but also he was better able, in a comparatively 
 small center, such as Rouen, to grasp life as a 
 whole than amid the complexities of the metropo- 
 lis. At Rouen he learnt as editor to face questions 
 of public interest. Here he acquired his experi- 
 ence of men and affairs. The knowledge of pro- 
 vincial life thus acquired was to stand him in good 
 stead. Without his sojourn in Rouen, he would 
 never have written L'Engrenage or B'lanchette." 
 No, nor Maternity, nor The Philanthropists, nor 
 The Substitutes, The Frenchwoman, nor The 
 Bourgeois in the Country. 
 
 That a son of Paris should leave his native city 
 and study the people of the provinces, consciously 
 or unconsciously, was a rare blessing. Brieux was 
 never a faddist nor a Parisian; he is French, in 
 the sense that Emile Augier was French, and Bal- 
 zac and Henry Becque, and therein lies his greatest 
 power. He leaves to Capus and Donnay and 
 Porto-Riche the task of painting the manners of 
 the French capital and analyzing the Parisienne, 
 and goes direct to the peasants, " La France qui 
 travaille, La France qui prie." 
 
 21
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Andre Antoine discovered Brieux. In an 
 earlier paper it is told how the young journalist 
 sent the manuscript of Menages d' artistes to the 
 director of the Theatre Libre, how, two years 
 later, Blanchette was produced, and how Brieux 
 found himself as a dramatist. 
 
 Brieux's plays have been well summed up in 
 three or four brief studies, 1 so that there is little 
 need of repeating what is so near at hand. Suffice 
 it to remark that the total dramatic output con- 
 stitutes a most valuable and interesting set of so- 
 cial documents, that Blanchette is an attack upon 
 certain aspects of the educational system, M. de 
 Reboval and La Couvee a protest against the 
 menage a trois and the marriage laws, L'Engren- 
 age against political abuses, Les Bienfaiteurs 
 against indiscriminate charity, L'Evasion against 
 the abuse of science and medicine, Les Trois filles 
 de M. Dupont against certain aspects of the mar- 
 riage question, Resultat des courses against gam- 
 bling in the working classes, Le Berceau against 
 divorce, La Robe rouge against the abuse of the 
 law and the system of promotion, Les Remplacan- 
 tes against the recruiting of wet-nurses, Les 
 A'uaries against the conspiracy of silence regard- 
 ing the nature and treatment of venereal diseases. 
 La Petite Amie treats of the marriage laws and 
 the relation between parents and children again, 
 Maternite and La Deserteuse are concerned with 
 motherhood and marriage; Les Hannetons treats 
 of " free love "; La Francaise is a vindication of 
 
 1 P. V. Thomas, Engine Brieux, The Man and His Plays; 
 and prefaces to Three Plays by Brieux, and Blanchette and 
 The Escape. 
 
 22
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 the French woman and family; Simone and Suzette 
 are pleas for the child of divorced parents; La 
 Foi questions the validity of accepted faith in re- 
 ligion ; La Femme seule is a document showing the 
 essential economic dependence of woman in 
 France; Le Bourgeois aux champs is a satire on 
 the futility of immediate reform. 
 
 As a man interested and deeply concerned for 
 the welfare of mankind, Brieux is a brave and oc- 
 casionally inspired dramatist. In Les Ovaries 
 and three or four other vigorous and pointedly di- 
 dactic plays, he has honestly and nobly done his 
 best to open the eyes of his people to evils which 
 ought to and can be remedied. Les A varies tells 
 certain unpleasant but necessary truths ; Maternite 
 urges those who are attempting to remedy the evil 
 of depopulation in France that they must first of 
 all respect motherhood per se, and protect all 
 mothers, whether they be within or without the 
 marriage bond. The fact that these truths had 
 to be spoken was undoubtedly detrimental to the 
 plays as works of art; Brieux therefore sacrificed 
 the artist in himself for the good of the race. But 
 fortunately he at times combined his artistry with 
 his ardor as a reformer, and produced works which 
 will last after his suggested reforms are no longer 
 of use. If we consider each play, we find that 
 those in which something is assumed as being ba- 
 sically wrong, tacitly, by most thinking people, are 
 invariably better than those in which the dramatist 
 was forced to break the silence. That is to say, 
 Brieux the innovator tended to lose his artistic 
 consciousness in proportion to the novelty 'of the 
 theme treated. In Blanchette and La Robe rouge, 
 
 23
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 for example, he was able to take certain things for 
 granted and proceed to write a highly effective 
 play; in Les Avaries he must perforce proceed 
 with greater care, and explain at length certain 
 points which, if his thesis were taken for granted 
 and were universally known and accepted, might 
 well be omitted. If this play were to be presented 
 exclusively before audiences of physicians, much 
 could be cut, and the play be infinitely better. His 
 achievement then must be honored as an act of 
 courage (that goes without saying) and not in 
 spite of a few stirring and truly dramatic scenes 
 as drama. 
 
 Brieux's conscience stands in the way of his be- 
 ing a great dramatist; his significance will be real- 
 ized just as Bernard Shaw's will be realized, by 
 reason of particular scenes and particular plays, 
 which are good in spite of their social purposeful- 
 ness. Like his literary forebear Emile Augier, 
 Brieux will be remembered as a painter of charac- 
 ter long after his topical plays have ceased to in- 
 terest. Augier's Le Fils de Giboyer and Le 
 Manage d'Olympe are still interesting because of 
 their characters, not because they treat of " Anti- 
 clerical " politics or the " Reign of the Courte- 
 san." When or if the particular legal abuses at- 
 tacked in La Robe rouge are remedied and the 
 system of finding places for school teachers so 
 severely criticized in Blanchelte is modified, these 
 plays will remain, because they tell good stories 
 and paint real and living people. 
 
 What Brieux would have been had his social 
 conscience not been so highly developed is of 
 
 24
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 course impossible to determine; perhaps he would 
 not have had recourse to the theater as a medium 
 of expression for his ideas. We must therefore 
 be content to accept his work as it stands. A most 
 hopeful sign lies in the fact that his latest play is 
 in the vein of highest comedy; Le Bourgeois aux 
 champs was written not so much to demonstrate 
 the uselessness of ignorant though well-intentioned 
 reform as to draw the picture of a modern bour- 
 geois. Let us hope that Brieux has realized that 
 his greatest function lies in his good plays, not in 
 his attempts, however sincere and intelligent, to 
 remedy evils which can scarcely be remedied 
 through the agency of the drama. 
 
 Blanchette, La Robe rouge, La Femme seule, 
 Le Bourgeois aux champs, Les Trois filles de M. 
 Dupont, and Resultat des courses! are the plays 
 which in my opinion contain as wholes or in part 
 the best that Brieux has to offer. Certain it is 
 that in other plays notably in Le Berceau, Les 
 Remplaqantes, and Maternite occur scenes and 
 passages comparable with and in some instances 
 superior to the best in Resultat des courses!, La 
 Femme seule, and Les Trois filles de M. Dupont, 
 but I believe that the six plays I have selected will 
 stand the test of time. 
 
 La Robe rouge is the best of these. It is a 
 play " with a purpose " : it is intended to point out, 
 to the end of remedying, the fearful abuse of legal 
 power. In order to obtain an " advance," a 
 French criminal lawyer must convict, and accord- 
 ing to the number of years of convictions he re- 
 ports to headquarters are his chances of advance 
 bettered or destroyed. The universality of the 
 
 25.
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 play lies not so much in the fact that a certain 
 lawyer misused his power, ruining the family and 
 happiness of a Basque peasant, but that every one 
 who is invested with authority tends to misuse that 
 authority to the detriment of mankind. Brieux 
 is an anarchist in that he believes that no man is 
 good enough to sit in judgment over his fellow- 
 beings. La Robe rouge must surely first have 
 occurred to its author as an intensely dramatic situ- 
 ation, then he must have made the direct applica- 
 tion. If this was not the method, then Brieux 
 must be accounted the thesis-dramatist par excel- 
 lence. So well does he make us forget the theme 
 in the story and characters that we are not aware 
 of being instructed. It seems that Brieux worked 
 so vigorously and sincerely that he forgot to in- 
 terpolate such scenes of cut-and-dried though ad- 
 mirable logic which go far to mar plays like Les 
 Avaries. Few plays can boast so tense, so in- 
 evitable, so crushing a climax. Beginning in the 
 expository first act, developing pitilessly through 
 the second, pausing a moment in the third, it finally 
 rushes with vertiginous haste to the terrible mur- 
 der-scene, which closes the play. The dramatist 
 forgets the rules of the well-made play, proceeds 
 developing where Scribe would have offered a 
 denouement; he combines climax with catastrophe, 
 and leaves us gasping. The execution of Mouzon 
 by the woman whose happiness he has ruined does 
 not only seem natural and inevitable, it creates a 
 feeling in the breast of the spectator of personal 
 hatred, so that when Yanetta plants the knife in 
 the lawyer's back the audience invariably puts it- 
 self in the woman's position, and exults. The ten 
 
 26
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 or fifteen minutes' applause which often follows 
 the close of the play is rather an indication of this 
 personal attitude on the part of the audience than 
 a particular expression of pleasure or interest. 
 
 As Blanchette and Les Trots filles de M. Du- 
 pont are accessible to English readers, and are al- 
 ready well known, there is no necessity to enter into 
 detail. The first of these plays is notable among 
 other things for its true characterization of old 
 Pere Rousset and his wife ; here are average peas- 
 ants, not stock comedy figures. Brieux's play 
 came at a time when Zola's grotesque peasants 
 stood for what is most exaggerated in ultra- 
 Naturalistic literature. Brieux was sufficiently in- 
 dependent and clear-sighted to draw men and 
 women whom he knew as living beings, not as ani- 
 mals. Pere Rousset behaves and speaks at times 
 (in the stage version and the printed book, which 
 has been in places toned down in the translation) 
 in a most realistic and disgusting manner, but he 
 is good at heart, and his indignation justifiable. 
 Blanchette herself seems a trifle stiff, but perhaps 
 that is what the author intended, or possibly he 
 felt the need of exaggerating the antagonism be- 
 tween parent and child, for dramatic purposes. 
 Whatever the technical faults of the play, what- 
 ever its other shortcomings, it stands in much the 
 same relation with the modern French drama that 
 Balzac's Scenes de la vie de province did to the 
 literature of his day. 
 
 Again, the particular scenes in which the char- 
 acters are allowed to develop, constitute the chief 
 value of Les Trois filles de M. Dupont. That 
 scene in which the Mairauts and the Duponts ar- 
 
 27
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 range for their children's union, in the first act, 
 seems to justify Shaw's statement that " in that 
 great comedy which Balzac calls the ' comedy of 
 humanity,' to be played for the amusement of the 
 gods rather than that of the French public, there 
 is no summit in the barren plain that stretches 
 from Mount Moliere to our times until we reach 
 Brieux." This play may suffer from a too great 
 rigidity of structure ; there is in the last act what 
 Jules Lemaitre called too much the appearance of 
 a " Q.E.D.," but when we are offered such types 
 as Dupont and Mairaut and scenes of the kind 
 I have referred to, we cannot quarrel with the 
 author. 
 
 Resultat des courses!, while it is a " purpose " 
 play, is interesting and valuable as a picture of the 
 artisan classes of Paris, among which Brieux is 
 perfectly at home. When he planned this play, 
 he went among them to get his local color. An 
 amusing incident is recounted by Adolphe Bris- 
 son in his volume, Les Prophetes: 
 
 When the time came for the afternoon " appetizer " he 
 accompanied his companions to the bar. He then stood 
 upon a table: 
 
 " My friends," he said, " I have deceived you; I'm not 
 a chiseler, I'm a dramatist. My name is Eugene Brieux; 
 I've had plays produced which you've probably heard of 
 Les Bienjaiteurs, Les Trois filles de M. Dupont, and 
 Blanchette" 
 
 An assistant who was something of a literary fellow 
 murmured : " Lord ! Do we know Blanchette! " 
 
 " You will invite us to your premiere, won't you ? " 
 
 "You'll be there " 
 
 When the curtain rose at the repetition generate the 
 
 28
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 entire work-shop was present; it was before this sympa- 
 thetic and excited audience that the drama unfolded. . . . 
 " That evening," said Brieux, " I was positively intoxicated 
 with pleasure. It moved me as I have never been moved 
 before. I love my chiselers better than I do the abonnes of 
 the Comedie Frangaise." 
 
 The plot is simple : Arsene Chantaud (played, 
 it is related, with deep insight and remarkable 
 sincerity by Antoine), one of the chiselers in a 
 bronze-shop in Paris, has won a considerable sum 
 of money from the races. Not content with this, 
 he continues to bet, and eventually loses money be- 
 longing to his employer. The employer allows 
 him to go after he has signed a confession; but 
 due to the fact that he is without the necessary 
 credentials, he can find no employment elsewhere. 
 Things go from bad to worse : the family is turned 
 out of house and home; and one day Chantaud, 
 now totally demoralized, is arrested as a vagrant. 
 His son, however, has meantime, by dint of hard 
 labor reestablished the family fortunes, and brings 
 his ruined father back, a hopeless wreck. This 
 simple story, with its equally simple moral, is told 
 with " sufficient candor not to fear what is banal, 
 and sufficient talent not to write it," in Lemaitre's 
 words. Here again it is the characters, the milieu, 
 the loving care with which the whole environment 
 is sketched, which recommend themselves to us. 
 Result at des courses! is not a very significant play, 
 but it is a sympathetic picture of life. 
 
 It is a convenient if at times rather arbitrary 
 procedure to divide the works of certain authors 
 into " periods," each representing a distinct phase 
 
 29
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 in the mental or spiritual evolution of the writer. 
 In the case of Brieux, this method of classification 
 is not inappropriate. The early plays Blanch- 
 ette, La Couvee, Les Bienfaiteurs, and Resultat 
 des courses! are a series of contemporaneous 
 pictures of classes in the humbler walks of life : 
 of the farmer, the bourgeois, the petty merchant, 
 the manufacturer, the artisan. These works are, 
 besides, indicative in a way of their author's pre- 
 dilection for social problems, but he has not yet 
 fully entered that phase in which he becomes rabid 
 and prophetically didactic. That Storm and 
 Stress period includes La Robe rouge, Les Trois 
 filles de M. Dupont, Les Avaries, and Maternite. 
 At first he was content merely with social comedies ; 
 then he must needs preach jeremiads. (We must 
 always however except La Robe rouge, in which 
 his art hides for the time being all didactic pur- 
 pose.) These works are powerful and crushing 
 indictments of " systems " and social wrongs, they 
 are expressions of the author's most deep-felt con- 
 victions. He felt evidently that uncompromising 
 force was the best means to his end. But with 
 years has come a degree of moderation, a more 
 serene and philosophical outlook upon life; a mood 
 of quiet and limited optimism has taken the place 
 of the earlier unrestrained outbursts, Les Hanne- 
 tons, a comedy of manners, followed Maternite, 
 and after it came Simone, a serious play with a 
 " happy " ending. To this later period belong 
 also La Franqaise, a somewhat disappointing piece 
 a defense of the Frenchwoman and her home, 
 with a good deal of political talk ; La Foi, a 
 philosophical and religious play; and Suzette, a 
 
 30
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 plea written in a manifestly sympathetic vein for 
 the child of divorced parents. In spite of occa- 
 sional " strong " scenes and a continual striving 
 for moral lessons, all these plays are on a much 
 lower emotional plane than those belonging to the 
 Storm and Stress. Vituperation has given way 
 to sympathetic reasoning and firm and convincing 
 argument these plays have lost something in 
 strength, but they have gained in breadth of view 
 and humanity. 
 
 Human as these plays are, and vital as the in- 
 terest in them must be, something is lacking. The 
 social reformer must of course smash idols, but 
 he should occasionally suggest a remedy. This 
 Brieux has done, but only in a negative manner; 
 not until La Femme seule, produced in December 
 1912, do we see an individual contending with the 
 forces of society, with half a chance for success. 
 
 In La Femme settle the author asks, " What can 
 a young woman, who wishes or is forced to remain 
 single and independent, do to make a living? " 
 The play shows that society in France, at any 
 rate does all in its power to prevent her making 
 an honest living; but it shows further what in- 
 dividual strength and courage can do, and in the 
 character of the " emancipated " Therese, we have 
 what to my knowledge is the only woman in the 
 contemporary French drama who at all approaches 
 economic independence in the face of practically 
 unsurmountable obstacles. 
 
 Therese, left an orphan at the age of nineteen, 
 has been living for some years with her godpar- 
 ents, Monsieur and Madame Gueret, when she 
 learns that the family notary has absconded with
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 a large sum of money, including her dowry. 
 Rene, her fiance, cannot marry her, because his 
 parents will not consent to an alliance which brings 
 them no material benefit. The godparents offer 
 to take Therese to Evreux, where they must go, 
 but the girl tells them that she has " no intention 
 of leaving Paris." 
 
 M. GUERET. I don't understand? . . . 
 
 MME. GUERET. You're not going to live in Paris 
 alone ? 
 
 THERESE. I am. 
 
 M. GUERET. All alone! I tell you, I don't under- 
 stand. 
 
 THERESE. Both of you have been so good to me! I 
 shall remember your goodness as long as I live . My 
 father's death left me absolutely alone in the world ; he was 
 only a friend of yours, and I am not related to you. You 
 took me in and treated me as your own daughter for 
 four years; I appreciate that with all my heart. I am 
 twenty-three, and I don't want to be dependent on you. 
 
 She decides to live alone in Paris; she has been 
 offered a position on the Femme Libre, a recently- 
 established periodical. It is taken for granted 
 that Rene cannot marry her: she has no dowry. 
 She has hopes, however, that he will offer to do so 
 in spite of his parents, and just as he bids her 
 good-by, she says to him : 
 
 THERESE. Shall we marry, in spite of everything? 
 Listen to me : I love you more than you can imagine, more 
 than I ever let you know. Have confidence in me: place 
 your future in my hands. Marry me, and never mind the 
 consequences. You'll see, we'll be happy! You have no 
 idea how capable I am, how much energy I have in reserve. 
 
 32
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 I'll work, and you will, too. You weren't successful 
 when you worked alone, but you will feel stronger when 
 you feel me at your side, to console you in failure, to en- 
 courage and help you in success I'm willing to live the 
 simplest sort of life, Rene, the humblest until we two, 
 by our effort, an effort bright with hope and pride, shall 
 conquer, together ! 
 
 RENE. I assure you, Therese my parents 
 THERESE. [After a long pause.'} Go! Poor boy! 
 Forget what I've said. Adieu! 
 
 RENE. No, not adieu ! I shall make my father 
 THERESE. It's too late. / don't want you now ! 
 
 The second act opens upon the editorial offices of 
 the Femme Libre. Therese has found an occupa- 
 tion assuring her a sufficient income for her needs, 
 and lives happily, the more so as Rene has had the 
 courage to defy his parents and work for his own 
 living in his own way. But owing to a lack of in- 
 terest on the part of the subscribers the magazine 
 must be reduced in size, and all the salaries corre- 
 spondingly cut. It is not long before Monsieur 
 Nerisse, the editor, makes love to Therese, and she 
 is obliged to leave. 
 
 The last act finds Therese with her godparents 
 at Evreux, but living on an independent basis. 
 For three months after leaving the magazine, she 
 had sought without success a position which would 
 yield enough to keep her from starving. " A 
 single woman," she says, " why she's an outcast! 
 I had no end of trouble in trying to rent a room. 
 How often have I heard them say: 'We don't 
 rent to single women.' One day when I insisted, 
 I heard the porter say to his wife, behind my back: 
 1 She's plain enough to be honest ! ' 
 
 33
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 But on her return to Evreux, she organizes a 
 woman's trade union on a small scale, which suc- 
 ceeds so well that the workingmen take fright; a 
 delegate is sent from Paris to demand the dissolu- 
 tion of the little syndicate. The delegates' motto 
 is " The husband's place is the workshop, the 
 wife's at her own fireside." The delegates' 
 threats go unheeded, for Therese stands her 
 ground firmly until, at last, the workers at the very 
 factory in which the union has been organized, 
 strike, and destroy the women's workroom. 
 For the moment, Therese is beaten, but it is only 
 for the moment. " I am going," she cries. She 
 is going to Rene, but and her words are cer- 
 tainly intended as prophetic: she will never rest 
 content by her own fireside ! she is going to con- 
 quer. 
 
 M. GUERET. Where are you going? 
 
 THERESE. I am going where I feel it is my duty to go. 
 
 M. FELIAT. Wait until to-morrow. 
 
 THERESE. No, I take the night train for Paris. But 
 the workingmen need have no cause to rejoice. In this 
 new war of the sexes, it is the men who will be beaten, 
 because women work for lower wages they don't have 
 to make money to squander at the saloon ! Only the men 
 will be conquered, only the men, Monsieur Feliat! The 
 sons of middle-class families who haven't enough stamina 
 to marry girls without dowries will be sure to find those 
 same girls later poor girls whom they forced to go to 
 work! ... A new era has begun. In every land, among 
 rich and poor, out of every home deserted by drunkards 
 or left empty by those who fear the tribulations of mar- 
 riage, a woman will rise up and leave, and come and take 
 her place beside you, in the factory, in the workshop, in the 
 office. You wouldn't take her as a housewife, and she 
 
 34
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 refuses to prostitute herself to you she will be a work- 
 ing woman, a competitor, and a successful competitor! 
 Good-by ! 
 
 
 
 Brieux's latest play is Le Bourgeois aux champs. 
 " In this play," says Robert de Flers, " the peasant 
 types are drawn with great skill ; we feel that they 
 are true, so true indeed that they tend to throw the 
 principal character, Monsieur Cocatrix, into the 
 shade. Monsieur Brieux has attempted to mold 
 into a single figure two different bourgeois types 
 . . . one studied from life, one from literature." 
 Whatever he has attempted, he has succeeded in 
 creating a worthy successor to Moliere's Monsieur 
 Jourdain, Augier's Monsieur Poirier, and La- 
 biche's Monsieur Perrichon. The essentially 
 comic side of the worthy would-be agricultural re- 
 former is afforded a much larger place than is 
 customary in Brieux's plays; Brieux seems at last 
 to be ridding himself of the idea that each play 
 must teach or prove or destroy. 
 
 Cocatrix, a man of wealth and ambition, has 
 decided to leave Paris and establish himself in the 
 country, in order to reform farming methods and 
 ameliorate the material and moral welfare of the 
 peasants. Together with his wife and daughter 
 Fernande and his assistant Victor Maillard, he 
 enthusiastically starts his campaign. Loaded 
 down with works on scientific farming, hygiene, 
 " alcoholism," full of ideas on the " dignity of 
 labor " and the equality of men, he lives secure 
 in the belief that he will be received with open 
 arms by the people of the country. But he is 
 not long in finding out that he is hopelessly unfit 
 
 35
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 for his task, that at every turn those whom he had 
 intended to benefit do their best to ruin him ; they 
 poach upon his preserves, steal the fruit from his 
 trees, and destroy his property. He is an in- 
 truder always under suspicion; this constant war- 
 fare ends in making him still more illogical and 
 fitfully impetuous and impulsive. He will not al- 
 low his employees, for instance, their habitual 
 morning drink, and insists on giving them a chem- 
 ical non-alcholic concoction against which they 
 naturally rebel. He believes he knows what will 
 do them good, and tries at every turn to force it 
 down their throats. It is to this that they object. 
 One of the peasants, Biriot, is in conference with 
 the good bourgeois : 
 
 COCATRIX. . . . It's just as if we were total strangers 
 to one another. 
 
 BIRIOT. Well, you don't belong to this section 
 
 COCATRIX. [Discouraged.] What have I done to you? 
 Why don't they like me around here? Tell me, think 
 now! I could have stayed in Paris, and lived on my in- 
 come from this farm, and have had nothing to do with 
 you here. 
 
 BIRIOT. That would Ve satisfied us to a T. 
 
 COCATRIX. Did you ever ask yourselves why I've gone 
 to such trouble? 
 
 BIRIOT. It amuses you. 
 
 COCATRIX. No, it doesn't amuse me. 
 
 BIRIOT. Then it's so's you can be deputy. . . . 
 
 COCATRIX. Look at me now . . . let's speak as man 
 to man; two comrades I have your good at heart. If 
 I've done you any injury, any of you, or if I've made any 
 mistakes, it would be much better of you to tell me right 
 out, and not try to get even with me. . . . You believe 
 what I say, don't you?
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 BIRIOT. I don't know 
 
 COCATRIX. You don't know ? Don't I like you ? 
 
 BIRIOT. The same way's you like your horse: to get 
 him to work harder for you. 
 
 COCATRIX. Then I'm merely selfish, am I ? , No, you're 
 wrong. Give me a chance, now, to prove my friendship 
 for you. That's all I ask 
 
 BIRIOT. All right, I was wanting to speak to you about 
 something 
 
 COCATRIX. Tell me, tell me. It must be something 
 impossible for me to refuse it. 
 
 BIRIOT. All right : I want you to recommend me 
 
 COCATRIX. Where? To whom? For what? 
 
 BIRIOT. For a conductor. 
 
 COCATRIX. You ? A conductor? 
 
 Cocatrix's heart may be in the right place, but his 
 methods are wrong. He is a well-intentioned but 
 totally incompetent reformer. And here is pre- 
 cisely the proof of the fact that Brieux has not 
 wished to write a thesis play. Had he intended to 
 demonstrate that agricultural methods needed 
 radical reformation, that " reformers " could not 
 deal adequately with the question, he would not 
 have taken such pains to paint us the genial por- 
 trait of Monsieur Cocatrix. Surely no one could 
 ever imagine that he could reform! No, the 
 Bourgeois aux Champs is happily little other than 
 a character-study. 
 
 The last act accomplishes the transformation 
 in Cocatrix's mind which was already beginning 
 in the second. The somewhat unnecessary and 
 banal love-interest with Fernande and Victor is 
 brought to its long-anticipated conclusion. The 
 family, haunted with the thought that they must 
 
 37
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 spend the winter in idleness (they are still only in 
 October), finding "music, painting, looking at 
 photographs, puzzles, and ' Bridge,' " very tire- 
 some, are " dying of ennui." There is only one 
 thing to do: move to town. Cocatrix decides 
 to do this, and to run for deputy of the district. 
 As the peasants come to protest against an un- 
 popular decision he has made, he addresses them 
 from his open window : 
 
 Fellow Citizens: Certain enemies, jealous men from 
 the neighboring villages, have circulated the report that the 
 newly projected street-car line would not run through our 
 section. They lie ... the line as planned includes a 
 junction, so that you will have two lines. [Cheers.] . . . 
 Your magnificent fields, your handsome town, will receive 
 that consideration which is due their importance. . . . 
 And that is not all, for I myself will work in order to 
 better it. I have great pleasure in announcing to you a 
 new postoffice. ... I hereby humbly solicit your help, and 
 ask you for your support in obtaining the vacant place of 
 Councillor. I make no promises which I do not fulfill 
 your principles are my own principles, and mine yours. . . . 
 My platform in short is this: to do all in my power for 
 the country people. Pensions for aged farmers, reduction 
 of the number of officers without affecting those already 
 holding office; suppression of a standing army and the 
 establishment of a garrison in the neighboring sub-prefec- 
 ture. You are the masters a free Church with the 
 State in complete control. And let me warn you to be on 
 your guard against eleventh-hour conversions : my past will 
 answer for my future! [Cheers and applause.] My 
 friends, my dear friends ! I am your servant, your friend : 
 you may count on me as you would on yourselves. Oli- 
 garchy of the masses, human solidarity, social capillarity. 
 The Will of the People ! [Cheers.] Hurrah, hurrah ! 
 
 38
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 CROWD. [Outside.] Bravo! Bravo! 
 
 COCATRIX. Cheer, you fools! 
 
 COUNT BOUCHIN. My dear friend, you are far too 
 modest : you should run for deputy right now. 
 
 COCATRIX. [To the crowd.'] Wait, wait! My 
 friends. You are my friends, you are like a family to me. 
 I wish to announce to you some good news: I am truly a 
 Friend of the People, and this is the proof of what I say: 
 I, the libeled bourgeois, I am giving in marriage the hand 
 of my own daughter to a simple workingman ! [Cheers.] 
 Victor, Fernande, bow! 
 
 BOUCHIN. [To the public.] He will be Minister! 
 
 COCATRIX. [To himself, gravely, as he wipes his 
 brow.] Poor people! 
 
 Bouchin's remark is reminiscent of that of the 
 bonhomme Poirier which closes Augier's Le 
 Gendre de M. Poirier: " . . . et pair de France 
 en quarante-huit ! " Brieux's ability at the age of 
 fifty-six to adapt himself to a new manner, his 
 tendency to draw character for its own sake, his 
 preoccupation with human beings rather than with 
 human institutions, may well inspire the hope in us 
 that he may still write the comedy of the genera- 
 tion, a modern Gendre de M. Poirier! 
 
 39
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE is a Frenchman 
 among Frenchmen, a Latin among Latins. It is 
 rather difficult for the average Anglo-Saxon to see 
 much in his work outside what appears to be a con- 
 tinual obsession of the senses. Donnay may ana- 
 lyze love, Bataille use it as a prime motive to hu- 
 man action, but Porto-Riche revels in it. Every 
 poem, every play of his is a love-story. He once 
 said: "My first happy memory is that of a 
 woman." Had George Moore been a French- 
 man, he might have written Amoureuse. 
 
 The most dilettante fashion of life of this poet 
 has given him ample opportunity to write his plays 
 at leisure. The first appeared in 1873, the latest 
 in 1911. On one of his plays, Le Fieil Homme, 
 he spent fifteen years; recently he announced the 
 publication of three plays upon which he has been 
 working for at least five years, and which are not 
 expected for another two or three. Between the 
 production of Le Passe and Le Fieil Homme 
 there was an interval of thirteen years, during 
 which only one play, a short unimportant piece in 
 two acts, saw the stage. 
 
 Born at Bordeaux in 1849, f parents of Italian 
 extraction, he spent his early youth in dreamy un- 
 happiness. His must have been an extremely sen- 
 sitive nature, if we can credit his sentiment set 
 forth in the following verses : 
 
 40
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 Ma tristesse vous offensa. 
 Helas ! ma tete est orphelf ne, 
 Voila longtemps que je 1'incline, 
 Etant petit, c.a commenga. 
 
 Pouvre ecolier pres de mon frere, 
 J'etais vetu du bleu sarrot. 
 Heureux celui que Ton prefere! 
 Ma mere m'appelait " De Trop! " 
 
 De Trop, ce nom dit mes depresses ; 
 Ma mere ne m'a pas cheri 
 De mon enfance sans caresses 
 Je reste encore endolori. 
 
 . . . Je fus de ceux-la qui demeurent 
 Seuls au dortoir, un etc plein. 
 Ce n'est pas quand les parents meurent, 
 C'est alors qu'on est orphelin. 
 
 Like so many of his confreres he was forced to 
 take up the study of Law, but he soon abandoned 
 it as hopelessly uncongenial. " Secretly flattered," 
 says the poet's biographer, Claude R. Marx, " by 
 the youth's abandonment of his career, his father 
 even encouraged him to work at literature." In 
 spite of Porto-Riche's loneliness, of which he com- 
 plains in the poem above quoted, his first verses 
 were dedicated in turn to his mother, father, and 
 brothers. Slight volumes, appearing between 
 1872 and 1877, Prlma Verb a, Pommes d'Eve, and 
 Tout n'est pas Rose, show clear traces of literary 
 " influences," chiefly Victor Hugo, a poet warmly 
 admired by the impressionable youth. They were 
 judged sufficiently important to be regarded as 
 dangerous, as the author was imprisoned, " for 
 political reasons." The sensual and hypersensi- 
 
 41
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 tive nature of the man permeated these early 
 verses, and the sentiment of love, fleshly and 
 ethereal in turn, struck the note that was later to 
 be heard through every play. 
 
 A sojourn in the south of France and in Italy 
 soon gave wide scope to Porto-Riche's imagina- 
 tion; the atmosphere of those lands he seems to 
 have assimilated at once and breathed into the 
 softest verses and the most amorous scenes of his 
 poetic tragedy, L'Infidele, a play which was not 
 written however until many years later. 
 
 Returning to Paris, where he made the acquaint- 
 ance of Maupassant, he lived the true Vie de Bo- 
 heme, and like many another, carried manuscripts 
 of plays from manager to manager, without suc- 
 cess. Leaving aside the relatively unimportant po- 
 etic plays Le Vertige, Un Drama sous Philippe 
 II, Les Deux fautes, and Vanina all belong- 
 ing to the 'seventies, his first important mature 
 work was La Chance de Frangoise, a prose char- 
 acter piece. This one-act comedy was written in 
 1883, but not until Antoine had made way for the 
 productions of new authors did it see the boards. 
 It was first produced in 1888, and was so success- 
 ful that it has been often revived. After this 
 work had given the author some degree of renown, 
 the way was a little easier for the next plays. If 
 La Chance de Frangoise, as a Theatre Libre study, 
 did not attract very much attention, the next play 
 did: L'Infidele raised something of a contro- 
 versy. The daring lines, the rather brutal sen- 
 suality of the work, appeared to shock even a 
 Parisian public of the day, yet when the play was 
 revived at the Porte Saint-Martin in the autumn of 
 
 42
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 1913, the audience was enthusiastic. But L'ln- 
 fidele must be confessed a little trashy; even the 
 lovely verses cannot atone for the banal and melo- 
 dramatic story of the love-murder. The play, 
 however, paved the way for Porto-Riche's tri- 
 umphal entry into the theater as one of the great- 
 est dramatic writers of his day. He was soon 
 to produce work of finer caliber. Mme. Rejane's 
 production of Amoureuse in 1891 still remains one 
 of the memories which linger in the minds of those 
 first-nighters who were present at the premieres 
 even of Cyrano de Bergerac and Chantecler. 
 Amoureuse was in many senses an epoch-making 
 play. Even " Uncle " Francisque Sarcey, the 
 critic-despot, declared that it would be played for 
 twenty years, and the latest revival, twenty-two 
 years after, afforded no indication of flagging in- 
 terest on the part of the public. M. Marx quotes 
 a saying to the effect that if Porto-Riche is not the 
 father of many plays, of how many is he not the 
 grandfather? At this date it is perhaps a little 
 difficult to realize the originality of that early ef- 
 fort, especially in the light of the vast number of 
 derivative works. The best manner therefore of 
 approaching Amoureuse is to read the plays of the 
 epoch and those immediately preceding it. 
 Amoureuse is so astoundingly natural, its dialogue 
 so easy and flowing, the characters are so real, that 
 a first reading is likely to leave us asking, " What 
 is so great about it all? " The very simplicity of 
 it, the unemphatic action, the quietness with which 
 the slight plot is developed, make us part of the 
 action; here at last is the slice of life for which the 
 Naturalists had striven so hard! The gentle 
 
 43
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Porto-Riche, at heart a member of no school or 
 coterie, has outstripped all his contemporaries. 
 And his subject is developed by means of the 
 menage a trois; but the trois the husband, lover, 
 and wife are so much like ordinary human be- 
 ings, that any other course than the one adopted 
 would seem false. And the effect is alarming. 
 Yet the Anglo-Saxon must admit the truth of the 
 picture. He may object to the spectacle of an 
 over-sexed woman, but granted the hypothesis, he 
 cannot question the art and essential saneness of 
 the author's treatment of that woman, her hus- 
 band, and her lover. The subject is indeed some- 
 what unpleasant. 
 
 GERMAINE. It is not a question of right, my dear; it 
 is a question of love. 
 
 ETIENNE. But I am no less your victim, as I have been 
 for the past eight years. 
 
 GERMAINE. For the past eight years? 
 
 ETIENNE. Yes, and my torture has not yet come to 
 an end. 
 
 GERMAINE. Treason, eh? 
 
 ETIENNE. For many years we must live side by side, 
 acting our parts in unison all our personal habits, our 
 interests, even our deceptions must mingle together. We 
 are condemned to talk love to one another eternally, every 
 day! 
 
 GERMAINE. And every evening. 
 
 ETIENNE. . . . My physical self does not matter, I 
 want my thoughts to myself. 
 
 GERMAINE. You seem to want to get rid of me at 
 those times I can't understand it ! 
 
 ETIENNE. I should welcome them, and you, if you 
 weren't always the first to wish for them. 
 
 GERMAINE. You lie. 
 
 44
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 Then the mistake of the marriage', a mistake on 
 Etienne's part, is spoken of for the first time be- 
 tween husband and wife. 
 
 GERMAINE. If you were certain that I loved you, you 
 ought never to have married me! 
 
 ETIENNE. I was wrong to do it. 
 
 GERMAINE. You were over thirty, I was twenty . . . 
 I told you I adored you, and you took me. Why were 
 you so good, and so feeble? Why did you let me believe 
 in your love? Why didn't you lie, deceive me? Why 
 weren't you cruel at first? Why have you waited so 
 long to let me learn the truth? 
 
 ETIENNE. I was wrong. 
 
 GERMAINE. There! You are an egoist at bottom, a 
 real Don Juan: you wanted to be loved. 
 
 ETIENNE. Not so much as I have been! 
 
 GERMAINE. Did I give you more than you bargained 
 for? 
 
 ETIENNE. Yes. 
 
 GERMAIN. Poor man! I love him too much, and he 
 loves me too little. That is my crime! 
 
 ETIENNE. Our misery! 
 
 At the end of the act Etienne leaves for Italy, and 
 half in a joking mood he tells the " friend " to 
 "Take her; you adore her; console her. I give 
 her to you." In a fit of rage and unsatisfied love 
 she throws herself into Pascal's arms. On 
 Etienne's return he finds them together. He sends 
 Pascal off, and Germaine and Etienne have their 
 final explanation. Etienne, practically convinced 
 of his wife's guilt, and sure that he does not love 
 her now, wants her to leave his house forever. 
 She prepares to go. But the moment she puts on 
 her cloak and makes a step toward the door, he 
 bars the way. 
 
 45
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 ETIENNE. Where are you going? 
 
 GERMAINE. That is no concern of yours. 
 
 ETIENNE. I want to know. [She puts on her gloves] 
 You're going to kill yourself I know it. 
 
 GERMAINE. [Concealing her emotion.] You're mis- 
 taken; a woman who is going to kill herself does not put 
 on her gloves so calmly. 
 
 ETIENNE. Then where are you going? Tell me. 
 [As she attempts to pass him, he again bars her way] 
 You're not going to him, are you? 
 
 GERMAINE. Your jealousy comes a trifle late! 
 
 ETIENNE. You still bear my name. 
 
 GERMAINE. You have told me to go and I am go- 
 ing. 
 
 ETIENNE. Wait until I have had an explanation with 
 him! 
 
 GERMAINE. I shan't stay another five minutes under 
 this roof. 
 
 ETIENNE. If I have to put you under lock and key 
 and force you to stay, you shall not go to that cad! I 
 forbid you! [Once more she tries to go, but he seizes her 
 violently by the arm. She screams. Ashamed of himself 
 he says:} Oh, I've hurt you. I am sorry. 
 
 GERMAINE. [Full of hope.] Etienne! 
 
 ETIENNE. [Bitterly, after a moment's pause] Why 
 did my jealousy, my fear, make me open that door for you 
 again? Why did I prevent your going? Why this 
 wretched contradiction, which forced me to come back? 
 Can you go now? We have fought like mortal enemies, 
 insulted one another unpardonably ; I misread you: you 
 have been unfaithful to me and yet here I am. We are 
 bound together by the evil we have done, and by what we 
 have said to each other. How vile, how corrupt it all 
 is! [He cries.] 
 
 GERMAINE. [Also crying] My God! 
 
 ETIENNE. [Shamefacedly, after a pause] You did 
 lie, didn't you? You weren't going to him, were you? 
 
 46
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 GERMAINE. No. 
 
 ETIENNE. You still love me, you have never stopped 
 loving me ? Answer, please, you see what a coward I am ! 
 
 GERMAINE. Why do I need answer? Won't what I 
 have done always stand between us? We can't live to- 
 gether now? 
 
 ETIENNE. [With bowed head.] Perhaps. 
 
 GERMAINE. Perhaps. Then is there no justice? 
 
 ETIENNE. [Tenderly.] Thank God! 
 
 GERMAINE. [Going toward the door.] You're mad 
 -I'd better go. 
 
 ETIENNE. [Stopping her.] No! 
 
 GERMAINE. Think, Etienne, you will be very unhappy. 
 
 ETIENNE. [Not daring to look at her nor approach 
 her.] What difference does that make? 
 
 Germaine's supreme love may prove a source of 
 pain to herself and Etienne, but its very strength 
 binds the pair together. Her infidelity was merely 
 an incident, which served only to strengthen their 
 union. No, for the perfect amorist, Porto-Riche, 
 " there is no justice, thank God! "; there are only 
 feelings and sentiments, and the natural attraction 
 of one human being for another. 
 
 This attitude may not be moral but, says this 
 dramatist, it is life; it may indeed be the high- 
 est morality, but Porto-Riche is far too subtle an 
 artist to say so. Together with Maurice Donnay 
 he says although not directly that whatever 
 is sincere and natural is right. Donnay declares 
 that conjugal infidelity is a " social necessity," and 
 it is his wont to show that society usually punishes 
 offenders against its laws, not because the offenders 
 are " immoral " in any abstract sense of the term, 
 but because they are not " playing the game." 
 
 47
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 The wages of sin is not always death, say Donnay 
 and Porto-Riche, but sometimes peace and happi- 
 ness through suffering (in Donnay's Amants) and 
 greater love (Amoureuse}. How far this is from 
 The Second Mrs. Tanqueray! 
 
 Unwittingly has Porto-Riche exercised an in- 
 fluence over his followers which has been far from 
 good. Amoureuse was among the first of the 
 modern "triangle" plays; what he did so per- 
 fectly a host of imitators have often debased. 
 But he can no more be blamed for this than can 
 Brieux, whose Damaged Goods appeared as a sig- 
 nal for those works in which the authors strove 
 only to excite by means of the externally sensa- 
 tional. 
 
 Porto-Riche's next play was Le Passe, by some 
 critics considered superior to Amoureuse. But 
 the earlier play fortunately lacked the brutality of 
 Le Passe, the action was less artificial and the char- 
 acters truer to life. This play is the story of a 
 lying lover and a devoted mistress. The link of 
 passion is apparently adamantine, but in the hour 
 of doubt and trial, she realizes the essential small- 
 ness, the deceit and hypocrisy of the man she loves. 
 "Go away," she cries; "you will always lie!" 
 The " all for love " theme, which was the basis of 
 Amoureuse, is varied here a little, but we are left 
 rather uncertain as to the dramatist's exact inten- 
 tion. 
 
 The long-awaited Vieil Homme reached the 
 stage in 1911. It is a bulky play (four hundred 
 closely-printed pages), and by far the most ambi- 
 tious of Porto-Riche's works. The story is 
 summed up by Edmond Stoullig in his well-known 
 
 48
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 Annales du theatre et de la musique: " The ' Old 
 Man ' is the indomitable instinct for galanterie in 
 the heart of Michel Fontanet. Was he not one 
 of those nomads in quest of the baser appetites, 
 of adultery for its own sake, who sow despair and 
 moral ruin in their wake? So for some twelve 
 years has he rendered his unfortunate wife 
 Therese most unhappy. In vain does this Don 
 Juan, who is past forty, endeavor to quiet down; 
 in vain has he buried himself in the country, and 
 established a great printing firm at Vizille, in the 
 Dauphine ; in vain is he a good father and a good 
 husband, very much in love with his wife; in vain, 
 attached to his work and faithful to his duties. 
 Now comes the brazen coquette, a woman of pleas- 
 ure, to all appearances a simple little bourgeoise, 
 and with her sensuality shatters at a blow all of 
 the former roue's fine resolutions, at a time when 
 he was at last beginning to settle down. Scarcely 
 has Brigitte Allain set foot in the peaceful home 
 when he feels his butterfly nature returning, as he 
 comes to know the pretty attractive creature. And 
 she is not long to hold out against his advances. 
 Meantime Madame Fontanet learns the truth. 
 But the weak man, the man of pleasure, sacrifices 
 more persons than one in his fall: his son is 
 claimed as a victim. At first the author has shown 
 us Augustin, the child of the household, an impres- 
 sionable and sentimental youth, susceptible and 
 perhaps intelligent beyond his years. Uncon- 
 sciously he falls in love with Brigitte. Convinced 
 of the intrigue between his father and the woman 
 he adores in his own nai've way, the poor child 
 seeks death by jumping over a nearby precipice. 
 
 49
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 He is brought to his parents in a dying condition. 
 . . . while outside a tempest rages. . . . Over 
 the body of her dead child the woman curses his 
 executioner who, for the satisfaction of his basest 
 instincts, had not hesitated for an instant to sacri- 
 fice the two beings for whom he ought to have 
 sacrificed everything. But love, love stronger 
 than all else, arrests the curse on the outraged 
 woman's lips. We feel, alas, that she will forgive 
 him, that she has indeed already done so." 
 
 " L' Amour est une chose et le bonheur en est 
 une autre " " love is one thing, happiness 
 another " says Michel in this play. Porto- 
 Riche wrote Amoureuse and Le Vieil Homme to 
 show this. Germaine and Therese are those 
 women who love the deepest, and suffer the most, 
 yet somehow the poet makes us feel that these are 
 just the ones who live the best lives. There is no 
 question of moral right or wrong; Porto-Riche 
 little cares to discuss the question whether Ger- 
 maine or Therese ought to leave their respective 
 husbands; he tells us that such wives do not leave 
 them, because they cannot. 
 
 Porto-Riche is now at work on four plays J 
 U Amour de Manon, Le Paradis -perdu, L'Eleve, 
 and La Revanche the last three of which are to 
 be collected in the same volume with Le Vieil 
 Homme, under the general title of Drames 
 d' Amour et d'Amitie. There is little reason to 
 suppose that they will differ radically from the 
 earlier plays, so that any judgment now formed 
 
 1 A little one-act comedy, Zubiri, was produced at the Comedie 
 Royale in 1912. The subject was taken from one of Victor 
 Hugo's poems. 
 
 50
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 
 of this dramatist will doubtless hold true of those 
 works to come. 
 
 The author of Amoureuse is pretty well assured 
 of a place in the front rank of the dramatists of 
 his generation; his sensitive nature, his genius for 
 analysis of the feminine soul be it in man or 
 woman his gift of style, his ability to construct 
 a smooth and swift-moving story, entitle him to 
 more glory than would his entrance into the Acad- 
 emic Franchise, an honor which has not yet been 
 vouchsafed to him. Yet possibly he cherishes the 
 thought of being the Forty-first Immortal, together 
 with Balzac, Daudet, Maupassant, and Flaubert, 
 and is content to remain simply the " conserva- 
 teur " of the Bibliotheque Mazarine, the windows 
 of which overlook the Cupola of the Academic, he 
 the author of Amoureuse!
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 THERE are few contrasts more striking than that 
 between Porto-Riche and Paul Hervieu: on the 
 one hand, perfect freedom from restraint in the 
 consideration and treatment of human passions, 
 on the other, almost mathematical precision in the 
 delineation of men and women struggling with 
 faulty social conditions and prejudices. Porto- 
 Riche tells a love story for the sake of telling it 
 and in order to analyze the feelings of the char- 
 acters, Hervieu tells a love-story, if such it can 
 be called, in which passions play but a subordinate 
 part. Porto-Riche is interested in the characters 
 as human beings, Hervieu as puppets who are part 
 of a larger scheme of things. Hervieu delights 
 in showing the struggle, Porto-Riche the con- 
 testants. 
 
 Paul Hervieu was born at Neuilly-on-the-Seine 
 in 1857. His early education was of a frag- 
 mentary character for, entering the Lycee Bona- 
 parte at Paris in 1869 he was soon forced, when 
 the War of 1870 broke out, to leave for Dieppe. 
 From that city he attended in turn, but for short 
 periods only, schools in Boulogne-sur-mer, then 
 Fontainebleau, and at last returned to Paris, and 
 entered the Lycee Condorcet. After the comple- 
 tion of his preliminary studies, he became a student 
 
 52
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 in the Law School from which he was graduated 
 in 1 88 1, assuming a position in a law office im- 
 mediately after. Appointed secretary to the Mex- 
 ican Embassy, he refused that honor, preferring 
 to remain in his native country and assume charge 
 of the Republicain de Seine-et-Marne. In 1882 
 Hervieu's first book, Diogene-le-Chien, made its 
 appearance. Guy de Maupassant gave it high 
 praise and predicted that the author would " soon 
 be known." From this time on Hervieu continued 
 to contribute articles, sketches, and stories, to the 
 daily papers; a number of these were later pub- 
 lished in book form. Between the years 1881 
 and 1896 he put forth numerous novels and further 
 sketches and stories: La Betise parisienne, Les 
 Yeux verts et les yeux bleus, L'Inconnu, Les Deux 
 plaisanteries, Flirt, L'Exorcisee, Feints par eux- 
 memes, L' Armature and Le Petit Due. His first 
 play, Point de Lendemain, an adaptation in two 
 scenes of a story by Vivant Denon, was produced 
 in 1890. Alphonse Daudet it was who suggested 
 the writing of the next play, which was Les Pa- 
 roles Restent, a " dramatic comedy " in three acts. 
 This was produced at the Vaudeville in 1892. 
 Three years later the youthful playwright achieved 
 his first notable success: Les Tenailles received 
 the sanction of production at the Comedie Fran- 
 ?aise, the austere temple of French Classicism. 
 The same theater stood sponsor for the next two 
 plays, La Loi de I'homme and L'Enigme. But it 
 was La Course du Flambeau (given by Madame 
 Rejane at the Vaudeville) that was destined to 
 make its author famous in his own land and es- 
 tablish his reputation on a firm basis. Theroigne 
 
 53
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 de Mericourt, a long historical drama in six acts, 
 was played by Sarah Bernhardt at her own theater. 
 Le Dedale, one of Hervieu's greatest successes, 
 was seen at the Comedie the following year. Le 
 Reveil, Modestie, Connais-toi, Bagatelle, and Le 
 Destin est Maitre, complete the list of plays. 
 
 Member of the Academic Francaise, president 
 of the Society of Dramatic Authors, the recipient 
 of most of the honors that can be accorded to a 
 French writer, M. Hervieu is held in the highest 
 esteem by his contemporaries, and respected by the 
 French people at large. 
 
 Diogene-le-Chien, Hervieu's first work, is called 
 a novel; it is, however, a philosophical essay, some- 
 thing in the manner of the quietly ironical and 
 gently cynical " novels " of Anatole France, who 
 was, by the way, much pleased with the work. 
 The book is characterized by that nervous, high- 
 pressure and somewhat difficult style which is to 
 be found in Hervieu's best work, plays as well as 
 novels. L' Armature and Feints par eux-memes 
 are among the finest of his works of fiction, and 
 are particularly interesting as being illustrative of 
 the good and bad qualities of all his writing. 
 U Armature is clear and unified, with a central fig- 
 ure round which moves a well-constructed and care- 
 fully managed story; in Feints par eux-memes the 
 story is perhaps less unified, though moving and 
 tense. Certain scenes in these novels have been 
 cited as coming from the hand of a man who was 
 a born dramatist. It is at least significant that 
 M. Brieux has made a play out of L' Armature. 
 Only one dramatic work of importance preceded 
 these novels Les Paroles Restent and that 
 
 54
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 was scarcely indicative of the more mature work to 
 come. 
 
 Although his novels have brought him a certain 
 measure of fame, it is as a writer of plays that 
 Hervieu is preeminently known. He and Brieux 
 are the greatest living exponents of the " thesis " 
 play; neither ever wrote a play without having 
 some distinct and more or less immediate purpose 
 in view. If this purpose was not the righting of 
 a wrong, it was at least the illustration of some 
 law of nature bearing directly upon a social abuse 
 or " professional bias." Both writers are actu- 
 ated by a desire to benefit mankind, either by point- 
 ing out the road to improvement or as is more 
 frequently the case by showing the pitfalls on 
 the road to evil. Hervieu, himself a lawyer, in 
 some of his best plays attacks the law because he 
 considers it in many respects unjust, unsuited to the 
 varying needs of capricious men and women; 
 Brieux attacks all authority because he is convinced 
 that " in human hands it tends to become tyr- 
 anny." As an artist, by reason of his distinctive 
 style and more fastidious sense of form, Hervieu 
 must be conceded the superior of Brieux, but Brieux 
 is more human, brutally powerful, more personal 
 and acrimonious and consequently, at times per- 
 haps, a little one-sided. But Brieux is on the 
 whole just and logical (that is, if we accept his 
 point of view), but the reticent and austere 
 Hervieu has weighed his words well, and when he 
 speaks we may be sure to have a fair statement. 
 Perhaps this very passion for logical perfection 
 in Hervieu lessens the value of his plays as human 
 documents; certainly La Course du Flambeau is 
 
 55
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 more like a mathematical theorem than a series of 
 incidents from life molded into a harmonious 
 whole. All Hervieu's plays are often criticised 
 for their almost too perfect balance, and their con- 
 sequent lack of the human element; and it cannot 
 be denied that in the play just mentioned, and in 
 Les Tenuities and La Loi de I'homme, Hervieu 
 has overestimated the exigencies of his theme and 
 assumed the role rather of scientific expositor than 
 that of a critic of life. But in spite of an occa- 
 sional too rigid adherence to the logic of his plot 
 and a too great insistence on the formal precision 
 of his ideas, Hervieu has accomplished more for 
 the cause of his art than almost any other of his 
 contemporaries. In Brunetiere's Address on the 
 Reception of Hervieu into the Academic Franchise, 
 he states that the plays of the young writer marked 
 an epoch in the theater of the day, bringing once 
 more as they did true tragedy in modern guise to 
 the contemporaneous stage. And it is for this 
 reason, as well as because of the intrinsic value of 
 the plays that Hervieu will be remembered. Not 
 content merely with the depiction of character in 
 action, or with the consideration of present-day 
 problems, he has effected a return to the eternal 
 struggles, having root in all mankind: between 
 parent and child, love and duty, will-power and 
 inclination. If he places his personages in a 
 twentieth century environment and sets them con- 
 tending with modern conditions, it is only that he 
 may bring his audience into closer sympathy with 
 him than if he were to adopt the conventional 
 magnificence and pomp of classical tragedy. 
 " Nowadays," says M. Hervieu, " we try to show 
 
 56
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 how the struggle for existence bears down inexor- 
 ably upon those who are imprudent, too weak to 
 defend themselves, those whose passions are 
 stronger than their will to resist them." And by 
 way of illustration of this statement he has written 
 at least two plays that may fairly be accounted 
 among the finest of modern tragedies: Le De- 
 dale and La Course du Flambeau. In the former, 
 the very essence of the tragedy is its inevitable- 
 ness : in the heart of humanity is the love of parent 
 for child, and the external forces that tend to in- 
 terfere with this deeply-imbedded instinct are 
 bound to fail. In the latter, the element of fate 
 is no less predominant; here the love of mother 
 for daughter drives a woman to kill her own 
 mother. The play ends with the words : " For 
 my daughter I have killed my mother." 
 
 Of the remaining plays, Les Tenailles, 
 L'Enigme, Le Reveil, Connais-toi and Bagatelle, 
 are the most important. La Lol de I'homme and 
 Les Paroles Restent are early works of only rela- 
 tive merit; Point de Lendemain, merely an adapta- 
 tion, Theroigne de Mericourt, a historical drama, 
 and Modestie, a delightful one-act trifle. Con- 
 sidering the plays in chronological order, and omit- 
 ting Point de Lendemain, we come first to Les 
 Paroles Restent. 
 
 The choice of theme is significant: a man starts 
 a slanderous story about a young woman. The 
 story, it turns out later, is without foundation. 
 He falls in love with the woman, and confesses 
 that he was the instigator of the story, and she 
 leaves him. There is a duel, the man is severely 
 wounded and, just before he dies, he is made to 
 
 57
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 feel the terrible irony of circumstances, for he 
 hears the last echo of his thoughtless gossip. 
 Words remain ! The impossibility of escaping 
 the consequences of our deeds is a subject for true 
 tragedy: it is a theme which Hervieu later worked 
 out on a larger scale. 
 
 Les Tenailles, a more mature work, is the story 
 of a woman who, having ceased to love her hus- 
 band, tells him she is in love with another man and 
 wishes to go away with him. The husband, who 
 loves his wife as little as she does him, refuses to 
 let her go; " the wife is prisoner to the husband." 
 At the end of ten years, after the birth of a child, 
 a dispute arises over his education. In the heat 
 of the argument, the woman tells her husband that 
 the child is not his, but hers by the man she for- 
 merly loved. The husband is now willing to grant 
 his wife the divorce for which she asked ten years 
 ago, but this time she refuses: she must have pro- 
 tection for herself and her child. She cannot 
 leave now. " They must go hand in hand man- 
 acled to the end, let the nippers gall as they will. 
 There is the child. Its future is at stake." " We 
 are only two wretched people," says the wife, 
 " and misery knows only equals." A greater 
 sureness of touch in the handling of the dialogue 
 and particular scenes and a finer insight into char- 
 acter enter into the composition of this play than 
 into the preceding. 
 
 La Loi de I'homme is an attack upon man-made 
 laws; those articles in the code which accord the 
 right to the father, and not to the mother, to con- 
 sent to the marriage of the child, and that fail to 
 place husband and wife upon an equal legal foot- 
 
 58
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 ing in the question of marital infidelity, are the butt 
 of this acrimonious feminist play. 
 
 L'Enigme is chiefly interesting because it vio- 
 lates one of the " laws " of dramatic technique 
 which was formerly supposed to be inviolable: 
 never keep a secret from the audience. One of 
 two sisters-in-law is unfaithful to her husband. 
 Which? That is the enigma which is not solved 
 until the close of the play. With the utmost skill 
 the author contrives to keep his audience in sus- 
 pense, and in this he succeeds, with the result, how- 
 ever, that the interest of the play lies almost en- 
 tirely in the effort to solve the mystery which is, 
 after all, of comparatively small importance. 
 
 Theroigne de Mericourt, Hervieu's only at- 
 tempt in the field of historical drama, was highly 
 successful; by reason of its character portrayal, 
 its vividness and its power, its dignity, and the ex- 
 cellence of its literary style, it ranks as one of the 
 best modern plays of its kind. 
 
 Le Dedale is, I am inclined to think, Hervieu's 
 masterpiece. Les Tenailles can hardly claim the 
 title: it is too bald; nor can La Course du Flam- 
 beau, which is too " sketchy." Both are marked 
 by a brevity which is at times irritating, and a lack 
 of the broad spirit of humanity which informs Le 
 Dedale. This play contains at least two admir- 
 able and truly pathetic and tragic figures, Mari- 
 anne and Guillaume, and the theme is allowed to 
 develop through the agency of the unfortunate 
 characters, and not according to the incorrigible 
 demands of the dramatist. 
 
 Marianne is the divorced wife of Max de Pogis, 
 by whom she has one young son. When the play 
 
 59
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 opens Marianne is on the point of acceding to the 
 demands of Guillaume Le Breuil, a sincere and 
 gallant suitor for her hand. There are but two 
 possible obstacles to the union: Marianne's 
 Catholic mother, for whom divorce does not exist, 
 and Marianne's fear that her love for Guillaume 
 is not so great as it should be. But she at length 
 gives in. One day, after the marriage, Max's 
 mother comes to Marianne to intercede in favor 
 of her son, who wishes to have a voice in the edu- 
 cation of his son; indeed, he demands " an equal 
 share " of the child's time. Marianne at first re- 
 bels, but as the law is against her in spite of the 
 fact that she divorced Max on the ground of in- 
 fidelity and as she permits herself to be per- 
 suaded by her former husband in person, she con- 
 sents to allow the boy to be taken, in company with 
 Max and Madame de Pogis to their country estate 
 for a few weeks. The third act brings us to the 
 chateau where the little fellow has contracted 
 diphtheria, and is now convalescing. Meantime 
 Marianne has undergone a strange transforma- 
 tion: her constant association with the father of 
 her child over the sick-bed has caused old mem- 
 ories to arise and before she knows it, she finds 
 that she still loves Max. As she is about to leave 
 for Paris to return to her husband, Max comes to 
 her room. 
 
 MAX. This is what I want to tell you. I was once 
 unfaithful to you, before we were separated; it hurt, it 
 suffocated me. I should not have had the courage to con- 
 tinue much longer. If you hadn't found out my miscon- 
 duct almost as soon as it began, I should very soon have 
 
 60
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 stopped of my own accord. But I lost my head when the 
 blow came. Instead of seeing myself as the only cause 
 of trouble between us, I was angry with you for having 
 found me out. I hated you because you forced me to 
 recognize that I had committed a crime! 
 
 MARIANNE. [Indignantly.] You made me responsi- 
 ble! Me! You accused me! Me! 
 
 MAX. I am merely confessing. ... I was ready to 
 plunge into any abyss of iniquity when I felt the sting of 
 your revenge. You insulted in public the woman who 
 had wronged you; that killed her at once, socially, in our 
 circle and in hers. ... I was forced into that marriage: it 
 was a kind of reparation for what I had done. And that 
 is how, after my little fling, I was dragged on and on, 
 regretting more and more that I lost you. 
 
 MARIANNE. When I first heard of your misconduct, 
 you should have done everything to calm me, to regain 
 my affection. 
 
 MAX. . . . Marianne, if I hadn't implicitly believed 
 your protestations, if I had doubted, or tried harder to 
 protect myself . . . could you have forgiven me? 
 
 MARIANNE. How can I tell? Who knows what 
 might have happened at such a time? I was wild with 
 grief, desperate I threw myself on that sofa, as if I had 
 been shot 
 
 MAX. God, what I made you suffer ! 
 
 MARIANNE. . . . The hours that night passed by 
 while I lay in a trance . . . 
 
 MAX. . . . Marianne, Marianne, forgive me! 
 
 MARIANNE. . . . [She bursts into sobs.] . . . 
 
 MAX. Marianne! I was impulsive, hateful, but I 
 have never loved any one but you ! Every thought of love 
 has been for you, for you alone ! 
 
 MARIANNE. You lie! [Coming back to reality.] 
 Leave me ! 
 
 MAX. No, don't say that! 
 
 61
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 MARIANNE. [Going from him.] You have carried 
 me off my feet ! I'm not well, I don't know what I'm say- 
 ing! I'm not myself! 
 
 MAX. Oh, yes, you are just the same as you were the 
 evening of our marriage, with your hair down that way, 
 and your shoulders bare! You are trembling, you know 
 what I want! 
 
 MARIANNE. You know I can be nothing to you! 
 Leave me, pity me ! Don't torture me ! 
 
 MAX. No, Marianne, your grief is over. The only 
 evil memory you had left has been buried in this room. 
 . . . Even if I said nothing, you would still hear the echo 
 of our kisses again 
 
 MARIANNE. I don't want to hear 
 
 MAX. Yes, yes, you do ! Listen to the air vibrate with 
 our love! Think of our dear child, of his hopes, of his 
 very life, which first came into being in this very room ! 
 
 MARIANNE. How could you leave me? Why did 
 you do it ? Why are you no longer my husband ? 
 
 MAX. During these last days, when we protected our 
 child from death, didn't you feel it was our very love that 
 we were bringing back to life again? 
 
 MARIANNE. It's true, I couldn't resist the thought. 
 Yes, I felt it! 
 
 MAX. Ah, I knew! In the supreme joy we experi- 
 enced in the recovery of the boy, there came the rebirth 
 of love to you and me. Don't struggle against it any 
 longer. I am the father of your little one, the father who 
 agonized with you for him, and fought with my whole 
 soul. To-night, when we are no longer afraid, when we 
 deserve happiness, the father is brought again to the 
 mother ! Take me ! I adore you oh, take me ! 
 
 MARIANNE. [Feebly resisting.] I am yours! 
 
 But Marianne cannot return to Guillaume, nor can 
 she live with Max, whom she loathes. Guillaume 
 learns of her infidelity, and sets out to find Max. 
 
 62
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 The last act takes place on a high terrace, above 
 a deep cataract of the Rhone. Max has been in 
 the neighborhood for some time, trying to meet 
 Marianne, and one evening he comes to the ter- 
 race. But Guillaume, intercepting the letter in 
 which he tells of his coming, meets his rival. 
 " There is a quick struggle. Under the weight of 
 the men, the wooden railing gives way: Max and 
 Guillaume fall down into the chasm. The voice 
 of Marianne is heard in the distance. . . . Lit- 
 tle Louis, for whom the mother is looking, runs 
 in. * Come here, my life ! My love! . . .' 
 Along the edge of the precipice, below which are 
 the vast silence and the peace of death, the mother 
 takes the child toward the house where he, in his 
 turn, will grow into manhood and work out his 
 destiny." 
 
 In no other play has Hervieu attained and pre- 
 served so great a height of sympathetic and pas- 
 sionate emotional power, nor exposed the relent- 
 less working-out of human motives struggling with 
 forces greater than they; nowhere else has he sus- 
 tained his interest and developed his story simul- 
 taneously, with so sure a hand. Faults the play 
 has, faults of style and faults of technique, while 
 the denouement has often been severely censured. 
 Hervieu himself once said: "I have always 
 avoided arbitrary endings (the punishment of vice 
 and the reward of virtue) and opportune deaths, 
 whereby in the last act those who are in the way 
 are fortunately disposed of." After this affirma- 
 tion, it is impossible to conceive Hervieu's so con- 
 tradicting himself as to use the suicide-murder of 
 Max and Guillaume as a facile expedient to rid 
 
 63
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 himself of " those who are in the way." His 
 reasons must have lain deeper. Consider Mari- 
 anne's position : if she dies, the child remains, and 
 also the two husbands; if Guillaume dies, she is at 
 the mercy of Max, against whom her innate mod- 
 esty rebels; if Max dies, it must be by Guillaume's 
 hand but then Guillaume would remain, with 
 his crime and Marianne's infidelity to keep the two 
 apart. What remains? Both must die, for the 
 good of Marianne and for the good of the child. 
 This is therefore the natural, the inevitable solu- 
 tion. Yet somehow it seems unsatisfactory, es- 
 pecially, as M. Adolphe Brisson the critic of 
 the Temps points out, as the catastrophe is de- 
 pendent upon Guillaume's superior strength, for 
 what if Max had been the stronger? This is a 
 serious criticism, but as the solution is a just one, 
 the means employed to that end are of compara- 
 tive insignificance. The play as a whole is grip- 
 ping, vital, true; it is, in Mr. Huneker's words, 
 " a great section of throbbing, real life." 
 
 Le Reveil is the most abstract and " intellec- 
 tual " of the plays. The theme is a subtle one for 
 dramatic use : " There are certain crises in our 
 lives," says Antoine Benoist, " when it may be said 
 that we are no longer ourselves; carried away 
 either by enthusiasm or by a great wave of pas- 
 sion, we are capable of performing acts good 
 or evil that before or after, appear to us ut- 
 terly out of keeping with our character. Such 
 are the sudden and violent crises that ordinarily 
 serve as subjects for the writer of dramas and 
 tragedies. But suppose that the moment before 
 the catastrophe, when two lovers are about to ruin 
 
 64
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 their lives, a sudden light illumines the abyss yawn- 
 ing at their feet." Here is the " awakening " 
 which the author treats of in Le Reveil. The 
 woman who is willing to leave husband and child 
 for the man she loves suddenly sees the full ex- 
 tent and import of the crime she is about to com- 
 mit, and tells her lover: "No, I am no longer 
 the woman to whom you were everything. I 
 thought you were dead, and I saw that I must 
 continue to live, if not for myself, at least for my 
 husband and my child." 
 
 Connais-toi marks a return to the earlier choice 
 of theme: man is feeble, for he does not know 
 himself; has he therefore the right to judge 
 others? As in La Course du Flambeau the cen- 
 tral idea is epitomized in the final speech of the 
 play; in this case: "Who knows himself?" 
 General de Siberan, a man of the strictest prin- 
 ciples, infallible in his own estimation in questions 
 of honor and morality, believes that a guest in his 
 home is carrying on a clandestine love affair with 
 another of his guests, Madame Doncieres; he in- 
 sists that the lieutenant leave at once. But it is 
 not long before he learns that his own son is the 
 offender; the son is not however sent away. 
 Doncieres, the woman's husband, asks the Gen- 
 eral's advice, and determines to divorce his wife. 
 After Doncieres leaves, the General surprises his 
 own wife in the arms of the lieutenant. The blow 
 paralyzes him, and he can only forgive and ask, 
 "Who knows himself?" 
 
 Bagatelle shows greater flexibility than any of 
 the preceding plays. It appears that the author, 
 weary of that careful planning and precision which 
 
 65
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 characterized such works as Les Tenailles and La 
 Course du Flambeau, wished to write a comedy of 
 manners, and in a more leisurely fashion elaborate 
 characters for their own sake. The curious point 
 about this play is that it is made up of interesting 
 and picturesque fragments; the theme is neither 
 very clear nor convincing. A number of couples 
 play at love " Bagatelle " some are scorched, 
 but they are assured that time heals all wounds. 
 Bagatelle is fuller of promise of a new manner 
 than an actual achievement. It stands in relation 
 to Hervieu's works much as does Brieux's Le 
 Bourgeois aux champs, indicating that the author 
 is not too old to change, and change for the better. 
 The latest play is Le Destin est Maitre, a trag- 
 edy in two acts. It was first produced in a 
 translation by the spirituel Benavente in Ma- 
 drid, during the season of 1914. Not many weeks 
 later, it was seen together with Flers and Cail- 
 lavet's Monsieur Bretonneau in Paris, on the 
 boards of the Porte Saint-Martin. Le Destin est 
 Maitre the very title is unmistakably Her- 
 vieuesque is a swift-moving and compact play. 
 The first act it comprises but two reveals to 
 us the faithful and high-minded Juliane Bereuil, 
 whose husband, at the time away from home, is 
 about to come to trial on a charge of embezzle- 
 ment. Juliane's brother, Severin, attempts to 
 regulate matters, and save if possible the honor of 
 the family. Gaetan, the husband, comes from 
 Paris in order to obtain the funds necessary for his 
 escape from the country; but his brother will not 
 permit him this easy method of escape: he must 
 face the music or kill himself. There is a ter- 
 
 66
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 rible scene between the two; then Severin shoots 
 his brother-in-law. Juliane, who has been absent 
 meanwhile, praying in a nearby church, learns the 
 truth from her brother. But the brother, unable 
 to remain longer in the presence of the woman and 
 her children whom his sense of honor has so sorely 
 stricken, gives up his rank in the army, and goes 
 to join the Foreign Legion. 
 
 The play is too summary, it smacks a little too 
 much of the Les Tenailles rigidity; it is certainly 
 no advance upon that early play. Bagatelle gave 
 hopes of a new manner, a brighter mood.
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN is a painter of contemporary 
 manners with an extraordinary endowment of that 
 quality, very difficult to define, which the French 
 call esprit. He is also something of a moralist. 
 
 Alfred Capus is a painter of manners, but he 
 rarely digs beneath the surface of things. Half a 
 dozen French dramatists of the day possess keen 
 senses of humor at least the equal of that of Lave- 
 dan. And Brieux is certainly a moralist. Yet 
 Lavedan resembles none of his contemporaries. 
 Perhaps this isolation is partly the result of his 
 birth and early education. A born bourgeois as 
 to class, he lived in a family where " the highest 
 ideals and the strictest sense of what was fitting 
 were of long and traditional standing." Add to 
 this, a good education, with few obstacles to be 
 overcome, and we find the youthful Lavedan in a 
 position to see the life of his time in a clear and 
 steady light. Capus, by reason of his compara- 
 tively narrow education, Brieux, because of his pre- 
 occupation with social questions, and also of his 
 birth and breeding, Donnay, warped a little by too 
 close application to the erotic all lack the out- 
 look of their more fortunate confrere. With 
 equal sureness of touch and sympathy he can show 
 us the intimate life of the full-blooded aristocrat 
 (Le Prince d'Aurec}, and the unfortunate little 
 
 68
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 bourgeoise music-teacher (Catherine) ; he can en- 
 ter into the sentiments of the " viveur," and then 
 turn round and condemn him with all the impre- 
 cations of an enraged Brieux (Le Marquis de 
 Priola) . Where Hervieu sketches a shadow, a 
 lay-figure, Lavedan paints a portrait; where 
 Brieux criticizes a condition of affairs, Lavedan 
 makes a living story of it. But Lavedan has dis- 
 tinct limitations; for if little Catherine is well- 
 drawn and sympathetic, she is, we feel, too good to 
 be true. If Le Duel be a supremely skillful piece 
 of technique and an interesting psychological 
 study, its end is weak and unconvincing. 
 
 Lavedan is an unequal writer; his occasional 
 shortcomings are probably more noticeable than 
 those of most of his fellow-writers. It seems that 
 he has never been quite sure as to what style of 
 work he was best fitted. About twenty years 
 after the production of his first play, he was still 
 searching for new ways of presenting his material. 
 Character-drawing is his supreme gift. When we 
 think of the bulk of his work, we forget the weak 
 plots of some of the plays, the faulty technique of 
 many of them, and think only of the three or four 
 commanding figures for which he will long be re- 
 membered: Le Prince d'Aurec, Le Marquis de 
 Priola, and Paul Costard. 
 
 A few lines will suffice to render a brief account 
 of the life of Lavedan. Born at Orleans in 1859, 
 he was sent first to a small seminary not far from 
 his native town, 'then to the Lycee Louis-le-Grand 
 and the Institution Bossuet at Paris, and later 
 to Jesuit schools at Nantes and Poitiers. He re- 
 turned to Paris from the provinces to finish his 
 
 69
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 studies, when the War of 1870 broke out. 
 Henri's father placed the youth in the hands of 
 the priests, with whom Henri remained during the 
 terrible siege and the Commune. At the end of 
 those troublous times, he was graduated, and im- 
 mediately agreed to the wishes of his parents, who 
 had determined to make a lawyer of him ; but one 
 year of law was so disagreeable, that upon passing 
 his examinations, he refused to continue to work 
 for a profession which was obviously so little in 
 accordance with his inclination and ability. 
 
 At this period, for the first time, Lavedan be- 
 gan to experience some of the hardships of life 
 in Paris which are usually the lot of young men 
 without a profession. He was not long, however, 
 in making a way for himself in the field in which 
 he was destined to succeed. 
 
 Among his first literary efforts were numerous 
 little dialogues of a type which he has con- 
 tinued to write to this day : diminutive quarts 
 d'heure, which made their appearance from time 
 to time in newspapers and magazines. But 
 printed dialogues hardly make a dramatist. One 
 day he showed some of these trifles to the ever- 
 ready and enterprising Antoine, who produced 
 them at his Theatre Libre, to the horror of many 
 members of the critical world, who considered the 
 little " scenes " as decadent tag-ends of plays. 
 Lavedan himself realized that they were not very 
 ambitious efforts, and set to work on a serious 
 long play, Une Famille, which had the good luck 
 to be accepted by the Comedie Franchise and 
 played in 1891. The play is not a significant one, 
 except that it proved that Lavedan was able to con- 
 
 70
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 struct a full-length play and hold the interest of 
 the audience. Yet the " dialogue " style was still 
 to be observed in this larger fabric; Une Famille 
 was in reality a cleverly strung series of conversa- 
 tions. It may be well to look into one or two of 
 these trifles, for they give evidence of some of the 
 chief qualities of the writer: observation of details, 
 and skill in dialogue. 
 
 Paul and his sister Frangoise meet early one 
 morning; she is coming home from the ball, he 
 from the club. Paul has lost a good deal of 
 money, while she has been " fearfully bored." 
 He tells his sister that if she fails to appreciate 
 the men she meets at dances she may lose her 
 chance of marrying. 
 
 FRANCHISE. I tell you, I despise the whole lot ! 
 
 PAUL. Of course, but that is no reason for not marry- 
 ing one of them. 
 
 FRANgoiSE. Think so? 
 
 PAUL. Lord ! Of course ! Take the least impossi- 
 ble one. He'll improve with age, settle down, and in a 
 year or a year and a half, when he'll be merely a father 
 to you, well, you'll have a very nice, respectable little hus- 
 band. 
 
 FRANCHISE. I tell you, I have other ideas on the ques- 
 tion of marriage. Mine will be a marriage of inclination 
 pleasure. 
 
 PAUL. Impossible! I've given the matter more 
 thought than you may perhaps imagine, and I have come 
 to this profound conclusion, little girl: that all necessary 
 things like getting born, and eating, and loving it's 
 all a pose, a nasty pose. People try to make it attractive, 
 put seasoning into it but ! It's dressed up and set 
 to music, but the sauces don't last forever: you've got to 
 swallow the terrible fish. Marriage is one of the fish, just 
 
 71
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 like birth and death ... A gay life we lead, we must 
 admit! And we look the part! You're green, little 
 sister ! 
 
 FRANCHISE. And you violet! 
 
 PAUL. It's the dawn that makes us look like that. 
 
 FRANCHISE. The dawn and all the rest of it. Our 
 faces only reflect our souls that's the truth of the matter. 
 
 PAUL. Our souls? Our souls? 
 
 FRANQOISE. Don't you believe in the soul? 
 
 PAUL. Yes, little sister, when I'm sick, otherwise 
 
 FRANQOISE. What ? 
 
 PAUL. Nothing. I believe that we are put into the 
 world to go through a number of motions which are al- 
 ways the same; which must be gone through at the same 
 time and then we all fade away 
 
 In Every Evening (Scene de tons les soirs) 
 three clubmen are gathered together at two in the 
 morning, and inquire what they can do to kill time. 
 
 VOUVANS. Well, what are we doing now? 
 
 D'ARGENTAY. Yes, what? . . . 
 
 COUTRAS. We're living: this is life. 
 * VOUVANS. We've been doing the same thing together 
 for the past twelve years. 
 
 D'ARGENTAY. And we're not tired of it. Curious! 
 
 VOUVANS. But most curious of all is to think that in 
 twenty years' time we shall be just as amused by this as 
 we are now perhaps more. 
 
 D'ARGENTAY. Very possibly. I remember, I once 
 met a poor girl in the street, pale, sickly-looking. I said 
 to her, " You must be tired of it all, aren't you ? " She 
 said with a smile, " No, I rather like it ; I get used to it 
 from day to day." 
 
 VOUVANS. Well what are we doing? 
 
 D'ARGENTAY. Something very Parisian: we're smok- 
 ing. Voila ! 
 
 72
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 Here is Lavedan the moralist. Where Capus 
 observes life and passes by without comment, 
 Lavedan points a lesson; Capus laughs with or at 
 his wastrels and " flaneurs," Lavedan allows them 
 to drop remarks revealing tragic depths. The 
 little conversation between Paul and Franchise is a 
 case in question. Lavedan delights in showing us 
 the boulevardier, the clubman, the Don Juan, the 
 fop; but he rarely fails to show both sides of his 
 character. In the plays these sketches become ex- 
 panded, the portraits are more detailed. The 
 plot, in nearly every case, serves largely as frame- 
 work; character is of supreme importance. 
 
 Le Nouveau Jeu is probably the most amusing 
 play Lavedan ever wrote. In it, that type of bou- 
 levardier who tries at all costs to appear original 
 is crystallized; his argot, his antics, his good and 
 bad qualities are set before us with a versimilitude 
 which this dramatist never surpassed. Paul 
 Costard, the principal character of the piece, is at 
 the theater one evening in company with his mis- 
 tress, and declares that unless she behaves herself 
 and allows him to direct his opera-glasses in what- 
 ever part of the house he pleases, he will obtain an 
 introduction to the young girl whom he has been 
 observing in a nearby box, and marry her. Bob- 
 ette dares him; he takes the dare, leaves her ab- 
 ruptly, gets the introduction to the young lady, 
 and before long is allowed by her parents to be- 
 come an " accepted " suitor. It so happens that 
 Alice Labosse herself is something of an " orig- 
 inal." When her mother tells her that Costard 
 wishes to marry her, she replies that the whole 
 matter leaves her indifferent. 
 
 73
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 MME. LABOSSE. You don't mean to tell me that it 
 makes no difference to you whether you marry the first- 
 comer or not? 
 
 ALICE. Absolutely none! 
 
 MME. LABOSSE. Old or young, hideous or handsome, 
 rich or poor it's all the same to you ? 
 
 ALICE. The same? No. But I have no desire for 
 one any more than for the other. I tell you, Mamma, it's 
 of no importance. I accept everything that each day 
 brings me: good and bad together. Don't worry me now; 
 be nice. 
 
 MME. LABOSSE. It's perfectly monstrous! Think of 
 having a disposition like yours, my child! Only eighteen 
 years old, too. You are laying up trouble for yourself 
 
 ALICE. Perhaps. 
 
 MME. LABOSSE. And you don't care at all? 
 
 ALICE. No, it makes no difference to me. 
 
 Costard marries her and a week later returns 
 to Bobette. Then begins the intrigue. It is not 
 very new, and not at all respectable. Alice loses 
 no time in finding a lover; Costard is discovered 
 under embarrassing circumstances, but before long 
 Alice takes revenge, and is found in a no less em- 
 barrassing situation. The play must be taken in 
 that spirit of aloof unreality which Lamb urged 
 we should have to assume when seeing the artificial 
 comedies of the English Restoration; in that sense, 
 Le Nouveau Jeu is the best of comedy, but if we 
 take facts for facts, it is a dismal tragedy. At the 
 last, Costard and Alice, equally guilty, are called 
 before the tribunal and severely censured by the 
 judge. After the moral and sententious " lec- 
 ture," Costard replies : 
 
 I freely admit everything, Monsieur. It is life, simple 
 every-day life. It is life to get married and regret it; to 
 
 74
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 endeavor to escape from the bonds of holy matrimony, to 
 be caught, to desert house and family, and then go the 
 limit. . . . 
 
 JUDGE. Do you not regret having destroyed the happi- 
 ness of your wife? 
 
 COSTARD. Not in the least. She could never have 
 been happy with me. I'm good for everything in the 
 world except marriage. 
 
 JUDGE. Then you had no business marrying. 
 
 COSTARD. How was I to know? It's just like spin- 
 ach : in order to dislike it, you must first taste it 
 
 Le Nouveau Jeu is hardly more than a series of 
 episodes, but with what unerring skill are they con- 
 trived ! They are more than comments on certain 
 sections of life ; they are definite and truthful pic- 
 tures, full of verve, throbbing with vitality. 
 Their morality cannot well be called into question : 
 Lavedan paints what he sees. He is a remarkably 
 clever bystander. 
 
 Since the fall of the last Monarchy in France in 
 1871, and indeed ever since the Revolution, the 
 aristocracy has never quite found its proper posi- 
 tion in the state. It was forced either to partici- 
 pate in the government and thereby relinquish 
 much of its former prestige, or remain apart and 
 preserve the tradition of culture and gentility 
 which had for so many centuries been in its sole 
 keeping. The indomitable pride, the arrogant 
 superiority, the consciousness of the divine right of 
 nobility, the pathos of the dying out of the Ancien 
 Regime, Lavedan centered in his finest character 
 creation: Le Prince d'Aurec. The entire play is 
 concerned with this suave aristocrat; the plot 
 such as it is and the minor personages, serve 
 
 75
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 but to throw into relief the insufferable but some- 
 how sympathetic snob. By reason of his birth, the 
 Prince believes that he has but to " invent a clever 
 saying a perfume, a shade set it in circula- 
 tion; a new cravat, a distinctive hat, discover a 
 new method of riding, render a vice as attractive 
 as the ridicule of virtue; revolt against the vulgar 
 diamond of the Jew, the bronze objets d'art of the 
 bourgeois, the hardware of the Peruvian! That 
 is the only occupation worthy a gentleman nowa- 
 days! If he borrows money from De Horn, he 
 is under no obligation, he believes, to pay it back: 
 Noblesse oblige! Has he not allowed De Horn 
 to sit at his table, De Horn, a Jew and a bour- 
 geois ! Has he not condescended to be seen in 
 public with him, even driven his carriages? And 
 does the Jew then ask for his cursed money? 
 This attitude is a little difficult to understand; but 
 it must be remembered that the Prince had been 
 educated with the idea that his family had from 
 the days of the Crusades been one of the most im- 
 portant and influential in France, that because of 
 its accomplishments, to it was ever due the respect 
 of every succeeding generation of Frenchmen, be 
 they Royalists or Republicans. Yet the Prince 
 plays a losing game : he lives in a Republic, where 
 justice is done. De Horn will have his money. 
 The Duchess pays the Jew, who disappears; the 
 Prince bows down momentarily to his fate, but his 
 last words redeem him; right or wrong, he is a 
 noble to the end. " To-day I can swear to do only 
 one thing: live like an honest man, and when the 
 time comes, die like a prince." We may doubt 
 whether he will live as he says, but we are positive
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 that he means to die like a prince. " In war?" 
 asks his mother. "Will you die in battle?" 
 Montade the novelist answers that that is no more 
 than any of us would do, and the Prince replies 
 with incomparable hauteur like one of his 
 Crusader forefathers "II y a la maniere ! " 
 All of France might die for her on the field of bat- 
 tle, but he will die in his own particular " man- 
 ner ! " The line is worthy Cyrano's " Ma pan- 
 ache ! " 
 
 V'weurs! is a series of interesting genre scenes; 
 it contains little that cannot be found later and bet- 
 ter developed, in three or four of the more impor- 
 tant plays. Catherine is one of those rare com- 
 edies in contemporary French drama which can 
 with impunity be presented by young ladies' board- 
 ing schools. Although it could scarcely be termed 
 insipid, the studied avoidance of anything unpleas- 
 ant in subject-matter or treatment, the inherent 
 goodness of the heroine, leave us with the impres- 
 sion that the author was either totally uninspired 
 or else that he wished to write a play which could 
 give no possible offense. 
 
 Nothing could be more different than Le Mar- 
 quis de Priola. That play, together with Le Duel, 
 is, among Lavedan's later plays, the most signifi- 
 cant. Add to these Le Prince d'Aurec and Le 
 Nouveau Jeu, and we have the best and most rep- 
 resentative plays of the author. 
 
 Le Marquis de Priola is the most pointedly 
 moral of any of the plays. Don Juan has always 
 been an attractive figure; but among his many in- 
 terpreters he has found none to draw so poignant 
 a lesson from his famous escapades. The sinister 
 
 77
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Marquis (played by the incomparable Le Bargy 
 at the Comedie Frangaise) is the irresistible se- 
 ducer, the arch-demon whose fierce onslaughts have 
 as yet never failed to attain their desired end. 
 " I am a dilettante," he says, " a collector who 
 avidly looks on at the spectacle of the hesitations, 
 troubles, fevers and agonies of the feminine heart. 
 It is a divine comedy: I see women laugh, cry, suf- 
 fer, lie. . . . This is an exquisite joy to me 
 always provided that those smiles, kisses, tears, 
 are brilliantly executed: they must be things of 
 beauty." To his protege Pierre Morain, a young 
 man whom he has had the apparent decency to 
 adopt, he says : " Don't believe in women, they 
 will believe in you. Domineer over them. Never 
 fall in love: you will burn your fingers if you do. 
 Never for a second admit to yourself that they are 
 of the slightest importance, that they can influence 
 your destiny by the weight of a single hair. Fear 
 no woman, believe no woman, above all, those who 
 say they are honest; they are the worst of all." 
 At an embassy ball in Paris the Marquis' divorced 
 wife, since remarried, catches sight of her former 
 husband, and immediately realizes that his hold 
 on her is as strong as ever. Afraid of herself, 
 she confides in her puritanical friend, Mme. de 
 Savieres, who consents to remonstrate with the 
 Marquis. But with consummate skill the Mar- 
 quis, who knows how to deal with puritans, nearly 
 achieves the conquest of the envoy; indeed, Mme. 
 de Chesne, Priola's former wife, intervenes just 
 in time to save her friend. The idea of making 
 violent love to Mme. de Chesne has taken hold of 
 the Marquis. But Therese de Valleroy has mean- 
 
 78
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 time promised to come to the Marquis' home to see 
 " the famous collection of almanacs." Priola's 
 preoccupation with Mme. de Chesne leads him to 
 insult Therese and cruelly wound her pride. He 
 plays with her a few minutes, and then sends her 
 home, saying to her as she leaves: "Let us be 
 more than lovers : let us be friends 1 " Now there 
 is one obstacle to the reconquering of Mme. de 
 Chesne: Pierre Morvain. The young man, re- 
 volted by the cruelty of his " guardian," begs him 
 not to persecute the poor woman. The conflict 
 gives rise to a superb scene, which results in 
 Pierre's declaration that he will live no longer with 
 his guardian. Mme. de Chesne, receiving an old 
 letter calculated to arouse in her the sensations and 
 memories of her first love for the Marquis, is 
 ready to give in to him, but her virtuous friend 
 Mme. de Savieres suggests that she test the fidelity 
 of the lover. If, as he says, he is really in love 
 with his former wife, he will not make love to her, 
 Mme. de Savieres. But again the puritanical 
 woman comes near succumbing to the diabolic 
 wooing of Don Juan. Pierre, who has been clear- 
 ing out the Marquis' desk and rearranging old 
 letters and papers, comes across a photograph of 
 his mother : the truth then flashes over him the 
 dishonor of his father's " accidental " death 
 and he decides on revenge. The next day he con- 
 fronts his guardian with the photograph. " I 
 ought to kill you, but it is not worth my while to 
 do so: your death is not far off. I shall let you 
 go." ' What do you mean? " asks the Marquis. 
 " That the life you have been leading is begin- 
 ning to tell on you; you haven't long to live." 
 
 79
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 The Marquis, overcome with rage and fear, tells 
 Pierre that he is his own son, then falls, stricken 
 with apoplexy. Mme. de Savieres' husband, a 
 doctor, is present. After ausculting the Marquis, 
 he says : " Acute ataxia. In six months he will 
 be blind and completely paralyzed." " Will he 
 keep his reason? " " Yes. He may last twenty 
 years." " How horrible ! " says Mme. de Sa- 
 vieres. "And who will take care of him?" 
 Pierre replies : "I." 
 
 Why is it that in the realm of modern drama 
 so many writers have in their first few efforts pro- 
 duced their best work, their most lasting plays? 
 Sudermann, Max Halbe, Donnay; to a certain ex- 
 tent Hauptmann, Lemaitre, and now Lavedan, 
 appear to have reached their highest point of de- 
 velopment during their first eight or ten years of 
 activity. Without trying to delve too deep into 
 the reasons, we may at least note that many of 
 these dramatists were at first content merely to 
 draw characters and not to comment at any great 
 length upon them ; to paint, not to explain. Lave- 
 dan painted a great portrait in Le Prince d'Aurec; 
 in Cyrano de Bergerac, Rostand did the same 
 thing. In Le Marquis de Priola, Lavedan at- 
 tempted, with a good deal of success, to explain 
 motives and point a moral; in Chantecler, Rostand 
 went to the very depths of his hero's character, 
 with remarkable success. What Rostand will do 
 in the future remains to be seen; what Lavedan 
 will do well, he seems to have done. And his 
 latest plays cause us to regret his defection from 
 the early manner. With advancing years, that 
 philosophical penchant which is innate in French- 
 
 80
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 men has got the upper hand with Lavedan. In 
 Le Marquis de Priola he went as far as an artist 
 can safely go ; but with Le Duel he went a step be- 
 yond. In Le Gout du Fice, in spite of occasional 
 flashes reminiscent of the days of Le Nouveau 
 Jeu, he is so pointedly moral that we begin to feel 
 that we are being preached at. 
 
 Le Duel is concerned with the struggle of two 
 brothers, for a woman. Doctor Morey, a well- 
 known alienist, a freethinker and atheist, and the 
 Abbe Daniel, a devout priest, are the brothers in 
 question. The Duke de Chailles is a degenerate 
 morphine-fiend, under treatment at the Doctor's 
 sanatorium. He has only a few months to live. 
 The Duchess, coming regularly to see her husband, 
 has been attracted by the Doctor, who in turn is 
 drawn toward the charming woman, whose ideas 
 he feels are so well in accord with his own. Dan- 
 iel, whom the Doctor has not seen for ten years 
 
 their incompatible ideas have kept them apart 
 
 comes to ask him to assist in the founding of a 
 dispensary. If Henri refuses to lend his support, 
 perhaps his rich friend the Duchess will undertake 
 to endow it? The duel begins when Henri allows 
 Daniel to speak to her " on condition that she is 
 not to know I am your brother." The thesis of 
 the play is at once made clear, as Daniel says : 
 
 'You struggle against disease, I against passion; 
 you save the body, I the soul. Why, at this mo- 
 ment I have among my penitents a woman . . . 
 whose name I do not know, whose face I have 
 never seen. . . . She is unhappily married, and 
 she loves a man who is not her husband. A dozen 
 times she was on the point of revealing her love 
 
 81
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 to him ... a dozen times she came to my confes- 
 sional for power to resist. Each time she received 
 that power, and overcame temptation. . . ." Of 
 course, the unknown is the Duchess. From this 
 point on, the play becomes a series of scenes, be- 
 tween the Duchess and Daniel, and between the 
 Duchess and Henri. When she is with the for- 
 mer, she is ready to take the veil, when with the 
 latter, she is ready to give in to him. The dead- 
 lock is finally broken by the news that the Duke, 
 in a fit of madness, has thrown himself from the 
 window, and will doubtless die within a few hours. 
 Meantime, a strange metamorphosis has taken 
 place in the mind of Daniel. Together with 
 Henri and the Duchess he has gone to the Bishop 
 for advice : he cannot let his brother marry the 
 Duchess. His soul has been in the struggle, and 
 he is jealous of his brother's victory. But when 
 it is learned that the Duke is dead, and after think- 
 ing over the Bishop's advice, he conquers his per- 
 sonal feelings, and bids the Duchess marry Henri, 
 saying that it is her duty to become a wife and a 
 mother. Too deeply humiliated by his defeat, he 
 will leave for the Orient in company with the 
 Bishop. Henri then takes the Duchess into his 
 arms. 
 
 The idea is excellent, the dialogue concise and 
 swift, and the struggle as clearly defined as a Her- 
 vieu could ask for. But after all, we may well 
 ask, what of it ? The knot is cut just at the critical 
 point. Opportune deaths, the recognition of long- 
 lost fathers, and convenient marriages, are all very 
 well for conventional comedies; but where the 
 problem is of so great importance as Lavedan 
 
 82
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 would lead us to believe it is in Le Duel, we can 
 accept no such facile denouement. Certainly, the 
 Duke was likely to kill himself at any time; but 
 his doing so just when the Duchess would have to 
 decide her own fate, ruins the thesis set before us. 
 The Duchess is being continually swayed between 
 two strong wills, which correspond with two selves 
 within her, but when the Deux ex machina steps in, 
 she is allowed to escape. At the end of the play, 
 she is no different from what she was as the cur- 
 tain rose on the first act. The Duchess therefore 
 ceases to interest us. Daniel, near the close of 
 the play, begins to interest us only as he decides 
 to depart for the Far East. 
 
 Since Le Duel Lavedan appears to be searching 
 round for new subjects. The aristocracy and the 
 boulevard still possess charms for him, while the 
 history of France, and the question of war, cause 
 him to hover about the haunts of his first successes. 
 Sire is a romantic play with a historical back- 
 ground. A young man pretends that he is the 
 lost Louis XVII, and convinces a half-crazy 
 countess that he is really the son of Louis XVI. 
 Through five acts of conventional intrigue, 
 the Figaro-like Roulette manages to hold the 
 interest. 
 
 " In Le Gout du Vice" says Lavedan, " I have 
 tried to change my manner; I have done my best 
 to transform myself, simply to give variety to my 
 work. Those who have seen Sire, Le Marquis 
 de Priola, and Le Duel will notice this, and judge 
 whether or no I have succeeded." Yes, he has 
 changed his manner; and we regret it, we who 
 have seen the plays he mentions 1
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 The latest play l is Servir (1912). A consider- 
 able departure from all the preceding " man- 
 ners " of the author, it is certainly his best work 
 since Le Duel. This is the story of a father who 
 is a born soldier, but who has been forced to re- 
 main a civilian, and his son, who is an officer, but 
 whose scruples of conscience are radically opposed 
 to the " profession." This son has discovered an 
 explosive many times more powerful than any 
 heretofore known, but refuses to reveal the secret 
 for the service of the Patrie. The father, driven 
 by his innate desire to serve a desire, the author 
 is careful to tell us, to engage in war as such, not 
 primarily in the interest of his country spies on 
 his son and discovers the secret. The big scene 
 is the struggle between father and son, with the 
 mother between them. The father tears the but- 
 tons from the son's uniform, saying that he is un- 
 worthy his position as an officer. The mother, 
 sympathizing with her child, interferes and at- 
 tempts to kill herself. This brings the men to 
 their senses. Then the father tells them that he 
 has been commissioned by the government to pre- 
 vent the mobilization of the enemy's army in Mo- 
 rocco, and lets them know further than another 
 son," a soldier in Morocco, has been murdered by 
 that enemy which is now about to make war on 
 France. The sense of personal injury then turns 
 the tables: mother, father, son, are actuated by a 
 desire for vengeance, and they all welcome the 
 boom of the cannon announcing the declaration 
 of war. 
 
 1 At the time of writing, but Petard was produced in the 
 Spring of 1914. 
 
 8 4
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 
 The family struggle and its relation to national 
 affairs, the main idea of the play, is very skill- 
 fully and interestingly developed. Yet the son 
 as a French officer is hard to accept. How could 
 such a man think as he thinks, and still remain an 
 officer? Again Lavedan has strained a point in 
 order that his thesis might be worked out. 
 
 When an author begins his career and wins his 
 greatest successes in one kind of work, we are loath 
 to see him venture far afield. Often he does this 
 at his peril. Lavedan is at his best in pure char- 
 acter-drawing, like Le Prince d'Aurec; in other 
 fields he has done sincere and good work, but in 
 those other fields there is lacking that sure touch, 
 that evenness which he once taught us to expect. 
 He may still do significant work, he could hardly 
 do otherwise, but " II y a la maniere ! "
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 " A PLAY is a love story, and since that story is 
 laid in various places, we are led to believe that 
 plays differ." 
 
 These words of Maurice Donnay are the quin- 
 tessence of his theory of the theater. To him life 
 is a spectacle from which the love element must be 
 extracted and molded into an art form, and that 
 form he has once for all fixed in his finest and 
 best-known play, Amants. Love, within or with- 
 out the marriage bond, and sex attraction, these 
 are the eternal realities for the poetic and delicate 
 Parisian whose plays remain the delight of Tout- 
 Paris. 
 
 Amants opens at the home of Claudine Rozay, 
 a retired actress, who is entertaining a number of 
 children at a party for her own daughter. " Of 
 the correct and elegant mothers who have brought 
 children, not one is married; each of them, like 
 their own hostess, is comfortably established in a 
 liaison which assures her, together with luxuries, 
 a sort of outward respectability, and permits her 
 to associate with ' society.' ' Georges Vetheuil 
 is a guest at this gathering; he has come to visit 
 the hostess, whom he once casually met, and has 
 asked to be permitted to further the acquaintance. 
 In an artfully conducted scene, Claudine gives in to 
 Georges' overtures, and consents to become his 
 
 86
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 mistress. The Count de Ruyseux, Claudine's 
 " legitimate " lover, the father of Claudine's little 
 daughter, then enters, and the unsuspecting count 
 meets for the first time his new rival. After 
 Georges leaves, Claudine gives bent to her feelings 
 in true Donnayesque fashion: 
 
 CLAUDINE. What's the news? 
 
 COUNT. Nothing much. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Tell me what there is ! No gossip ? See 
 any one? 
 
 COUNT. Oh, yes: met Lagny. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Ah, what did he have to say? 
 
 COUNT. Nothing since he stopped paying attention 
 to my wife, he cuts me dead. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Really ! 
 
 COUNT. Or rather, since he has dropped out of the 
 number of those who pay attention to my wife! 
 
 CLAUDINE. Please, Alfred, you know how I detest 
 hearing you say such things! 
 
 COUNT. Why so? I'm not at all bitter. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Of course: you're a philosopher! 
 
 COUNT. I'm not a philosopher; only, as every one in 
 Paris knows of my wife's conduct, my assumed ignorance 
 of the fact would be childish, and might even give rise to 
 graver suspicions; to brag of it would be odious in the 
 extreme; but to mention it before certain picked indi- 
 viduals, like you, and in a light and graceful manner 
 that's the only decent way for a man who knows well the 
 exigencies of life. I think there's a splendid place to fill 
 between Georges Dandin and Othello. 
 
 Meantime, Claudine has been living with 
 Vetheuil, but of this Ruyseux knows nothing. One 
 night Ruyseux and Vetheuil dine at Claudine's, 
 and Ruyseux bids her good-by: he is leaving for 
 
 87
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Naples. This is the chance the lovers have been 
 awaiting, and they determine to take advantage 
 of the other's absence and spend the time at 
 Fontainebleau. Claudine and her new lover, hav- 
 ing spent some months together, come to the in- 
 evitable breaking-off, and the woman gives vent 
 to her pent-up jealousy. Rather illogically 
 Vetheuil says he wants his liberty; he is dissatisfied 
 with their " false position," he says. Soon after, 
 Claudine sorry for her precipitancy in the scene 
 in question comes to him and implores him to 
 forgive her, but he refuses, recognizing the fact 
 that because of Claudine's daughter and Ruyseux 
 they cannot be all to each other that he could wish. 
 He cannot for the moment see her point of view. 
 But this attitude is only temporary, for he cannot 
 long remain obdurate in the face of the manifold 
 charms of his former mistress. Somewhat afraid 
 of himself once more, he resolves to go away, and 
 break off their idyllic union at its height, in Italy. 
 She has come to know that they are not eternal 
 lovers, and wishes to preserve the memory of their 
 past. Her daughter, too, will in the future de- 
 mand more of Claudine's time and attention. In 
 the fourth act they part. 
 
 VETHEUIL. Now, Claudine, please, not that! You're 
 breaking my heart. Suppose, now, I do stay, could we 
 live again that Paris life, having the same obstacles to 
 overcome as before? With those same scenes over and 
 over again? They would wear us out, bore us infinitely. 
 You know very well, they would begin again the day we 
 returned, and we know that they are simply the result of 
 the conditions under which we try to live, under which we 
 first met. Good Heavens, how often have we tried to be 
 
 88
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 happy in spite of everything! And we were never able 
 we shouldn't be now if we tried again: we'd only end by 
 hating each other, perhaps deceiving each other. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Oh, no, no! 
 
 VETHEUIL. Is that sort of existence possible? No, it 
 would be a living hell, it would be the worst sort of life, 
 especially after these weeks we've passed together, alone, 
 so alone! We have been too happy, and we cannot find 
 greater happiness; we've had a month of happiness which 
 nothing can ever efface 
 
 CLAUDINE. If it weren't for the idea of our separat- 
 ing 
 
 VETHEUIL. Yes, but that thought kept our happiness 
 in bounds, prevented it from becoming a sort of insolent 
 madness, gave it a tinge of melancholy. It was like the 
 evening mist that enshrouds the mountains, softens their 
 hard outlines, and makes their enormous mass things of 
 infinite tenderness. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Then this is the end of every- 
 thing ? 
 
 VETHEUIL. Listen, Claudine, let me tell you, let 
 me 
 
 CLAUDINE. What can you say to me? Something 
 reasonable again? Don't you feel anything? 
 
 VETHEUIL. Claudine, that's not kind If you only 
 knew! I'm all broken up, too; I have a steep Calvary as 
 well as you, but I say this must be, it must! It must! 
 
 CLAUDINE. Then I'll never see you again ! 
 
 VETHEUIL. Of course you will I'll come back, 
 later, after we're both cured. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Do you believe we shall be? 
 
 VETHEUIL. Yes, we shall. I'm not leaving you 
 because you have deceived me, and you're not leaving me 
 for the same reason, nor are we tired of each other. 
 There are none of the conventional lies between us, nor 
 the usual infamous tricks to envenom our love and wound 
 
 8 9
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 us incurably: we are breaking off because you have your 
 daughter and your friend, and we cannot be happy with 
 those obstacles to overcome. We are saying good-by, but 
 in what a marvelously beautiful land! 
 
 Vetheuil's carriage is ready, and the pair must 
 separate. 
 
 COACHMAN. Excellency, it is ten-fifteen ; we have just 
 time to reach Locarno for the eleven o'clock train. 
 
 VETHEUIL. I'm coming immediately. 
 
 CLAUDINE. What did he say? 
 
 VETHEUIL. That it is ten-fifteen, and I had only time 
 to be at Locarno at eleven. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Well adieu! \_A long kiss.'] Let me 
 look at you, Georges, Georges you seem like a dying 
 man ! Go ! Go ! Don't say anything more to me ! 
 [She falls on a bench, her head bowed low, and sobs. The 
 bells of the carriage are heard tinkling in the distance, 
 then are heard no more. And thus ends the fourth act.] 
 
 Eighteen months later Georges, who has been 
 on an exploring party in the desert, returns and 
 meets Claudine at a reception in Paris. It is as 
 he had predicted: the intense fire of their passion 
 has given way to quiet affection. 
 
 CLAUDINE. And now what are you going to do, here 
 in Paris? You will be very much in demand; you will 
 be feted and asked everywhere; think of it, an explorer! 
 
 VETHEUIL. I've given up all that; you see, when one 
 has lived eighteen months as I have, this Parisian life is 
 no longer possible. . . . No, I'm going away again, I'm 
 going to help colonize. 
 
 CLAUDINE. You're right, but it won't be very pleas- 
 ant for you out there, all alone. 
 
 9
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 VETHEUIL. I shan't be all alone: I'm going to get 
 married she's the sister of one of my comrades on this 
 expedition ! 
 
 CLAUDINE. What? Why, you've hardly been back 
 a week! You've made a very quick decision, haven't 
 you? 
 
 VETHEUIL. I've known her for more than a month. 
 When we were returning to France, she joined us at 
 Saigon, and we came back together on the same boat. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Is she pretty? 
 
 VETHEUIL. Not so pretty as you. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Don't say that: in a few weeks you'll 
 think her the prettiest of women. By the way, you must 
 have a photograph of her with you? 
 
 VETHEUIL. I have. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Then show it to me. [He shows her the 
 photograph.] You are right, she's not pretty, but she 
 looks energetic and sweet. You see, dear, I don't feel at 
 all jealous, looking at this picture, and if ever I meet the 
 original, I shall kiss her with all my heart. 
 
 VETHEUIL. How good you are! 
 
 CLAUDINE. Life is funny; when I think how for 
 months I never did anything but cry and think about 
 you ! . . . And now here you are telling me you are going 
 to marry, and I have perfect control of myself, and am 
 even glad to hear the news! . . . 
 
 VETHEUIL. What an adorable woman you are! 
 
 CLAUDINE. Of course! But then, I'm cured, you 
 see! 
 
 VETHEUIL. Yes, and all that had to be. ... 
 
 CLAUDINE. It was a real duty, and that's a great con- 
 solation the only consolation, I think. \_A pause.] 
 Well, I too, am going to marry. 
 
 VETHEUIL. Really ? 
 
 CLAUDINE. Yes: a great many things have happened 
 since you have been away. 
 
 91
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 VETHEUIL. I can well imagine. 
 
 CLAUDINE. The Countess de Ruyseux ran away with 
 an officer a few weeks ago. 
 
 VETHEUIL. No ? 
 
 CLAUDINE. Yes! Now Ruyseux considers himself 
 free. . . . We're going to live in the country, on our 
 estate, far from the city; we'll come to Paris only when 
 Denise is eighteen. 
 
 VETHEUIL. Well then, it's a pretty play: ends with 
 two marriages. 
 
 CLAUDINE. Yes, but shall we be happy? 
 
 VETHEUIL. That's another story. ... If we re- 
 mained here in this" city of trouble and suggestiveness, we 
 who are the playthings of passion, we should again be 
 tempted to have an adventure before the flame flickered 
 for the last time. Towards forty, you would fall in love 
 with a youth who would cause you great suffering, and 
 finally break your heart 
 
 CLAUDINE. Don't say that! 
 
 VETHEUIL. And I, toward fifty, might fall in love 
 with some child who would lead, me a merry chase, and 
 take me to new lands again ! 
 
 CLAUDINE. We have seen enough! 
 
 VETHEUIL. Yes, and when one has lived, and ob- 
 served, one arrives at a true philosophy of life, and says 
 that at the bottom of all this, happiness, or at least what 
 most nearly approaches it, is always 
 
 [At this moment, interrupting VETHEUIL in the midst 
 of his sentence, a Farandole, danced madly by a number 
 of couples, rushes into the little salon, and in its whirl- 
 wind wake, sweeps out VETHEUIL and CLAUDINE.] ' 
 
 This cold and summary account of Amants gives 
 little enough of the spirit of the French, and the 
 attempt but proves the extreme difficulty of convey- 
 ing an adequate idea of its charm and grace. Its 
 style and subject are so foreign to us that it is 
 
 92
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 doubtful whether a translation, however well done, 
 could reproduce the essentially French flavor of the 
 original. 
 
 Conjugal infidelity, however jestingly touched 
 upon in this and other Donnay plays, is not of 
 prime interest in itself; it is merely an excuse, an 
 incident round which the poet weaves his delicate 
 web of sentiment and subtle character analysis. 
 In his Dedication to Moliere (in Le Menage de 
 Moliere} he says: " Reassure yourself, Mon- 
 sieur, we of to-day are far from the old French 
 conteurs, and their jokes on infidelity, which you 
 yourself have often revived with so much esprit, 
 or else complacently repeated. The conjugal acci- 
 dent no longer diverts us: it appears to us as a 
 social necessity, yes, a shameful but logical conse- 
 quence of marriage as it is most frequently prac- 
 ticed in the society of our day." This attitude 
 toward adultery as a " social necessity " is most 
 typical of Donnay; this statement throws a great 
 deal of light on his work. Marriage, fidelity, 
 love, are his subjects, and the greatest of these is 
 love. That is why, among other things, Amants 
 contains, as I have said, his philosophy par excel- 
 lence. 
 
 Maurice Donnay was born in 1859 at Paris, 
 of a well-to-do bourgeois family in the district of 
 Montmartre, where the young Maurice was des- 
 tined to make his first artistic debut not many years 
 later. His predilection for literature was noted 
 in his early school days, for his instructors at the 
 Lycee Louis-le-Grand and the Ecole Centrale made 
 reference more than once in their reports to the 
 " dreamy and contemplative " nature of the youth, 
 
 93
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 which had many times marked him out as a 
 " poet " among his schoolfellows. In accordance 
 with the wishes of his ambitious parents, he pre- 
 pared himself for the profession of civil engineer, 
 and in 1885 he entered, somewhat unwillingly, a 
 contractor's office. He was evidently ill-suited for 
 the work, and, six years later, as a direct result of 
 his appearing in public and reciting his own verses 
 in a cabaret on Montmartre, he was forced to re- 
 sign his position. Between the years 1889 and 
 1891 he wrote and recited a number of graceful if 
 occasionally vulgar and cynical " saynetes," which 
 were keenly appreciated by the habitues of the 
 Chat Noir. In 1892 his first play, Lysistrata, was 
 produced at the Grand Theatre ; it was at once suc- 
 cessful, and attracted some notice. The story and 
 the wit of the Aristophanic comedy appealed to 
 the somewhat kindred spirit of the Frenchman, 
 who utilized, however, only the principal outlines 
 of the Greek play, and rounded it out with a gen- 
 erous infusion of his own Gallic wit. The next 
 important play was his most successful and is cer- 
 tainly his most brilliant, and will doubtless remain 
 his finest achievement, Lovers. Jules Lemaitre, 
 a great authority, a keen and conservative critic, 
 pronounced this play " probably a masterpiece." 
 He was speaking of the piece in its relation to 
 French dramatic literature, not merely contempo- 
 raneous writing. The praise of critics and pub- 
 lic soon lifted the young dramatist into the front 
 rank, made way for further successes, and pre- 
 pared a respectful hearing for everything he was 
 destined to write. 
 
 La Douloureuse an untranslatable expres- 
 
 94
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 sion of argot again delves into the eternal ques- 
 tion. This time it is a woman's play: she suffers. 
 Again the dramatist tells us of the effect of passion 
 on human character, and the treatment here, con- 
 sidered with that in Amants, should give us a clear 
 idea of Donnay's mind. " The principal under- 
 lying idea in Donnay's plays," says Roger Le 
 Brun, the author of a little monograph on the 
 dramatist, " is, in its essence, this: that love, as a 
 result of social conventions, for the most part 
 hypocritically disguised by a puerile sentimentality, 
 is forced to do service for the basest appetites as 
 well as the most artificial emotions; it is debased 
 by lies, by tricks, by the avarice of Man, side- 
 tracked from its true and proper functions, going 
 hand in hand with all our misdeeds like a mon- 
 strous and vile thing." This debasement " by 
 lies " is the theme of La Douloureuse. Donnay 
 harks back a moment to Ibsen, when he shows us 
 the unhappy result of a lie in the past. The story 
 of this play is in itself of little importance: it is 
 not well constructed or highly interesting, though 
 the theme is significant. But the dramatist has 
 written one superb act, the second. The closing 
 scene leaves one with much the same feling as that 
 of the fourth act of Amants; that same longing, 
 somewhat sentimental, that regret for happiness 
 lost, but happiness to be regained, hangs heavy 
 over this pair of lovers who are parting. He says, 
 " Don't you too feel a great weight lifted; aren't 
 you even happy?" And she replies, "Oh, yes, 
 but I'm going to cry, all the same." And the cur- 
 tain drops. 
 
 L'Afranchie is another typical play. It is con- 
 
 95
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 cerned with a weak and lying woman, but it is 
 again the characterization and the poetic atmos- 
 phere which place this work among the best of its 
 author. 
 
 Georgette Lemeunier, played by Rejane and 
 Guitry, is the story of man and wife, the " victory 
 of the wife over the caprices of the husband a 
 loyal victory, without the eternal ancient ruses com- 
 mon to womankind." 
 
 Le Torrent marks a radical departure in the 
 " theatre " of Donnay. This comes as near being 
 a " thesis " play as any the author ever wrote : its 
 theme is closely akin to that of several plays of 
 Hervieu and Brieux. " The suicide of Valentine 
 Lambert an unfaithful husband relieves him 
 of the cowardly blame of his family for the crime 
 of forcing motherhood on a woman, and consti- 
 tutes a fearful condemnation of the terrible mar- 
 riage law by which the male can take advantage of 
 the most despotic means, and force his wife, by 
 the exigencies of nature, to undergo the degrading 
 lie of adultery." 
 
 The essential unity of Donnay's art cannot but 
 suffer by combining with it the alloy of a collab- 
 orator, no matter how skillful or powerful that 
 collaborator may be. Donnay twice collaborated 
 with Lucien Descaves, and the resulting plays 
 La Clairicre and Oiseaux de passage we can- 
 not but feel, fall into a class much below Amants 
 and L'Affranchie. The first of these is another 
 thesis play, the second a Feminist tract, one in 
 which the thesis is of more importance than the 
 play itself. If Donnay survives, he will be known 
 as the author of two or three charming and clever 
 
 96
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 comedies of love, not as the champion of " self- 
 realization " or woman's rights. The day of the 
 thesis play seems to have passed, and the works of 
 the present age must stand or fall according to art 
 standards, not social or political. Donnay was 
 evidently led to write these plays, together with 
 L'Autre Danger, by the spirit which pervaded the 
 air; but he must soon have learned that he might 
 well have left the work of reform to those who 
 were better fitted to polemics, and allowed Brieux 
 to write La Femme settle, an infinitely finer social 
 document than any Donnay attempted to produce. 
 Yet L'Autre Danger, by reason of its manifestly 
 interesting theme and masterly development of the 
 , serious side of human character, must ever remain 
 one of the author's finest achievements. L'Autre 
 Danger is clearly a thesis play, and the thesis con- 
 stitutes anything but a " pleasant " subject. A 
 woman who gives her daughter to her own lover 
 for a husband that is not a pretty situation; but 
 handled by Donnay it becomes a terrible and a 
 painful one, and the terror and pity are made the 
 more poignant as the dramatist has hesitated so 
 long to attack the subject. During more than two 
 acts up to the middle of the third the theme, 
 or at least its direct application, does not become 
 evident. It seems that the author, realizing the 
 odiousness of the situation, occupied as much time 
 as possible in preparing for the disagreeable but 
 highly dramatic climax and this climax, when it 
 comes, is the more effective as it is unexpected, or 
 rather not lengthily and laboriously prepared for. 
 But once he starts, the wheels of action move at 
 lightning speed, and hardly are we aware of what 
 
 97
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 is happening, until it has become a thing of the 
 past. One critic, Antoine Benoist, thinks that 
 Donnay was afraid of his subject and wished to 
 be rid of its unpleasant side as soon as he was able ; 
 but as Donnay is above all a dramatist, and not a 
 prude or a moralist, and since he wishes to make 
 a striking effect and pile up as quickly as he could 
 all his accumulated action, the retardation of the 
 story in the first half of the play is wholly justi- 
 fiable on the grounds that he was seeking a greater 
 tension and a more crushing climax. It was to 
 such apparent neglect of form as this that Lemaitre 
 made reference when he said that Donnay " among 
 our young dramatists is one of the few whose 
 works are the closest to life because of this very 
 negligence of composition." 
 
 The plays immediately following Le Torrent 
 the next work are not of paramount impor- 
 tance. La Bascule and Education de Prince are, 
 in the case of the first, a study of the relations 
 between man and wife, and, in the second, a re- 
 writing of a bright and satirical series of dia- 
 logues. 
 
 Le Retour de Jerusalem is the most ambitious 
 and detailed of the modern plays of Donnay. In 
 it he attempted a problem: Is real intimacy, in- 
 tellectual and physical, possible between members 
 of two races? But the universal application of 
 that supposed problem is so difficult to determine, 
 that the problem per se, is almost negligible. We 
 must assume therefore that the author took a 
 Jewess and a Gentile merely as types of radically 
 different races, and studied them in and for them- 
 selves. In a long preface to the printed play, 
 
 98
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 called forth by many acrimonious articles and much 
 discussion, Donnay says that he intended to place 
 before the public, with all due fairness, the bred- 
 in-the-bone difference between Jew and Gentile. 
 However this may be, he has succeeded in writing 
 a play which shows very clearly the essential dif- 
 ference between one human being and another. 
 This is a love story, as well as a psychological 
 study. 
 
 The production of Le Retour de Jerusalem in 
 America not long ago with one of the cleverest liv- 
 ing actresses, Madame Simone, in the leading role, 
 showed clearly the great gulf between French and 
 American theatrical methods. Through scene 
 after scene the play proceeds slowly, developing 
 character; long speech after long speech brings 
 the action to its far-off climax. The American 
 public was not willing to listen to conversation, no 
 matter how brilliant or how interesting. It de- 
 manded action. Donnay is a dramatist, but he is 
 likewise a poet and a thinker ; the French audience, 
 probably the best trained in the world, is willing 
 to listen to good dialogue for half an hour, pro- 
 vided it is well spoken the American " moving- 
 picture " audience demands movement, not talk. 
 
 The next two plays, L' Escalade and Paraitre do 
 not merit special mention. The most interesting 
 of the later plays is the only one in which the 
 author went to the past for his subject-matter. 
 For a number of years Donnay had been devot- 
 ing a great deal of time to the study of Moliere. 
 upon whom he has contributed a large volume, 
 and in 1912 the Comedie Franchise produced Le 
 Menage de Moliere. In this five-act verse play 
 
 99
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Donnay has not forgotten his real gift for verse 
 since the early Montmartre days ! he has ren- 
 dered charming tribute to his compatriot, in the 
 play itself as well as in the delicate and spirituel 
 Dedication: 
 
 I am taking the liberty, Monsieur, of writing to you, as 
 I have taken a greater already, that of writing a comedy 
 on your household, and I believe that in putting a man 
 such as you upon the stage, some explanation, if not ex- 
 cuse, is due you. ... It is ever an extremely hazardous 
 proceeding to put upon the stage a person who has once 
 actually lived. So far as you yourself are concerned, 
 Monsieur, if we know you thoroughly as an author, fairly 
 well as actor and manager, we are very uncertain when 
 we tread on the ground of your private life. Why do so, 
 then, you may well ask? ... I understand, but it is the 
 fault of your first biographer, J.-L. Gallois, sieur de 
 Grimarest. Yes, he began it: he recounts anecdotes, and 
 gives us to understand that you did not get along so very 
 well with Armande ; he says either too much or not enough, 
 thereby arousing our curiosity, which has not yet died 
 down. That simple admirer is therefore the first author 
 of the Menage de Moliere, unless it be yourself, as I shall 
 attempt to demonstrate before long. . . . Above all, Mon- 
 sieur, do not try to scent out any excuse on my part, any 
 answer to my critics. ... I am speaking to you, and to 
 you alone, as I owe an explanation only to the man who 
 is the principal character in my play. ... I dare to hope 
 that you will discover in this comedy, Monsieur, the sin- 
 cerest expression of tenderness for yourself and the pro- 
 foundest admiration for your genius, just as, if the distance 
 between us were not so great, I should allow myself to 
 dedicate this play to you in person. 
 
 Donnay's latest play, Les Eclaireuses, marks no 
 appreciable departure from his former work : it is 
 
 IOO
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 a love story, touching upon the question of Fem- 
 inism at moments, but it is primarily a drame du 
 cosur. With the usual clever and delightful dia- 
 logue, the expected scenes of sentiment, the poet 
 recounts the history of an ill-matched couple, end- 
 ing with the ultimate " soul-mating " of the 
 woman. Man's laws, his obstinate refusal to look 
 facts in the face, woman's revolt and her final re- 
 adjustment there is nothing new in all this; 
 but then Donnay believes that there is no new ma- 
 terial, only love stories, differing one from the 
 other in settings and characters. He at least lives 
 up to his own preachments. 
 
 101
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 ROSTAND is hardly a typical modern French 
 dramatist: his is an exceptional case, and his in- 
 clusion in the present volume is intended rather 
 to throw into contrast the other playwrights than 
 a necessity to treat one who may be considered in 
 any way a professional purveyor of amusement or 
 ideas. He may stand for the poetic drama, which 
 is, as I have already pointed out, not so popular 
 in France to-day as the more or less realistic works 
 of such dramatists as Brieux or Bataille. 
 
 The phenomenal success of Cyrano de Bergerac 
 in 1897 did not, fortunately, turn its author into 
 a professional playwright; Rostand has always re- 
 mained a slow and painstaking artist. As op- 
 posed to even the careful custom of Hervieu, who 
 produces on an average of one play every two 
 years, he produces but three major works in a 
 period of eighteen. Porto-Riche in this respect is 
 the only dramatist who can compare with him. 
 With scrupulous care and unerring judgment he 
 has spent years polishing his verses and perfecting 
 his style with an assiduity rivaling that of Flau- 
 bert. During the few years which preceded the 
 production of Chantecler, paragraphs in the news- 
 papers often appeared relating how the piece was 
 held back until four lines in the third act assumed 
 the precise shape which suited the poet. The ten 
 
 102
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 years between the production of L'Aiglon and 
 Chantecler were many of them spent on the latter 
 play, and the result, both as to general concep- 
 tion and to the literary style, fully justified the 
 long years of labor. 
 
 Edmond Rostand was born at Marseilles in 
 1868. After spending the first years of his youth 
 in his native Midi he came to Paris and studied 
 for the law. But the poet was stronger in him 
 than the lawyer, and soon the dramatist was to 
 assert himself above the lyric poet. Two trifles 
 in dramatic form Le Gant rouge and Les Deux 
 Pierrots neither of which has been performed 
 in public, were written before the publication of 
 the poet's first volume. Les Deux Pierrots had 
 been accepted at the Comedie Franchise, but owing 
 to the death of Theodore de Banville, whose plays 
 this one resembled, it was thought wise to with- 
 draw it. 
 
 Les Musar discs, published in 1890, is a slight 
 volume of charming lyrical verses. While it was 
 well received by a small public and favorably re- 
 viewed by the critics, its success was in no way 
 phenomenal; it gave little or no promise of the 
 brilliant flashes which were later to illuminate 
 Cyrano and L'Aiglon and Chantecler. The fol- 
 lowing Vieux Conte, with its soft cadences and cir- 
 cumspect use of words, will afford some idea of 
 this first attempt: 
 
 Dans 1'eparpillement soyeux des cheveux d'or, 
 Et parmi les blancheurs des coussins toute blanche, 
 Ayant clos pour cent ans ses grands yeux de pervenche, 
 Souriant vaguement a son reve, elle dort. 
 
 103
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Sa tete de cote legerement se penche. 
 
 Un vitrail entr'ouvert laisse voir le decor 
 
 Du pare, ou les oiseaux ne chantent pas encor, 
 
 Car la Fee endormit chacun d'eux sur sa branche. 
 
 Au pied du lit sommeille un beau page blondin. 
 
 Elle dort, immobile en son vertugadin, 
 
 La jupe laissant voir un bout de sa babouche. . . . 
 
 Toute rose, elle dort son sommeil ingenu, 
 Car le Prince Charmant n'est pas encor venu 
 Qui doit la reveiller d'un baiser sur la bouche. 
 
 Then came Les Romanesques. Adolphe Bris- 
 son, in his le Theatre et les maeurs, quotes Jules 
 Claretie on the debuts of the young dramatist. 
 Just after the first little play was withdrawn, 
 Claretie said to Rostand : 
 
 " Bring me another act." [Act in French may also 
 mean one-act play.] 
 
 " I shall bring you two," answered the poet. In a few 
 weeks' time Les Romanesques was written and two years 
 later after the usual wait it was performed. I shall 
 never forget it. 
 
 " Who is this Rostand ? " people inquired. 
 
 And those who knew said : " He is an influential busi- 
 ness man, well spoken of, one of the big-wigs of the Comp- 
 toir tfescompte. He has made use of his influence to suc- 
 ceed as a writer." 
 
 " Then he's an amateur ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly " 
 
 After the first act the audience was amazed A de- 
 licious trifle! 
 
 And those who knew again busied themselves 
 
 " We are not at all surprised. That book of his was 
 full of promise." 
 
 104
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 " Has he published a book? " 
 
 "Yes: Les Musardises. . . . Very remarkable." 
 
 Les Romanesques known in English as The 
 Romancers or The Fantasticks is an ingenious 
 and altogether charming bit of high comedy. It 
 smacks of Italy, and Banville, and Musset, yet 
 there is that distinctive touch which makes of it 
 an original creation. 
 
 Percinet and Sylvette, two romantic youngsters, 
 enamored of each other and of Romeo and 
 Juliet f which they read together sitting on the top 
 of an old wall, are so filled with romantic notions 
 that they are convinced of the fact that they are 
 separated through the hatred of their respective 
 fathers. Meeting secretly in a corner of the old 
 park, they plan to elope. But the fathers, who 
 are as a matter of fact the best of friends, realize 
 that the only way of uniting their wayward chil- 
 dren is by pretending to be mortal enemies. They 
 employ therefore the braggadocio Straforel, who 
 will on the evening of the elopement attempt a 
 " first-class abduction " of the little heroine. This 
 villain, then, together with his mock-desperadoes, 
 appears upon the scene at the appointed hour when 
 Percinet is about to meet his sweetheart, descend 
 upon her, and attempt to carry her off. Percinet, 
 who lies in wait, springs to her rescue and, sword 
 in hand, dispels the ravishers, and turns to Stra- 
 forel. Straforel, knowing well the part he has to 
 play, allows the young man to disarm him, and 
 falls a moment later, apparently dead. The 
 lovers are united, the fathers pretend to be 
 reconciled and agree to the match. The " tag " 
 
 105
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 to the act, is a touch of the true Rostandesque: 
 
 BERGAMIN. [In an undertone, to STRAFOREL, who 
 rises.] What? What's this? This paper and your 
 signature? What is it, if you please? 
 
 STRAFOREL. [Saluting BERGAMIN.] Monsieur, it is 
 my bill! [He falls to the ground 
 
 So far, so good, but in the second act the lovers 
 learn the truth of the matter. Their disillusion- 
 ment is complete, and Percinet resolves to go away 
 in search of adventure and romance. In the last 
 act he returns, only to find that Sylvette herself 
 has been seeking her own romance, for Straforel, 
 under a noble pseudonym, has been writing ardent 
 love-letters to her. Both are weary of searching 
 for something which seems to vanish when they 
 seek it, and both have learned at last that true 
 romance cannot be sought. Percinet has wan- 
 dered only to find his happiness at home. 
 
 PERCINET. ... I adore you ! 
 
 SYLVETTE. After all our disappointments? 
 
 PERCINET. That makes no difference. 
 
 SYLVETTE. But our fathers deceived us most outrage- 
 ously ! 
 
 PERCINET. What of it ? Now in my heart it is 
 day 
 
 SYLVETTE. But they only pretended to be mortal ene- 
 mies? 
 
 PERCINET. Did we pretend that we loved each other? 
 
 And a little farther on : 
 
 SYLVETTE. . . . We did love, and we thought our- 
 selves wicked. 
 
 106
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 PERCINET. We were, and let us feel pleasantly re- 
 morseful about it ! As it is only the intention that counts, 
 we were really wicked, because we thought we were. 
 
 SYLVETTE. . . . True, but I am sorry . . . that our 
 danger was only imaginary. 
 
 PERCINET. It was real, because we thought it so. 
 
 The moral is pleasantly told, if moral the play 
 can be admitted to have: happiness lies within 
 one's self, and true romance is in the heart. The 
 next play, La Princesse lointaine, more serious in 
 intent, more recondite and involved in style, has 
 certain analogies with the earlier comedy; here 
 the poet tells us that the pursuit of an ideal in 
 this case, physical and by inference spiritual beauty 
 is in itself worth as much as its attainment. 
 
 Prince Joffroy Rudel, troubador of Blaye, has 
 heard from pilgrims returning from the East, of 
 a marvelously beautiful princess: Melissinde of 
 Oriont, Countess of Tripoli. In spite of grave 
 illness he sets out on the perilous journey from 
 Provence to see the lady of his dreams. The 
 play opens on the galley, " which appears to have 
 come a long way through very tempestuous 
 weather: sails ripped, yards broken, ropes in a 
 tangle, mast started. There are evidences of 
 fighting having taken place on board: spots of 
 blood, weapons strewn here and there. Just be- 
 fore dawn. Gray and transparent sky growing 
 pale. Stars vanishing. Sea of a violet hue, with 
 foggy streaks. Indistinct horizon. By degrees, 
 as the act progresses, the light increases." 1 There 
 
 1 This and the following quotations are from the translation 
 of Charles Renauld. 
 
 107
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 is discontent among the crew : they begin to doubt 
 of their quest, and are hungry and worn out. 
 " What," asks the scholar Erasmus of Father 
 Trophime, " does he gain, for instance ? " 
 
 FATHER TROPHIME. All! 
 
 ERASMUS. Oh! 
 
 FATHER TROPHIME. Yes, he gains, at least my thought 
 
 is such, 
 
 Through every great disinterested act; 
 As much as on Crusaders' deeds, I feel 
 That he must smile on love that's true and pure. 
 
 ERASMUS. He cannot set this love adventure here 
 Beside the rescue of the Holy Tomb ! 
 
 FATHER TROPHIME. His object's not this one deliv- 
 erance. 
 
 For think you not that, if he wished to chase 
 A horde of infidels from off the Tomb, 
 One sweep of angel wings would be enough? 
 Far greater his design. Be sure it is to call 
 All those who live in dullness, pride and sloth 
 Away from selfish, dark indifference, 
 To throw them, strong and singing, in the fray, 
 Devotion-daft to seeking death afar, 
 Inspired by forgetfulness of self. 
 
 A page later Father Trophime says : " All noble 
 aims bring forth a nobler aim." 
 
 This striving for an ideal and its treatment in 
 La Princess lointaine is a curious foreshadowing 
 of the principal theme of Chantecler. Rostand 
 has never lost his early healthy optimism. 
 
 The second act takes place in Melissinde's 
 palace. The Emperor Manuel is about to marry 
 her and, being of a jealous disposition, has placed 
 
 108
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 guards about her. Meanwhile, Rudel and his 
 crew have landed, and the Prince intends to pro- 
 ceed at once to the palace. Melissinde has heard 
 of Rudel; she reads his poems, and nurses her 
 ideal from afar. She " thirsts for love's sub- 
 limity." Having learned of the arrival of the 
 foreign galley, the guards redouble their vigilance 
 over the princess. But a rich Jew gains admit- 
 tance to her presence, on the pretext of selling her 
 goods from the Orient; he tells her that a poet 
 from Provence has landed and wishes to see her 
 at once. Not long after, Rudel's friend Bert- 
 rand, after fighting his way to her, tells Melissinde 
 of his mission, and informs her that Rudel lies 
 dying on his galley and should like to see his loved 
 one before it is too late. 
 
 BERTRAND. Make haste! I promised! 
 MELISSINDE. But but 
 
 you, Sir Knight, 
 
 Who are you then ? 
 BERTRAND. Bertrand d'Allamanon, 
 
 His brother, friend Come on then, quickly! 
 MELISSINDE. No! 
 
 The next act is the same scene as the preceding 
 Melissinde's reason for refusing to see Rudel is 
 not at once made clear, but we are not left long 
 in doubt, for she begins to make love to Bertrand; 
 entranced by her beauty, and rapidly succumbing 
 to her advances, he betrays his friend, deciding to 
 remain with the Princess. For a moment both 
 are stricken with remorse as a voice from the out- 
 side shouts that a galley in the harbor has hoisted 
 the black flag, but the galley proves to be that of 
 
 109
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 the chief guard, whom Bertrand had slain. They 
 now resolve to see Rudel. 
 
 The last act takes us back to the deck of the 
 galley, where Rudel lies on his death-bed. The 
 Jew, stung by an insult cast in his teeth by Bert- 
 rand, has been telling the tale of Rudel's betrayal, 
 and is flung into the sea by the incredulous crew. 
 Rudel too has believed nothing of the story. 
 Then in the distance Melissinde's magnificent gal- 
 ley is descried. The Princess boards the stranger 
 ship, and the very sailors weep for joy: their 
 ideal, the end which they strove, is at last realized ! 
 Then she is brought into Rudel's presence. " His 
 eyes open as he sees her, then grow larger and full 
 of light, and a smile comes to his lips." He for- 
 gets his troubles and sufferings, and she is glorified 
 and lifted above mortal things; both are happy, 
 and not even death can destroy their happiness. 
 The ideal of each has been the quest and that is 
 over. He dies, amid the splendor of the sunset. 
 
 MELISSINDE. The sky's aglow! 
 
 Behold! A prince's and a poet's death 
 Is yours, with head at rest as dream foretold, 
 In love, in grace and majesty supreme ! 
 You die with heaven's blessing, undistressed 
 By trappings and by sights funereal; 
 In flowers' fragrance and in harmony, 
 A death that's spared all pain and bitterness. . . . 
 Close not his eyes; he's gazing at me still! 
 
 SORIMONDE. [Terrified.] His hands are locked 
 around your hair! 
 
 MELISSINDE. It's his! 
 
 \With a dagger, which she takes from JOFFROY'S 
 belt, she cuts her hair, that remains in the hands of 
 HO
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 RUDEL. The hair falls across his body.] 
 BERTRAND. Not that ! It is too much ! 
 MELISSINDE. [Without turning toward BERTRAND.] 
 
 Who spoke? 
 
 BERTRAND. Too much! 
 
 MELISSINDE. 'Twas you, Bertrand? We must for- 
 swear ourselves. . . . 
 My soul at last was sister to a soul, 
 
 And I am different. 
 
 ^ 
 
 [BERTRAND then decides to continue his way to 
 the Holy Land.~\ 
 
 MELISSINDE. Farewell! No tears I go to holy 
 peace. 
 
 I've, learnt at last the greatest thing of all 
 FATHER TROPHIME. [Kneeling by JOFFROY'S body.~] 
 
 Undying love is work for Heaven done! 
 
 And the curtain falls. 
 
 Something of the doctrine of love set forth in 
 La Princesse lointaine is to be found in the next 
 play, La Samaritaine, which was first performed in 
 1897, two years after the Princesse. Compared 
 with the later works it is slight. It is a poetic set- 
 ting of the story of the Woman of Samaria. 
 There is a certain human element in this play; that 
 is to say, the poet applied himself to the task of 
 conceiving Photine as a very passionate and lov- 
 ing woman, not merely a wicked Magdalen who re- 
 pents. In an interview he once said: " Is it not 
 a most extraordinary drama of conscience? Im- 
 agine Liane de Pougy going to the Bois, meeting 
 Christ there, and suddenly returning to Paris, 
 bearing only one desire in her breast, one mad 
 wish: to convert her compatriots? " The simple 
 
 i ii
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Bible story is amplified and turned into an elab- 
 orate picture, a lovely " Evangile." 
 
 Still, there was little indication of what was 
 to come in the brilliant and astonishing Cyrano. 
 Les Romanesques was slight, La Princesse loin- 
 tame hesitating, La Samaritaine quiet. Rostand 
 was as yet appreciated by a few, who esteemed him 
 merely as a charming poet, possessing some in- 
 genuity and skill in writing poetic plays. Paris, 
 and soon after the whole of the civilized world, 
 were to be astounded by the famous Cyrano, at 
 the Porte Sainte-Martin Theater during the same 
 year, 1897, in which La Samaritaine first saw the 
 light. 
 
 It may arouse no small amount of curiosity in 
 some future historian of the theater to account for 
 the unprecedented enthusiasm provoked by Cyrano 
 de Bergerac; he may trace its form to Victor 
 Hugo, he may justly conclude that it contains noth- 
 ing new or original, or he may finally decide that 
 it came at the psychological moment, when the 
 Theatre Libre was in its decline, and the public 
 was tired of Realism. But he will be wide of the 
 mark. Madame Rostand's statement, recounted 
 by M. Brisson in the work above quoted, comes as 
 near the truth as any single sentence well can: 
 " Certain people exist who always inspire sym- 
 pathy simply because they possess charm. Isn't 
 it the same way with the mind and what it cre- 
 ates? " Charm, if it may be taken to include joy 
 in life, optimism, ideals, beauty in and for itself, 
 is what makes of Cyrano one of the finest dramatic 
 
 112
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 and literary works of the generation. The hypo- 
 thetical critic of the future may be right in at- 
 tributing to Rostand the desire to revolt against 
 the sordidness of Naturalism, and certain it is 
 that this play came at a time when the ideas set 
 forth by Antoine were either so universally ac- 
 cepted as to provoke little opposition, or that they 
 were being gradually absorbed and modified by 
 writers with a more genial outlook on life. Ros- 
 tand was, of course, too far aloof from the contro- 
 versies of the day deliberately to write a propa- 
 ganda piece, but he must have felt the irksome 
 yoke imposed by the more ardent followers of 
 Antoine. 
 
 Together with the charm of the character of 
 that true Gascon, poet and swordsman, faithful 
 friend and poseur, is the charm of the style, that 
 inimitable mixture of Victor Hugo, Musset, and 
 Rostand. But beyond these, we are called 
 upon to admire the extreme dexterity with which 
 the plot is handled, and the truly amazing bril- 
 liancy of the speeches and the lines. If nothing 
 else, Cyrano is a tour de force of unequaled 
 cleverness. Take for instance the famous speech 
 addressed, in the First Act, to Valvert, on the sub- 
 ject of his (Cyrano's) nose: 
 
 CYRANO. . . . You might say oh, Dieu ! any num- 
 ber of things as you vary the tone of voice for in- 
 stance: Aggressively: " Ah, Monsieur, had I such a nose, 
 I should have it amputated at once!" Amicably: "It 
 must surely be in the way when you drink! Have a bowl 
 made for yourself! " Descriptively: " It's a rock, a peak, 
 a capel What, a cape? Indeed, it's a peninsula!" 
 
 "3
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Curiously: "What do you use that oblong capsule for? 
 An escritoire or a scissors' box ?" Graciously: " Are you 
 so enamored of birds that you afford them the hospitality 
 of that perch for their little feet? " Truculently: " And, 
 Monsieur, when you smoke, do not people cry out that the 
 chimney is afire, seeing the smoke come forth from your 
 nose?" Considerately: "Take care or your head, over- 
 weighted by that huge mass, will fall to the ground ! " 
 Tenderly : " Have a little parasol made for it for fear the 
 sun should fade its color! " Pedantically: " That animal 
 which Aristophanes calls Hippocamelelephantelos must 
 surely have had a similar lump of flesh and blood beneath 
 his forehead!" Cavalierly: "Is that hook in the height 
 of fashion ? It's really most useful to hang your hat on ! " 
 Emphatically: " Surely, oh majestic nose, no wind can 
 give it a cold over its entire extent unless it be the 
 mistral!" Dramatically: "It's the Red Sea when it 
 bleeds!" Admiringly: "What a sign-board for a per- 
 fumer!" Lyrically: "Is it a conch, and are you a 
 Triton?" Simply: "When does one visit this monu- 
 ment?" . . . Like a peasant: " Hi there, is that a nose? 
 Oh my! It's a little pumpkin or a big turnip! " In a 
 military manner: " Advance against the cavalry! " From 
 a practical point of view : " Why don't you put it in a 
 lottery? It will surely win first prize!" Or, if you 
 wish to parody Pyramus as he sighs: " Here is the nose 
 which spoils its master's harmony ! It blushes for its 
 treachery! " Something like that, my dear friend, is what 
 you might have said, if you had a spark of wit or learning 
 in you. . . . 
 
 There are many such speeches in Cyrano and 
 L'Aiglon; it may be that they were written with a 
 particular actor or actress in view Coquelin in 
 one case, Sarah Bernhardt in the other but the 
 fact remains that they are in keeping with the rest 
 of the play and with the character in whose mouth 
 
 114
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 they are put. They are the old-fashioned tirades 
 brought up-to-date and thoroughly humanized; 
 vivid, joyful, brilliant. This same spirit of 
 bravura which incites Cyrano to perform exploits 
 of almost superhuman endeavor, animates the 
 poet. He enjoys Cyrano's throwing his purseful 
 of gold onto the stage and crying " Mais quel 
 geste ! " ; he is with the gentle prompter under the 
 balcony, at the ramparts of Arras, and in the con- 
 vent garden; he stands close by the Due de Reich- 
 stadt as he delivers his " pas-prisonnier mais " 
 speech to Metternich; he watches at the bedside of 
 Napoleon's unfortunate son. This identification 
 of the poet with his characters ahTTtKeir actions 
 ilriandoubtedly what makes of his plays living 
 works; their verve is his verve, their esprit, his 
 own. 
 
 ~L'Aiglon, performed for the first time in 1900, 
 with Bernhardt in the role of the Duke, came as 
 something of a disappointment after Cyrano; in- 
 deed, it is hard to conceive of anything but an anti- 
 climax after that play. The subject is rather epic 
 than dramatic, and its inordinate length, the weak 
 character of the protagonist, the somewhat dis- 
 unified plot, militate against the piece. Yet it con- 
 tains many admirable scenes and speeches, that 
 scene for instance where the Duke is playing with 
 his toy soldiers. Here the whole pathos of the 
 tragedy of Napoleon is brought to us in a simple 
 bit of stage business. The weakly youth is ar- 
 ranging his soldiers in order of battle, and is 
 surprised by Metternich. " And where are the 
 Austrians? inquires Metternich. "They have 
 all fled! " answers the enthusiastic youth. Turn
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 to the mirror episode, and the many scenes in 
 which the old soldier Flambeau appears, and the 
 Field of Wagram effective as stage pictures, 
 impressive as literature ! 
 
 Yet in spite of its manifold charms and its par- 
 ticular scenes it fails as an artistic unit. The 
 poet's tendency, too, to juggle with words, be- 
 comes more sharply accentuated. His preciosity 
 in Chantecler becomes in places a fault. Chante- 
 cler's well-known speech in the third act, is a point 
 in question: 
 
 Oui, Coquards cocardes de coquilles, 
 Coquardeaux Coquebins, Coquelets, Cocodrilles, 
 Au lieu d'etre coquets de vos cocoricos, 
 Vous reviez d'etre, 6 Coqs! de droles de cocos! 
 Oui, Mode! pour que d'eux tu t'emberlucoquasses, 
 Coquine! ils n'ont voulu, ces Coqs, qu'etre cocasses! 
 Mais, Coquins! le cocasse exige un Nicolet! 
 On n'est jamais assez cocasse quand on 1'est! 
 Mais qu'un Coq, au coccyx, ait plus que vous de 
 
 ruches, 
 
 Vous passez, Cocodes, comme des coqueluches! 
 Mais songez que demain, Coquef redouilles ! mais 
 Songez qu'apres-demain, malgre, Coqueplumets ! 
 Tous ces coqueluchons dont on s'emberlucoque, 
 Un plus cocasse Coq peut sortir d'une coque, 
 Puisque le Cocassier, pour varier ses stocks, 
 Peut plus cocassement cocufier des Coqs ! 
 Et vous ne serez plus, vieux Cocatres qu'on casse, 
 Que des Coqs rococos pour ce Coq plus cocasse ! 
 
 UN COQ. Et le moyen de ne pas etre rococo ? 
 
 CHANTECLER. C'est de ne penser qu'au 
 
 UN COQ. Qu'au? 
 
 Tous LES COQS. Qu'au ? 
 
 CHANTECLER. Cocorico ! 
 
 116
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 This is diabolically clever, and the play is full of 
 such speeches. 
 
 And as the poet's skill increased his knowledge 
 of life deepened. In the first of the plays which 
 may be taken as a serious comment on life, La 
 Princesse lointaine, Rostand wrote of the ideal 
 pursued for its own sake, in La Samaritaine he told 
 of a woman's love and her redemption, in Cyrano 
 he painted a splendid character upon a gorgeous 
 and joyous background, in L'Aiglon, a pathetic fig- 
 ure with a tragic end; in Chantecler, the child of 
 his early maturity, he preaches the gospel of work. 
 Not that he wrote a thesis play he would smile 
 at the notion but out of the depths of his being 
 he created a work of living art which embodied, 
 as all great work must, his inmost beliefs. Chan- 
 tecler is Rostand's ideal of manhood; he is not a 
 hero, but he believes himself to be such, and, 
 just as Percinet said to Sylvette, they thought them- 
 selves wicked, and they were ! Chantecler thinks 
 himself the master, and he is; he believes that it 
 is his Corcorico which makes the sun rise, and 
 when at last he finds that it rises without his aid, 
 he is momentarily disillusioned; but through the 
 love of the Pheasant-Hen and through renewed 
 faith in the nobility of his work, such as it is, he 
 resolves to do his own small part, and help the 
 sun to rise. 
 
 Rostand has explained in many interviews his 
 own intentions; I shall therefore repeat his own 
 comments on the various characters, as retold in 
 Marco F. Liberma's The Story of Chantecler: 
 
 117
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 " Chantecler was to be the drama of human en- 
 deavor grappling with life. The Cock represents 
 man loving passionately his chosen vocation, man 
 who has faith in his work, and who will allow 
 nothing to sway him in its accomplishment. He 
 meets the Pheasant, representing woman, the 
 modern woman: emancipated, independent, dom- 
 ineering; jealous of the male's high task; who 
 means to enslave him to her sole affection ; and who 
 yields only after she has been overcome, brought 
 to submission, with, perhaps, the secret hope that 
 she may still some day hold sway over him and 
 thus be avenged. We have here the eternal 
 struggle that opens with the Book of Genesis, 
 the struggle to reach some compromise by which 
 man and woman are to be made cognizant of their 
 respective places, accept the station in life imposed 
 upon them by virtue of some yet unrecognized, 
 but none the -less stringent, restrictions in their 
 natures. On the one hand we have the will to do, 
 untrammeled by physical and social limitations on 
 which nevertheless hangs the very existence of the 
 race; on the other hand, the will to be, for the 
 purpose that transcends man's very dream. And 
 it is because this passiveness demanded of woman, 
 and through which her power for good over man 
 seems doubled a hundredfold, arouses in this day 
 opposition so fierce as to endanger the very life 
 of the family, the poet thought it well to sound a 
 note of warning. Chantecler and the Pheasant 
 are the will and the feelings at war with each other. 
 The will and the affections are at war in the breast 
 of each one of us." 
 
 118
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 
 With this basis the poet went to work to write 
 a modern play, which was poetic at the same time. 
 He has shown that it is possible to be poetic about 
 the things of the age: a reception, a telephone, a 
 fad. " Characters garbed in animal dress," he 
 once exclaimed, " expressing themselves like hu- 
 man beings, like Parisians of the day. What 
 a find! And furthermore, what an opportunity 
 to speak of things in nature, to be deeply moved 
 by flowers, birds, the bits of grass, or the insect 
 . . . and what a setting ! No, really, a poet could 
 not wish for a more beautiful theme ! " 
 
 The method of presenting his story was well- 
 chosen, although it was so original that the good 
 theater-goers of Paris were puzzled. The play 
 was not a success, and enjoyed a comparatively 
 short run. Too clever, too obscure, too long, 
 were the common verdicts. It was again an in- 
 stance of the insularity of the French public, which 
 was the last, by the way, to see Maeterlinck's 
 Blue Bird: St. Petersburg, London, New York, 
 and Chicago had been flocking to see the feerie 
 before the Theatre Rejane opened its doors to the 
 most famous play of the time. 
 
 In 1910 a pantomime, accompanied by a poem, 
 was produced at the Theatre Sarah Bernhardt: 
 it was Rostand's Le Bois sacre, written some years 
 previously. This trifle is a parody on the gods of 
 ancient Greece, more in the style of Les Roman- 
 esques than the later plays; graceful, witty, slight. 
 It deserves no special mention. 
 
 119
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Rostand achieved fame at an early age: ap- 
 pointed Officer of the Legion of Honor in 1900, 
 elected to the Academy in 1903, he is undoubtedly 
 the best-known dramatist in France. Yet he lives 
 in modest retirement, assiduously working at his 
 Faust, which was announced some years ago. He 
 has passed the critical period of his artistic career, 
 and there is little fear that he will accede to popu- 
 lar demand, and hasten new works to the stage, or 
 in any way cheapen an art which his country justly 
 holds in honor. Together with Porto-Riche, he 
 lives for his art alone, and deigns to allow his 
 plays to become public property only after they 
 have undergone the most minute and painstaking 
 revision. 
 
 Rostand is happy in the pursuit of his ideal, and 
 with his love for it he may justly say with his own 
 Father Trophime: 
 
 Oui, les grandes amours travaillent pour le ciel. 
 
 120
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 " CRITICISM," says Jules Lemaitre, " is the art 
 of enjoying books." M. Lemaitre has practiced 
 what he preached, and in some thirty thick vol- 
 umes he has amassed his enjoyment of books and 
 plays. Les Impressions de theatre and Les Con- 
 temporains have already assumed a place which 
 they will long occupy in the front rank of original 
 thought during the last part of the Nineteenth 
 Century. 
 
 When Lemaitre speaks of Shakespeare and Mo- 
 liere, it is as if he had never heard of either be- 
 fore; he records his first impressions of Hamlet 
 and Le Misanthrope as if these plays had just 
 come fresh from the press. Unhampered by the 
 accumulated prejudices of former generations, he 
 analyzes in a leisurely and orthodox manner each 
 work, recording with absolute sincerity his opinions 
 on Georges Ohnet and Racine, Paul Bourget and 
 Rousseau. When he tells us that Racine is worth 
 reading, that the author of the Ironmaster is 
 vastly overrated, that his novels have no literary 
 merit, we feel readily inclined to believe him. 
 His independence of thought is naively manifested 
 in his essay on Maupassant, in which he says that 
 he was at first prone to underrate the genius of the 
 young writer simply because the great Flaubert 
 spoke of him in such glowing terms. Here is the 
 opening paragraph of that essay: 
 
 121
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 I used to go from time to time to see Gustave Flaubert 
 at Croisset (that was in 1880). It appears that I met 
 Maupassant there one day, just as he was leaving for 
 Paris. At least, that is what Maupassant says. I really 
 don't remember: I have the most capricious memory in the 
 world. But I recall clearly that Flaubert spoke enthusi- 
 astically of his young friend, and that he read to me, with 
 that sonorous voice of his, a story which appeared some 
 months later in the volume entitled Des Vers. It had to 
 do with the separation of two lovers, after a last walk in 
 the country: he was brutal, she quietly desperate. I 
 thought it not at all bad, but I was somewhat on my guard 
 because of the aged Flaubert's extravagant admiration, so 
 that I did not at that time realize that it was really very 
 good. Maupassant was at that time, etc. . . . 
 
 This informal, easy, conversational way of 
 writing criticism makes Lemaitre delightful read- 
 ing, so that we too are likely perhaps to behave as 
 the critic did in the presence of the " aged Flau- 
 bert," and be on our guard, and fail to see the ex- 
 traordinary merit of the criticism. Profundity of 
 thought and heaviness of style do not of necessity 
 go hand in hand. Lemaitre is as profound as 
 Brunetiere, the only difference between the two 
 being that Lemaitre amuses us with unexpected 
 quips and turns, amusing anecdotes, and helps us 
 to retain important points which might otherwise 
 escape us, while Brunetiere, saying perhaps as 
 much, risks tiring us, because his method of pre- 
 sentation lacks lightness, variety, esprit. Sarcey, 
 that benevolent despot of the French stage for 
 nearly half a century, is more nearly akin to Le- 
 maitre than Brunetiere, by reason of his simplicity 
 and occasionally brutal sincerity; but Sarcey is a 
 literary bourgeois, Lemaitre an aristocrat. 
 
 122
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 A critic, and above all a dramatic critic, who 
 ventures into the field of drama, runs grave risks. 
 Do not his brother critics hold him up to the stand- 
 ards for which he himself has stood and many 
 others for which he has not and condemn him 
 for falling short of those principles the shatter- 
 ing of which he has so often censured in others? 
 Lemaitre's first play, Revoltee, was produced in 
 1889. It was not a success, and was received with 
 a good deal of adverse comment. 
 
 By the year 1889 Lemaitre was fairly well 
 known in the literary world. Born in a little 
 town in Touraine in 1853, he received his early 
 education in his native province, pursued his stud- 
 ies later in Paris, taught school in Le Havre and 
 two other French cities, and, for a short time, in 
 Algiers. At the age of thirty-one he permanently 
 established himself in Paris, where he had been 
 summoned to fill the position of dramatic critic 
 on the Journal des Debate, At that time he was 
 known to a few readers as the author of a slight 
 volume of youthful verses, some of them crude 
 and some delicate, called Les Medallions (1880), 
 and some of those essays which were later col- 
 lected in Les Contemporains. The poems were 
 followed seven years later by a collection of short 
 stories, Serenus, which gave evidence of real cre- 
 ative power, and proved the writer well capable of 
 telling a story in direct and convincing terms. 
 The versatile young man was spreading his wings, 
 then, in the late 'eighties; but as he manifested a 
 desire to fly in the direction of the stage, he a 
 dramatic critic, his confreres berated him severely, 
 and declared with more or less truth that 
 
 123
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 he had not proved himself a dramatist by writing 
 Revoltee. For the next few years he continued 
 writing plays, finding time however to write one 
 of his finest works, the novel Les Rots (1893). 
 As we are primarily concerned with Lemaitre the 
 dramatist, we must content ourselves by accepting 
 the verdict of critics and the public, and recording 
 the fact that Lemaitre's only novel remains one of 
 the most popular and highly-thought-of novels of 
 the generation. Contes blancs (1900) and En 
 marge des vieux livres (1905-1907) are like- 
 wise among the most charming works of the 
 author. 
 
 Revoltee is decidedly a first attempt, crude and 
 full of " influences." It seems as if the first- 
 nighter had relied a little too much on scattered 
 tag-ends of Ibsen and some of the young inno- 
 vators of the Theatre Libre. The play might 
 well be called Impressions de theatre. A reading 
 of the piece leaves one with the feeling that he 
 has seen it all before : the stupid and uninterest- 
 ing Georg Tesman husband; the misunderstood 
 wife, her struggle for freedom, self-expression. 
 There is some hesitancy in the story, the plot 
 moves on the wheels of time-worn conventions, 
 there is a duel and a final reconciliation in which it 
 is hard to believe. But the play is noteworthy, 
 however, by reason of some good bits of character- 
 ization; Helene and her professor husband Rous- 
 seau, are what render Revoltee worth reading. 
 Lemaitre was the first to realize the weakness of 
 his work: in his own criticism of it he says: 
 ' You see, the last act is very mediocre now I 
 have thought of a much better one, but it is too 
 
 124
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 late." Instead of rewriting the play, he pro- 
 ceeded to write another. 
 
 An incident serves to reveal Lemaitre's ideas 
 on playwriting, ideas which were soon to develop 
 and form the basis of many of his later plays. 
 Sarcey said of the next attempt, Le Depute Leveau, 
 '' This is no play." To which Lemaitre replied, 
 " Je m'en moque, si c'est de la vie." (Literally, 
 " I don't care a hang, so long as it is life.") It 
 was hardly that, but the answer was worthy of its 
 author. 
 
 Le Depute Leveau is well written, well con- 
 structed, and much nearer " life " than Revoltee, 
 but it is still far from Le Pardon and La Mas- 
 sure. It is a satire on the parvenu politician, and 
 is concerned with his love-affair and subsequent di- 
 vorce. Leveau, after falling in love with the 
 Marquise de Greges, seeks to divorce his wife, but 
 is at first met with considerable opposition; this is 
 later broken down in a rather unconvincing man- 
 ner. The Marquise's husband has made friends 
 with Leveau for political reasons, but Leveau is 
 not long in learning that he has served merely as 
 an instrument in the Marquis' hands, and is the 
 victim of an intrigue. The denouement is feeble : 
 Leveau sends the Marquis an anonymous letter, 
 arranges that the Marquise and himself shall be 
 found together, irreparably compromised, and 
 that he (the Marquis) will be forced to divorce 
 his wife. The plot works, the divorce is obtained, 
 and we are led to suppose that Leveau ultimately 
 becomes the husband of the Marquise. The story 
 is " theatrical," but there are numerous bits of 
 characterization which partly redeem the play. 
 
 125
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Manage blanc is one of the most charming and 
 interesting comedies of its day. Jacques de 
 Tievre, a blase man of the world, a relic of twenty 
 years' dissipation, comes to Mentone on the Ri- 
 viera, to rest. There he meets a Mme. Aubert 
 and her two daughters: Marthe, and her half- 
 sister, Simone, a young girl in the last stages of 
 consumption. His assiduous visits are interpreted 
 by the mother and Marthe as a desire on his part 
 to marry Marthe, but it is really the invalid who 
 has attracted him. The idea of making love to 
 a young woman who has but a few months to live 
 appeals to his abnormal imagination. He tells 
 Mme. Aubert of his strange passion; she is natu- 
 rally astonished, but, noticing that Simone recipro- 
 cates his love, and not wishing to risk the shock 
 which a refusal of Jacques as a suitor would cause 
 to the girl, she gives her consent to the marriage. 
 At first the disappointed and wounded Marthe op- 
 poses the match, but as Simone is suddenly taken 
 ill, she " forgives " Jacques. But she cannot for- 
 give the sister, who, she believes, robbed her of 
 a husband, and, partly out of spite, partly by in- 
 clination, she gives Jacques a rendezvous. Simone 
 surprises the two, and falls dead. 1 
 
 The interest of the play lies in its strange plot, 
 and in the characters or Marthe and Jacques. 
 Lemaitre tells us, in answer to one of the numer- 
 ous attacks made on the play: " My mistake was 
 in believing that Jacques de Tievre's idea was in 
 
 1 The original ending, according to Lemaitre, was this: 
 Marthe, knowing that any sort of exposure would be certain 
 death to her sister, opens a window in the room where Simone 
 is lying, which results in the consumptive's death. 
 
 126
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 nowise out of the ordinary, that his behavior and 
 sentiments were easy to understand, quite accept- 
 able as a matter of course. And why should I 
 not have thought so? Jacques' dream is one 
 which I myself once had, some twelve or fifteen 
 years ago, spontaneously, in regard to a young 
 girl I met in a family ' pension ' where I took my 
 meals. Doubtless, it was only a dream . . . 
 but in reality that dream did not seem so absurd 
 or impossible. Above all, there appeared to be 
 nothing immoral in it." But Jacques' attitude 
 may be condemned on the grounds of morality; 
 for, in spite of the fact that perhaps he loved 
 Simone after his marriage, he married her out of 
 pity and, to a certain extent, because the whole ad- 
 venture was romantic and piquant. Marthe as a 
 character is scarcely more than a sketch; but how 
 deft are the touches which make her live, how 
 deeply we feel her sense of injury and loss ! Will 
 Lemaitre ever write a play about Marthe, expand- 
 ing her field of action, entering with greater detail 
 into her inmost thoughts? 
 
 Two years after Manage blanc came Flipote, 
 a rather rigid, " well-made " piece. The char- 
 acterization is good, but the story is decidedly 
 banal. Two lovers " separate the day they find 
 themselves rivals in public favor." Between 
 Manage blanc and Les Rois, a comparatively 
 weak piece of work can easily be forgiven. 
 
 It will be remembered that the title of Le- 
 mattre's only novel was Les Rois. That novel he 
 dramatized in 1893. The play was a great suc- 
 cess at the Theatre de la Renaissance. Like many 
 of the plays of Francois de Curel, the austere 
 
 127
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 writer of Les Fossiles, this was based upon a news- 
 paper clipping relating the disappearance of a 
 prince of the House of Austria. Like Curel, Le- 
 maitre used the incident merely as an excuse for a 
 psychological work of deep import. The aged 
 King of Alfania has abdicated in favor of his son 
 Hermann, a young man whose principles of de- 
 mocracy and progress are in direct opposition to 
 his father's. As he ascends the throne, he is con- 
 fronted with the grave problem of a popular up- 
 rising, the object of which is the increase of the 
 rights and power of the people. Once crowned, 
 Hermann, acting contrary to the advice of his 
 wife Wilhelmina and his ministers, decides in 
 favor of the people. Hermann's revolutionary 
 doctrines are not all his own, for a woman, Frida 
 de Thalberg, his former mistress, had imbued him 
 with the spirit of freedom which caused so great a 
 disturbance in the kingdom. Awdotia Latanief, 
 a " revolutionary mystic," a friend of Frida, has 
 likewise had much to do in the shaping of the 
 mind of the young King. Meanwhile the people, 
 having tasted of freedom, invade the palace, de- 
 manding further rights and more power. Giving 
 way to the entreaties of his wife, Hermann orders 
 the General to " do his duty " ; the crowd is dis- 
 persed, some revolutionaries are killed, and for 
 the moment the revolt is put down. False to his 
 own principles, Hermann decides to go to Frida 
 for consolation; she is stationed not far away, at 
 Loewenberg. He leaves, followed by Wilhel- 
 mina. At the Pavilion of Orsova are Frida, the 
 King, and Awdotia. The two women, at first 
 alone, discuss the political situation and Awdotia 
 
 128
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 proposes that Hermann be assassinated in order 
 that the revolution may take its course unhindered; 
 but Frida, fearing for the life of the man she 
 loves, promises that if she be left alone with him, 
 she will induce him to abdicate. Hermann and 
 Frida are then left together; Frida's passion for 
 the liberty of Alfania has now given way to her 
 particular passion for its king. " I don't want to 
 be the shameful rival of the Queen of Alfania; 
 but if you are truly unhappy and tired of your 
 role of king and will abdicate, then I will be 
 yours ! " Hermann is willing to give up all for 
 Frida; but just. at this moment the figure of Wil- 
 helmina is seen in the background. Ignorant of 
 the danger, Hermann takes Frida in his arms, 
 Wilhelmina enters, takes the revolver Awdotia has 
 left on the table, and aims at Frida ; but Hermann, 
 stepping between them, receives the shot and dies 
 a moment later. Wilhelmina tells the aged King 
 what she has done, and he replies, making her the 
 Regent: " You have done so much to defend the 
 crown, that I know of no one in whose hands it 
 could safer be! " This drama of "passion and 
 ideas " is thoroughly effective, with the exception 
 of the final act; the psychological insight of the 
 author is deeper than in any other of his plays, 
 with the exception of Le Pardon. But the in- 
 terest is so often shifted that we are left a little 
 bewildered. If Lemaitre had concentrated more 
 on the characters of Hermann, Frida, and Wilhel- 
 mina, we should doubtless have had a finer work. 
 That finer work was to come two years later. 
 
 With L'Age difficile Lemaitre gave proof of his 
 command over the dramatic medium. With per- 
 
 129
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 feet ease he conducts his hero, a man of middle 
 age, through dangerous love affairs, and entertains 
 us with a series of delightful genre scenes. Those 
 parts of the play dealing with the " Indian Sum- 
 mer " of Chambray, his meeting an old sweet- 
 heart after many years of separation from her, 
 are handled with great dexterity and gentle ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Up to the year 1895 Lemaitre had made var- 
 ious attempts with a good measure of success in 
 the delineation of character; in Les Rois and 
 Manage blanc he had gone far into the analysis 
 of human motives; but not until Le Pardon did all 
 his power of presenting human beings and deal- 
 ing with real problems come to its fullest fruition. 
 Les Rois, as we have seen, was ragged in places, 
 Manage blanc somewhat abnormal and inclined 
 to be over-sentimental; Le Pardon comes as near 
 being a Slice of Life as Porto-Riche's Amoureuse, 
 or any of its numerous progeny. 
 
 For commercial, and occasionally for artistic 
 reasons, several modern plays of full length con- 
 tain but five, four, or three characters. The 
 charming comedy, The Mollusc, by Hubert Henry 
 Davies, and Frangois de Curel's La Danse devant 
 le miroir contain but four characters each. Le 
 Pardon has only three. A dramatist who is able 
 to write a play with so few characters and make 
 that play interesting and effective must be acknowl- 
 edged by reason of that tour de force an accom- 
 plished man of the theater. In the second act of 
 The Thief, Henry Bernstein has written a duo- 
 logue, which for dramatic tension could hardly be 
 improved upon; but the intrinsic interest of the 
 
 130
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 situation itself, which had been prepared for in 
 the foregoing act through the agency of a number 
 of people, helped sustain the act. Lemaitre's 
 story is simple and commonplace : Suzanne has 
 been unfaithful to Georges and wishes to become 
 reconciled with him. Their friend Therese brings 
 about the reconciliation, but meantime Georges 
 falls in love with her. Suzanne learns of this, and 
 is at first not inclined to forgive her husband; then, 
 as Georges makes it clear to her that his " slip " 
 was momentary, accidental, that he will ever after 
 be a model husband, Suzanne gives in. Here is 
 no mystery, here are few opportunities for the 
 " grand style ! " What could Bernstein have done 
 with this plot? 
 
 In Le Pardon Lemaitre has voluntarily done 
 away with such moving scenes as are ordinarily 
 called " effective." In the story he conceived he 
 might have made room for many of these, but he 
 preferred to enter into a detailed analysis of the 
 three characters he chose to treat. With a keen- 
 ness and austerity closely akin to the literary hau- 
 teur of Paul Hervieu, he has applied himself solely 
 to inquiring into the thoughts and feelings of Su- 
 zanne, Georges, and Therese. In brief he says: 
 Here is what happens every day; it is not pleas- 
 ant, it is not edifying, but it is life. I have at- 
 tempted to use this episode and tried to demon- 
 strate the subtle workings of the minds of these 
 three people. If Suzanne is unfaithful to her hus- 
 band, how will her action affect him? If, after 
 her husband has forgiven her, on certain condi- 
 tions, he is unfaithful to her, how will she feel? 
 If each at last is equally guilty, will that fact bal-
 
 ance accounts? Momentarily, it will, says Le- 
 maitre; but he pessimistically and truly adds that 
 this unhappy couple is no more secure than they 
 were when the play opened. Suzanne says as the 
 curtain falls: "Oh, Georges, God have pity on 
 us ! " This is a step in advance of the solutions 
 of the same problem offered by Hervieu and 
 Porto-Riche in Les Tenailles and Amoureuse. 
 In Les Tenailles the unfaithful wife is riveted to 
 her husband by circumstances. Her fault is 
 learned years after, when it is too late for her to 
 remarry. In Amoiireuse, she is brought closer to 
 her husband, because only through her possible 
 loss is he made fully aware of his love for her. 
 
 Lemaitre has twice in his plays made use of 
 verse. Two slight but very amusing satirical com- 
 edies mark his sole attempts in the realm of the 
 purely fanciful: La Bonne Helene, a two-act 
 parody something in the manner of Meilhac and 
 Halevy, and the comic opera, Le Manage de 
 Telemaque, in which Maurice Donnay was his 
 collaborator. With such a combination it is no 
 wonder that this delightful trifle enjoyed a long 
 and successful run at the Opera Comique. 
 
 The years between 1889 and 1896 were those 
 in which Lemaitre's development as a dramatist 
 was most rapid; Revoltee is the weakest of the 
 plays, and Le Pardon probably the most close- 
 knit, best thought-out, and best constructed. This 
 development of his dramatic sense practically 
 stopped seven years after its inception; for in none 
 of the three important plays which followed Le 
 Pardon did he add materially to his skill as a 
 craftsman, or his ideas. L'Ainee, La Massiere, 
 
 132
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 and Bertrade, are the products of a man who has 
 already said his say. Of these three the first is 
 the most original. It is the story of Pastor 
 Petermann, a stolid Swiss, who has six daughters 
 " to marry off." " Think of it," he says, " six 
 daughters to marry! It's a problem. I must 
 show them off, give garden parties, teas, concerts; 
 bring young men to the house, and hold them. 
 Old Pastor Petermann's home has become a shrine 
 of Love. But I find it all very pleasant, this 
 contrast between the sacred mission of the minister 
 of the Gospel and his preoccupations as father of 
 a family." Here is a good subject for comedy, 
 a splendid opportunity which the dramatist has 
 not failed to grasp. The first two acts are among 
 the best Lemaitre ever wrote; but eventually he 
 turns all his attention to The Eldest Daughter 
 L'Ainee. There is some resemblance to Marthe's 
 situation in Manage blanc, as little Norah steps 
 in and appropriates Mikils, who has asked for the 
 hand of Lia, the eldest. Lia has ever been the 
 drudge of the family; her continual sacrifices have 
 always been accepted as a matter of course. Five 
 years pass; Lia is thirty. As before, she is the 
 drudge, the servant of her sisters and their infant 
 children. At last a friend of the family, Miiller, 
 a man of fifty, asks her to become his wife. She 
 does not love him, but feels that she must take the 
 chance. Just as she accepts his offer, the seven- 
 teen-year-old Dorothee exercises her youthful cun- 
 ning, and wins Miiller. The parents do not hesi- 
 tate to agree to the match. In silence, Lia accepts 
 defeat, until one day, at a garden party given by 
 Dursay, a neighbor, she is astonished on being 
 
 133
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 asked to dance with the host's nephew. He has 
 divined the innate charm of the Eldest and begins 
 to make love to her in true romantic style. Daz- 
 zled for the moment by the unexpectedness of the 
 young man's declarations, she goes with him into 
 the pavilion. Someone outside calls for her. 
 " If you go now," says Dursay, " you are lost." 
 Terrified at the prospect, yet yielding to an in- 
 stinct of blind fear of further trouble, she opens 
 the door and calls, " Here I am ! " Lia seems 
 irreparably compromised; but, strangely enough, 
 Norah and Mikils side with her and persuade the 
 Petermanns that " Really, what irritates you is 
 not what she has done . . . but the scandal." 
 Madame Petermann agrees with Norah : " Don't 
 you see, it is Lia's very innocence, her simplicity, 
 that have been her undoing? Is it for us to be 
 severe on her, us for whom she has sacrificed 
 everything? ... If Lia has sinned ... it is our 
 fault ... we should take her to our hearts, pro- 
 tect her, and not allow her to suffer. That's what 
 I think ! " And the erring daughter is received 
 again into the bosom of her family. The repent- 
 ant Dursay makes an offer of marriage, which is at 
 length accepted. 
 
 The end is a little banal, but a comedy must end 
 in some way. The author was concerned with 
 Lia, and we must admit that she is a well-drawn 
 character. 
 
 La Massiere is a play of temperament. The 
 painter Mareze is guilty of " sentimental infidel- 
 ity " to his wife in his relations with little Juliette, 
 an assistant in his studio. Mme. Mareze, who 
 suspects that her husband's interest in the girl is 
 
 134
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 
 more than platonic, extracts a promise from him 
 not to receive her except in the studio, and during 
 " business hours " ; but a small crisis is brought on 
 as she meets Juliette one day coming from 
 Mareze's private studio in his home. The affair 
 is simply one of sentiment, yet it assumes serious 
 proportions in Madame's eyes. Their son 
 Jacques, however, provides a solution to the prob- 
 lem. Meeting Juliette one day by chance, he falls 
 in love with her, and tells his parents not long 
 after of his wish to make her his wife. Mareze 
 is deeply troubled, and opposes the marriage from 
 selfish motives; but his wife, seeing the truth of 
 the matter that Jacques' marriage will put an 
 end to the other affair brings the two together 
 and induces her husband to give his consent. 
 
 The plot again is weak; it does not progress; 
 but the idea, like that in the perennially charming 
 Ete de la Saint-Martin of Meilhac and Halevy, the 
 attack of " Indian Summer " which comes to men 
 of middle age, and the manner in which it is 
 worked out, make it one of Lemaitre's most de- 
 lightful plays. 
 
 Ber trade (1905) is the latest play. 1 The 
 Marquis de Mauferrand, deep in debt, has a 
 daughter, Bertrade, who can be the means of sav- 
 ing her father and establishing him comfortably 
 for the remainder of his life, if she will only con- 
 sent to become the wife of a rich and unscrupulous 
 banker, Chaillard. But she refuses, in spite of 
 the imprecations and threats of the Marquis. 
 There is one last means: the Marquis can, by mar- 
 
 1 La Princesse de Cloves was written about the same time, 
 presumably. It has not been produced. 
 
 135
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 rying a former mistress, the Baroness de Rom- 
 melsbach, reestablish himself and pay all his 
 debts. Again Bertrade steps in, convinces her 
 father of the utter shame of the transaction, and 
 persuades him to refuse. This he does, but, as 
 there is no solution left, he kills himself. This 
 is again a rather meretricious story, and would 
 have little value were it not for the study afforded 
 in the character of Bertrade. The dramatist's 
 mistake is in beginning his play either too soon or 
 too late. Bertrade is too busy doing things to 
 allow us to see very much of her personality. 
 She begins to interest us just as the curtain falls, 
 and we must rely on our imagination to fill out 
 the sketch. Had Lemaitre begun his play at this 
 point, we might have had another complete, sym- 
 pathetic and illuminating picture to place with 
 Suzanne, and Lia, and Frida. As it is, he has 
 given us the ghost of a play, a clever sketch with 
 a melodramatic plot. 
 
 The very openness of mind of Jules Lemaitre, 
 his freedom from prejudice, his admirable integ- 
 rity, render impossible any categorical summing 
 up of his philosophy of life. He is at once skep- 
 tic, believer, poet, politician, Republican, and 
 Royalist. If, in the realm of the drama, he has 
 failed to maintain so high a standard as some of 
 his contemporaries, if in the final analysis he can- 
 not be considered a playwright whose total out- 
 put entitles him to a place in the front rank, he 
 has at least contributed to the drama of his gen- 
 eration one play unsurpassed of its kind. 
 
 Early in August, 1914, Lemaitre died. 
 
 136
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 ALFRED CAPUS once said in an address on 
 " Our Epoch and the Theater " that the society of 
 to-day does not readily lend itself to the dramatist 
 because, " to use a metaphor from photography, 
 it will never sit still long enough to be snapped." 
 M. Capus was surely too modest, for if there is 
 one photographer agile enough to take snap- 
 shots of contemporary French society, it is the 
 author of La Ve'me. The infinitely varied and 
 complex life of the past twenty-five years has 
 found in the plays of this man its most complete 
 and faithful external expression the life of 
 Paris, that is. In the works of no other present- 
 day French dramatist have we such broad and 
 detailed portraits of the boulevardier, the bour- 
 geois, the femme du monde. 
 
 The " smiling optimism " of this son of Pro- 
 vence is not immediately observable in the man's 
 personal appearance. One morning, just after 
 the premiere of his latest play, I paid him a visit 
 in his sumptuous apartment overlooking the 
 Champ de Mars. Into the large library came a 
 small, unwell-looking man, with thin, carefully 
 brushed hair and a neatly trimmed black beard, 
 wearing a pink dressing-gown. He excused him- 
 self saying that he was suffering from a severe cold, 
 and sat back in a chair with a weary sigh. But 
 
 137
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 the moment he spoke, I could observe his essen- 
 tial kindliness and good-nature, which not even the 
 ravages of a Parisian autumn cold could impair. 
 His fine forehead, deep and penetrating black 
 eyes, the mobile lines about the mouth, bespoke the 
 satirist, while the smooth and gentle voice gave 
 evidence of that optimism which is the keynote of 
 all his work. And yet there was something in the 
 quiet manner and unemphatic way of speaking 
 which might lead one to assume that he was any- 
 one but the author of the bubbling Deux Ecoles. 
 
 The life of Alfred Capus is quite in accordance 
 with his appearance; it has been devoid of all ad- 
 venture; full of trials, it is true, but with no vio- 
 lent struggles, no tragedies. It is like that of 
 many of his contemporaries: first a long period of 
 training for a profession never to be pursued, an 
 apprenticeship in the newspaper world, discour- 
 agement, and finally, success. 
 
 Capus was born at Aix, Provence, in 1858. 
 His primary education was received at Toulon; 
 at the age of fourteen he went to Paris, where he 
 continued his studies. There he made the ac- 
 quaintance of that brilliant city in its prime, when 
 the boulevards were at the height of their splen- 
 dor. Like Maurice Donnay, the future dramatist 
 of the boulevards entered a school which was to 
 prepare him to follow a technical profession, only 
 Capus planned to be a mining engineer. But a 
 few years' half-hearted study and his failure to 
 receive the coveted certificate, convinced him that 
 his parents had been unwise in urging him into the 
 
 138
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 paths of practical science. The attractions of 
 " La Ville lumiere " proved too much for him. 
 His natural inclinations, coupled with the driving 
 necessity of making a living, resulted in his first 
 attempt in the field of authorship. In collabora- 
 tion with L. Vonoven he wrote Les Honnetes 
 gens, a little collection of stories and short 
 sketches. The following year the same pair of 
 young authors produced a play Le Mari malgre 
 lui at the Theatre Cluny. The next three years 
 Capus spent in looking for a permanent position, 
 and we may well believe that the indigent young 
 man underwent many privations. Discouraged 
 at length, he decided to leave his native country 
 and go to foreign lands, there to resume the pro- 
 fession for which he had half-prepared himself at 
 the technical school. But just at the right mo- 
 ment he was lucky enough to come into a small 
 sum of money which " permitted him to wait a 
 little longer." 
 
 With the assistance of his friends Paul Hervieu 
 and Marcel Prevost, he was given a position on 
 Le Clairon, a newspaper. It is curious to note 
 that among his first contributions to this organ was 
 one on the death of Darwin, in 1882. No one 
 else on the staff had the temerity to write the few 
 dozen requisite lines. The following year Capus 
 was offered a slightly better position on Octave 
 Mirbeau's new review, Les Grimaces, an offer 
 which the struggling journalist was not slow to 
 accept. At this early date some of those qual- 
 ities of irony and Gallic wit began to appear in his 
 " stories," qualities which he was later to develop 
 
 139
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 and use to great effect in his more mature works. 
 Le Gaulois shortly after became the scene of 
 his activities; here he set himself consciously 
 " blaguer les hommes et les choses," for he was 
 fast becoming what in his earlier years he had as- 
 pired to become : a boulevardier. Capus had now 
 begun to attract some attention, and in his various 
 contributions to L'Echo de Paris, La Revue 
 bleue, and L' Illustration for example little dia- 
 logues, scenes from every-day life, sketches of a 
 political and satirical nature, he proved that he 
 had a personality as well as a very clever manner 
 of exploiting that personality. A lightness of 
 touch and compactness of phraseology distin- 
 guished the young man's style. By the time his 
 first play of any note was produced he was inde- 
 pendent and fairly prosperous, especially as he 
 entered the staff of the Figaro 1 that same year. 
 Meantime, he had been writing novels and stories. 
 Qui Perd 'Gagne, Faux Depart, Monsieur veut 
 rire, and Annees d'aventures give sufficient evi- 
 dence of the assiduity with which the journalist 
 strove to enter the field of letters. These novels, 
 while they were not immediately successful, were 
 for the most part well received, and still hold a 
 position of honor among the " best-sellers " of the 
 past two decades. 
 
 In 1894 Brignol et sa fille was produced at the 
 Vaudeville. The play ran for only eight nights, 
 yet its revival seven years later at the Odeon 
 proved that the first-night judgment was an incor- 
 rect one. This slight but delightfully droll com- 
 
 1 Of which he is now co-editor with Robert de Flers. 
 140
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 edy treats of an honest thief who, by means of his 
 overwhelming " nerve " and the willing coopera- 
 tion of his attractive daughter, borrows large sums 
 of money, embezzles, lies, cheats, with perfect 
 complacency. With unswerving faith in the eter- 
 nal fitness of things, he lives in the belief that 
 " everything will turn out all right in the end." 
 And it does. The opening scene gives us imme- 
 diately the keynote to Brignol's carefree character. 
 
 CONCIERGE. I've just seen the landlord, Monsieur. 
 He refuses to wait another instant. I ought to say, too, 
 that he is very angry. 
 
 BRIGNOL. That will all be arranged. 
 
 CONCIERGE. This is the first time a tenant has been 
 three terms behind. 
 
 BRIGNOL. It's not serious. 
 
 CONCIERGE. Monsieur will allow me to recall the fact 
 that in a day or two 
 
 BRIGNOL. What ? 
 
 CONCIERGE. The bailiff! You Ve already received the 
 first notice, and that means 
 
 BRIGNOL. Do you imagine I don't understand all about 
 such things? I know more than the landlords do: I'm 
 a lawyer 
 
 CONCIERGE. I'll go, then 
 
 Enter MADAME BRIGNOL. 
 
 Then you haven't anything special for me to tell the land- 
 lord, have you ? 
 
 BRIGNOL. Say I'll pay him to-morrow. 
 
 CONCIERGE. To-morrow, without fail? They'll start 
 taking your property 
 
 BRIGNOL. They'll do nothing of the kind. 
 
 CONCIERGE. Humble servant Monsieur Ma- 
 dame [He goes out.] 
 
 141
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 MADAME BRIGNOL. Have you seen all those people 
 you had to see? 
 
 BRIGNOL. Never fear: I have two or three affairs in 
 hand now that are bound to succeed. 
 
 MADAME BRIGNOL. Remember how last time you 
 were counting on two or three affairs, and we didn't pay 
 then! 
 
 BRIGNOL. That has nothing to do with the case. 
 Don't worry. We have the money practically. . . . 
 
 The element of luck is everywhere observable 
 in the plays of Capus. One play, La Ve'ine 
 Luck contains as its essence the theme that luck 
 is the very basis of life. With confidence, impu- 
 dence, and something agreeable in one's make-up 
 it is possible to make a way in the world on 
 " nerve." But one must be clever enough to seize 
 the opportunity. Brignol is a charming fellow, a 
 sympathetic crook; because he never allows an op- 
 portunity to slip by, and because he has on his 
 side that elusive entity called luck, things do " turn 
 out all right in the end." 
 
 He was something of a new creation, a novelty 
 for the theatergoers of the early 'nineties, al- 
 though to the American of to-day he may perhaps 
 appear a trifle pale before the exaggerated Jimmy 
 Valentines and rough diamond heroes. 
 
 Brignol was followed by Rosine, a comedy of 
 a more serious nature; it did much to establish 
 its author as a " rising dramatist." One critic of 
 high authority, Gustave Geffroy, affirmed that 
 Rosine was a " deft study of provincial manners, 
 written on broad lines. In this sense, it is a true 
 piece of work, complete and well thought out. 
 
 142
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 It presents at the same time a section of human- 
 ity and an author. The treatment of that section 
 of humanity gives evidence of scrupulous care, a 
 desire to enter into the field of actual experience, 
 and make us feel when and how the action begins, 
 develops, and is carried to a logical and fitting 
 close." Manage bourgeois, Petites folles and 
 Les Marts de Leontine are rather in the manner 
 of Brignol than of Rosine; each in turn, especially 
 Les Marts de Leontine, added to the popularity 
 of the author. La Bourse ou la 'vie likewise 
 achieved success, but as yet Capus could scarcely 
 be considered an eminent playwright. To estab- 
 lish him firmly a great success was necessary; this 
 came in 1901, when La Veine was for the first 
 time seen at the Varietes. Capus is still occasion- 
 ally spoken of as " the author of La Feine." In 
 this brilliant comedy many of his best qualities 
 as a dramatist and commentator on human nature 
 were brought to their fullest development: adroit- 
 ness of touch in the conducting of individual scenes, 
 ability to tell a moving and interesting story, power 
 to make clever dialogue serve as many ends as 
 possible. Here these qualities he molded into a 
 charming and harmonious whole. That fatalism 
 which lay at the bottom of the character of Brig- 
 not, and which runs through many of Capus' plays, 
 is the actual theme of La Veine. In the words of 
 one of the characters is this theme condensed: 
 " I am not superstitious, but I believe that every 
 man with a little intelligence, who is not too much 
 of a fool and is not too timid, has in his life his 
 hour of luck, when all men seem to work for him, 
 where the fruit actually comes within his reach,
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 so that he has but to pluck it. ... Little Char- 
 lotte, no matter how patient we are, how brave, or 
 how hard we work, we cannot force that hour. 
 ... It strikes from a tower we cannot see, and so 
 long as it has not sounded for us, all our talents, 
 all our virtues, count for nothing." And the play 
 is simply an illustration of this philosophy. 
 Breard and Charlotte are carried along high on 
 the wave of luck which they have been wise 
 enough to see and use to their advantage. 
 
 La Petite Fonctionnaire, another of Capus' 
 most brilliant successes, is at the same time one of 
 his most typical works. Although it is perhaps 
 not so well sustained throughout as the play which 
 preceded it, it contains a number of pictures of 
 provincial life which are quite as amusing. An 
 attractive young girl, Suzanne Borel, forced to 
 make her own living, fills a position in the post- 
 office of a small provincial town. As she is good- 
 looking, and somewhat " accomplished," she is 
 looked upon by the conventional inhabitants as a 
 dangerous citizen, especially as some of the hus- 
 bands take rather too much interest in her wel- 
 fare. First a wealthy man of the town offers to 
 support her in Paris; she accepts the offer, and al- 
 lows her benefactor merely " to touch the tips of 
 her fingers." Then comes the Viscount, who is 
 unhappily married; Suzanne accepts the favors of 
 the young nobleman, who divorces his wife and 
 finally marries his mistress. The plot is nearly 
 as artificial and impossible as any Charles Klein 
 ever conceived, but there is a fund of observation 
 
 144
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 and a consummately well executed picture of peas- 
 ants and petty railroad officials, set pleasantly 
 within the frame of a country post-office. The 
 charm of the comedy lies in particular scenes, of 
 which the following is an example (Suzanne is 
 questioning the postman as to the effect she is pro- 
 ducing on the worthy citizens) : 
 
 SUZANNE. I hope this reform has pleased the people? 
 
 POSTMAN. Oh, some like it, some don't. 
 
 SUZANNE. What? Don't some like it? 
 
 POSTMAN. Some people never do seem satisfied. 
 They ask for reforms, and when they get 'em, they say 
 it upsets their way of doin' things. Now, for instance, 
 they used to get their papers from Paris the mornin' after, 
 and have 'em to read at breakfast; now they have 'em at 
 six in the evenin' 
 
 SUZANNE. To read at dinner! 
 
 POSTMAN. Yes, but you see, they're not used to that 
 don't like it. There're some gentlemen don't want 
 their news too soon. 
 
 SUZANNE. Tell me, the people here don't think much 
 of me, do they? 
 
 POSTMAN. Oh, yes oh, yes they do you justice, 
 Mademoiselle. They think you're very nice, only 
 
 SUZANNE. What do they object to? I'd so like to 
 know. 
 
 POSTMAN. Well, they think it's a little queer that a 
 lady in the post-office plays the piano. ... Ye know, Ma- 
 dame Broquet didn't have a piano, and they wonder why 
 you have one ? 
 
 SUZANNE. But Madame Broquet was deaf; they 
 don't want me to be deaf, do they? 
 
 POSTMAN. Then well the portraits 
 
 SUZANNE. What portraits? 
 
 POSTMAN. Those Mademoiselle draws.
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 SUZANNE. The idea! . . . Last Sunday I went to 
 sketch the bridge there were twenty children around 
 me. 
 
 POSTMAN. They told about it You see, then? 
 Piano, drawing, that's all a bit ! Well, I'll be going 
 now. 
 
 Antoine Benoist (in Le Theatre d'aujourd'hui) 
 happily compares this humorously realistic dia- 
 logue with that of Brieux, the Brieux of Blan- 
 chette, but he takes Capus to task for not attack- 
 ing the question of how is a young girl, left to her 
 own resources, to make an honest living? Per- 
 haps that is too much to ask of a dramatist whose 
 purpose it has always been to amuse, and who has 
 succeeded so well. The question just touched 
 upon by Capus in La Petite Fonctionnalre was 
 dealt with much better by Brieux in La Femme 
 seule, some eleven years later. 
 
 Divorce has always been an attractive and ex- 
 ceedingly fruitful subject for dramatists. In 
 France it has offered occasion for some of the 
 brightest comedies, like Divorfonsf as well as half 
 a dozen thesis plays of serious import and occa- 
 sionally one of tragic depth. Capus' Les Deux 
 Ecoles gives us a comic picture of divorce, the 
 basis of which is not far different from a number 
 of thesis plays by Hervieu and Brieux. Only 
 Capus' object is amusement pure and simple; he 
 preaches no sermon, he proves no thesis. The 
 brilliant scenes in the cafe, the clever characteriza- 
 tion, the quick and compact story, render this play 
 one of Capus' best achievements. 
 
 The inconsequence, the fun, the biting yet some- 
 146
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 how good-natured satire, are the chief charm 
 of this dramatist's work. Had he only adhered 
 to this style of play, had he not deemed it wise to 
 become ambitious and go far afield where he was 
 out of his element, he would have spared himself 
 some failures and at least a temporary loss of 
 popularity. It is not hard to imagine a Capus 
 hero saying something like this: "Ambition is 
 the most fruitless of man's attributes. Why 
 should I be troubled with this hideous feeling? If 
 I can cultivate the art of charming, and make my 
 living without working for it, why on earth should 
 I do more? " 
 
 In the small group of serious plays, Capus seems 
 rarely himself; Notre Jeunesse, Les Deux Hom- 
 mes, L'Oiseau blesse, L'Attentat, L'Adversaire, 
 L'Aventurier, and Helene Ardouin are, in spite of 
 many admirable scenes, not in the best manner of 
 their author. La Chatelaine, a sentimental com- 
 edy in which the reformation of a hardened roue 
 is literally forced down our throats, seems to be 
 the work either of a young author or the sign of 
 repentance of an old hand. It properly belongs 
 with the " nice " plays of Flers and Caillavet and 
 Maurice Donnay. But among these serious plays 
 are two which merit special attention: L y An en- 
 tat and UAventurier. The first of these is valu- 
 able for a number of deft character touches, the 
 second because it is Capus' most successful attempt 
 in a realm where he has scarcely ever been at his 
 ease. The Frenchman is in his element when he 
 can depict with wit and satire the intimate life of 
 his Paris; Capus is in this regard the typical 
 
 147
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Frenchman, but in UAventurier he wished to por- 
 tray the adventurer-type, which has much in com- 
 mon with the English and American captain of in- 
 dustry. In a Somerset Maugham or a Henry 
 Arthur Jones play, there often appears a character 
 who has " made good " in Africa or our own Wild 
 West, and who returns to the " decadent " society 
 whence he fled, " years before." The dramatist's 
 purpose is usually to contrast the rugged strength 
 of the adventurer with the effete representatives 
 of our social life of the day. The French audi- 
 ence evidently likes to see these contrasts, for in 
 the realm of their drama at least, the contrast is 
 the more striking, as their society (again in the 
 realm of their drama) is so artificial, so vastly 
 different from that of the adventurer. When, 
 therefore, a dramatist like Bernstein or Capus or 
 Brieux introduces a discoverer, a captain of in- 
 dustry, the French audience is inclined to look 
 upon the character as something of a prodigy. 
 For this reason, then, this play of Alfred Capus 
 attained a fair success; also, because Lucien Guitry 
 acted the part of the adventurer. The play, while 
 it is not typical of Capus' total output, is typical 
 at least oif one side of his talent. In this piece 
 we may study his technical methods, if not his 
 mordant wit and irony, and observe his powers of 
 telling an interesting story, if not enjoy a picture 
 of contemporaneous manners. 
 
 When an author has been on the wrong track 
 for some time, when critics and public allow him 
 to see that he has ceased to be his old self, he 
 sometimes returns to the old manner. If he be, 
 
 148
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 
 like Capus, a skillful dramatist who knows what 
 the public wants, one who has been a public favor- 
 ite, who has always known how to attract and hold 
 his audiences, he will almost certainly make up 
 for lost time. This fertile dramatist, during the 
 years while he was attempting to enter regions 
 which were not for him, tried from time to time 
 to redeem himself, as it were. In Monsieur 
 Piegpis and Un Ange, the tone is not too serious, 
 yet in spite of a few scenes reminiscent in spirit 
 of La Verne and Brignol et sa fille, these plays 
 are not of great importance. 
 
 But in the Fall of 1913, Capus returned to his 
 brightest manner in L'lnstitut de Beaute. This is 
 scarcely more than a sketch, in which the old 
 Capus characters the bourgeois who writes 
 poems, his wife who runs a beauty shop, the inevi- 
 table duchess and the unlosable lover run 
 through the old Capus situations. The best scene 
 in the play is the second act, in the beauty shop. 
 This is a genre picture, something in the manner 
 of the first act of Pinero's The Gay Lord Quex 
 and the same author's Mind-the-Paint Girl. 
 
 Yet Capus seems to have lost something of the 
 old verve. Perhaps he has paid the penalty for 
 writing his best play too early in his career: his 
 " veine " has possibly left him, for he has just 
 been consecrated as one of the Immortals. His 
 election to the Academic Franchise in the spring 
 of 1914 seemed like a reward for the polished and 
 finely written Institut de Beaute; the freshness and 
 youthful buoyancy of the early works were not 
 
 149
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 sufficient grounds for the granting of immortal- 
 ity. 
 
 In forming any critical judgment of Capus' 
 work, we should of course take into account only 
 the seven or eight really significant plays; if we 
 think of the author of La Verne, Brignol et sa 
 fille, La Petite Fonctionnaire, Les Deux Ecoles, 
 Rosine, Les Marts de Leontine, then the words of 
 Jules Lemaitre are unquestionably applicable: 
 " M. Alfred Capus is an original, 'pacific,' sure 
 writer. In a word, he is a realist, and a true one 
 a rare thing nowadays. For his realism is not 
 tangled up with Naturalism, nor pessimism, nor 
 artistic ' writing,' nor ready-made ' Parisianism,' 
 nor is he concerned with a mania for psychological 
 analysis, nor the desire to shock and astonish us: 
 he is quite unpretentious. He sees clearly, and 
 tells us plainly what he sees; that is all. A 
 natural and quiet teller of stories, exact, scarcely 
 ironical. I have before said that by reason of his 
 tranquillity and his clarity he reminded me of 
 Alain Le Sage. I shall not retract what I have 
 said. Yes, the more I think of it, the more in- 
 clined I am to the belief that his originality lies 
 in the fact that he is a realist in the classic man- 
 ner: a realist pure and simple, not brutal, not 
 evangelical, not bitter, not moral, nor even im- 
 moral. But just because he sees life itself and 
 goes almost always to the average reality (the 
 average is not brilliant, no! but it is infinite) 
 the work of M. Capus appears vastly more 
 significant than the great mass of Parisian goods 
 and psychological studies of greater renown." 
 
 150
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 THE Midi that sunny Midi which gave to 
 France Alphonse Daudet, Frederic Mistral, and 
 Jean Aicard was the birthplace of the sensitive 
 and highly impressionable poet, Henry Bataille. 
 In the same ancient city in which the author of 
 Tartarin first saw the light, Nimes, was born in 
 1872 the author of La Femme nue. Although 
 the removal of his family in 1876 to Paris took 
 the child out of his native haunts, he has since so 
 often revisited them that he may be rightly con- 
 sidered a child of the South. The child's early 
 and lasting impressions received from nature, his 
 almost morbid preoccupation with himself and his 
 thoughts, the deep sorrow caused by early be- 
 reavements, find expression in his first published 
 work, La Chambre blanche, which made its ap- 
 pearance in 1895. It is a slight volume of in- 
 tensely subjective poems. These verses, youthful 
 and crude in places, naive and sincere always, at- 
 tracted some attention, for they constituted a little 
 revolt against the Neo-classicists who held sway 
 at the time. The following lines, evocative of 
 that spirit in nature which was so dear to a poet like 
 Wordsworth, show something of the poet's deli- 
 cacy of feeling. 
 
 Voyageur, voyageur de jadis qui t'en vas 
 
 A 1'heure oil les bergers descendant des montagnes,
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Hate-toi! les foyers sont eteints ou tu vas, 
 Closes les portes au pays que tu regagnes; 
 La grande route est vide et le bruit des luzernes 
 Vient de si loin qu'il ferait peur . . . depeche-toi. 
 
 Bataille was educated at Paris and Versailles, 
 but those frequent sojourns in the South kept him, 
 as I have suggested, a true son of his native 
 Midi. In 1890 he determined to become a 
 painter and entered accordingly the Academic 
 Julian, where his aptitude marked him out as the 
 probable winner of the coveted Prix de Rome. 
 
 But an accident prevented his obtaining the 
 prize, for in 1894 his first play, La Belle au bois 
 dormant, was produced by Lugne-Poe at his 
 Theatre de 1'Oeuvre. This fairy play was writ- 
 ten in collaboration with Robert d'Humieres. 
 Perhaps the most valuable lesson for Bataille in 
 this production was received as a result of his 
 preoccupation with the mounting; it made him 
 familiar with the practical side of producing. 
 Had he continued to spend so much time and en- 
 ergy on this side of the profession, bringing to it 
 his painter's sense of proportion and appropriate- 
 ness, France might have had one dramatist less 
 to-day but, what is more needed, an intelligent and 
 progressive producer. That opposition in France 
 to much that is new in the theater, that obstinate 
 refusal to learn that the stage is not still an eight- 
 eenth century institution, had rarely been so mani- 
 fest as at the first production of La Belle du bois 
 dormant. It was hissed by the audience and 
 damned by the press. The author, it was pre- 
 dicted, would never write anything else. To-day
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 the author is one of France's acknowledged gods 
 of the playhouse, to whom the press and the public 
 are especially and at times blindly cordial. 
 
 This early discouragement nearly turned Ba- 
 taille into other fields, when encouragement of 
 the finest kind came from Marcel Schwob, poet, 
 critic, and correspondent of Stevenson's. Schwob, 
 who had heard Bataille read some of his child- 
 hood verses, urged him to publish them. This 
 the young poet did; the result was La Chambre 
 blanche. " This little white book," wrote Schwob 
 in his preface, " stammering, trembling with ap- 
 prehension, with its little maids painted like pic- 
 tures in a picture-book, with its prim and mannered 
 words, its phrases delicately enameled as by the 
 hand of some old nurse, its poems laid out in fresh 
 beds, half sleeping, dreaming of sweets, of prin- 
 cesses, of golden tresses and honey cakes . . ." 
 he was proud and happy to introduce to the read- 
 ing public. 
 
 Yet Schwob's encouragement did not lead 
 Bataille to return at once to the theater, though 
 it did much to soothe the feelings of the young 
 poet. It was chance once more that directed him 
 toward the footlights. For some time he held in 
 reserve the completed manuscripts of two verse 
 tragedies on legendary themes, Ton Sang and La 
 Lepreuse. These he was persuaded to present in 
 1896 for the benefit performance of an aged ac- 
 tress, but so great was the success of the produc- 
 tion that he at length decided to write plays in 
 earnest. 
 
 Four years later his first prose play on a mod- 
 ern theme appeared. It was L'Enchantement. 
 
 153
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 The moderate success which it achieved and the 
 quantity of discussion it aroused, placed Bataille 
 as among the " promising." Le Masque followed 
 two years later, and in 1905 Resurrection, after 
 Tolstoy's novel of that name; then his greatest 
 successes, La Marche nuptiale, Pollche, and La 
 Femme nue. Productions of La Femme nue, La 
 Vierge folle, and Le Scandale, in England and 
 America, have gone far to establish Bataille's in- 
 ternational fame. 
 
 Bataille has been compared by his biographers 
 and critics with Racine and Porto-Riche. The 
 analogy in either case is clear, but not particularly 
 apt: all three are analysts of love and its effect 
 on the characters of strong women. But Racine 
 by reason of his style and form, is so far from 
 modern times that he can scarcely be compared 
 with the moderns. Porto-Riche, on the other 
 hand, is certainly a sensitive soul and an amorist, 
 but Porto-Riche is a trifle too much concerned with 
 the purely sexual side of his subject: he tends to be 
 cloying. He is at times a satirist, a gentle satirist 
 like Donnay. Bataille is rarely if ever satirical. 
 He has Donnay's sentimental vein, something of 
 Porto-Riche's power of analysis, and something 
 besides of the psychologic insight of Racine. 
 
 Because of his strong inbred sense of the 
 theater he resembles Bernstein. It is safe to pre- 
 dict of a new play announced by either author, 
 that it will contain at least one tense emotional 
 scene. But Bataille's unquestioned superiority 
 over Bernstein rests in this fact: that whereas Le 
 Voleur and Israel and Le Secret appear to be the 
 contrivances of a writer striving for effect, the 
 
 154
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 " big " situations in La Marche nuptiale and La 
 Femme nue and Poliche seem to grow of them- 
 selves. We cannot help thinking of the first act 
 of Le Foleur the adaptation entitled The Thief 
 is well known in the United States as so much 
 preparation for that superb second act, but the 
 third act of La Femme nue is the logical and al- 
 most unperceived outgrowth of the second, the 
 second of the first. Baldly stated, Bataille works 
 from the inside out, Bernstein in the reverse order. 
 The result is that Bernstein's method almost in- 
 variably succeeds it is largely a matter of math- 
 ematics while Bataille's sometimes misses the 
 point. One example will suffice : Le Secret by 
 Bernstein and Le Phalene by Bataille 
 are neither of them sound plays logically. Each 
 is written upon the assumption of a false hypoth- 
 esis. The heroine of the first is supposed to be 
 driven by an abnormal hatred to commit a crime 
 against her friend's husband; the heroine of the 
 latter to commit a crime against herself: in a mo- 
 ment of despondency she gives herself to the first 
 man she meets. The Bernstein play enjoyed a 
 fairly successful run in Paris, while Le Phalene 
 filled scarcely fifty houses. Bernstein used all his 
 theatric skill in order to construct the term is 
 peculiarly applicable a big scene in the second 
 act, but as the preparatory material was gleaned 
 from a false hypothesis, the scaffolding was un- 
 sound. The scene did not ring true, yet so great 
 was the sheer interest, and so great the art of 
 Madame Simone, that the audience threw logic 
 to the winds. Through pure genius Bernstein 
 bolstered up a weak play. But Bataille, with a 
 
 155
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 play founded upon an equally false hypothesis, 
 failed when he came to his big scene, because that 
 scene fell intrinsically short of Bernstein's. Ba- 
 taille failed because he was too much of an artist 
 and too little a man of the theater. He simply 
 could not create out of bad material. Bataille 
 made a mistake, and failed honorably; Bernstein 
 made one, and could not resist the temptation to 
 patch it. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to enter upon the details 
 of all of Bataille's plays; there is a certain simi- 
 larity throughout. L , Enchant ement is the story 
 of a young woman who suddenly becomes aware of 
 the immense power of love within her, and 
 triumphs over adverse circumstances; Maman 
 Colibri, an " unpleasant " play recounting the story 
 of a woman who falls in love with one of her 
 son's friends. It is, in the author's own words, 
 a " study of the functions of woman throughout 
 life." Le Masque is a love-story; the scene of 
 which is laid in the theatrical world; L' Enfant de 
 I' amour, Les Flambeaux, and Le Phalene are again 
 love stories of some power; La Vierge folle is con- 
 cerned with the abnormal adventure of an over- 
 sexed young girl who eventually becomes crazed 
 and commits suicide. But the best and most inter- 
 esting and characteristic plays are La Femme nue, 
 La Mache nuptiale, and Poliche. In these works 
 the charm and poetry, and not too much of the 
 purely theatrical side, of Bataille's genius will 
 assure them recognition for years to come. 
 
 La Femme nue literally The Nude Woman, 
 is one of the most deeply satisfying of all mod- 
 ern French plays. It is the simple story of a 
 
 156
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 young model who remains adorably feminine and 
 natural while her husband, spoiled by his success, 
 fails to appreciate her, and turns to another woman 
 for consolation. Lolette comes to plead with her 
 husband and the Princess who has taken her place 
 in the affections of Pierre. The Princess sees that 
 the situation is a critical one for the poor wife, and 
 turns to Pierre : 
 
 PRINCESS. One of us must say adieu to you forever. 
 
 LOLETTE. Yes, but it can't be me. You haven't the 
 right to leave me. What is to become of me, think! 
 Take a lover? You have taught me to be constant, and 
 now I couldn't love any one but you make a living by 
 going from one man to another? . . . No, thanks! I 
 haven't the strength, or the courage. Run about the 
 streets as I used to do? If you'd left me there, I might 
 have done that now I cannot. It's your fault : you've 
 given me a conscience. What can I do, my God? . . . 
 I've become at last the kind of woman you wanted me to 
 be, and now I can't be the other kind. It's all over! 
 You have a duty to do : keep me. You will keep me ! 
 
 PIERRE. Now, now, talk to me about love if you like, 
 but not duty! ... I have made you, helped you rise in 
 the world. I leave you on a higher level than when I 
 found you. Life is richer in resources than you imagine. 
 You can build up again your social position, find as 
 every one can some one else to love, some one better 
 than I. You will be happier, much happier. 
 
 LOLETTE. {With a penetrating cry.] Oh! You've 
 condemned me, I feel it now! You've made your choice. 
 Go and be happy with her, I know your heart now! 
 Loulou's love is dead! Little Loulou! Your simple lit- 
 tle Loulou! I've had you as she won't have you: I've 
 had your youth, your misery and your poverty! We've 
 gone through all that together. Those were the times ! 
 When your trousers were ragged, when you didn't have 
 
 157
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 four shirts to your name ... I was the woman you 
 needed then ! I've given you all my best years I should 
 have given you my whole life Oh, Pierre, what have 
 I done to you? [She bursts into loud sobs.} 
 
 PIERRE. My dear little girl, if you knew how you are 
 torturing me! 
 
 LOLETTE. [Clinging to his arm.} But it's not possi- 
 ble! You see? He has pity on me! You're not going 
 to take him from me you're not going to take him from 
 me! You can't know what you're doing! . . . Oh, if I 
 could only love him, caress him ! Or be near him ! Call 
 him Pierrot ! The sweetest name in the world ! When 
 I go home now, to-night, I couldn't bear the idea that 
 
 that you won't answer my call. Don't do it ! Don't 
 do it! Pity me, here I am on my knees [To the PRIN- 
 CESS] Madame, I'm not crying now, I'm not threaten- 
 ing I'm begging you: have pity on me! I can't live 
 without him. . . . Do what you want with me! Come, 
 come with me, Pierre! Dearest, sweetest, don't you love 
 me? Only a little? Come, let's go home! [She is 
 on her knees; her head is bowed, her voice broken. She 
 is a human rag. PIERRE tries to raise her, but she resists.} 
 
 PRINCESS. I have no wish to cause such unhappiness 
 
 Monsieur Bernier, you are free 
 
 LOLETTE. See, Pierre, she says it herself! It was a 
 horrible dream ! Come, come, it's all over now : let's go 
 home. [She grasps his arm and drags him with her. 
 The PRINCESS gets his hat and is about to give it to him. 
 PIERRE makes a little negative gesture to the PRINCESS, 
 which does not escape LOLETTE. She then rises and ad- 
 dresses the pair.} Ah, I saw you! You made her a sign 
 to keep still! I was on my knees. . . . You're deter- 
 mined, both of you. ... I saw it, I saw it! Oh, I hate 
 you, I hate you! You'll see, you'll see. You, Princess, 
 are no better than a dirty streetwalker, and you ! 
 
 PIERRE. JNow, Loulou 
 
 LOLETTE. I'll say what I want to say! I'm not 
 
 I 5 8
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 afraid of you! I'll resist. I'll resist. [Suddenly she 
 stops short. For a few seconds she is silent, then with a 
 little gesture expressing the greatest despair. ] No, now 
 I understand it's all over. If I suffered and tried every 
 imaginable plan, I could only fail in the end. You'll do 
 as you like. . . . It's all over with me. Now what do 
 you want of me? To make you free? So that you can 
 live happily? All right. Have you any ink? 
 
 PIERRE. Now what are you going to do? [She goes 
 to the table.] 
 
 LOLETTE. Wait a moment [She writes, speaking 
 aloud to herself.] " Monsieur, I hereby file petition for 
 divorce . . . against my husband, Monsieur Bernier. 
 Please consider this application as definite." [PIERRE 
 and the PRINCESS look fixedly at each other. It seems 
 that each is looking for strength from the other, while 
 LOLETTE, head bowed, eyes dry and clear, her face the 
 picture of agony, is writing. Then PIERRE takes a step 
 in her direction, but LOLETTE motions him away, without 
 looking at him.] Sh! Now the address just mail 
 that [She rises, not looking at PIERRE or the PRIN- 
 CESS.] It's all over then, Pierre. That's what you 
 wanted There ! 
 
 PIERRE. [Taking up his hat and cane.] Now, come! 
 
 LOLETTE. [As PIERRE is about to follow her, she mo- 
 tions him out of her way with a sweeping gesture.] Now 
 / order you not to follow me! It's all over you have 
 what you wanted ! No, no, I don't want to hear you 
 behind me ! Nothing more ! Nothing more ! It's over ! 
 
 PIERRE. Where are you going? 
 
 LOLETTE. [Not turning around.] Oh, what differ- 
 ence does that make to you now ? [She goes out. The 
 door closes. PIERRE looks at the PRINCESS, his eyes filled 
 with sorrow.] 
 
 Loulou attempts suicide, but succeds only in wound- 
 ing herself. The curtain of the final act rises on 
 
 159
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 the room in the hospital where she is convalescing. 
 The bitterness of the loss of her husband and the 
 events immediately following are over, and Lou- 
 lou is at least temporarily calm. The Princess and 
 even Pierre himself come to visit her. Pierre now 
 has only an affectionate regard for his former wife. 
 ")h, how I wish," he tells her, " I could love you 
 as I used to, Loulou, as you now love me but 
 if I can't I can't. It must be! If a wish could 
 make my love live again, it would live 1 You 
 would be the happiest of women." And she re- 
 plies, " I feel how deeply you suffer in not being 
 able to love me, Pierrot " . . . Pierre con- 
 tinues, " It's a terrible thing to see a former love 
 dying in oneself like a child you want to help. 
 When you say to it, ' Little one,' it disappears in 
 your arms the harder you press it. ... (Pierre's 
 body is shaken with grief.) Yet it's not my 
 fault." 
 
 LOLETTE. I understand ; I know what efforts you are 
 making. You are struggling ! You needn't explain ; your 
 face is enough. Oh, Pierre, God preserve you from seeing 
 the expression on the face of a woman who doesn't love 
 you any longer. It's agonizing! 
 
 PIERRE. I firmly believe we can be happy together. 
 . . . You have had the best of me we can't find our 
 youth and our love again. Take what I can give you, and 
 don't ask for more. I feel so deeply for you! I don't 
 know what to call it, but if you can call it love, you don't 
 know how happy I should be! 
 
 LOLETTE. I'm too I'd like I don't know what I 
 want air rest 
 
 PIERRE. I know how I'm torturing you I'll get you 
 those photographs [He gives her his hand.] You 
 don't blame me too much for what I've said? 
 
 1 60
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 LOLETTE. No and thank you ! You've said things 
 no one else ever dared say: you are frank. You're not 
 terrible, Pierre; only love is! ... 
 
 Pierre leaves. Rouchard, a former friend of 
 Lolette, comes and persuades her to go with him. 
 Lolette, in despair, gets up from her bed, and 
 decides to go. The nurse, who comes in as 
 Lolette is dressing, asks Rouchard what she is to 
 tell Pierre when he returns. Rouchard replies, 
 " Tell him that I have picked up the package he 
 dropped on the road, and that I will carry it to its 
 destination." 
 
 La Marche nuptiale is somewhat similar in 
 theme and treatment: a young couple from the 
 provinces come to Paris, fortified against the 
 battles of life with a little money and infinite hope. 
 They are truly happy for, in spite of a great op- 
 position on the part of their respective families, 
 they have chosen the desired course. The wife 
 is tempted then comes the tragedy. But the 
 story matters little. In the earlier scenes the poet 
 has drawn unforgettable scenes, charming in de- 
 tail and firm in outline. In both these plays there 
 is no solution, no answer to a question, no attempt 
 to prove a thesis or set a problem. In this one 
 respect, Bataille is like Ibsen; he may ask ques- 
 tions any dramatist who goes straight to the 
 life of his time for his material will do that 
 but he makes no attempt to answer them. In his 
 well-known introduction to the volume contain- 
 ing Le Masque and La Marche nuptiale, he says: 
 " The theater is decidedly not the place to expose 
 ideas ; it must merely suggest them. Plays ought 
 
 161
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 to have a theme somewhere, a philosophical un- 
 derlying idea, just as clothes have well-concealed 
 seams. If it is necessary for the dramatist to set 
 forth an obvious idea, the audience ought not to 
 be forced to accept it : the work must stand or fall 
 on its own merits. Ideas are for us a side-issue, 
 the main point is to give the spectator, through his 
 senses, a more penetrating and more vivid view of 
 life. . . . The personages of the play should act 
 freely, according to their proper character, not 
 according to the exigencies of the theme. They 
 should carry on the play, not the play them." 
 Ibsen said practically the same thing in a conver- 
 sation quoted by Prozor, the French translator of 
 Ibsen: " And I cannot help it if in my own brain 
 as I write, various ideas take root. That is 
 merely accessory; the first principle of a play is 
 action, life." 
 
 The best plays of Henry Bataille are true 
 "slices of life"; the "hanging" ends of La 
 Femme nue and Poliche, where Loulou and Poliche 
 continue drifting, as do Giulia and Tommy in 
 Giacosa's Come le Foglie, are much nearer life 
 than many of the forced denouements of Hervieu 
 and Brieux. 
 
 Poliche, while it does not treat in so serious a 
 manner a question of such universal interest as 
 La Femme nue or La Marche nuptiale, is without 
 doubt one of the most pleasantly pathetic comedies 
 of recent years; its theme, in the loose sense 
 adopted in the author's definition, is similar to that 
 of Donnay's Amants. It recounts the obstacles 
 which arise sooner or later, and which lie in the 
 way of the free-love union. Poliche is passion- 
 
 162 

 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 ately in love with a woman whom he supposes 
 cares for him only when he plays the buffoon. 
 She learns afterward that he is at bottom serious, 
 and the two go off into the country on their sen- 
 timental journey. But the specter of " society," 
 ready to condemn even in France unions 
 such as theirs, and the haunting fear of incom- 
 patibility, close round them, and the two separate. 
 Seated in a dark little railway station, Rosine and 
 Poliche await the train which is to take Rosine to 
 Paris. 
 
 ROSINE. How stupid life is! How utterly stupid! 
 Here we are within an ace of being happy! You have 
 only to wish, perhaps hold me by main force ! 
 
 POLICHE. I hardly think 
 
 ROSINE. Dear friend, my only friend ! 
 
 POLICHE. Above all, don't accuse yourself. . . . Ours 
 is only a little story, nothing great You're exquisite, 
 that's certain. Charming, perfectly charming! [He 
 makes a vague gesture in the air.] Like this or like 
 that! That's the main point. 
 
 ROSINE. You don't want me to stay with you! 
 
 POLICHE. No, no, I don't, / am putting an end to 
 your happiness voluntarily. Repeat that to yourself, so 
 that you shan't forget it, when you begin to feel remorse 
 later on / wished it to be so 
 
 ROSINE. Come with me just to Paris won't you? 
 Why not ? Come ! It's going to be so sad ; the evenings, 
 in our house here! You all alone! And our room! 
 Come you can take the train back to-morrow 
 
 POLICHE. [Shaking- his head.] No, mustn't 
 
 ROSINE. . . . What'll our friends say, and the friends 
 who are expecting you? 
 
 POLICHE. Bah! One Poliche is lost, ten new ones 
 are found again. How many men are there like me who,
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 for a year or two amuse Paris, break glasses at Maxim's 
 flash their way across the sky as I have with you, and 
 then leave ? I've had predecessors! And I'll have 
 successors! . . . They have disappeared, as I'm disappear- 
 ing: going back into circulation again. People imagine 
 they've come to some romantic end. No, no, I know. 
 They're where I am : at Lyon or Bordeaux, selling 
 wine. . . . Sundays they think of their youth they 
 think of you, Rosine. 
 
 ROSINE. Oh, Poliche! [The waiter has turned on 
 the gas, which illuminates the little bar.~\ . . . 
 
 THE MAID. [Entering.'] Madame, shall I take the 
 valise ? 
 
 ROSINE. Yes [The MAID takes the valise.] 
 
 MAID. Shall I reserve a place? 
 
 ROSINE. Yes and take the dog. [The MAID takes 
 the dog. . . . The train is heard in the distance.] . . . 
 The train ? So soon ? 
 
 MAID. They've called it. 
 
 ROSINE. Go now. [The MAID goes out.] Dearest! 
 Dearest ! My love ! Take my hand ! Press it, press it, 
 hard ! There ! Now, look in my eyes for a long time ! 
 [She takes his hand and gazes at him. Her eyes are seen 
 sparkling from under the heavy veil] Say: I love you! 
 
 POLICHE. I love you! 
 
 ROSINE. [Sobbing] Adieu, Didier! Why, why 
 didn't you want to come with me? Why? 
 
 POLICHE. Sh! These aren't the things to say, dear, 
 when we have only two minutes more together two 
 minutes! Listen! The train's nearer now! 
 
 ROSINE. My God, my God! 
 
 POLICHE. [Gazing at her; softly, slowly] You are 
 exquisite [An EMPLOYEE comes through the room. 
 It has begun to rain outside] 
 
 ROSINE. Soon? Don't forget! At once? 
 
 POLICHE. Yes. 
 
 ROSINE. Send me a post-card to-morrow and look 
 
 164
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 out for your lame shoulder don't stay too long in that 
 damp house 
 
 POLICHE. No, no [In the distance the signal over 
 the tracks changes color. The train is heard entering the 
 station.] 
 
 EMPLOYEE. . . . Passengers for Paris! All aboard! 
 
 POLICHE. [To the EMPLOYEE, in a loud voice.] 
 Does Madame have to cross the tracks? 
 
 EMPLOYEE. No, train's on the first track left. . . . 
 
 POLICHE. You mustn't miss your train! [He taps on 
 a saucer, and the waiter comes.] How much, gargon? 
 
 WAITER. Two Chartreuses one franc twenty. 
 [POLICHE pays.] 
 
 MAID. [Reentering] It's begun to rain. Does 
 Madame want me to take out an umbrella? . . . 
 
 ROSINE. Now, you go on ahead [Passengers are 
 seen getting into the train, outside.] I can't! I can't! 
 [She is choked with sobs.] 
 
 POLICHE. Come, we must separate here! That's bet- 
 ter. I shan't take you to your compartment. 
 
 ROSINE. Why ? 
 
 POLICHE. No a man crying! It's ridiculous 
 people would laugh. . . . I'm afraid Here's your train 
 now. 
 
 ROSINE. Didier [They rise] 
 
 EMPLOYEE. [Shouting outside] All aboard for 
 Paris! All aboard! 
 
 POLICHE. Here, don't forget the little bag. Come 
 now, just one little smile, Rosine! Adieu my life! 
 
 ROSINE. No, no, no, don't say that! I'll see you 
 soon! 
 
 POLICHE. Yes. [They kiss, simply.] Adieu, Rosine. 
 
 ROSINE. I, I [She wants to say something/, but is 
 unable. She is again convulsed with sobs] . . . 
 
 EMPLOYEE. [Outside] All aboard! All aboard! 
 [RosiNE disappears through the door. Then POLICHE 
 stands in the doorway, dazed, his eyes riveted in the di- 
 
 I6 5
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 rection of the train. Then, timidly, awkwardly, he takes 
 out a little pink handkerchief, and waves it two or three 
 times in the air. The train ivhistles. As he turns to go, 
 head bowed, collar up-turned, his hat over his eyes, he 
 jostles a man who is late for the train, and knocks his cane 
 out of his hand.] 
 
 THE PASSENGER. [Gruffly.'] Can't you look out? 
 
 POLICHE. [Stoops down, picks up the cane, gives it to 
 the man and, smiling through his tears, says:] Pardon! 
 
 For some years Bataille made no use of his gift 
 for poetry, but in his slight and short dream-play, 
 Le Sonae d'une nuit d'amour, he proved that he 
 could adapt to the dramatic form those free and 
 supple meters which are among the chief charms 
 of La Chambre blanche. 
 
 Earlier in the present sketch I spoke of Ba- 
 taille's abandonment of the practical side of stage 
 management and remarked that had he continued 
 to write fairy plays and interest himself in their 
 artistic production, France might have been richer 
 by one original producer. It is a hopeful sign 
 that Bataille seems to be returning to his earlier 
 manner. It happens that his three latest plays 
 have been in prose and are in theme and treat- 
 ment similar to the foregoing works, but he has 
 two plays, both cast in poetic form and based on 
 legends and stories Faust and Manon fille 
 galante the production of which, is attended 
 with exceptional interest. Will the poet insist on 
 a proper mise en scene, and not the usual " stock " 
 setting, or has he become so successful of late that 
 he leaves these details to the unimaginative man- 
 ager? 
 
 1 66
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 BERNSTEIN'S chief claim upon our consideration 
 in a volume of this kind is that he has always 
 kept clear of the theater of ideas. The French 
 drama of to-day, like that of most other Euro- 
 pean nations, is too busy propounding theses and 
 ideas and too little occupied with the delineation 
 of character for its own sake, and the writing of 
 plays as plays. It is then almost a relief to come 
 to a man of the theater, in the sense that Scribe 
 and Sardou were men of the theater. It can with 
 some justice be averred that no play worthy the 
 name can be written without an idea at all, but he 
 who wishes to furnish his audience with the req- 
 uisite number of laughs and thrills will leave his 
 ideas to be elucidated by the critics and the think- 
 ing part of his audience. Bernstein has ideas, but 
 they rarely trouble him; he never sacrifices his 
 play for their sake, as Brieux and Hervieu some- 
 times do. His ideas are merely accessory, and 
 serve but to bind together a fabric which might 
 otherwise fall to pieces. 
 
 Bernstein then is a born dramatist. For him, 
 the play's the thing. Each of his plays is a situa- 
 tion with a plot, not a plot out of which the situa- 
 tion seems to develop of its own accord. The 
 first act of a Bernstein play is usually the baldest 
 sort of exposition and preparation. This drama- 
 
 167
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 tist has never failed to supply his audience with one 
 overwhelming scene, one tremendous climax, so 
 that if at times the first act tends to be dull, the 
 audience, knowing its author, is willing to sit pa- 
 tiently until the scene a faire, confident of the re- 
 ward awaiting it. 
 
 The Bernstein formula is so well fixed, there is 
 so great a uniformity throughout his works, such 
 similarity among the characters, that there is no 
 necessity to more than outline his more important 
 plays, and dwell upon the particulars of but one 
 or two. 
 
 In 1900 his first play, Le Marche, was produced 
 at the Theatre Antoine. It was eminently suc- 
 cessful, as were those which immediately followed 
 it: Le Detour, two years later, and Joujou, pro- 
 duced the same year as Le Detour. Le Bercail 
 and La Rafale were even more successful. In 
 La Griff e, 1906, Bernstein attempts, with some 
 skill, to analyze character. This psychological 
 piece is the only one in which the author hesitates 
 to attack the " big scene at the expected moment " ; 
 with the result that he falls between two stools. It 
 must be conceded that Bernstein as a psychologist 
 is decidedly inferior to Bernstein as a dramatist, 
 and that his psychological bent led him astray as a 
 dramatist. 
 
 Le Foleur played in the United States in an 
 adaptation known as The Thief is probably the 
 most celebrated of the Bernstein plays. In the 
 " big " act, the second, the author is at his best. 
 In this duologue, which occupies the entire act, is 
 one of those powerful cross-examination, discov- 
 'ery-of-guilt-and-confession scenes which, though 
 
 168
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 he was not the originator, Bernstein has carried to 
 its highest dramatic development. Beside this, 
 the third act of Mrs. Dane's Defence and even the 
 second act of La Robe rouge, appear a trifle pale. 
 The second act of Le Voleur may be the sheerest 
 bravado, but it is so consummately built, so well 
 rounded out, so tense, stirring, crushing, that we 
 can scarcely bring reason to bear while watching 
 or even reading it. Here at last is that " struggle 
 between conflicting wills" carried to the Nth; 
 Brunetiere could not but have admired the skill of 
 the builder. 
 
 In the American productions of Le Voleur, 
 Israel, and Samson, these plays were so adapted 
 that very little of Bernstein remained. And 
 Bernstein, as well as our producers, may be blamed 
 for the cutting. This may well be a further illus- 
 tration of Bernstein's business attitude toward his 
 profession, yet we must lay the blame on our 
 producers who rarely if ever allow us to see a 
 foreign play as it was written. If they would 
 once allow the foreigners to speak for themselves, 
 I feel sure such plays as Israel, Samson, La Vierge 
 folle, La Flambee, and Pour Vivre heureux, would 
 not so soon come to grief. We should also have 
 some fair idea as to what Bernstein, Bataille, 
 Kistemaeckers, and Rivoire are doing. 
 
 Le Voleur is the story of a woman who induces 
 the eighteen-year-old son of her hosts, at whose 
 home she is staying with her husband, to steal 
 considerable sums of money. The youth is in 
 love with Marie-Louise and she, who adores her 
 husband, uses the money " to make herself beau- 
 tiful in his eyes." Lagardes, the boy's father, has 
 
 169
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 put a detective on the case and, at the end of the 
 first act, learns who the thief is. The second act 
 is occupied with the explanation that takes place 
 between Richard and Marie-Louise. It is past 
 midnight. Richard, interested in the boy's con- 
 fession, and struck with his explanation of how he 
 opened the drawer where the bank-notes lay, tries 
 the same experiment on a locked drawer in his 
 own room. Marie-Louise, it is at once evident, 
 wishes to conceal something from him, and his 
 suspicions are aroused. He opens the drawer and 
 finds a pocket-book. At first it appears to be 
 empty, then he feels a packet of papers bank- 
 notes. Six hundred no, six thousand francs! 
 Where did she get so much money? Savings? 
 There is a moment of suspense as Richard ques- 
 tions her. "Where did you get the money? 
 Fernand didn't steal that money for himself? Or 
 did you steal it too? " " Fernand did not steal 
 it." " Then ? " " Fernand assumed the 
 blame in order to save me ! I stole the twenty 
 thousand francs." "Why did you steal it?" 
 " Because I adored you; I wanted to be beautiful 
 to please you ! " " But why did Fernand 
 acknowledge a theft of which he was innocent? " 
 "Because I asked him to." "Where? 
 When? " " This evening, in the park."" Why 
 did he consent? " " Because he loves me! " 
 
 And the play is over, yet the characters must be 
 disposed of. The last act is feeble, because the 
 whole situation, prepared for in the first, has 
 been fully developed in the second. Fernand goes 
 away to South America, Marie-Louise is forgiven, 
 and calm reigns again. 
 
 170
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 Artificial as the action is, unsatisfying as its 
 morality may be, Le Foleur is a vigorous play 
 with one superlative act. 
 
 Bernstein sees the life about him from a far 
 different angle from that of his contemporaries. 
 Capus, Flers and Caillavet, and their followers, 
 ripple the surface, and leave us with a certain feel- 
 ing of optimism; Brieux and Hervieu dissect the 
 minds and motives of individuals, dig deep to the 
 roots of social evils, and tell us what is wrong in 
 our social machinery, but Bernstein sees life in big 
 situations. A strong man at variance with soci- 
 ety, a woman who is unhappily married, a wife 
 who steals and causes others to steal, in order to be 
 more attractive to her husband; these conditions 
 he synthesizes, without comment, without judg- 
 ment, and shapes into plays. 
 
 Samson recounts the story of a terrible venge- 
 ance. Jacques Branchard, a former dock-porter 
 of Marseilles, is one of those adventurers who 
 through indomitable will-power have built up a 
 large fortune and married into " society." Anne- 
 Marie, his wife, has been forced to marry Jacques, 
 in order to restore the ruined family fortunes. 
 She is not long in seeking " consolation " else- 
 where : she becomes the mistress of Le Govain. 
 One night when Jacques is thought to have gone 
 away the lover comes to Anne-Marie's home, and 
 takes her to a restaurant frequented by demi- 
 mondaines; but Anne-Marie is disgusted with the 
 scenes of sickening debauchery, and leaves the 
 place. At home, she meets her husband, who has 
 been informed of the intended escapade, and re- 
 mained in Paris. Refusing to explain her con* 
 
 171
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 duct to her husband, she expresses no regret or no 
 intention of giving up her lover. Meantime, 
 Jacques plans his revenge. Not long after, he in- 
 vites Le Govain to a private dining-room at the 
 Ritz, and there tells him that he, Jacques Branch- 
 ard, is causing the stocks which control the for- 
 tunes of both men, to drop to a point where they 
 (Branchard and Le Govain) will both be ruined. 
 The scene in the hotel is the expected " Bernstein 
 scene." The fearful power of the vengeful Jew, 
 and his repression in the presence of the helpless 
 Le Govain, are depicted in the author's best man- 
 ner. This new vengeance is quickly explained to 
 the frightened victim : 
 
 JACQUES. Don't you understand yet? Ha! Le 
 Govain, my dear friend, you are my wife's lover, and I am 
 now ruining you. Now do you understand ? . . . I don't 
 want to fight a duel with you. I detest the role of vic- 
 tim! I consider it very stupid. I am now fighting with 
 my own weapons, and on my own duelling-ground. We 
 meet here in this room this empty room. Call for help 
 as much as you please, you will disturb no one. . . . Here 
 are my arms and my fists to keep you with me ; I tell you, 
 I have often made use of them. But you're only a miser- 
 able little whelp, you can't even stand up! ... 
 
 Le Govain ventures a remark about " honor." 
 
 JACQUES. Honor? To hell with honor! I have no 
 honor. The suburb of Marseilles where I was born was 
 called Thieves' Corner. People passing through it spat 
 at it in sign of hatred. My father's house was our illegal 
 pawn-shop. When I went to school my comrades formed 
 bands to torture me. ... I accepted their blows, and was 
 afraid of them. Once it was instinct in a fight, I 
 
 172
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 hit one of them. That day I forced them into a sort of 
 complacent hypocrisy. That's been the way with me all 
 my life. Hated by other men, I went among them with 
 clenched fists . . . jaws set, threatened and threaten- 
 ing . . ." 
 
 Having ruined both himself and his victim, he 
 turns to his wife, his last consolation, his last hope. 
 He wants not only herself, but her esteem and her 
 love. 
 
 JACQUES. Anne-Marie, I have loved you before I even 
 met you ... in the gutters of Marseilles, when I was a 
 little street-urchin, I was troubled by an unforgettable 
 passion. ... A young woman of the aristocracy it was 
 . . . long ago ! Every day I watched her leave her home ; 
 she passed me, delicate, haughty, patronizing, she walked 
 by the little fellow who lowered his eyes as she came near. 
 Was he worthy even of that? . . . That image decided 
 me. . . . When I began to think seriously about women, 
 my desires went out to that vision of my youth. . . . 
 Now what are you going to do ? Leave me, as you have a 
 right to do, or stay with me, in spite of the fact that I am 
 ruined ? 
 
 ANNE-MARIE. I shall stay with you. . . . 
 
 JACQUES. Will you love me in time . . .? 
 
 ANNE-MARIE. It is too early to say yet. 
 
 Israel is one of the finest examples of pure 
 drama of recent times. The second act, the act 
 for which the play was written, is superbly con- 
 structed; the fluctuations of suspense, every imagi- 
 nable surprise of which the situation is capable, 
 are guided by the hand of a master craftsman. 
 For simplicity, dignity, and power, the scene is of 
 superlative merit. 
 
 The young Thibault, Prince de Cler, son of the
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 Duchess de Croucy, is a violent anti-Semite. One 
 day, after instigating a brutal attack on the Jews, 
 he plans, together with certain members of his 
 club, to insult a Jew of the name of Gutlieb and 
 demand his instant resignation from the club. 
 Late in the evening, Thibault and his associates are 
 gathered in the lobby, awaiting Gutlieb. As Gut- 
 lieb is about to leave, Thibault asks him to write 
 out his resignation. The Jew refuses and is about 
 to leave, when Thibault bars his way. Again 
 Gutlieb tries to make his way out when Thibault 
 knocks off his hat. In silence the Jew picks up the 
 hat and goes. Gutlieb must either resign or fight 
 a duel. 
 
 Beginning with his simple situation, Bernstein 
 gradually builds up his scene. Hearing of the 
 incident, Thibault's mother has asked Gutlieb to 
 come to see her on the following day. We then 
 learn that Thibault is the illegitimate son of Gut- 
 lieb and the Duchess. She begs Gutlieb not to 
 fight with their son, but Gutlieb urges, justly 
 enough, that his refusal will be interpreted as 
 cowardice and reflect upon his party and race as 
 well as upon himself. On the other hand, Thi- 
 bault must not suspect that he is the son of the 
 hated Jew. The mother is supplicating Gutlieb 
 when Thibault enters. Gutlieb retires, and 
 mother and son are left together. The scene is 
 ominous in its beginning. Why, asks Thibault, is 
 his mortal enemy at his mother's home? The 
 Duchess attempts to explain, but she evades the 
 pointed questions of her son. The answers, most 
 skillfully contrived, serve but to postpone the ex- 
 planation and final revelation of the terrible secret.
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 The Duchess naturally wishes to have her son 
 avoid a duel ; that, in her eyes, is a crime, and this 
 duel out of the question ! Thibault at length 
 gives in and says: " Well, Mother, I make you 
 a present of Gutlieb's life : I'll let the matter drop 
 after I give him a mere scratch." He is then 
 about to confer with his seconds, when he returns 
 to the Duchess. He has changed his mind; he 
 must have further light on the subject. " But," 
 she replies, " I have explained everything." 
 " No, you have merely pacified me: you have ex- 
 plained nothing. Why did you ask a favor of 
 him, why did you have a Jesuit, Father Silvain, 
 sent as our envoy to that Jew? " The Duchess, 
 losing her presence of mind, says that Thibault is 
 forgetting his duty as a son, that he must ask no 
 further questions. He then tells her that his 
 uncle informed him that Gutlieb was once a friend 
 of hers; did his father perhaps borrow money of 
 the Jew? Is she under any obligation to him? 
 Again the distracted mother sees a method of es- 
 cape in a lie. In trying to persuade her son of the 
 fact that she is under no obligation to Gutlieb, she 
 goes too far, and swears " By the Christ! " that 
 there is nothing ! " You swear," he says, " but 
 what do you swear? That Gutlieb knows of no 
 compromising secrets in regard to my father? 
 Very well, but perhaps there are other secrets. 
 I am going to ask him in person what those secrets 
 are ! " He attempts to go. As he is at the door, 
 his mother screams. " Don't go ! Torture me if 
 you want; ask me questions I'll answer!" 
 " No, Mother, you must tell me ! " Then, little 
 by little, she confesses : " Yes, since you must
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 know, when I was young and attractive, Gutlieb 
 loved me, without daring to speak. To-day I 
 took advantage of those old memories." u You 
 are mistaken, Mother, the Duchess de Croucy 
 does not stoop to such devices. The victim is 
 caught in the wheels there is no way out." 
 She then confesses that she was herself deeply in 
 love with Gutlieb. " Did that love remain ab- 
 solutely pure? Will you swear that on the name 
 of the Christ, as you just did? " " No, I will not 
 invoke His name in vain ! " " Mother, you 
 should have sworn that ! " He is about to go to 
 Gutlieb, and again his mother stops him : " Poor 
 boy, listen to me, look me in the eyes. You can- 
 not strike that man! " u You lie! " he shouts to 
 her. But, realizing at length the horrible truth, 
 he goes out, crushed. 
 
 There are situations and plays for which no 
 denouement exists. Israel, like Hervieu's Le 
 Dedale, is one of these. The second act is the 
 play. Reconciliation is of course out of the ques- 
 tion, so that suicide is the only solution for Thi- 
 bault. Were it not that audiences demand some 
 sort of winding-up, some arbitrary termination to 
 a story, Bernstein might better have closed his 
 play on the curtain of the second act. The 
 denouement we must accept as we do that of a 
 Moliere farce. 
 
 The hypothesis of Israel is certainly possible, 
 but hardly probable. It is very unusual. Given, 
 however, the hypothesis, which the dramatist is 
 careful to make plausible, the rest follows. If a 
 criticism may be urged against the play as a whole, 
 it is this. 
 
 176
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 
 The later works of Bernstein, after such plays 
 as Israel, come as something of an anticlimax. 
 Apres Moif is remembered mainly because of the 
 disgraceful anti-Semite riots it aroused and which 
 caused its withdrawal from the boards of the 
 Comedie Franchise. It is a drama of passion not 
 unlike the earliest plays. L'Assaut played in 
 the United States by John Mason as The Attack 
 somehow lacks the vigor of Samson and Le 
 Voleur while the last act is particularly weak. 
 It contains what may be taken as biographical facts 
 from the author's life, but this scarcely suffices to 
 keep it alive. Le Secret, the latest play, has en- 
 joyed only a moderate success, and that was due 
 mainly to the superb acting of Madame Simone. 
 
 Adolphe Brisson, the erratic but clever critic of 
 Le Temps, said of Bernstein : " In his plays there 
 is not a ray of sunshine over the mud; not a flower 
 blossoming in the sewer: no ideal, no sacrifice; 
 over all is the dull satisfaction of the appetites, 
 wallowing in the dirt; death, nothingness." Were 
 Bernstein an avowed commentator on life, were 
 he a dramatist of ideas, there might be some jus- 
 tice in M. Brisson's words, but, while he does peo- 
 ple his works with characters for the most part 
 whom " one would not care to meet," Bernstein 
 should not be held too strictly to account for his 
 subject-matter. Had the critic of Le Temps said 
 that Bernstein was doomed to oblivion, owing to 
 his preoccupation with sordid characters, his cast- 
 ing aside of any pretense to the expression of new 
 ideas or to the depiction of good and noble types, 
 he might have been nearer the truth. 
 
 177
 
 ROBERT DE FLERS AND GASTON- 
 ARMAND DE CAILLAVET 
 
 ONE of the most successful of collaborations 
 between dramatists is that of Robert de Flers and 
 Gaston-Armand de Caillavet. 1 During the past 
 fourteen years these " twin stars of the heaven " 
 of light comedy have illuminated the boulevards of 
 Paris and afforded light to most of the theatrical 
 centers of the world. One collaboration recalls 
 another, and the closest analogy to the pair in ques- 
 tion is that of Meilhac and Halevy. 
 
 M. de Caillavet told me that these writers were 
 in a manner an inspiration to him and his asso- 
 ciate, that they at one time served as models, that 
 but M. de Caillavet is so delightful a raconteur 
 that I shall permit him to tell, in what I recall of a 
 pleasant conversation, of the debuts of himself 
 and M. de Flers, their ideas, and something of 
 their method of working. Seated in his magnifi- 
 cent mansion in the Avenue Hoche one morning, 
 clothed in a plum-colored dressing-gown, a silk 
 handkerchief wound about his neck, genial, refined, 
 distingue, communicative and eager to answer 
 questions and anticipate them, he told in some- 
 what the following words the story of that col- 
 laboration which, as he expressed it, was the happy 
 
 1 Since the above was written, news comes that M. de Cail- 
 lavet is dead (Winter 1915). 
 
 I 7 8
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 outcome of what seemed to him the mingling of 
 " elective affinities " : 
 
 " I wanted to enter the Ecole des Chartes and 
 do historical research work; M. de Flers wished 
 likewise to be a historian, but, as you see, Fate 
 decreed otherwise. We first met in 1887, and 
 each felt that the other was destined to be a life- 
 long friend. It was not for some years to come 
 that we actually wrote plays together; meantime 
 we went our respective ways. I became a director 
 of revues. The little theater where these were 
 given was situated on the first floor of the Eiffel 
 Tower. When I worked there, I received my 
 first and in many ways most valuable criticism. 
 You see, I had to go up in an elevator with my 
 audience and come down, too. That was the 
 worst part of it. It was during those descents 
 that I heard things about myself and my work, 
 things that I blushed to learn but I think I 
 profited by the opinions thus expressed. From 
 the little revues I turned my hand to farces, slight 
 things for the most part, which were produced at 
 the Palais Royal. Meantime, M. de Flers had 
 entered the newspaper world (he is now dramatic 
 critic on the Figaro l ) ; he had also written a num- 
 ber of short stories and some travel books. In 
 1900 the time was ripe for us to join forces. 
 
 " That year we wrote a ballet comic opera, Les 
 Travaux d'Hercule. We had the devil's own 
 time getting it accepted, but finally one manager 
 took it as a 'stop-gap, and incidentally made quite 
 a success of it. Our next play, Les Sentiers de la 
 
 1 After the assassination of Gaston Calmette, Robert de Flers 
 and Alfred Capus were made joint editors of the Figaro. 
 
 179
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 vertu, was a prose comedy. Again, we had 
 trouble getting the play produced, but its produc- 
 tion was attended by some degree of success. 
 Then we were on our feet." (And here modesty 
 forbade M. de Caillavet's adding that the pair had 
 never known a failure and that half a dozen of 
 their plays had had several thousand nights' runs 
 in nearly every country of the world) . 
 
 *' Like Meilhac and Halevy, we have attempted 
 to write satirical comedies in a light vein; they are 
 concerned with political and religious matters at 
 times, and are often sentimental or burlesque in 
 character. Until 1907 however, we were unable 
 to carry our disrespect for things as they are very 
 far into the political field, but since the abolish- 
 ment of the censorship that year, we have done 
 what I think is some of our best work. I have al- 
 ready said that we respected nothing church, 
 state, religious belief, or persons and in Le 
 Bois sacre, L' Habit vert and Le Rol, we have 
 satirized in turn the Legion of Honor, the 
 Academic Franchise, and the national custom of 
 entertaining members of royalty who visit Paris. 
 Had the censorship still been in working order 
 these plays would never have been written. 
 
 " You may have noticed that our plays fall into 
 more or less clearly defined groups: sentimental 
 comedies, with tears and laughs like U Amour 
 veille , political plays like those I have just 
 referred to , burlesques like Les Travaux 
 d'Hercule simple comedies of manners like 
 Papa, Miquette et sa mere, L'Eventail, and L'Ane 
 de Buridan and so on. You understand, too, 
 that there is a strain of philosophy running through 
 
 180
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 all these plays? We French must always have 
 that. Underlying even the lightest of our farces, 
 there is some definite 'theme,' shall I say? but 
 we try to keep it well out of sight. 
 
 " Our system of collaboration works so well that 
 I am really unable to say which part of a play is 
 my own and which my partner's. In fact, we talk 
 a plot over, one of us rejecting an idea, the other 
 arguing in its favor. It is curious, but often one 
 of these discussions ends by my accepting my 
 confrere's proposal and rejecting my own, while 
 he does the same with mine. When we come to 
 the dialogue, we talk it to each other; thus is it 
 made, not written. We have come now, partly 
 as a result of our constant working together, partly 
 as a result of our common tastes, to think as well 
 as write as a single being. 
 
 " Precisely what our function in the contempo- 
 rary French drama is I cannot say; I can only re- 
 mark that we are attempting to paint in an amusing 
 way the foibles and vices and affectations of our 
 time. If the bulk of our work succeeds in depict- 
 ing a certain section of the life of Paris, we have 
 ample reason to be thankful." 
 
 That " necessary " philosophical strain to which 
 M. de Caillavet referred, never seriously inter- 
 feres with what this joyous pair consider their true 
 function in the French drama of the day: amuse- 
 ment. Their plays contain only that basis, solid 
 enough but not too much in evidence, which any 
 good work based upon life must have in order to 
 exist, such as Labiche infused into the best of his 
 comedies. Flers and Caillavet never go too far, 
 they are never so didactic as is Shaw even in the 
 
 181
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 least pointed of his comedies: You Never Can 
 Tell. The philosophical foundation of V Amour 
 veille it sounds ridiculous to speak of it I is 
 simply this: u A woman can be saved from in- 
 fidelity only by love, not by the love which she in- 
 spires, but by that which she herself feels. It 
 keeps watch over her. Only the diamond can 
 ward off the rays of other diamonds. Love alone 
 is strong enough to defend her against love." 
 This idea is surely not so recondite or original 
 that we need fear its intrusion to the detriment of 
 our enjoyment of the play. Flers and Caillavet 
 know their own ability and their limitations so 
 well that it is not likely that they will be tempted 
 into the byways of the thesis play; they are wise 
 enough to leave to Curel, Brieux, and Hervieu the 
 serious analysis of human motives. From the 
 very first they found their particular genre, or 
 genres. Generally speaking, their work can be 
 divided into two parts; in the realm of the sen- 
 timental are L! Amour veille, L'Eventail, Papa, 
 Miquette et sa mere, L'Ane de Buridan, and 
 Primerose; in the realm of the political, Le Bois 
 sacre, Le Roi, and L'Habit vert. 
 
 L? Amour veille is one of the most popular 
 comedies of the age. It is a stock favorite in 
 France and Germany, and has been played in Italy, 
 England, and the United States many hundreds of 
 times. With its comfortable and gratifying 
 " theme " we should not inquire too closely into 
 its truth plenty of sprightly dialogue, sentiment 
 in generous doses, a touch of wistful sadness (in 
 the character of the book-worm Ernest) the play 
 is wide in its appeal. The handsome Andre is 
 
 182
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 married to the charming young ingenue Jacque- 
 line, who idolizes her husband. She learns that 
 he has been unfaithful to her, and in a fit of jeal- 
 ousy determines to follow Rebellious Susan and 
 Franc.illon and pay Andre back in his own coin. 
 The sympathetic pedant Ernest, who is in love 
 with Jacqueline, is the man she chooses as the in- 
 strument of her vengeance. She writes him a note 
 telling him to expect her in his study at eight 
 o'clock in the evening. The first part of the third 
 act, in Ernest's study on the appointed evening, is 
 one of the prettiest and most amusing scenes these 
 authors have ever written. The awkward prep- 
 arations made by the historian, his elation at being 
 finally loved by a beautiful woman, the timidity 
 of Jacqueline, are in the highest vein of light 
 comedy. 
 
 ERNEST. Let me let me take you in my arms 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes do ! 
 
 ERNEST. Let me kiss you! 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes, yes, do that do everything 
 
 ERNEST. My dearest what joy, what happiness 
 [He kisses her.] 
 
 JACQUELINE. [Running from, him.'] No, no, no, no 
 leave me, leave me ! 
 
 ERNEST. [Following her.] Jacqueline! Jacqueline! 
 
 JACQUELINE. No, no, don't! 
 
 ERNEST. Jacqueline ! 
 
 JACQUELINE. [Terrified.] Leave me! [She climbs 
 to the top of the step-ladder which leads to the highest 
 part of the bookcase] 
 
 ERNEST. ... I had imagined a different sort of ren- 
 dezvous from this! 
 
 JACQUELINE. [After a pause.] Ernest 
 
 ERNEST. What?
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 JACQUELINE. Ernest, I'm dizzy. 
 
 ERNEST. Come down, then 
 
 JACQUELINE. I can't. I'd rather stay here, always 
 But don't worry, my dear, I'm firmly resolved. I'll be 
 yours but don't ask me to budge from here ! I could 
 never do it. 
 
 ERNEST. Come down, Jacqueline. 
 
 JACQUELINE. Then help me. 
 
 ERNEST. Now! Close your eyes. 
 
 JACQUELINE. There! [She descends the ladder.] 
 Thanks. 
 
 ERNEST. What was the matter? 
 
 JACQUELINE. I can hardly explain I thought it was 
 so easy to deceive my husband. Well, it isn't. 
 
 ERNEST. . . . We must proceed methodically. Now 
 let's have a bite of supper. 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes, let's! 
 
 ERNEST. [Leading her to the table.] . . . Now . . . 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes, let's have supper. 
 
 ERNEST. Ah, Jacqueline! Some pate? 
 
 JACQUELINE. Thanks, thanks I'm not hungry. 
 But I'm so thirsty give me some Champagne lots of 
 Champagne ! 
 
 ERNEST. Yes, let's drink Champagne! 
 
 JACQUELINE. This dinner is charming! 
 
 ERNEST. Supper! Supper! We must have these 
 often, you know 
 
 JACQUELINE. Very often. 
 
 ERNEST. Then we'll meet during the day. 
 
 JACQUELINE. And have long walks. 
 
 ERNEST. Go to amusing places 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes! 
 
 ERNEST. Yes visit all the museums. 
 
 JACQUELINE. All the museums! 
 
 ERNEST. All the museums. It will be capital, eh? 
 Champagne ? 
 
 184
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 JACQUELINE. Yes, let's drink Champagne! 
 
 ERNEST. Let's. 
 
 JACQUELINE. . . . Now, say nice things to me 
 gay things 
 
 ERNEST. Oh, yes : I love you. 
 
 JACQUELINE. No, no that's not gay. . . . Tell me 
 about your adventures your conquests ? You've had 
 some? 
 
 ERNEST. Indeed I have I should think so ! A great 
 many. First, at college 
 
 JACQUELINE. Then? After? 
 
 ERNEST. After, of course; 
 
 JACQUELINE. Have many women been in love with 
 
 you 
 
 ERNEST. I should think so! 
 
 JACQUELINE. Have you any little souvenirs, keep- 
 sakes ? 
 
 ERNEST. [Embarrassed.] Well, I 
 
 JACQUELINE. You haven't ? 
 
 ERNEST. Oh yes, I have. 
 
 JACQUELINE. Show them to me, it'll be so amusing! 
 
 ERNEST. If you like. See, this file is full of them. 
 [He looks at the inscription on a letter-file, then brings 
 the file from the cabinet.] Here is my past relics 
 
 JACQUELINE. . . . Oh, what a lot of letters! 
 
 ERNEST. Yes, full of tenderness here is an old 
 bouquet that blonde was divine ! met her on the 
 beach at a fashionable watering-place. 
 
 JACQUELINE. . . . And that menu? 
 
 ERNEST. Chic lunch at the Cafe Anglais charming 
 comedienne, she was. . . . See this ribbon? . . . Just 
 think 
 
 JACQUELINE. [Laughina.] That's enough, I don't 
 want you to be indiscreet. Ernest, I want to drink to 
 your earlier love affairs. . . . Now I'll tell. you something: 
 I'm not at all respectable. I'm not a bit afraid of you 
 
 I8 5
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 now! [He takes her in his arms, but the moment his face 
 approaches hers, she is seized with sudden fright, and slaps 
 
 ERNEST. [Retreating a step or two.'} Oh! 
 
 JACQUELINE. ... I didn't mean to. ... This is 
 awful ! I can certainly feel the effect of the Champagne, 
 but I'm still respectable I'm hopeless ! 
 
 ERNEST. And I don't know what to do! 
 
 JACQUELINE. What do you mean? 
 
 ERNEST. I mean, I mean I've proceeded according 
 to every known method : kindness, persuasion, tenderness 
 my method was irreproachable well, there remains 
 force. . . . 
 
 JACQUELINE. Ernest! . . . [He goes quickly to her, 
 when the bell rings. ,} 
 
 They are interrupted; Jacqueline's friends " save " 
 her, and take her home. Just before she leaves, 
 the couple are left alone together for a moment, 
 and Ernest sees that he has been the victim of a 
 little conspiracy. He then tells Jacqueline the 
 truth about his " affairs." 
 
 JACQUELINE. My dear friend, how can I thank you? 
 
 ERNEST. Give me that rose. [She takes a rose from 
 her corsage and gives it to him.} Thank you! See, I'm 
 going to put it in the file, there, with the relics 
 
 JACQUELINE. What, the souvenir of this deception, 
 along with those that recall so many happy memories? 
 
 ERNEST. Oh, no ! I can tell you now it's not true 
 what I told you 
 
 JACQUELINE. But all those letters ? 
 
 ERNEST. Those letters? Take any one and read it 
 
 JACQUELINE. [Reading.'] " Dear Monsieur : Nev- 
 er! " [Reading another.} "Excuse me for not com- 
 ing yesterday " [Reading a third.} " Sorry, but can't 
 come to-morrow " 
 
 1 86
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 ERNEST. They never came! 
 
 JACQUELINE. And you keep these? 
 
 ERNEST. What can I do? I keep what I get! 
 
 JACQUELINE. And those other relics? 
 
 ERNEST. The others? That bouquet I wore myself 
 when I went to see a lady who would never consent to re- 
 ceive me. The menu from the Cafe Anglais I ate 
 alone that day, with an empty chair facing me. That's 
 all! Lost happiness! So you see, Jacqueline, your rose 
 will be quite at home. It will be the saddest of my 
 memories, but not the least beautiful. [He closes the 
 cabinet, after replacing the file.] 
 
 JACQUELINE. [Giving him her hand.] Ah! [Ten- 
 derly] How I might have loved you if I had! My 
 dear, dear friend ! [She goes out slowly, without looking 
 at him.] 
 
 ERNEST. Voila ! I got into the train, but it never 
 left the station I went to the theater, but there was no 
 performance now I'm all alone 
 
 But faithful little Sophie, the piano-teacher who 
 had loved him all along, and whom he had un- 
 consciously adored, it appears, now comes to him, 
 and everything turns out happily. 
 
 L'Eventail, M. de Caillavet confessed, was his 
 favorite among all the Flers-Caillavet plays. 
 L'Eventail contains the best-rounded and most de- 
 tailed character study which has yet come from 
 these delightful writers; 1 perhaps this explains 
 their preference for it. 
 
 Giselle Vaudreuil is a born coquette. " In time 
 of danger," she says, " a man ought to be brave, 
 a woman beautiful that is our courage ! " For 
 
 1 This was written before the production of Monsieur Breton- 
 neau, in the Spring of 1914, of which M. de Flers wrote in the 
 Figaro that it was the authors' favorite. 
 
 I8 7
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 years she has succeeded in life by the exercise of 
 her charm; she attains every end by cultivating 
 the art of capturing men and then passing on to 
 the next. She once did this to Francois Trevoux, 
 who so took to heart her cruelty that his character 
 was definitely fixed into a misanthropic mold. 
 One day he learns that his friends, Jacques and 
 Germaine de Landeve, have invited an old friend 
 of their youth to visit them; the old friend is of 
 course Giselle. Frangois, afraid to meet the 
 woman who had jilted him six years previously, 
 pleads urgent business and attempts to escape to 
 Paris early on the very morning when Giselle is to 
 arrive. But fate and the ingenious devices of the 
 dramatists cause the automobile to break down, 
 and force Frangois to meet his old sweetheart. 
 Complications ensue as Giselle is drawn into a 
 number of intrigues other people's love-affairs. 
 Francois vainly struggles against the re-birth of 
 his passion for Giselle, and feels that he is playing 
 a losing game, in spite of the fact that he knows 
 she is an incurable coquette. Her fan the sym- 
 bol of her coquetry bears her on to victory as 
 she brings back erring husbands to misunderstood 
 wives. But she too, at last, feels herself drawn 
 toward the long-suffering man she once wronged. 
 At last Frangois, unable to bear the torture of her 
 presence, makes up his mind to leave : 
 
 FRANQOIS. I have come to say good-by I'm going, 
 this time 
 
 GISELLE. No, Frangois, you are not going at least, 
 not alone. My friends, I present to you my fiance. 
 
 FRANCOIS. No, don't believe her. I thank you, 
 Madame, but I cannot accept chanty! 
 
 188
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 JACQUES. You see! 
 
 GISELLE. Very well. But I wish Jacques to know the 
 whole truth, and I don't think Monsieur Trevoux will 
 deny it: I present you to my lover! 
 
 FRANC.OIS. Giselle ! 
 
 GISELLE. Yes, yes! I humbly confess it. [She looks 
 at Francois.] I tried so hard to struggle against love, 
 but it was stronger than I I am happy to acknowledge 
 my defeat. . . . Francois, a conquered soldier breaks his 
 sword before giving it up to his victor. [She breaks her 
 fan.] Here is mine! ... I give it to my husband. I 
 shall never have another fan I promise that. 
 
 FRANCOIS. I don't know what to say I'm so 
 happy ! Well, now that I'm the master, just you see 
 how I'll obey 
 
 GISELLE. My dearest 
 
 PIERRE. [Bringing forward a package.] This just 
 arrived from Paris for Madame Vaudreuil. 
 
 GISELLE. Oh, yes I know what it is. 
 
 GERMAINE. What ? 
 
 GISELLE. A fan. 
 
 FRANCOIS. Already? 
 
 And the curtain falls, not on a pleasantly false 
 sentimental All's Well, but with a true ring: we 
 know Giselle will carry the fan to her grave. 
 
 Our authors have won their greatest successes 
 of late in the field of satire. Three of their finest 
 works are political farces: Le Bois sacre, Le Roi, 
 and L' Habit vert. The first known in the 
 United States in an adaptation under the title of 
 Decorating Clementine ridicules the craze for 
 "decorations" in France; it is of more local in- 
 terest than the two works which followed it. 
 
 Le Roi is the most uproarious of the Flers- 
 Caillavet satires. Imagine, they tell us, the land 
 
 189
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 of the Marseillaise turned topsy-turvy by the ar- 
 rival of a royal personage ! Imagine that per- 
 sonage a boulevardier among boulevardiers 
 King Manoel of Portugal must have been the 
 original picture him shattering the ideals of a 
 staunch Socialist, making love to his wife, and 
 turning the President and his Cabinet into a ridicu- 
 lous pack of children! Paris is his playground. 
 Received everywhere with acclamations and honor, 
 no wonder he exults and waxes enthusiastic, cry- 
 ing " Que j'aime la France! " It is unjust to re- 
 duce to the cold outline here necessary the not at 
 all respectable story of Le Rol; I can, however, 
 with impunity transcribe two scenes. Therese, 
 Bourdier's mistress, has received the King in her 
 apartment at a time when her lover the Social- 
 ist leader is safely out of the way. But he in- 
 opportunely, as lovers and husbands in plays will, 
 appears, only to find the King's hat in the drawing- 
 room. Therese comes to Bourdier and tries to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 BOURDIER. The name of that man, that ? I must 
 know ! [ . . . The King appears, smiling complacently.] 
 
 THERESE. [Introducing the two men.] His Majesty 
 the King of Ardagne Monsieur Bourdier, a friend of 
 mine. 
 
 BOURDIER. [Astonished] Ah! [There is a mo- 
 ment's embarrassment] 
 
 THE KING. How are you? 
 
 BOURDIER. [Furiously.] Sire ! 
 
 THERESE. Do you know what His Majesty conde- 
 scended to say the moment you arrived? Well, he ex- 
 pressed a desire to make your acquaintance. 
 
 BOURDIER. [Softening] Sire! 
 
 190
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 THE KING. Yes, I was looking forward to that privi- 
 lege. In what way can I be of service to you, my dear 
 Bourdier? 
 
 BOURDIER. [Diminuendo.] Sire! 
 
 THERESE. His Majesty was kind enough to think of 
 allowing you to invite him to a grand hunt and dinner 
 party at your Chateau at Gourville. 
 
 BOURDIER. [Almost meekly.] Sire! 
 
 THERESE. And further: His Majesty, who has only 
 one more day to dispose of ... offers you all of next Sun- 
 day, the day he originally intended to spend with the Mar- 
 quis de Charnarande. 
 
 BOURDIER. [Bowing, vastly pleased.] Sire! 
 
 THE KING. Don't thank me ! Don't ! And now, 
 good-by till Sunday ! I shall be most pleased to see 
 you then. Don't come to the door I couldn't think of 
 letting you ! Good-by, dear old Bourdier! 
 
 BOURDIER. Sire. [The King extends his hand to 
 Bourdier; Bourdier hesitates, not knowing whether to kiss 
 it or shake it.] 
 
 THE KING. Shake! One doesn't shake kings' hands 
 in private ! 
 
 THERESE. Sire pardon him. Monsieur Bourdier 
 isn't well acquainted with the forms he is a Socialist 
 
 THE KING. So am I ! 
 
 The next act is at the Chateau on the following 
 Sunday. The King continues to make love to 
 Therese. He has added to his conquests, mean- 
 time, Bourdier's own wife, Marthe, and is most 
 assiduous. The act closes with the King's very 
 amusing double-meaning compliment: " Oh, how 
 I love France ! " In the final act Marthe induces 
 the King to sign a treaty which the country has for 
 some time, without success, been trying to make. 
 Marthe and the King are together: 
 
 191
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 THE KING. . . . Here! 
 
 MARTHE. What is it? 
 
 THE KING. A worthy souvenir a great present. 
 Do you recognize this document? 
 
 MARTHE. No. 
 
 THE KING. The famous commerce treaty which I have 
 up to this moment refused to sign, because it is not par- 
 ticularly advantageous to my brother the King of 
 Moldavie. It is worth some millions to your country. 
 For Youyou's sake [Marthe 's pet name before she was 
 married] I make a present of this to France. 
 
 MARTHE. What! 
 
 THE KING. Come here. [He sits down.] Take my 
 big hand in yours, darling, and make me sign my name. 
 
 MARTHE. I don't dare. 
 
 THE KING. It is my wish. 
 
 MARTHE. [Obeying.'] J-E-A-N Shall I put your 
 number down after the name? 
 
 THE KING. No number. [He hands her the docu- 
 ment.] Here's your present. Now you're down in his- 
 tory. 
 
 MARTHE. Oh, I'm all trembling. I can't thank you! 
 It would be ridiculous 
 
 Bourdier comes in together with the President of 
 the Republic. The King shows the latter the 
 signed treaty. 
 
 THE KING. . . . Here, Monsieur le President. 
 
 THE PRESIDENT. [Looking at the treaty.] Oh! 
 [He passes it to Bourdier.] 
 
 BOURDIER. Ah! ... 
 
 THE KING. Messieurs, dear Bourdier here is giving 
 you a splendid example. He has shown you how, in your 
 democratic country, a man can by his own merit, rise to 
 be of the greatest service to the state. 
 
 BOURDIER. Yes, Sire; nowadays, we are the State! 
 192
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 THE KING. Good! [The hunting horns are heard in 
 the distance.] The hunt, Messieurs! 
 
 The daring of the plot, the breezy, ample, esprit 
 gaulois are far enough from the quiet sentiment 
 of L' Amour veille and L'Eventail. The authors 
 have entered a new field, in which they are destined 
 to remain the masters, and win further laurels. 
 The occasional vulgarity of Le Roi is perhaps nec- 
 essary, owing to the theme. To Anglo-Saxon 
 minds there appears no excuse for many scenes in 
 which sensuality per se is exploited for purely comic 
 effect. Yet the animal spirits of LeRoigive way in 
 the next play, L' Habit vert, to rollicking farce and 
 boisterousness, which seem almost out of place in a 
 Flers and Caillavet play. Yet here again so 
 funny is the situation and so clever the dialogue 
 that we are forced to accept the whole as a huge 
 joke. The American woman who makes quite 
 unprintable " breaks," and whose affairs might 
 well scandalize a newspaper reporter, is in spite 
 of everything one of the most amusing figures in 
 contemporary comedy. 
 
 L'Habit vert is a satire on the great and august 
 Academy of which the two marquis' are not yet 
 members. The Count Hubert de Latour-Latour 
 accidentally finds himself at the chateau of the 
 Duke and Duchess de Maulevrier. The Duchess, 
 an American, is at once attracted to the young 
 noble. 
 
 HUBERT. Ah, Madame la duchesse, thank you! You 
 have a great heart. 
 
 DUCHESS. Yes, I have a great heart also a great 
 park. I walk in it every day. . . . This evening I shall be 
 
 193
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 there, after dinner. Come to the end of the long alley 
 we'll converse about the poetry of love, sitting on a 
 clematis-covered bench. 
 
 HUBERT. Oh, Madame la duchesse, what an honor 
 and what a joy ! . . . 
 
 DUCHESS. Hush, here comes my husband the Duke! 
 [Enter the Duke.] Dearest, I should like to introduce 
 Monsieur le comte Hubert de Latour 
 
 DUKE. [Bowing coldly.] I am very well! 
 
 HUBERT. [Aside to the Duchess.] Latour-Latour 
 
 DUCHESS. That's what I said 
 
 HUBERT. No, twice! 
 
 DUCHESS. Oh yes, double! Monsieur le comte de 
 Latour-Latour 
 
 DUKE. [Smiling.'} That is very different. De- 
 lighted, I am sure, to make your acquaintance. I know of 
 your family. 
 
 Later, Hubert begins to make love to the Duchess. 
 He takes her hand in his and kneels at her feet. 
 Then the Duke surprises them. With the Duke 
 is Brigitte, the stenographer who is helping Hubert 
 with his book on his ancestors. 
 
 DUKE. Oh! 
 
 DUCHESS and HUBERT. Oh! 
 
 BRIGITTE. Oh ! 
 
 HUBERT. [Quickly rising.] Monsieur le due ! How 
 are you? 
 
 PUKE. [Violently.] Not well, Monsieur! As for 
 you, Madame, will you kindly tell me what was the sig- 
 nificance of that indecent posture you were in when I 
 entered ? 
 
 DUCHESS. [Speaking English.] Oh, I can't answer. 
 ... I'm awfully frightened. You have such a voice and 
 such a face! What a dreadful thing! This man seems 
 
 194
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 to be quite out of temper. Oh, dear me, dear me, dear 
 me 
 
 HUBERT. I hope, Monsieur le due, that this explana- 
 tion will suffice? 
 
 DUKE. {Exasperated.'} No, Monsieur: I don't un- 
 derstand English. 
 
 HUBERT. {With dignity. ~\ Neither do I. 
 
 DUKE. {With a menace, ,] Then, Monsieur ! 
 
 BRIGITTE. {Stepping between the men.} Let me 
 translate, Monsieur le due! 
 
 DUKE. Proceed ! 
 
 BRIGITTE. . . . When you came in, Monsieur le due, 
 Monsieur le comte de Latour-Latour was at the feet of 
 Madame la duchesse you know, he was at her feet, 
 wasn't he? 
 
 DUKE. Of course ! And then ? Then ? 
 
 BRIGITTE. Then ? He was begging her for something. 
 That was evident, was it not ? 
 
 DUKE. Of course, but for what? 
 
 BRIGITTE. It was to ask you 
 
 DUKE. For what? 
 
 BRIGITTE. {Still hesitating.} That you propose him 
 as a candidate 
 
 DUKE. For what? 
 
 BRIGITTE. For the French Academy! 
 
 DUKE. For the French Academy ! 
 
 DUCHESS. {Astonished.} The French Academy? 
 
 DUKE. Is that true? 
 
 HUBERT. {Looking at the Duchess, who is dumbly 
 supplicating him to say yes.} It is. 
 
 DUKE. {Bowing.} Why not say so at once ? 
 
 DUCHESS. Because you came in so abruptly that I was 
 frozen with fear ! Oh ! 
 
 DUKE. [To the Duchess.] Pardon me, dear, but 
 really, when I saw a man at your feet, I - 
 
 HUBERT. {With an air of nobility.} I can readily 
 
 195
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 understand your surprise, Monsieur le due; I sympathize 
 with it. But I come of a family no member of which 
 during eight hundred years ever asked a favor of a lady 
 without kneeling to her for it. 
 
 DUKE. Well spoken, Monsieur! For ten centuries 
 my own family has ever been ready with the bended knee: 
 habit acquired from constant prayer, doubtless. Give me 
 your hand ! 
 
 HUBERT. Willingly. 
 
 Hubert must now in honor bound present himself 
 for election to the French Academy. But he 
 rightly feels that he has no business there, and he 
 has no desire to be elected. " But," says the 
 Duke, " everything marks you out as the ideal 
 Academician: your preoccupation with good solid 
 ideas, your obscurity, the insignificance of your 
 literary work, your rather melancholy disposi- 
 tion" 
 
 The third act is very daring: the scene is laid 
 beneath the sacred Cupola in the Institute, where 
 the Immortals congregate, and the stage represents 
 the Amphitheater. It is the day on which Hubert, 
 elected by an overwhelming majority, is to make 
 the Discourse on his Reception and the Duke his 
 reply to Hubert. The Duchess is deeply con- 
 cerned over the ceremony, because she has some- 
 where mislaid a rather compromising letter to 
 Hubert. The seance begins, Hubert makes his 
 speech, and the Duke rises to make his " Reply " : 
 
 DUKE. Monsieur after heartily joining in the 
 demonstrations of approval which greeted your Address, 
 I am happy to remark that this occasion is a particularly 
 gratifying one for me ; it is a day which stands out among 
 
 196
 
 FLERS AND CAILLAVET 
 
 all others. And how could it be otherwise, Monsieur? 
 For the feeling of friendship in my bosom is so well in 
 accord with the similar sentiment of esteem in which I hold 
 you ! My thoughts are drawn toward the various affec- 
 tionate bonds which unite us. I am urged to quote what 
 Epictetus said to his favorite disciple: " My loving dearie 
 Hubert"! 
 
 [He has turned a page, and finds between his hands a large 
 sheet of blue paper. With great dignity and empha- 
 sis he repeats: "My loving dearie Hubert" The 
 audience rises in confusion. The Duke lays down his 
 manuscript, and passes his hand over his forehead. . . .] 
 DUCHESS. My letter! 
 
 The audience is dismissed and the ceremony post- 
 poned. But the possibility of a public scandal is 
 so terrible to contemplate, that the Duke is per- 
 suaded to resume the seance and save the day. 
 The audience is recalled, and the Duke's Discourse 
 recommenced: 
 
 . . . as Epictetus said to one of his favorite disciples: 
 " You are indeed favored of the gods, loved son of the 
 Muses! You are indeed a happy man! My hand will 
 crown you with flowers! [As he continues, the curtain 
 falls.-} 
 
 The last act rather an anticlimax straightens 
 matters out: Hubert is married off to Brigitte, 
 the faithful sweetheart, just as Ernest was to the 
 little music teacher in L Amour veille. 
 
 This summary of the principal plays of Flers 
 and Caillavet could scarcely be other than the 
 faintest approximation to the vividness with which 
 these two paint their characters and round out 
 
 197
 
 CONTEMPORARY FRENCH DRAMATISTS 
 
 their ingenious and invariably amusing situations. 
 Geniality, light-hearted satire, impudence, in- 
 souciance, are their gifts. Flers and Caillavet 
 are to be seen not analyzed. 
 
 198
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 The following works contain references to practically 
 all the dramatists considered in the present volume; no 
 special mention of these works will be made under partic- 
 ular headings. 
 
 Emile de St. Auban, L'ldee sociale au theatre. (Stock.) 
 Francois Veuillot, Les Predicateurs de la scene. 
 
 ( Retaux. ) 
 Georges Pelissier, Etudes de litter ature contemporaine 
 
 (Perrin.) 
 
 Rene Doumic, Les Jeunes. (Perrin.) 
 Rene Doumic, Essais sur le theatre contemporain. 
 
 (Perrin.) 
 
 Rene Doumic, De Scribe a Ibsen. (Perrin.) 
 Rene Doumic, Le Theatre nouveau. (Perrin.) 
 A.-E. Sorel, Essais de psychologic moderne. (Sansot.) 
 Antoine Benoist, Le Theatre d'aujourd'hui. (Societe 
 
 Franchise d'imprimerie et de librairie.) 
 Paul Flat, Figures du theatre contemporain. (Sansot.) 
 Emile Zola, Le Theatre naturaliste. (Charpentier.) 
 Hiram Kelly Moderwell, The Theater of To-day. 
 
 (Lane.) 
 
 Laurence Jerrold, The Real France. (Lane.) 
 Frank Wadleigh Chandler, Aspects of Modern Drama. 
 
 (Macmillan.) 
 
 Archibald Henderson, The Changing Drama. (Holt.) 
 Charlton Andrews, The Drama To-day. (Lippincott.) 
 Anthologie du theatre jranqais contemporain. (Dela- 
 
 graye.) 
 
 Ludwig Lewisohn, The Modern Drama. (Huebsch.) 
 199
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Ferdinand Brunetiere, The Law of the Drama. (Co- 
 lumbia University.) 
 
 Emma Goldmann, The Social Significance of the Mod- 
 ern Drama. (Badger.) 
 
 COLLECTED CRITICISM: 
 
 Francisque Sarcey, Quarante ans de theatre. (Les An- 
 
 nales.) 
 Jules Lemaitre, Impressions de theatre. (Societe Fran- 
 
 gaise. ) 
 
 Emile Faguet, Propos de theatre. (Societe Franchise.) 
 J. Ernest-Charles, Les Samedis litteraires. (Ollen- 
 dorff.) 
 Edmond Stoullig et Edouard Noel, Les Annales du 
 
 theatre et de la musique. (Ollendorff.) 
 Catulle Mendes, L'Art au theatre. (Charpentier.) 
 Leon Blum, Au Theatre. (Ollendorff.) 
 Henry Bordeaux, La Vie au theatre. (Pilon.) 
 Henry Bidou, L'Annee dramatique. (Hachette.) 
 Adolphe Brisson, Le Theatre. (Les Annales.) 
 
 THE THEATRE LIBRE 
 
 Adolphe Thalasso, Le Theatre Libre. (Mercure de 
 
 France.) 
 
 Jean Jullien, Le Theatre vivant. (Charpentier.) 
 Augustin Filon, De Dumas a Rostand. (Colin.) Trans- 
 lated as Modern French Drama, by Janet E. Hogarth. 
 (Chapman and Hall, London.) 
 Anonymous, Le Theatre Libre. (Paris, 1890.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Four Plays of the Free Theater. 
 (Translations of Curel's The Fossils, Jullien's The 
 Serenade, Porto-Riche's Franqoise' Luck, and Ancey's 
 The Dupe; translated with an introduction by Barrett 
 H. Clark, and a preface by Brieux. Stewart & Kidd.) 
 George Moore, Impressions and Opinions. (Brentano.) 
 Archibald Henderson, The Changing Drama. (Holt.) 
 
 2OO
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 MAGAZINES: 
 
 Saturday Review, vol. Ixxix (p. 213) ; International, vol. 
 iii (p. 511); Critic, vol. xl (p. 517); Bellman, 
 27 Feb., 1915. 
 
 FRANgOIS DE CUREL 
 
 LIST OF PLAYS : 
 L'Envers d'une sainte 1892 
 
 Translated by Barrett H. Clark. (Doubleday, 
 
 Page, in The Drama League Series) 
 L'Invitee 1893 
 
 (The Guest) 
 L'Amour brode 1 893 
 
 (Love Embellishes) 
 La Figurante 1896 
 
 (The Ballet Dancer) 
 Le Repas du lion 1898 
 
 (The Lion's Feast) 
 La Nouvelle idole 1899 
 
 (The New Idol) 
 Les Fossiles 1900 
 
 Translated as The Fossils, in Four Plays of the 
 
 Free Theater 
 La Fille sauvage 1902 
 
 (The Girl Savage) 
 Le Coup d'aile 1906 
 
 Translated as The Beat of the Wing by Alice 
 
 Van Kaathoven, Poet Lore, vol. xx, No. 5 
 La Danse devant le miroir 1914 
 
 (The Dance Before the Mirror) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Adolphe Brisson, Portraits intimes. 5eme Serie. (Colin.) 
 Gabriel Trarieux, La Lanterne de Diogene. (Librairie 
 Moliere.) 
 
 201
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Roger Le Brun, Francois de Curel. (Sansot.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Four Plays of the Free Theater. 
 (Stewart and Kidd.) 
 
 MAGAZINES : 
 
 Contemporary Review, vol. Ixxxiv (p. 209) ; Forum, Jan., 
 1915. 
 
 EUGENE BRIEUX 
 
 PLAYS: 
 Bernard Palissy. (In collaboration with Gaston 
 
 Salandri) 1880 
 
 Le Bureau des divorces. (With Gaston Salandri) . . 1880 
 
 (The Divorce Office) 
 Menages d'artistes 1 890 
 
 (Artists' Families) 
 La Fille de Durame 1 890 
 
 (Durame's Daughter) 
 
 M. de Reboval 1 892 
 
 Blanchette 1892 
 
 Translated by Frederick Eisemann, in Blanchette 
 
 and the Escape. (Luce) 
 La Couvee 1 893 
 
 (The Brood) 
 L'Engrenage 1894 
 
 (The Machine) 
 La Rose bleue 1 895 
 
 (The Blue Rose) 
 Les Bienfaiteurs 1896 
 
 (The Philanthropists) 
 L'Evasion 1896 
 
 Translated as The Escape in Blanchette and The 
 
 Escape. (Luce) 
 Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont 1897 
 
 Translated as The Three Daughters of M. Du- 
 pont, by St. John Hankin, in Three Plays by 
 
 Brieux. (Brentano) 
 
 2O2
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 L'Ecole des Belles-Meres 1898 
 
 Translated as The School for Mothers-in-Law 
 
 in The Smart Set, July, 1913 
 Resultat des courses ! 1898 
 
 (Racing Results!) 
 Le Berceau 1898 
 
 (The Cradle) 
 La Robe rouge 1900 
 
 Translated as The Red Robe by F. O. Reed in 
 
 Chief Contemporary Dramatists (Houghton, 
 
 Mifflin), and in second volume of Brieux plays 
 
 (Brentano) 
 Les Remplaqantes 1901 
 
 (The Substitutes) 
 Les Avaries 1902 
 
 Translated as Damaged Goods by John Pollock 
 
 in Three Plays by Brieux (Brentano) 
 La Petite Amie 1902 
 
 (The "Little Friend") 
 Maternite ( ist version) 1903 
 
 Translated as Maternity by Mrs. Bernard Shaw 
 
 in Three Plays by Brieux. (Brentano) 
 La Deserteuse. (In collaboration with Jean 
 
 Sigaux) 1904 
 
 (The Woman who Deserted) 
 L'Armature. (After Paul Hervieu's novel of the 
 
 same name) 1905 
 
 (The Armature) 
 Les Hannetons 1906 
 
 (The May-Beetles) 
 La Franchise 1907 
 
 (The Frenchwoman) 
 
 Simone ' , 1908 
 
 Suzette 1909 
 
 La Foi 1909 
 
 Translated as Faith. (Brentano) 
 203
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 La Femme seule 1912 
 
 Translated as Woman on her Own. (Bren- 
 tano) 
 
 Le Bourgeois aux Champs 1914 
 
 (The Bourgeois in the Country) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Adrien Bertrand, E. Er'icux. (Sansot.) 
 Gabriel Trarieux, La Lanterne de Diogene. (Librairie 
 
 Moliere.) 
 
 P. V. Thomas, The Plays of Eugene Brieux. (Luce.) 
 Mrs. Bernard Shaw, preface to single volume edition of 
 
 Damaged Goods. (Fifield.) 
 Emma Goldmann, The Social Significance of the Modern 
 
 Drama. (Badger.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Four Plays of the Free Theater. 
 
 (Stewart and Kidd.) 
 
 See introductions to the four volumes of translations 
 
 above referred to. 
 
 MAGAZINES : 
 
 Atlantic, vol. xc. (p. 79) ; Contemporary Review, vol. 
 Ixxxi (p. 343) ; Forum, vol. xliii (p. 678) ; Nation, 
 vol. xciii (p. 149) ; Drama, August, 1913; Interna- 
 tional, vol. viii (p. 156). 
 
 GEORGES DE PORTO-RICHE 
 PLAYS : 
 
 Le Vertige 1873 
 
 (Vertigo) 
 
 Un Drame sous Philippe II 1875 
 
 (A Drama Under Philip II) 
 
 Les Deux Fautes 1 879 
 
 (The Two Faults) 
 
 Vanina 1879 
 
 204
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 La Chance de Frangoise 1889 
 
 Translated by Barrett H. Clark as Franchise' 
 
 Luck in Four Plays of the Free Theater. 
 
 (Stewart and Kidd) 
 L'lnfidele 1890 
 
 (The Unfaithful One) 
 Amoureuse 1891 
 
 (The Loving Woman) 
 Le Passe 1898 
 
 (The Past) 
 Les Malefilatre 1904 
 
 (The Malefilatre Family) 
 Le Vieil Homme 1911 
 
 (The Old Man) 
 Zubiri 1912 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 Augustin Filon, Modern French Drama. (Chapman & 
 
 Hall.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Four Plays of the Free Theater. 
 
 (Stewart and Kidd.) 
 
 Claude R. Marx, G. de Porto-Riche. (Sansot.) 
 Adolphe Brisson, Pointes seches. (Colin.) 
 J. Ernest-Charles, Essais critiques. (Ollendorff.) 
 J. Ernest-Charles, Le Theatre des poetes. (Ollendorff.) 
 
 PAUL HERVIEU 
 
 PLAYS: 
 
 Point de Lendemain '. 1 890 
 
 (Adapted from a story by Vivant Denon. A 
 proverbial expression meaning " Without after- 
 thought.") 
 
 Les Paroles Restent 1892 
 
 (Words Remain) 
 
 Les Tenailles 1895 
 
 Translated as In Chains by Ysidor Asckenasy, 
 Poet Lore, 1909. 
 
 205
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 La Loi de 1'homme 1897 
 
 (Man's Law) 
 
 L'Enigme 1901 
 
 (The Enigma) 
 La Course du Flambeau 1901 
 
 (The Passing of the Torch) 
 
 Theroigne de Mericourt 1902 
 
 Le Dedale 1903 
 
 Translated as The Labyrinth by Barrett H. 
 
 Clark and Lander MacClintock. (Huebsch.) 
 Le Reveil 1905 
 
 (The Awakening) 
 Modestie 1908 
 
 Translated as Modesty by Barrett H. Clark. 
 
 (French, New York.) 
 Connais-toi 1909 
 
 Translated as Know Thyself by Barry Cerf in 
 
 Chief Contemporary Dramatists. 
 
 Bagatelle 1912 
 
 Le Destin est Maitre (Destiny is Master) 1914 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Adolphe Brisson, Pointes seches. (Colin.) 
 Henry Malherbe, Paul Hervieu. (Sansot.) 
 Abel Hermant, Essais de critique. (Grasset.) 
 Paul Abram, Notes de critique. (Sansot.) 
 James Huneker, Iconoclasts. (Scribner.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 
 William Archer, Playmaking. (Small, Maynard.) 
 Arthur Symons, Plays, Acting and Music. (Dutton.) 
 J. Ernest-Charles, Essais critiques. (Ollendorff.) 
 Introduction to translation of The Labyrinth above re- 
 ferred to. 
 
 MAGAZINES: 
 
 International Review, vol. vii (p. 265) ; Critic, vol. xxxvii 
 (p. 158) ; New Republic, vol. i, No. I. 
 206
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 HENRI LAVEDAN 
 PLAYS : 
 Une Famille 1891 
 
 (One Family) 
 Le Prince d'Aurec 1 892 
 
 Translated as The Prince d'Aurec, by Barrett 
 
 H. Clark, in Three Modern Plays from the 
 
 French. (Holt.) 
 Critique du Prince d'Aurec 1892 
 
 (Criticism on the Prince d'Aurec) 
 Les Deux Noblesses 1894 
 
 (The Two Nobilities) 
 Viveurs ! 1 895 
 
 (Sports!) 
 
 Catherine 1 898 
 
 Le Nouveau Jeu 1 898 
 
 (The Latest Fad) 
 Le Vieux marcheur 1899 
 
 (The Old Man-about-town) 
 Les Medicis 1901 
 
 (The Medici) 
 Le Marquis de Priola 1902 
 
 (The Marquis de Priola) 
 
 Varennes. (In collaboration with G. Lenotre) . . . 1904 
 Le Duel 1905 
 
 (The Duel) 
 Sire 1909 
 
 (Sire) 
 Le Gout du Vice 1911 
 
 (The Taste for Vice) 
 Servir 1913 
 
 (To Serve) 
 La Chienne du Roi 1913 
 
 (The King's Bitch) 
 Petard 1914 
 
 207
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, introduction to Three Modern Plays 
 
 From the French. (Holt.) 
 
 MAURICE DONNAY 
 
 Lysistrata 1 892 
 
 Pension de famille 1894 
 
 (Family Hotel) 
 Amants 1 895 
 
 Translated as Lovers by Barrett H. Clark in 
 
 Three Plays by Donnay (Kennerley, 1915). 
 La Douloureuse 1 897 
 
 (Paying the Bill) 
 L'Affranchie 1898 
 
 Translated as The Free Woman by Barrett H. 
 
 Clark in Three Plays by Donnay (Kenner- 
 ley, 1915)- 
 
 Georgette Lemeunier 1898 
 
 Le Torrent 1 899 
 
 (The Torrent) 
 Education de Prince 1900 
 
 (Prince's Education) 
 La Clairiere. (In collaboration with L. Descaves) . 1900 
 
 (The Clearing) 
 La Bascule 1901 
 
 (The Seesaw) 
 L'Autre Danger 1902 
 
 Translated as The Other Danger by Charlotte 
 
 Tenney David in The Drama, August, 1913, 
 
 and later in Three Modern Plays from the 
 
 French. (Holt.) 
 Le Retour de Jerusalem "... 1903 
 
 (The Return from Jerusalem) 
 L'Escalade 1904 
 
 (The Escalade) 
 
 208
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Oiseaux de passage. (With L. Descaves) ......... 1904 
 
 (Birds of Passage) 
 Paraitre .................................... 1906 
 
 (To Appear) 
 La Patronne ................................ 1908 
 
 (Untranslatable colloquial expression) 
 Le Menage de Moliere ........................ 1912 
 
 (Moliere's Family) 
 Les Eclaireuses .............................. 1913 
 
 (The Emancipated Women) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Roger Le Brun, Maurice Donnay. (Sansot.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Three Modern Plays from the French. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 
 Preface to Three Plays by Donnay (Kennerley, 
 
 Adrien Chevalier, Etudes litter air es, (Sansot.) 
 
 Paul Bourget, Pages de critique et de doctrine. (Plon.) 
 
 MAGAZINES: 
 
 The Drama, August, 1913; Current Literature, vol. xliv 
 (p. 279). 
 
 EDMOND ROSTAND 
 PLAYS: 
 Le Gant rouge ............................... 1 888 
 
 (The Red Glove) 
 Not published. 
 Les Deux Pierrots ............................ 1 89 1 
 
 (The Two Pierrots) 
 Not published. 
 Les Romanesques ............................. 1894 
 
 Translated as The Romancers by Mary Hendee 
 
 (Doubled ay, Page, 1899), as the same, 
 
 by Barrett H. Clark (French, New York), and 
 
 209
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 as The Fantasticks, by George Fleming ( Heine- 
 
 mann, London). 
 La Princesse lointaine 1895 
 
 (The Princess Faraway) 
 
 Translated by Charles Renauld (Stokes). 
 La Samaritaine 1897 
 
 (The Woman of Samaria) 
 Cyrano de Bergerac 1897 
 
 Translated by Gertrude Hall (Doubleday, 
 
 Page), Gladys Thomas and M. F. Guillemand 
 
 (R. H. Russell), and Charles Renauld (Stokes). 
 L'Aiglon 1900 
 
 (The Eaglet) 
 
 Translated as L'Aiglon by Louis N. Parker 
 
 (Russell). 
 Chantecler 1910 
 
 Translated as Chantecler by Gertrude Hall 
 
 (Duffield). 
 Le Bois sacre 1910 
 
 (The Sacred Wood) 
 
 A pantomime accompanied by a poem. 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 E. E. Hale, Jr., Dramatists of To-day. (Holt.) 
 Louis Haugmard, Edmond Rostand. (Sansot.) 
 Adolphe Brisson, Portraits intimes, aeme Serie. (Colin.) 
 Adolphe Brisson, Le Theatre et les mceurs. (Flam- 
 
 marion.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 
 Augustin Filon, De Dumas a Rostand. (Colin.) 
 G. K. Chesterton, Five Types. (Holt.) 
 
 MAGAZINES : 
 
 Arena, vol. xxxiv (p. 225) ; North American Review, vol. 
 clxxii (p. 794) ; Critic, vol. xxxix (p. 437) ; Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. cxcii (p. 307) ; McClure's, vol. 
 xiv (p. 437) ; Atlantic, vol. Ixxxii (p. 826). 
 2IO
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 JULES LEMAITRE 
 PLAYS : 
 Revoltee 1889 
 
 (The Woman Who Revolted) 
 Le Depute Leveau 1 890 
 
 (Deputy Leveau) 
 Mariage blanc 1891 
 
 (A Blank Marriage) 
 
 Flipote 1893 
 
 Les Rois 1 893 
 
 (The Kings) 
 L'Age difficile 1895 
 
 (The Difficult Age) 
 Le Pardon 1 895 
 
 Translated as Forgiveness by Frances C. Fay, in 
 
 Poet Lore, vol. 24, and by Barrett H. Clark, as 
 
 The Pardon, in Three Modern Plays from the 
 
 French. (Holt.) 
 La Bonne Helene 1 896 
 
 (Good Helen) 
 L'Ainee 1898 
 
 (The Eldest Daughter) 
 La Massiere 1 905 
 
 (The Studio Assistant) 
 
 Bertrade 1905 
 
 Le Mariage de Telemaque. (In collaboration with 
 
 Maurice Donnay) 1910 
 
 (Telemachus' Marriage) 
 La Princesse de Cleves, a dramatization from Mme. 
 
 de La Fayette's novel, has not yet been produced. 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 E. Sansot-Orland, Jules Lemattre. (Sansot.) 
 Victor Magdeleine, Jules Lemattre. (Mericant.) 
 Emile Poiteau, Quelques Ecrivains de ce temps. (Gras- 
 set.) 
 
 211
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Henry Bordeaux, Ames modernes. (Perrin.) 
 Adolphe Brisson, Portraits intimes. (Colin.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, The Continental Drama of To-day. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 Barrett H. Clark, Three Modern Plays from the French. 
 
 (Holt.) 
 
 ALFRED CAPUS 
 PLAYS: 
 Brignol et sa fille 1894 
 
 Translated as Brignol and his Daughter, by 
 
 Barrett H. Clark. (French, New York.) 
 Innocent! (Collaboration with A. Allais) 1896 
 
 (Innocent!) 
 
 Rosine 1 897 
 
 Petites folles 1897 
 
 (Little Fools) 
 Manage bourgeois 1898 
 
 (Bourgeois Marriage) 
 Les Maris de Leontine 1900 
 
 (Leontine's Husbands) 
 La Bourse ou la vie 1900 
 
 (Money or Your Life) 
 La Veine 1901 
 
 (Luck) 
 La Petite Fonctionnaire 1901 
 
 (The Petty Official) 
 Les Deux Ecoles 1902 
 
 (The Two Schools) 
 La Chatelaine 1902 
 
 (The Mistress of the Chateau) 
 Le Beau jeune homme 1903 
 
 (The Handsome Young Man) 
 L'Adversaire 1903 
 
 (The Adversary) 
 Notre Jeunesse I94 
 
 (Our Youth) 
 
 212
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Monsieur Piegois 1905 
 
 L'Attentat. (In collaboration with L. Descaves) . .1906 
 
 (The Assault) 
 Les Passageres 1906 
 
 (Wayfarers) 
 Les Deux hommes 1908 
 
 (The Two Men) 
 L'Oiseau blesse 1908 
 
 (The Wounded Bird) 
 Un Ange 1909 
 
 (An Angel) 
 L'Aventurier 1910 
 
 Translated as The Adventurer by Benedict 
 
 Papot, in The Drama, November, 1914. 
 Les Favorites 1911 
 
 (The Favorites) 
 En Garde! (In collaboration with Pierre Veber) . .1912 
 
 (On Guard!) 
 
 Helene Ardouin 1913 
 
 L'Institut de Beaute 1913 
 
 (The Beauty Shop) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Edouard Quet, Alfred Capus. (Sansot.) 
 P. Acker, P elites Confessions. (Fontemoing.) 
 Alfred Capus, Notre Epoque et le theatre. (Charpen- 
 tier.) 
 
 MAGAZINES : 
 The Drama, November, 1914. 
 
 HENRY BATAILLE 
 
 PLAYS : 
 La Belle au bois dormant. (In collaboration with 
 
 Robert d'Humieres) 1894 
 
 (The Sleeping Beauty) 
 
 213
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 La Lepreuse 1897 
 
 (The Woman Leper) 
 Ton Sang 1897 
 
 (Thy Blood) 
 L'Enchantement 1900 
 
 (The Enchantment) 
 Le Masque 1902 
 
 (The Mask) 
 Maman Colibri 1905 
 
 (Mother Colibri) 
 La Marche nuptiale 1905 
 
 (The Wedding March) 
 
 Poliche 1 906 
 
 La Femme nue 1908 
 
 (The Nude Woman) 
 Le Scandale 1 909 
 
 (The Scandal) 
 Le Songe d'une nuit d'amour 1910 
 
 (The Dream of a Night of Love) 
 La Vierge folle 1910 
 
 (The Foolish Virgin) 
 L'Enfant de Famour 1911 
 
 (The Love-child) 
 Les Flambeaux 1912 
 
 (The Torches) 
 Le Phalene 1913 
 
 (The Night-moth) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Denys Amiel, Henry Bataille. (Sansot.) 
 Paul Abram, Notes de Critique. (Sansot.) 
 Remy de Gourmont, Le Deuxieme Livre des Masques. 
 
 (Mercure de France.) 
 Georges Casella et Ernest Gaubert, La Nouvelle littera- 
 
 ture. (Sansot.) 
 Paul Melotte, Essai sur le theatre futur. (Dechenne, 
 
 Bruxelles.) 
 
 214
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 HENRY BERNSTEIN 
 PLAYS : 
 Le Marche 1900 
 
 (The Bargain) 
 Le Detour 1902 
 
 (The Detour) 
 
 Joujou 1902 
 
 Le Bercail 1 904 
 
 (The Sheepfold) 
 Frere Jacques. (In collaboration with Pierre 
 
 Veber) 1904 
 
 (Brother Jacques) 
 La Rafale 1905 
 
 (The Whirlwind) 
 La Griffe 1906 
 
 (The Claw) 
 Le Voleur 1906 
 
 Translated as The Thief, by Allan Haughton 
 
 (Doubleday, Page, in Drama League Series). 
 
 Israel 1 908 
 
 Samson 1 908 
 
 Apres Moi ! 1911 
 
 (After Me!) 
 L'Assaut 1912 
 
 (The Attack) 
 Le Secret 1913 
 
 (The Secret) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 
 Paul Abram, Notes de critique. (Sansot.) 
 Emile Poiteau, Quelques Ecrivains de ce temps. (Gras- 
 
 set.) 
 
 Paul Melotte, Essai sur le theatre futur. (Dechenne.) 
 Introduction to the translation of The Thief above 
 referred to. 
 
 215
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 MAGAZINES: 
 
 Forum, vol. xlii (p. 571), vol. xxxix (p. 369) ; Collier's, 
 vol. xliv (p. 21 ) ; Nation, vol. xcii (p. 274). 
 
 ROBERT DE FLERS AND GASTON-ARMAND 
 DE CAILLAVET 
 
 PLAYS : 
 Le Cceur a ses raisons 1902 
 
 (The Heart has its Reasons) 
 Les Senders de la vertu. . . 1903 
 
 (The Paths of Virtue) 
 La Montansier. (In collaboration with M. Jeof- 
 
 frin) 1904 
 
 (Montansier) 
 L'Ange du Foyer 1905 
 
 (The Angel of the Hearth) 
 Miquette et sa mere 1906 
 
 (Miquette and her Mother) 
 La Chance du mari 1906 
 
 (The Husband's Luck) 
 L'Amour veille 1907 
 
 (Love Watches) 
 L'Eventail 1907 
 
 (The Fan) 
 Le.Roi. (In collaboration with E. Arene) 1908 
 
 (The King) 
 L'Ane de Buridan 1909 
 
 (Buridan's Donkey) 
 
 Papa 1910 
 
 Le Bois sacre 1910 
 
 (The Sacred Grove) 
 
 Primerose 191 1 
 
 L'Habit vert 1912 
 
 (The Green Coat) 
 Venise 1913 
 
 (Venice) 
 
 216
 
 GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Le Belle aventure. (In collaboration with Etienne 
 
 Rey) 1913 
 
 (The Splendid Adventure) 
 
 REFERENCES: 
 Paul Flat, Figures du theatre contemporain. (Sansot.) 
 
 MAGAZINES: 
 
 Munsey, vol. i (p. 288) ; Theatre, vol. xviii (p. 114), vol. 
 xvii (p. 50). 
 
 217
 
 INDEX 
 
 Adam, Villiers de 1'Isle, xxii. 
 Adversaire, L', 147. 
 Affranchie, L', 95, 96. 
 Age difficile, L', 129. 
 Aicard, Jean, xix; 151. 
 Aiglon, L', xviii; 103, 114, 115, 
 
 117. 
 
 Ainee, L', 132. 
 Amants (Lovers), xii, xiii, 
 
 xiv; 48, 86, 92, 93, 95, 96, 
 
 162. 
 
 Amour brode, L', 5, n. 
 Amour de Manon, L', 50. 
 Amour veille, L', 180, 182, 193, 
 
 197. 
 Amoureuse, xii, xiii; 43, 48, 
 
 50, 51, 130, 132. 
 Ancey, Georges, xix, xxv, xxvi. 
 Andreyev, Leonid, xvii. 
 Ane de Buridan, L', 180, 182. 
 Ange, Un, 149. 
 Annales du theatre et de la 
 
 musique, Les, 49. 
 Antoine, Andre, xiv, xvii, xxi, 
 
 xxii, xxiii, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, 
 
 xxvii, xxviii ; 4, 22, 29, 70, 
 
 113- 
 
 Antoine, Theatre, xv; 168. 
 Apres MoU, 177. 
 Arvent, L', xxvi. 
 Armature, L', 54. 
 Assaut, L' (The Attack), 177. 
 Attack, The (See Assaut, L'). 
 Attentat, L', 147. 
 Augier, Emile, xvi, xix; 21, 
 
 24. 35. 39- 
 
 Autre Danger, L', 97. 
 A varies, Les (Damaged 
 
 Goods), 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 
 
 24, 26, 30, 48. 
 
 Aventurier, L', 147, 148. 
 
 Bagatelle, 54, 57, 65, 66, 67. 
 Bahr, Hermann, xv. 
 Banville, Theodore de, 103, 
 
 105. 
 
 Barker, Granville, xiv. 
 Barricade, La, xiv. 
 Bascule, La, 98. 
 Bataille, Henry, xi, xvi; 40, 
 
 102, 151-166, 169. 
 Becque, Henry, xvii, xxvii; 21. 
 Belle au bois dormant, La, 
 
 152. 
 
 Benavente, Jacinto, 66. 
 Benoist, Antoine, 64, 98, 146. 
 Bercail, Le, 168. 
 Berceau, Le, 22, 25. 
 Bergerat, Emile, xxii. 
 Bernard Palissy, 21. 
 Bernard, Tristan, x, xv. 
 Bernhardt, Sarah, 54, 114. 
 Bernhardt, Theatre Sarah, 
 
 119. 
 Bernstein, Henry, xi, xvi; 130, 
 
 131, 148, 154, 155, 156, 167- 
 
 177. 
 
 Bertrade, 133, 135. 
 Bienfaiteurs, Les (The Phi- 
 lanthropists), 21, 22, 28, 30. 
 Bjornson, Bjornstjerne, xiv, 
 
 xv. 
 Blanchette, xxvi; 18, 19, 21, 
 
 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, 28, 30, 146. 
 Blanchette and The Escape, 
 
 22. 
 
 Blue Bird, The, 119. 
 Bodiniere, La, xviii. 
 Bois sacre, Le (Rostand), 119. 
 
 219
 
 INDEX 
 
 Bois sacre, Le (Flers and 
 
 Caillavet), 180, 182, 189. 
 Bonne Helene, La, 132. 
 Boubouroche, xxvi. 
 Bouffons, Lei, xix. 
 Bourgeois in the Country, The 
 
 (See Bourgeois aux champs, 
 
 Le). 
 Bourgeois aux champs, Le 
 
 (The Bourgeois in the 
 
 Country), 21, 23, 25, 35, 37, 
 
 66. 
 
 Bourget, Paul, x, xiv; 121. 
 Bourse ou la vie, La, 143. 
 Brieux, Eugene, xi, xiv, xv, 
 
 xvii, xix, xxv, xxvi, xxvii ; 
 
 18-39, 48, 54, 55, 66, 68, 69, 
 
 96, 97, 102, 146, 148, 162, 
 
 167, 171, 182. 
 Brignol et sa fille, 140, 142, 
 
 H3, 149, 150. 
 Brisson, Adolphe, xv; 28, 64, 
 
 104, 112, 177. 
 Brunetiere, Ferdinand, 56, 121, 
 
 169. 
 
 Caillavet, Gaston-Armand de,, 
 
 xi, xv ; 66, 147, 171, 177-198. 
 Calmette, Gaston, 179. 
 Capus, Alfred, xi, xvi, xix; 
 
 20, 21, 68, 73, 137-150, 171. 
 
 179. 
 
 Catherine, 69, 77. 
 Cazin, 3. 
 Chance de Franc,oise, La, 
 
 xxvi; 42. 
 Chantecler, xi, xviii; 43, 80, 
 
 102, 103, 108, 116, 117, 118. 
 Chatelaine, La, 147. 
 Chat Noir, 94. 
 Chemineau, Le, xviii, xix. 
 Clairiere, La, 96. 
 Claretie, Jules, 104. 
 Claudel, Paul, x, xviii. 
 Cluny, Theatre, 21, 139. 
 Comedie Franchise (Theatre 
 
 Franqais), xxv; 4, 13, 29, 
 
 7, 7, 99, 103, 177. 
 
 Comedie Royale, 50. 
 Come le foglie, 162. 
 Connais-toi, 54, 57, 65. 
 Contemporains, Les, 121, 123. 
 Coolus, Romain, x. 
 Coquelin, Benoit-Constant, 114. 
 Corbeaux, Les, xxvii. 
 Coup d'aile, Le, 13, 14, 15. 
 Course du Flambeau, La, 53, 
 
 55, 57, 59, 65, 66. 
 Courteline, Georges, x, xxvi. 
 Courtney, William L., xviii. 
 Couvee, La, 22, 30. 
 Croisset, Francis de, xv. 
 Curel, Frangois de, xi, xiii, 
 
 xiv, xvii, xxv, xxvi, xxvii, 
 
 xxviii; 1-17, 127, 130, 182. 
 Cyrano de Bergerac, xi, xiv, 
 
 xviii; 43, 80, 102, 103, 112, 
 
 114, 115, 117. 
 
 Damaged Goods (See A va- 
 ries, Les). 
 
 Danse devant le Miroir, La, 
 xiii; 10, 13, 15, 130. 
 
 Darwin, 139. 
 
 Daudet, Alphonse, xxii; 51, 
 53, 151- 
 
 Davies, Hubert Henry, 130. 
 
 Decorating Clementine (See 
 Bois sacre, Le). 
 
 Dedale, Le, 54, 57, 59, 176. 
 
 De Dumas a Rostand (Mod- 
 ern French Drama), xvii- 
 xviii. 
 
 Delines, M., xvi. 
 
 Denon, Vivant, 53. 
 
 Depute Leveau, Le, 125. 
 
 Descaves, Lucien, x; 96. 
 
 Deserteuse, La, 22. 
 
 Destin est Maitre, Le, 54, 66. 
 
 Detour, Le, 168. 
 
 Deux Ecoles, Les, 138, 146, 
 150. 
 
 Deux fautes, Les, 42. 
 
 Deux Hommes, Les, 147. 
 
 Deux Pierrots, Les, 103. 
 
 Divorfontf, 146. 
 
 22O
 
 INDEX 
 
 Donnay, Maurice, xi, xii, xiv, 
 xvi, xix; 19, 21, 40, 47, 48, 
 68, 80, 86-101, 132, 138, 147, 
 154. 162. 
 
 Don Quichotte, xviii. 
 
 Douloureuse, La, 94, 95. 
 
 Drame sous Phillipe II, Un, 
 42. 
 
 Drames de I' Amour et d' Ami- 
 tie, 50. 
 
 Duel, Le, 69, 77, 81, 83, 84. 
 
 Dumas, fils, Alexandra, xix. 
 
 Eclaireuses, Les, 100. 
 Education de Prince, 98. 
 Sieve, L', 50. 
 
 Enchantement, L', 153, 156. 
 En Famille, xxii. 
 Enfant de V amour, L', 156. 
 Engrenage, L', xiv; 21, 22. 
 Emgme, L', 53, 57, 58. 
 Envers d'une sainte, L', 3, 5, 
 
 10, ii. 
 
 Escalade, L', 99. 
 Esther Brandes, xviii. 
 /<? </ la Saint-Martin, L', 
 
 135- 
 
 Eugene Bneux, The Man and 
 His Plays (by P. V. Thom- 
 as), 22. 
 
 Evasion, L', xxii ; 22. 
 
 Eventail, L', 180, 182, 187, 193. 
 
 Every Evening (See Scene de 
 tous let soirs). 
 
 Fabre, Emile, x, xiv, xxvi, 
 xxvii. 
 
 Faith and Fireside, xvi. 
 
 Famille, Une, 70, 71. 
 
 Fantasticks, The (See Roman- 
 esques, Les). 
 
 Fauchois, Rene, xviii. 
 
 Faust (Bataille), 166. 
 
 Faust (Rostand), 120. 
 
 Femme nue, La (The Nude 
 Woman), xi; 151, 154, 155,' 
 156, 162. 
 
 Femme seule, La, 23, 24, 31, 
 97, 146. 
 
 Figurante, La, 5, n. 
 
 Fille sauvage, La, 13. 
 
 Filon, Augustin, xvii, xviii. 
 
 Fils de Giboyer, Le, 24. 
 
 Five Frankfurters, The, xv. 
 
 Flambeaux, Les, 156. 
 
 Flambee, La, 164. 
 
 Flaubert, Gustave, 51, 102, 
 121, 122. 
 
 Flers, Robert de, xi, xv; 35, 
 66, 140, 147, 171, 177-198. 
 
 Fleur merveilleuse, La, xix. 
 
 Flipote, 127. 
 
 Foi, La, 23, 30. 
 
 Foolish Virgin, The (See 
 Vierge folle, la). 
 
 Fossiles^, Les, 2, 6, 10, 128. 
 
 Fran ^aise, La (The French- 
 woman), 21, 22, 30. 
 
 France, Anatole, 20. 
 
 Frenchwoman, The (See Fran- 
 faise, La). 
 
 Galsworthy, John, xiv, xv. 
 Gant rouge, Le, 103. 
 Gay Lord Quex, The, 149. 
 Geffroy, Gustave, 142. 
 Gendre de M. Poirier, Le, 39. 
 Georgette Lemeunier, 96. 
 Giacosa, Giuseppe, 162. 
 Ginisty, Paul, xxvi. 
 Goncourts, The, xxii. 
 Gorky, Maxim, xv. 
 Gout du Vue, Le, 81, 83. 
 Grand Theatre, 94. 
 Griff e, La, 168. 
 Guinon, Albert, x, xxvi. 
 Guitry, Lucien, 96, 148. 
 Guitry, Sacha, x. 
 Gymnase, Theatre, xxv. 
 
 Habit vert, L', 180, 182, 189, 
 
 193. 
 
 Halbe, Max, 70. 
 Hamlet, 121. 
 
 221
 
 INDEX 
 
 Hamsun, Knut, xv. 
 Hannetons, Les, 22, 30. 
 Halevy, Ludovic, 132, 135, 178, 
 
 1 80. 
 Hauptmann, Gerhart, xiv, xv, 
 
 xvii ; 80. 
 
 Helene Ardouin, 147. 
 Hennique, Leon, xxiii, xxv, 
 
 xxvi. 
 
 Hennequin, Maurice, x. 
 Hermant, Abel, x. 
 Hervieu, Paul, xi, xvii ; 52-67, 
 
 69, 82, 96, 102, 131, 132, 
 
 139, 146, 162, 167, 171, 176, 
 
 182. 
 
 Hugo, Victor, 41, 50, 112, 113. 
 Humieres, Robert d', 152. 
 Huneker, James, 64. 
 
 Ibsen, Henrik, xiv, xv, xxviii ; 
 
 6, 161, 162. 
 Impressions de theatre, Les, 
 
 121. 
 
 Infidele, L', 42, 43. 
 Instltut de Beaute, L', 149. 
 Invitee, L', 6. 
 Ironmaster, The, 121. 
 Israel, 154, 169, 173, 176, 177. 
 
 Jones, Henry Arthur, xiv; 148. 
 
 Joujou, 168. 
 
 Jullien, Jean, xix, xxiii, xxv, 
 
 Kistemaeckers, Henry, x; 169. 
 Klein, Charles, 144. 
 Konzert, Das, xv. 
 
 Le Bargy, 78. 
 Labiche, Eugene, 35. 
 Lamb, Charles, 74. 
 Lavedan, Henri, xi, xix, xxv; 
 
 6, 68-85. 
 
 Le Brun, Roger, 4, 95. 
 Lemaitre, Jules, xi ; 28, 29, 80, 
 
 94, 98, 121-136, 150. 
 Leneru, Marie, x. 
 Lengyel, Melchior, xvi. 
 
 Lepreuse, La, 153. 
 Liberma, Marco F., 117. 
 Lindau, Paul, xv. 
 Lot de I'Homme, La, 53, 56, 
 
 57, 5. 
 
 Lovers (See Amants). 
 Luck (See Veine, La). 
 Lugne-Poe, xiv, xv; 152. 
 Lysistrata, 94. 
 
 Maeterlinck, Maurice, ix, x; 
 
 119. 
 
 Maman Colibri, 156. 
 Manet, 3. 
 
 Manon fille galante, 166. 
 Marc he, Le, 168. 
 Marc he nuptiale, La, 154, 155, 
 
 161. 
 Manage blanc, 126, 127, 130, 
 
 133. 
 
 Manage bourgeois, 143. 
 Manage de Telemaque, Le, 
 
 132. 
 
 Manage d'Olympe, Le, 24. 
 Man malgre lui, Le, 139. 
 Maris de Leontine, Les, 143, 
 
 150. 
 Marquis de Priola, Le, 69, 77, 
 
 80, 81, 83. 
 
 Marx, Claude R., 41, 43. 
 Mason, John, 177. 
 Masque, Le, 154, 156, 161. 
 Massiere, La, 125, 132, 134. 
 Maternite (Maternity), 18, 19, 
 
 21, 22, 23, 25, 30. 
 Maternity ( See Maternite) . 
 Matthews, Brander, ix. 
 Maugham, Somerset, 148. 
 Maupassant, Guy de, 42, 51, 
 
 53, 121. 
 
 Maurras, Charles, 4. 
 M. de Reboval, 22. 
 Meilhac, Henri, 132, 135, 178, 
 
 1 80. 
 Menage de Moliere, Le, 93, 
 
 99. 
 
 Menage s d' Artistes, xxvi; 22. 
 Metenier, Oscar, xxii. 
 
 222
 
 INDEX 
 
 Millet, 3. 
 
 Mind-the-Paint Girl, The, 149. 
 
 Miquette et sa mere, 180, 182. 
 
 Mirbeau, Octave, 139. 
 
 Misanthrope, Le, 121. 
 
 Mistral, Frederic, 151. 
 
 Modestie, 54, 57. 
 
 Moliere, xix; 28, 35, 93, 99, 
 
 121. 
 
 Mollusc, The, 130. 
 
 Monet, 3. 
 
 Monsieur Bretonneau, 66, 187. 
 
 Monsieur Piegois, 149. 
 
 Moore, George, 40. 
 
 Moulin Rouge, xxi. 
 
 Mrs. Dane's Defence, 169. 
 
 Mrs. Warren's Profession, xv. 
 
 Musset, Alfred de, 105, 113. 
 
 Jeunesse, 147. 
 tfouveau Jeu, Le, 73, 74, 75, 
 
 77, 81. 
 Nouvel-Ambigu, Theatre du, 
 
 IS- 
 
 Nouvelle idole, La, 12, 13. 
 Nude Woman, The (See 
 
 Femme nue, La). 
 Nuit bergamesque, La, xxii. 
 
 Odeon, Theatre de 1', xviii, 
 
 xxi, xxii ; 4, 140. 
 Ohnet, Georges, izi. 
 Oiseau blesse, L', 147. 
 Oiseaux de passage, 96. 
 Opera Comique, 132. 
 
 Pailleron, Edouard, xv. 
 
 Palais-Royal, Theatre du, 179. 
 
 Papa, 1 80, 182. 
 
 Paradis perdu, Le, 50. 
 
 Paraltre, 99. 
 
 Pardon, Le, 125, 129, 130, 131, 
 
 132. 
 Paroles Restent, Les, 53, 54, 
 
 57-. 
 
 Parisienne, La, xxvn. 
 Par le Glaive, xviii. 
 Passe, Le, 40, 48. 
 
 Pere Lebonnard, Le, xix. 
 
 Petard, 84. 
 
 Petite Amie, La, 22. 
 
 Petite Fonctionnaire, La, 144, 
 
 146, 150. 
 
 Phalene, Le, 155, 156. 
 Philanthropists, The (See 
 
 Bienfaiteurs, Les). 
 Pinero, Sir Arthur, xiv; 149. 
 Playboy of the Western 
 
 World, The, xv. 
 Point de Lendemain, 53, 57. 
 Poizat, Albert, xviii. 
 Poliche, 154, 155, 156, 162. 
 Porte Saint-Martin, Theatre 
 
 de la, xxv ; 42, 66, 112. 
 Porto-Riche, Georges de, xi, 
 
 xiii, xiv, xvi, xxv, xxvi, 
 
 xxvii; 21, 40-51, 52, 102, 
 
 120, 130, 132, 154. 
 Pour Vivre heureux, 169. 
 Power of Darkness, The, xxii. 
 Prater, M., xvi. 
 Prevost, Marcel, 139. 
 Prince d'Aurec, Le, 6, 68, 75, 
 
 77, 80, 85. 
 
 Princess e de Cle<ves, La, 135. 
 Princesse lointaine, La, 107, 
 
 108, in, 112, 117. 
 Primerose, 182. 
 Prothetes, Les, 28. 
 Prozor, Marquis de, 162. 
 Pygmalion, xv. 
 
 Racine, 121, 154. 
 
 Rafale, La, 168. 
 
 Red Robe, The (See Robe 
 rouge, La). 
 
 Rejane, Madame, 43, 96. 
 
 Rejane, Theatre, xv; 53, 119. 
 
 Remplaqantes, Les (The Sub- 
 stitutes), 21, 22, 25. 
 
 Renaissance, Theatre de la, 
 xxv; 127. 
 
 Renard, Jules, x. 
 
 Renauld, Charles, 107. 
 
 Repas du lion, Le, xiv; n. 
 
 223
 
 INDEX 
 
 Reponse at I'inquete de M. 
 
 Binet, 3. 
 Resultat des courses!, 22, 25, 
 
 28, 29, 30. 
 Resurrection, 154. 
 Retour de Jerusalem, Le, 98, 
 
 99. 
 
 Revanche, La, 50. 
 Re-veil, Le, 54, 57, 64, 65. 
 Revoltee, 123, 124, 125, 132. 
 Richepin, Jean, x, xyiii. 
 Rivoire, Andre, xviii; 169. 
 Robe rouge, La (The Red 
 
 Robe), xiv; 19, 22, 23, 24, 
 
 25, 26, 30, 169. 
 Rot, Le, 180, 182, 189, 190, 193. 
 Rois, Les, 124, 127, 130. 
 Romanesques, Les (The Fan- 
 
 tasticks), 104, 105, 112, 119. 
 Romeo and Juliet, 105. 
 Rosine, 142, 143, 150. 
 Rossler, Carl, xv. 
 Rostand, Edmond, x, xi, xiv, 
 
 xviii; 80, 102-120. 
 Rostand, Madame, 112. 
 Rousseau, 121. 
 
 Salandri, Gaston, 21. 
 Samaritaine, La, in, 112, 117. 
 Samson, 169, 171, 177. 
 Sarcey, Francisque, xxii ; 43, 
 
 121. 
 
 Sardou, Victorien, xxiv. 
 Scandale, Le, 154. 
 Scene de tous les soirs (Every 
 
 Evening), 72. 
 Schaye, Paul-Adrien, 15. 
 Schonherr, Karl, xvi. 
 Schwob, Marcel, 153. 
 Scribe, Eugene, xvi, xix, xxiv; 
 
 26. 
 Second Mrs. Tanqueray, The, 
 
 48. 
 
 Secret, Le, 155, 177. 
 Sentiers de la vertu, Les, 179. 
 Serenade, La, xxiii. 
 Servir, 84. 
 Shakespeare, xv; 121. 
 
 Shaw, Bernard, xi, xiv, xv ; 
 
 18, 24, 28, 181. 
 Simone, 23, 30. 
 Simone, Madame, 15, 99, 155, 
 
 177. 
 
 Sire, 83. 
 
 Sceur Philomene, xxii. 
 Songe d'une nuit d'amour, Le, 
 
 1 66. 
 
 Stevenson, R. L., 153. 
 Story of Chantecler, The, 117. 
 Stoullig, Edmond, 48. 
 Strindberg, August, xv; 6. 
 Substitutes, The (See Rempla- 
 
 f antes, Les). 
 
 Sudermann, Hermann, 80. 
 Suzette, 23, 30. 
 Synge, John M., xv. 
 
 Tango, Le, xix. 
 
 Tenailles, Les, 53, 56, 57, 58, 
 
 59, 66, 67, 132. 
 Thalasso, Adolphe, xxiii. 
 Theatre de 1'Oeuvre, xiv; 152. 
 Theatre d'aujourd'hui, Le, 
 
 146. 
 
 Theatre et les mceurs, Le, 104. 
 Theatre Libre, x, xvii, xix, 
 
 xxi-xxviii; 5, 22, 42, 70, 112, 
 
 124. 
 Theroigne de Mericourt, 54, 
 
 57, 59- 
 
 Thief, The (See Voleur, Le). 
 Thomas, P. V., 21, 22. 
 Three Daughters of M. Du- 
 
 pont (See Trois Filles de 
 
 M. Dupont, Les). 
 Three Plays by Brieux, 18, 22. 
 Tolstoy, Leo, xiv, xv, xvi, 
 
 xxii; 154. 
 Ton Sang, 153. 
 Torrent, Le, 96, 98. 
 Trarieux, Gabriel, xviii. 
 Travaux d'Hercule, Les, 179, 
 
 1 80. 
 Trois Filles de M. Dupont, 
 
 Les (The Three Daughters 
 
 224
 
 INDEX 
 
 of M. Dupont), 18, 22, 25, 
 
 27, 28, 30. ^ 
 Turgenev, xvi. 
 Typhoon, xvi. 
 
 Vanina, 42. 
 
 Varietes, Theatre des, 143, 155. 
 
 Vaudeville, Theatre du, 53, 
 
 140. 
 
 Veber, Pierre, x. 
 Ve'ine, La (Luck), 137, 142, 
 
 143, H9, 150. 
 
 Venires dores, Les, xiv, xxvi. 
 Vertige, Le, 42. 
 Vleil Homme, Le, 40, 48, 50. 
 Vierge folle, La (The Foolish 
 
 Virgin), 154, 156, 169. 
 
 Viveurs!, 77. 
 
 Voleur, Le (The Thief), xi; 
 
 ^o, 154, 155, 168, 169, 171, 
 
 177. 
 Vonoven, L., 139. 
 
 Walklev, A. B., xvi. 
 Wedekind, Frank, xvii. 
 Wilde, Oscar, xv. 
 Wolff, Pierre, x, xix, xxv, xxvi. 
 Wordsworth, 151. 
 
 You Never Can Tell, 182. 
 
 Zamacois, Miguel, xix. 
 Zola, Emile, xix, xxii; 27. 
 Zubiri, 50. 
 
 225
 
 A SELECTED LIST 
 
 OF 
 
 DRAMATIC 
 LITERATURE 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 CINCINNATI
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Four Plays of the Free Theater 
 
 Francois de Cur el's The Fossils 
 Jean Jullien's The Serenade 
 
 Georges de Porto-Riche's 
 
 Francois e y Luck 
 
 Translated ivith an Introduction on Antoine and Theatre 
 Libre by BARRETT H. CLARK. Preface by BRIEUX, of the 
 French Academy, and a Sonnet by EDMOND ROSTAND. 
 
 The Review of Reviews says: 
 
 "A lengthy introduction, which is a gem of con- 
 densed information." 
 
 H. L. Mencken (in the Smart Set) says: 
 
 "Here we have, not only skilful playwriting, but 
 also sound literature." 
 
 Brander Matthews s#ys: 
 
 "The book is welcome to all students of the modern 
 stage. It contains the fullest account of the activities 
 of Antoine's Free Theater to be found anywhere 
 even in French." 
 
 The Chicago Tribune says: 
 
 "Mr. Clark's translations, with their accurate and 
 comprehensive prefaces, are necessary to anyone in- 
 terested in modern drama ... If the American reader 
 will forget Yankee notions of morality ... if the 
 reader will assume the French point of view, this book 
 will prove a rarely valuable experience. Mr. Clark 
 has done this important task excellently." 
 
 Handsomely Bound. I2mo. Cloth Net, $1.50
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 The Antigone of Sophocles 
 
 By PROF. JOSEPH EDWARD HARRY 
 
 An acting version of this most perfect of all dramas. 
 A scholarly work in readable English. Especiallly 
 adaptable for Colleges, Dramatic Societies, etc. 
 
 Post Express, Rochester: 
 
 "He has done his work well." "Professor Harry 
 has translated with a virile force that is almost Shake- 
 spearean." "The difficult task of rendering the 
 choruses into English lyrical verse has been very cred- 
 itably accomplished." 
 
 Argonaut, San Francisco: 
 
 "Professor Harry is a competent translator not 
 only because of his classical knowledge, but also be- 
 cause of a certain enthusiastic sympathy that shows 
 itself in an unfailing choice of words and expression." 
 
 North American, Philadelphia: 
 
 "Professor Harry, teacher of Greek in the Cincin- 
 nati University, has written a new metrical transla- 
 tion of the Antigone of Sophocles. The translation 
 is of fine dramatic quality." 
 
 Oregonian, Portland: 
 
 "A splendidly executed translation of the celebrated 
 Greek tragedy." 
 
 Herald, Boston: 
 
 "Scholars will not need to be urged to read this 
 noteworthy piece of literary work, and we hope that 
 many others who have no special scholarly interest 
 will be led to its perusal." 
 
 8vo. cloth. Dignified binding Net, $1.00
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 1 ^European Dramatists ' 
 
 By ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 
 
 Author of "George Bernard Shaw: His Life and Works." 
 In the present laork the famous dramatic critic and 
 
 biographer of Shaw has considered six representative 
 
 dramatists outside of the United States, some living, some 
 
 dead Strindberg, Ibsen, Maeterlinck, Wilde, Shaw and 
 
 Barker. 
 
 Velma Swanston Howard says: 
 
 "Prof. Henderson's appraisal of Strindberg is cer- 
 tainly the fairest, kindest and most impersonal that 
 I have yet seen. The author has that rare combina- 
 tion of intellectual power and spiritual insight which 
 casts a clear, strong light upon all subjects under his 
 treatment." 
 
 Baltimore Evening Sun: 
 
 "Prof. Henderson's criticism is not only notable for 
 its understanding and good sense, but also for the 
 extraordinary range and accuracy of its information." 
 
 Jeanette L. Gilder, in the Chicago Tribune: 
 
 "Henderson is a writer who throws new light on 
 old subjects." 
 
 Chicago Record Herald: 
 
 "His essays in interpretation are welcome. Mr. 
 Henderson has a catholic spirit and writes without 
 parochial prejudice a thing deplorably rare among 
 American critics of the present day. * * * One finds 
 that one agrees with Mr. Henderson's main conten- 
 tions and is eager to break a lance with him about 
 minor points, which is only a way of saying that he is 
 stimulating, that he strikes sparks. He knows his age 
 thoroughly and lives in it with eager sympathy and 
 understanding." 
 
 Providence Journal: 
 
 "Henderson has done his work, within its obvious 
 limitations, in an exceedingly competent manner. He 
 has the happy faculty of making his biographical 
 treatment interesting, combining the personal facts and 
 a fairly clear and entertaining portrait of the indi- 
 vidual with intelligent critical comment on his artistic 
 work." 
 
 Photogravure frontispiece, handsomely printed and 
 bound, large I2mo Net, $1.50
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 At Last 
 
 You May Understand 
 
 G. B. S. 
 
 Perhaps once in a generation a figure of commanding 
 greatness appears, one through whose life the history of 
 his time may be read. There is but one such man to- 
 day. 
 
 George Bernard Shaw 
 
 HIS LIFE AND WORKS 
 
 A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY (Authorized) 
 
 By 
 ARCHIBALD HENDERSON, M.A.Ph.D. 
 
 Is virtually the story of the social, economic and 
 aesthetic life of the last twenty-five years. It is a sym- 
 pathetic, yet independent interpretation of the most po- 
 tent individual force in society. Cultivated America will 
 find here the key to all that is baffling and elusive in 
 Shaw; it is a cinematographic picture of his mind with a 
 background disclosing all the formative influences that 
 combined to produce this universal genius. 
 
 The press of the world has united in its praise; let us 
 send you some of the comments. It is a large demy 8<vo 
 volume cloth, gilt top, 628 pages, with 35 full page illus- 
 trations in color, photogravure and halftone and numerous 
 pictures in the text. 
 
 $5.00 Net
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 A FEW CRITICAL REVIEWS OF 
 
 George Bernard Shaw 
 
 His LIFE AND WORKS 
 A CRITICAL BIOGRAPHY (Authorized) 
 By ARCHIBALD HENDERSON, M.A., PH.D. 
 The Dial: 
 
 "In over five hundred pages, with an energy and 
 carefulness and sympathy which deserve high com- 
 mendation, Dr. Henderson has presented his subject 
 from all conceivable angles." 
 The Bookman: 
 
 "A more entertaining narrative, whether in biog- 
 raphy or fiction, has not appeared in recent years." 
 The Independent: 
 
 "Whatever George Bernard Shaw may think of his 
 Biography the rest of the world will probably agree 
 that Dr. Henderson has done a good job." 
 Boston Transcript: 
 
 "There is no exaggeration in saying it is one of the 
 most entertaining biographies of these opening years 
 of the Twentieth Century." 
 Bernard Shaw: 
 
 "You are a genius, because you are somehow sus- 
 ceptible to the really significant and differentiating 
 traits and utterances of your subject." 
 Maurice Maeterlinck: 
 
 "You have written one of the most sagacious, most 
 acute and most penetrating essays in the whole mod- 
 ern moment." 
 Edwin Alar k ham: 
 
 "He stands to-day as the chief literary critic of 
 the South, and in the very forefront of the critics of 
 the nation." 
 William Lyon Phelps: 
 
 "Your critical biography of Shaw is a really great 
 work." 
 Richard Burton: 
 
 "In over five hundred pages, with an energy and 
 carefulness and sympathy which deserves high com- 
 mendation, Dr. Henderson has presented his subject 
 from all conceivable angles. * * * Intensely Interest- 
 ing * * * sound and brilliant, full of keen insight and 
 happy turns of statement. * * * This service Professor 
 Henderson's book does perform; and I incline to call it 
 a great one."
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Short Plays 
 
 By MARY MAC MILLAN 
 To fill a long-felt want. All have been successfully 
 
 presented. Suitable for Women's Clubs, Girls' Schools, 
 
 etc. While elaborate enough for big presentation, they 
 
 may be given very simply. 
 
 Review of Reviews: 
 
 "Mary MacMillan offers 'SHORT PLAYS,' a collec- 
 tion of pleasant one to three-act plays for women's 
 clubs, girls' schools, and home parlor production. 
 Some are pure comedies, others gentle satires on 
 women's faults and foibles. 'The Futurists,' a skit 
 on a woman's club in the year 1882, is highly amus- 
 ing. 'Entr' Act' is a charming trifle that brings two 
 quarreling lovers together through a ridiculous pri- 
 vate theatrical. 'The Ring' carries us gracefully back 
 to the days of Shakespeare; and 'The Shadowed Star,' 
 the best of the collection, is a Christmas Eve tragedy. 
 The Star is shadowed by our thoughtless inhumanity 
 to those who serve us and our forgetfulness of the 
 needy. The Old Woman, gone daft, who babbles in 
 a kind of mongrel Kiltartan, of the Shepherds, the 
 Blessed Babe, of the Fairies, rowan berries, roses and 
 dancing, while her daughter dies on Christmas Eve, is 
 a splendid characterization." 
 
 Boston Transcript: 
 
 "Those who consigned the writer of these plays to 
 solitude and prison fare evidently knew that 'needs 
 must' is a sharp stimulus to high powers. If we find 
 humor, gay or rich, if we find brilliant wit; if we 
 find constructive ability joined with dialogue which 
 moves like an arrow; if we find delicate and keen 
 characterization, with a touch of genius in the choice 
 of names; if we find poetic power which moves on 
 easy wing the gentle jailers of the writer are justi- 
 fied, and the gentle reader thanks their severity." 
 
 Salt Lake Tribune: 
 
 "The Plays are ten in number, all of goodly length. 
 We prophesy great things for this gifted dramatist." 
 
 Bookseller, News Dealer & Stationer: 
 
 "The dialogue is permeated with graceful satire, 
 snatches of wit, picturesque phraseology, and tender, 
 often exquisite, expressions of sentiment." 
 
 Handsomely Bound. J2mo. Cloth Net, $1.25
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 The 
 
 Gift 
 
 A POETIC DRAMA 
 By MARGARET DOUGLAS ROGERS 
 
 A dramatic poem in t<wo acts, treating in altogether 
 new fashion the world old story of Pandora, the first 
 woman. 
 New Haven Times Leader: 
 
 "Well written and attractive." 
 Evangelical M essenger : 
 
 "A very beautifully written portrayal of the old 
 story of Pandora." 
 Rochester Post Dispatch: 
 
 "There is much poetic feeling in the treatment of 
 the subject." 
 Grand Rapids Herald: 
 
 "THE GIFT, dealing with this ever interesting 
 mythological story, is a valuable addition to the dramas 
 of the day." 
 St. Xavier Calendar: 
 
 "The story of Pandora is so set down as to bring 
 out its stage possibilities. Told by Mrs. Rogers in 
 exquisite language." 
 Salt Lake Tribune: 
 
 "The tale is charmingly wrought and has possibil- 
 ities as a simple dramatic production, as well as being 
 a delightful morsel of light reading." 
 Cincinnati Enquirer: 
 
 "The love story is delightfully told and the dra- 
 matic action of the play is swift and strong." 
 Buffalo Express: 
 
 "It is a delightful bit of fancy with a dramatic and 
 poetic setting." 
 Boston Woman's Journal: 
 
 "Epimetheus and Pandora and her box are charm- 
 ingly presented." 
 Worcester Gazette: 
 
 "It is absolutely refreshing to find a writer willing 
 to risk a venture harking back to the times of the 
 Muses and the other worthies of mythological fame. 
 * * * The story of Pandora's box told in verse by a 
 woman. It may be said it could not have been better 
 written had a representative of the one who only as- 
 sisted at the opening been responsible for the play." 
 Handsomely bound silk cloth Net, $l.oo
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 Lucky Pehr 
 
 By AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 Authorized Translation by Velma Swanston Howard. 
 
 An allegorical drama in five acts. Compared favorably 
 
 to Barrie's "Peter Pan" and Maeterlinck's "The Blue 
 
 Bird." 
 
 Rochester Post Express: 
 
 Strindberg has written many plays which might be 
 described as realistic nightmares. But this remark does 
 not apply to "Lucky Pehr." * * * This drama is one 
 of the most favorable specimens of Strindberg's 
 genius. 
 
 New York World: 
 
 "Pehr" is lucky because, having tested all things, 
 he finds that only love and duty are true. 
 
 New York Times: 
 
 "Lucky Pehr" clothes cynicism in real entertain- 
 ment instead of in gloom. And it has its surprises. 
 Can this be August Strindberg, who ends his drama 
 so sweetly on the note of the woman-soul, leading up- 
 ward and on? 
 
 Worcester Gazette: 
 
 From a city of Ohio comes this product of Swedish 
 fancy in most attractive attire, attesting that the pos- 
 sibilities of dramatic art have not entirely ceased in 
 this age of vaudeville and moving pictures. A great 
 sermon in altruism is preached in these pages, which 
 we would that millions might see and hear. To those 
 who think or would like to think, "Lucky Pehr" will 
 prove a most readable book. * * * An allegory, it is 
 true, but so are yEsop's Fables, the Parables of the 
 Scriptures and many others of the most effective les- 
 sons ever given. 
 
 Boston Globe: 
 
 A popular drama. * * * There is no doubt about 
 the book being a delightful companion in the library. 
 In charm of fancy and grace of imagery the story may 
 not be unfairly classed with "The Blue Bird" and 
 "Peter Pan." 
 Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 
 
 Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma Swanston Howard's 
 
 authorization. 
 
 Handsomely bound. Gilt top Net, $1.50
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 Easter 
 
 (A PLAY IN THREE ACTS) 
 AND STORIES BY AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 Authorized translation by Velma Swanston Howard. 
 In this work the author reveals a broad tolerance, a rare 
 poetic tenderness augmented by an almost divine under- 
 standing of human frailties as marking certain natural 
 stages in evolution of the soul. 
 Louisville Courier* Journal: 
 
 Here is a major key of cheerfulness and idealism 
 a relief to a reader who has passed through some 
 of the author's morbid pages. * * * Some critics find 
 in this play (Easter) less of the thrust of a distinctive 
 art than is found in the author's more lugubrious 
 dramas. There is indeed less sting in it. Neverthe- 
 less it has a nobler tone. It more ably fulfills the 
 purpose of good drama the chastening of the spec- 
 tators' hearts through their participation in the suf- 
 fering of the dramatic personages. There is in the 
 play a mystical exaltation, a belief and trust in good 
 and its power to embrace all in its beneficence, to bring 
 all confusion to harmony. 
 The Nation: 
 
 Those who like the variety of symbolism which 
 Maeterlinck has often employed most notably in the 
 "Bluebird" will turn with pleasure to the short stories 
 of Strindberg which Mrs. Howard has included in her 
 volume. * * * They are one and all diverting on ac- 
 count of the author's facility in dealing with fanciful 
 details. 
 Bookseller: 
 
 "Easter" is a play of six characters illustrative of 
 human frailties and the effect of the divine power 
 of tolerance and charity. * * * There is a symbolism, 
 a poetic quality, a spiritual insight in the author's 
 work that make a direct appeal to the cultured. * * * 
 The Dial: 
 
 One play from his (Strindberg's) third, or sym- 
 bolistic period stands almost alone. This is "Easter." 
 There is a sweet, sane, life-giving spirit about it. 
 Photogravure frontispiece of Strindberg etched by 
 Zorn. Also, a reproduction of Velma Sivanston Howard's 
 authorization. 
 Handsomely bound. Gilt top Net, $1.50
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 By AUGUST STRINDBERG 
 
 The Author's greatest psychological novel. Author- 
 ized Translation by Elizabeth Clarke Westergren. 
 
 American-Scandinavian Review: 
 
 "The description of Swedish life and Swedish scen- 
 ery makes one positively homesick for the Skargard 
 and its moods. 
 
 Worcester Evening Gazette: 
 
 "Classes in Psychology in colleges, and Medical stu- 
 dents considering Pathology would derive much infor- 
 mation from the observations and reflections of the 
 commissioner who holds the front of the stage whereon 
 are presented sciences as new to the readers of to-day 
 as were those which Frederick Bremer unfolded to the 
 fathers and mothers of critics and observers in this 
 first quarter of the Twentieth Century." 
 
 Detroit Tribune: 
 
 "Hans Land pronounced this novel to be the only 
 work of art in the domain of Nietzschean morals yet 
 written which is destined to endure." 
 
 Cincinnati Times-Star: 
 
 "It requires a book such as 'ON THE SEABOARD' to 
 show just how profound an intellect was housed in the 
 frame of this great Swedish writer." 
 
 New Haven Leader: 
 
 "His delineations are photographical exactness with- 
 out retouching, and bear always a strong reflection of 
 his personality." 
 
 Indianapolis News: 
 
 "The story is wonderfully built and conceived and 
 holds the interest tight." 
 
 American Review of Reviews: 
 
 "This version is characterized by the fortunate use 
 of idiom, a delicacy in the choice of words, and great 
 beauty in the rendering of descriptive passages, the 
 translation itself often attaining the melody of poetry 
 * * * You may read and re-read it, and every read- 
 ing will fascinate the mind from a fresh angle." 
 
 South Atlantic Quarterly: 
 
 "Only a most unusual man, a genius, could have 
 written this book, and it is distinctly worth reading." 
 
 Handsomely bound, uniform with Lucky Pehr and 
 Easter Net, $1.25
 
 STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 
 
 The Hamlet Problem and Its Solution 
 
 The tragedy of Hamlet has never been adequately in- 
 terpreted. Two hundred years of critical discussion has 
 not sufficed to reconcile conflicting impressions regarding 
 the scope of Shakespeare's design in this, the first of his 
 great philosophic tragedies. We believe that all those 
 students <who are interested in the study of Shakespeare 
 will find this volume of great value. 
 The Louisville Courier-Journal: 
 
 "Mr. Venable's Hamlet is a 'protagonist of a drama 
 of triumphant moral achievement.' He rises through 
 the play from an elected agent of vengeance to a 
 man gravely impressed with 'an imperative sense of 
 moral obligation, tragic in its depth, felt toward the 
 world.' " 
 E. H. Sothern: 
 
 "Your ideas of Hamlet so entirely agree with my 
 own that the book has been a real delight to me. I 
 have always had exactly this feeling about the char- 
 acter of Hamlet. I think you have wiped away a 
 great many cobwebs, and I believe your book will 
 prove to be most convincing to many people who may 
 yet be a trifle in the dark." 
 The Book News Monthly: 
 
 "Mr. Venable is the latest critic to apply himself 
 to the 'Hamlet' problem, and he offers a solution in 
 an admirably written little book which is sure to at- 
 tract readers. Undeterred by the formidable names 
 of Goethe and Coleridge, Mr. Venable pronounces un- 
 tenable the theories which those great authors pro- 
 pounded to account for the extraordinary figure of 
 the Prince of Denmark. * * * Mr. Venable looks in 
 another direction for the solution of the problem. 
 * * * The solution offered by the author is just the 
 reverse of that proposed by Goethe. * * * From Mr. 
 Venable's viewpoint the key to 'Hamlet' is found in 
 the famous soliloquies, and his book is based upon 
 a close study of those utterances which bring us with- 
 in the portals of the soul of the real Hamlet. The 
 reader with an open mind will find in Mr. Venable a 
 writer whose breadth of view and searching thought 
 gives weight to this competent study of the most inter- 
 esting of Shakespearean problems." 
 idmo. Silk cloth Net, $1.00
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 HOW TO WRITE 
 
 Moving Picture Plays 
 
 By W. L. GORDON 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 What is a motion picture? How are moving pictures 
 produced? What is necessary to write photoplays? 
 Prices paid for plays. Kind of plays to write. Kind 
 of plays to avoid. Single reels, double reels, etc. Prepa- 
 ration of manuscript. The plot and how to obtain it. 
 Title of play. Synopsis. Cast of characters. Scenario. 
 Leaders of Sub-Titles. Letters, Clippings, etc. What 
 constitutes a scene. Continuity of scenes. Stage settings 
 and properties. Entrance and exit of characters. Cli- 
 max. Limitations of camera. Length of play. Review. 
 Time required to write a play. How and where to sell 
 plays. A complete sample play illustrating every point 
 treated upon in the instructions. A full list of over 
 twenty prominent film-producing companies wanting and 
 buying plays. 
 
 The following extracts from letters of satisfied writers, 
 addressed to the author, are very convincing and be- 
 speak the value of this exhaustive treatise: 
 
 " Have been successful in placing three plays, and am 
 awaiting news of two additional ones. Am certain I 
 would never have had that much success if I had not fol- 
 lowed your instructions." 
 
 " Your instructions entirely satisfactory. I think that 
 any one with common sense can make a very nice income 
 through moving picture play-writing. My first scenario 
 has been accepted, and I desire to thank you." 
 
 " You might be interested to know that my first scenario 
 completed according to your instructions was accepted by 
 the Essanay Film Co." 
 
 " Instructions well worth the money. Sold my first 
 scenario to the Edison Co." 
 
 Handsomely bound in DeLuxe Cloth Net, $l.oo
 
 DRAMATIC LITERATURE 
 
 The Truth 
 
 About The Theater 
 
 Anonymous 
 
 Precisely what the title indicates facts as they 
 are, plain and unmistakable without veneer of any 
 sort. It goes directly to the heart of the whole 
 matter. Behind the writer of it who is one of 
 the best known theatrical men in New York are 
 long years of experience. He recites what he 
 knows, what he has seen, and his quiet, calm, au- 
 thoritative account of conditions as they are is with- 
 out adornment, excuse or exaggeration. It is in- 
 tended to be helpful to those who want the facts, 
 and for them it will prove of immeasurable value. 
 
 " The Truth About the Theater," in brief, lifts 
 the curtain on the American stage. It leaves no 
 phase of the subject untouched. To those who are 
 ambitious to serve the theater, either as players or 
 as playwrights, or, again, in some managerial ca- 
 pacity, the book is invaluable. To those, too, who 
 would know more about the theater that they may 
 come to some fair estimate of the worth of the in- 
 numerable theories nowadays advanced, the book 
 will again prove its value. 
 
 Net $1.00
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
 COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Jan 4 6 
 
 Mar 7 >66 
 3 
 
 
 Book Slip-35OT-7,'63(D8634s4)4280
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PQ552C54C 
 
 Library 
 
 PQ 
 552 
 
 L 005 672 1137 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY,. 
 
 A 001 133 125 3