D ILLINOIS UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN PRODUCTION NOTE University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library Brittle Books Project, 2012.COPYRIGHT NOTIFICATION In Public Domain. Reproduced according to U.S. copyright law USC 17 section 107. Published 1923-1963 with printed copyright notice but no evidence of copyright renewal found in the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database. Contact dcc@librarv.uiuc.edu for more information. This digital copy was made from the printed version held by the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. It was made, in compliance with copyright law. Prepared for the Brittle Books Project, Preservation Department, Main Library, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign by Northern Micrographics Brookhaven Bindery La Crosse, Wisconsin 2012The THEATRE IN LIFETHEATRE IN LIFE BY NICOLAS EVREINOFF Edited and Translated by ALEXANDER I. NAZAROFF With an Introduction by OLIVER M. SAYLER Illustrations by B. ARONSONCOPYRIGHT, 1927, BY BRENTANO’s INC. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA7 7 /t' CONTENTS ■ INTRODUCTION............................... VÜ \ EDITOR’S NOTE .............................. XI A PART I — THEORETICAL CHAPTER I.- TTHE THEATRE, FALSE AND TRUE............ 3 II. THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM . . "] III. THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT................ 22 IV. THE WILL TO THE THEATRE................ 34 V. THE THEATRE OF FIVE FINGERS............ 42 VI. THE NEVER ENDING SHOW................... 46 VII. THE EROTIC THEATRE..................... 77 VIII. DON QUIXOTE AND ROBINSON CRUSOE . 83 J IX. THE STAGE MANAGEMENT OF LIFE .... 98 X. CRIME AS A BY-PRODUCT OF THE THEATRE II3 ! XI. THEATROTHERAPY.........................122 “• XII. TO MY GOD-THEATRARCH...................128 1 PART II — PRAGMATICAL ^r.:, I. THEATRICALITY IN THE THEATRE .... I35 II. A LESSON TO PROFESSIONALS..............153 i III. A LETTER ON THE PUBLIC THEATRE . . . . 167 4~ IV. MY FAVORITE THEATRE.....................179 [v]CONTENTS PART III —PRACTICAL I. “the theatre for oneself”........187 II. IN THE COMMISSION OF EXPERTS.........199 III. THREE PLAYS FROM THE REPERTOIRE OF THE THEATRE FOR ONESELF..........27O I. A BUFFOON AT A DINNER PARTY . . 27O II. THE JOY OF RECOVERY.........276 III. TRYING ON DEATHS............282 EPILOGUE.................................295 [Vi]INTRODUCTION America, apparently, is not going to be satisfied until it has commandeered the entire range of Russia’s contemporary artistic, dramatic and musical talents. The same season that added Vladimir Nemirovitch-Dantchenko and his Moscow Art Theatre Musical Studio to an already full roster also brought Nikolai Yevreynoff, or, as he prefers to be spelled, Nicolas Evreinoff. Evreinoff’s play, “ The Chief Thing,” helped to distinguished the Theatre Guild’s first complete season in its new Guild Theatre. “ The Chief Thing ” has been published, too. But it is only with this book that the fecund and versatile playboy of the eastern world emerges full stature in our presence. It was my opportunity in u The Russian Theatre ” to be the first to acquaint American readers with the personal record and the esthetic theories of Evreinoff, although the Washington Square Players deserve the pioneer’s credit for having produced his “ Gay Death ” under the title of “ The Merry Death ” as a part of the first bill of their first season at the Comedy Theatre, October 2, 1916. Little did they think that the name of this obscure playwright would ever be more than a name to them, that he would tread the stage of their heirs in person as regisseur. Little did I myself dream that he would ever come to America. Some time after my return, I received a letter from him, written in Sukhum-Kale on the Black Sea, in which he said: “ Only the art of today interests me, and that art is remote from the understanding of the masses. Even Diag- [vii]INTRODUCTION hileff, although he disclosed to America far from the most modern phases of the art of the ballet, had to cut and change to suit the tastes of conservative audiences.” But the American audience, 1926, like the American theatre, is not the audience of 1916. It has advanced incredibly in comprehension and sympathy. And Evreinoff is here and happy. In this Introduction to “ The Theatre in Life ” I am not going to repeat what I wrote in the chapter, “ Yevrey-noff and Monodrama,” in my book, “ The Russian Theatre.” There the reader will find a detailed biographical sketch, a list of the author’s works and copious quotations from his salient theories of the theatre. What I wish to bring out here are two points that will appeal to the American imagination and help readers to visualize the man and his purposes and possibilities as a worker on our stage. Picture, if you can, a man who in his forty-seven years has been a circus performer, an actor, a playwright and a regisseur j a flutist and a composer} a critic, a novelist and a historian} a painter} a psychologist, a biologist, an archaeologist and a philosopher; a graduate in law, a government official, a teacher and a world traveller. And a tyro at none of these occupations. Russians can do it, and Evreinoff is a Russian of Russians. As regisseur alone, Evreinoff has founded or directed four of the most significant ventures of the modern Russian stage. Whatever he has to say about the theatre and life is the word of an expert. The second point I wish to make is that this volume is the long-awaited handbook of the modern tendencies in the theatre, the first adequate statement of the psychological fouiidations of the revolt against dramatic realism. [ viii ]INTRODUCTION Heretofore, those who believed in this revolt could point only to their vague beliefs and their instincts in defense of their attitude. Evreinoff provides the scientific background for those beliefs and instincts. Furthermore, he writes with the authority, of the scientist but with the imagination of the artist. This volume is not a compendium of scientific observations for their own sake, although it is built with the care of the scientist. And if the author may seem to some to have drawn unwarranted conclusions from his observations — unwarranted, that is, from the strictly scientific viewpoint — it must be remembered that his quest and his conclusions are justified in his mind if he provides stimulus to new creation in art. That this book will provide such a stimulus, I have no doubt. That it will lead to the publication of EvreinofPs more advanced views, such as the application of his theory of Monodrama, and eventually to the world premiere in America of his most ambitious play, “ The Representation of Love,” may be a pardonable prediction by one who has seen the Russian theatre in its own home and encouraged it to find a new home overseas. Oliver M. Sayler New York City, February, 1927. [«]EDITOR’S NOTE The Theatre in Life is the first book by Mr. Evreinoff bearing on the subject connoted by this title which appears in English. The present text as it stands is not the translation of some previously published Russian work. Although most of the chapters contained in it have appeared at various times in Russian, the whole may be regarded as a new work specially prepared by Mr. Evreinoff for English and American readers. In the course of the last fifteen years Mr. Evreinoff wrote several works dealing with various aspects of the theatre in life. The most important of them is The Theatre for Oneself, a monograph in three parts which was published at St. Petersburg in 1915-1917. It is from this work that most of the chapters contained in the present volume have been taken. Some of them, however, have undergone considerable changes, or even have been entirely re-written. A number of chapters have been added from The Theatre as Such (St. Petersburg, 1912), Theatrical "Novations (Petrograd, 1922) and The Theatre in the Animal Kingdom (Leningrad, 1924). It goes without saying that The Theatre in Life is not a mechanical collection of these chapters. As I have already said, the old material has been re-moulded and reshaped according to a new plan into an entirely new literary entity. [xi]PART I TheoreticalThe Theatre in Life Chapter I THE THEATRE, FALSE AND TRUE WHEN you say “ theatre ” you are thinking of a building crowded with people who come at a certain hour to occupy certain seats in front of a raised platform called the “ stage,” on which individuals like yourself impersonate for money other individuals like yourself or different from you, according to the plan of the author, whose work is called a “ play.” Every half-hour or so a curtain falls in front of the stage, the people applaud or hiss, go to the refreshment room, smoke, meet their acquaintances, converse, drink and flirt, until a prearranged signal calls them back to their purchased seats. Again the curtain rises and everything goes on as before, till the piece is brought to a close and the audience leaves the building. If you were asked why you went to this“ theatre,” some of you would reply carelessly and sincerely,: “ for entertainment.” Others would answer with a superior air: “ for instruction.” Still others would declare with a mine of super-refined, blase-ism: “ for aesthetic enjoyment.” A fourth group would say nothing, remembering instead the legs of pretty chorus-girls (“ Aren’t they worth seeing, the cuties? ”). Finally, there are some who would state courageously: “Just to boast that we went to the theatre [3]THE THEATRE IN LIFE where we saw a new play in which the leading actor or actress played thus and so, and the author came up on the stage in response to numerous curtain calls, and Mrs. Jones occupied a seat in a box and wore the same dress as the last time. . . .” Nor do the “ intellectuals ” among you agree in their understanding of the theatre. Some of them see in it u a platform for the development of an idea by means of action.” Others — “ a place for the aesthetic fusion of all the arts.” Still others — “a means of satisfying our craving for rites and pageantry.” A fourth group says approximately the same thing, but with certain additions and modifications. By the word “theatre” you designate: the place for international encounters when all other arguments fail — the theatre of military operationsthe place where autopsies are made — the anatomic theatre; the prestidigitator’s platform — as, for example, the magic theatre of Robert Goudin, the first theatre that Sarah Bernhardt knew in her childhood} the place where corporal punishments and tortures may be witnessed — as, for instance, the famous Theatr-wm Poenamm of Dopleur, the criminologist; the Cinematograph; the Kinetophone; the Puppet Show; Shadow Dancing, etc. What a variety of things is included in the meaning of the word “ theatre ”! The building where plays are given. You say “ Let us go to the theatre,” “ I work in a theatre.” The part of the building where the actors perform. The art of the performers. You say “ He is interested in the theatre,” “ He serves the cause of the theatre.” Dra- [4]THE THEATRE, FALSE AND TRUE math: literature, as, for example, the Theatre of Shakespeare, the Théâtre of Molière. The specific dramatic effect which is the aim to be attained by the technique of that literature and of stage management. People praise a play by, calling it very dramatic or theatrical, or criticize it adversely by saying that it lacks the most essential quality — dramatic or theatrical appeal. And that indefinable, traditional professional something that is implied by the stage-director of a French theatre when, clearing the stage immediately before the curtain is raised, he claps his hands and shouts: “Place au théâtre! ”... And what not. . . . This long enumeration for which, I believe, I should apologize to the reader, seems to cover all, or almost all, the meanings and subjects usually implied in the word “ theatre.” Y et when I say “ theatre,” I think of none of these things. I have been for thirty years a performer, an actor, a stage-director, a stage-manager and a playwright. My plays have been, and are being, produced in Russia, Germany, France, England, America, etc. In other words, I am about as much of a theatrical professional as one can be. And yet, when I say “ theatre,” I have in mind least of all the formal, pay-as-you-enter institution ostensibly maintained “ for all,” and quite fixed in place and time, as well as in the character of the performance. When you say “ food,” you do not immediately think of a restaurant. When you say “ love,” you do not think of a brothel. In like manner, when I say “ theatre,” I do not have in [5]THE THEATRE IN LIFE mind that which is nothing but a commercial exploitation of my instinctive liking for the theatre. The theatre which you say you must have for entertainment, instruction or other purposes, is very far from being the theatre of my conception, which is something as essentially necessary to man as air, food and sexual intercourse. That is why, when I speak of the theatre, I want to emulate the famous Paracelsus Bombast of Hohenheim, who, before beginning his course of lectures at the University of Basel, burned all the books of his predecessors. Theatre, as I understand it, is infinitely wider than stage. It is more valuable and necessary to man than even the highest blessings of modern civilization. We can live without those, and we actually did for thousands of years, as is known from the history of primitive man. But no man has ever been able to get along without the theatre as I conceive it. [6]Chapter II THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM AVE you ever watched a cat playing with a mouse? If not, you have certainly missed a great deal, for it is a very interesting and suggestive show. After the cat has released her hold on her little victim, the latter pretends most dramatically and skilfully to be dead. It neither moves nor breathes, preserving the position in which its torturer has abandoned it. Meanwhile the cat also “ plays a role.” She is, if you please, absolutely indifferent to the mouse. Sitting at a distance, she licks her paw, yawns, looks around. As soon, however, as the little “ underground actress,” deceived by this feigned carelessness, jumps up and takes to its heels, the cat throws off the mask and catches it. The show starts all over again. For is it not a show? It is but natural for us to believe that the theatre is an essentially man-made thing. The stage, the side-wings, the footlights and electric signs — all these elements invariably associated in our minds with the very idea of the playhouse are products of our culture and history. We know that the theatre has slowly and gradually developed with mankind, that it has passed, from the dim and misty days of the Greek coryphaeus down to our epoch of elec-THE THEATRE IN LIFE tricity, radio and airships, through a long series of transformations and transfigurations. Every epoch, every period of our cultural development has reflected in the theatre, as in a mirror, its fondest thoughts, dreams and ideals, has used the stage as the tribune from which to proclaim new — or old — social, religious and moral theories. Indeed, what art or what institution has reflected man’s soul and mind more thoroughly and more faithfully than the theatre? And what institution is, so to speak, more man-made than the theatre? It is in the theatre, if anywhere, that man may look with perfectly justifiable pride and satisfaction at himself and at his omnipotent mind, for it is here that he imitates the Creator, nay, that he becomes himself a Creator. He conceives new life, new reality, and he sees them impersonated. He makes his ideas live in the guise of human beings. He creates new worlds. If nature is ruled by its own laws which are often inimical to man, which man has to study and which he may, at the price of continuous efforts, use for his own ends, the theatre is ruled by man alone. Here, within the walls of a playhouse, he reigns supreme. Such a conception of the theatre is common to all of us. It is, as it were, instinctively accepted by us with neither doubt nor reflection, as an axiomatic truth which necessitates no proofs, which is self-evident. And it takes mental effort and concentration to realize how inaccurate and superficial this conception of the theatre is. Indeed, are we justified in drawing such a sharp line of distinction between “ nature ” on the one hand and “ theatre ” on the other? Is “ nature ” limited to that which we politely [8][9]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM call “ the performance of natural functions ”? Is “ theatre ” confined to the place where its buildings and electric signs are located? Does “ theatre ” not exist in “ nature ”? Each one of us knows from his own experience examples of that which naturalists call mimicry. You see a little protruding spot on the trunk of a tree 5 but no sooner do your fingers touch it than it separates from the trunk and flies away sparkling with bright colours of its lower wings which have been concealed beneath the dark-grey, cork-like upper wings. Such instances of disguise are quite numerous, if not numberless, both in the vegetable and in the animal kingdoms. Nature resorts to most artistic and artful devices to conceal her creatures from dangers surrounding them on all sides. Those who have travelled in the deserts of South Africa will never forget their inhospitable, greyish-yellow, deathlike aspect. Not a trace of vegetation, not a green blade around. You would never think that there were any plants there: you see nothing but sand, rocks and stones. But if you stop to examine a small pile of such stones, you will be surprised to discover that they are not stones at all, but live flowers. They are betrayed by their yellow blossoms, which bloom at midday and are shaped like little stars. If you pull out one of such “ stones ” you will find that the false appearance of a rock is assumed only by that part of the flower which is exposed, but that the part below is woody and has the shape of a long cone or of the root of a large radish. What especially enhances the striking similitude of the flower to real rocks in the vicinity is the coloration of its outer part. These “ plant-stones ” are [ xi ]THE THEATRE IN LIFE provided with exactly the same kind of specks and veins that are found on true stones. Animals seldom suspect the vegetable origin of these “ stones,” and in most cases pass by without paying any attention to them. Should one wish to define more exactly this phenomenon of mimicry in nature, one could think of no better word than “theatre.” In the case of the just quoted plant we see more than merely an instance of masquerading in nature, of “ mask-wearing ” for purposes of concealment. It is a genuine assumption of a a part ” by an inanimate actor, the plant. It is quite a definite “ part,” and the seemingly defenceless plant must play it as best it can. The whole drama is an all but motionless, prudent pantomime. The actor selects the right place on the sandy stage and “ plays the stone ” all life long. And upon the realistic quality of its performance depends something more than the worthless success of a circus-juggler; the very existence of the actor is here at stake. The tragi-comedy of nature abounds in such silent pantomimes, which unfold themselves before our unobserving eyes in every garden, on every, lawn, in every forest. For instances of mimicry might be quoted literally by the thousands. There are plants of one kind masquerading as plants of another kind. There are plants which assume the likeness of insects, turf, little dry sticks, etc. There are others which mimic the appearance of turtles, of white sheep, of caterpillars, of birds and so forth. The acting flower pretends to be dead when it is alive, sterile while it is prolific, absent from the scene though in reality it is present. The highly artistic masquerade, infinitely rich in devices and in wardrobe, goes [12]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM on around us in a never ending procession. Is this not “ theatre ”? Do not the little silent actors obey in their everyday behaviour the purely theatrical principle of “ pretending to be different from that which one really is ”? As I am thinking of these facts it is getting increasingly evident to me that our human theatre, that is to say, “ the pay-as-you-enter playhouse,” made its appearance in the history of mankind not so much to gratify our “ acting ” instinct — for, as we shall see further, this instinct receives ample satisfaction even without the theatre — as to serve us in the discovery of this instinct. In other words, the role of our theatre is educational not in the vulgar, but in a wide, philosophic sense of the word. I mean to say that the theatre is destined to play the same part in our understanding of life and nature as amber played in the acquisition of scientific knowledge. We know that for thousands of years amber was used only in the manufacture of beads, ear-rings, necklaces, brooches, cigarette-holders, mouthpieces of all kinds, and other such trifles. It was only since the great discovery of William Gilbert, in 1600, that amber acquired instructive value for mankind. Long before Gilbert it was known that this fossil resin, when rubbed with a piece of wool cloth, had the property of attracting light bodies. But he was the first to call this power of attraction electric, i.e., of amber, ct electron ” being the Greek word for amber. “ Vim illam electricam nobis placet appellare.” K It pleases us to call that force electric,” Gilbert wrote in his book. In giving this name to the mysterious force, he was no more than just [13]THE THEATRE IN LIFE to amber, without which humanity perhaps would be still ignorant of that fundamental property, of matter which has overturned all previous theories regarding the structure of substances, and which in its practical application has revolutionized our whole existence. Thus electricity received its name in honour of amber (electron), which played the role of a guiding star in the strenuous effort of mankind to solve the mysteries of nature. The theatre is, perhaps, destined to play the part of amber in revealing to us new secrets of nature. Regarded from this angle, mimicry may be not only a special case of convergence, as naturalists claim, but a special stage of theatrical development as well. This assertion is pregnant with inferences of the highest import to the philosopher, including the revaluation of the very concept of “ naturalness.” Let us now turn to the theatre in the animal kingdom. “The theatre among animals!” — these words may sound paradoxical, not to say senseless, to many and may make more than one sceptic laugh. Nebulous and farfetched analogies, remote comparisons and “ poetic ” assertions — such is, the reader may presume, the kind of material to which he will be treated in the present chapter. Those, however, who, together with Herbert Spencer, James and Groos, admit that animals possess the imitative faculty as we, men, possess it 5 those who recall that Aristotle regarded imitation as the essence of all arts; and those who have either observed or read that animal play is dramatic in character, will find nothing to astonish or [14]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM shock them in the assertion that there is a “ theatre ” among animals. It must be said here that u plays in the animal kingdom ” is the subject which has attracted long since the keenest attention of zoologists and psychologists. Hundreds of scientific researches have been, and are being, devoted to it., Indeed, it is in the analysis and in the investigation of this side of animals’ activity that the shortest road to the understanding of their psychology seems to be. Yet most of the scientists say little, if anything, on the “ theatrical ” aspect of animal plays. In my opinion, however, it is exactly from this angle that the subject should be approached. Read, for instance, the following passage from W. H. Hudson’s “ Naturalist in La Plata “ There are human dances in which only one person performs at a time, the rest of the company looking on, and some birds, of widely separated genera, have dances of this kind. A striking example is the cock-of-the-rock of tropical South America. A mossy level spot of earth surrounded by bushes is selected for a dancing place, and kept well cleared of sticks and stones; round this area the birds assemble, and a cock-bird, with vivid orange-scarlet crest and plumage, steps forward and, with spreading wings and tail, begins a series of movements as if dancing a minuet. Finally, carried away with excitement, he leaps and gyrates in the most astonishing manner, until, becoming exhausted, he retires and another bird takes his place.” Though it is an old-fashioned minuet, and not some [i5]THE THEATRE IN LIFE more modern dance with high kicks and splits, we have to admit that it is a dance} and that it is performed on a stage with spectators around. Who could deny the theatricality of this original and elaborate bird-play? But consider other examples. A zoologist might quote quite a list of birds which adorn their dancing floors with bright feathers, pebbles, shells and various other decorations. Thus, for instance, the tropical crow is so fond of these things that the natives of the regions where it lives always look for their lost ornaments near its “ dancing establishments.” Indeed, bird-theatres are far from being primitive or unpretentious. They set a very high example of histrionics to the animal kingdom. Nor do the dances performed in these theatres consist of mere jumping or walking. Some of the birds, like, for instance, the so-called prairie turkey, execute complicated pirouettes, just as our grandfathers did in the period of rococo, advance two or four at a time, bow their heads, spread their wings over the ground, step backward and then forward again, turn on their toes and screech with merry voices. Let us, however, pass from birds to higher animals whose psychology can be more accessible to us and whose life lies within the range of our daily experience. Consider, for instance, a dog looking for hours out of the window or observing the world from an automobile. This “ watching the parade ” is truly suggestive. It has no other purpose than to take in mentally different street scenes and happenings, that is to say, to be a “ spectator ” in a “ show.” Arthur Schopenhauer was undoubtedly right [16]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM when he defined these observing proclivities of dogs as the “ most human trait of animals.” But watch a dog playing with a bone, throwing it up, pushing it, keeping it in motion and growling, barking, assuming pugnacious poses at the same time, and you will agree with Herr Groos, one of the keenest students of the psychology of animals, that this is real, unquestionable acting accompanied by “ conscious self-deception.” And what if not conscious self-deception lies at the bottom of the theatrical play? The dog convinces itself that the bone is a fox, a little animal, a live being, and acts accordingly,. Referring to this example, Herr Groos says: “ The origin of artistic fantasy or playful illusion is thus anchored in the firm ground of organic evolution. Play is needed for the higher development of intelligence. At first merely objective, it becomes by means of this development subjective as well} the animal, though recognizing that its action is only a pretence, repeats it, raises it to the sphere of conscious self-delusion, to the sphere of enjoyment from a make-believe fight. And this is the very threshold of artistic production.” Moreover, it may be asserted without fear of overstatement that dogs indulge in the presentation of whole “ dramas,” that is to say, of well-defined dramatic “ themes.” Consider the dogs’ hunting-play. What is it if not a dramatic representation of flight and escape, or of chase and attack, enacted as an “ improvisation ” by two or more four-legged tragedians? In a restricted sense one may even speak of certain parts of a “ dramatic whole,” in the use of which the animal ap- [17]THE THEATRE IN LIFE proaches man. Note, for example, the prologue to the hunting scene enacted by the dogs of their own accord. Its significance lies in agreement among the participants. Here is, for example, a young fox terrier leaping around the corner of a house to hide from another dog that is coming. Then follows the invitation to play, made in a very characteristic manner, with legs wide apart, a position well adapted to facilitate the rapid projection of the body in flight. All ready to start, it throws itself from right to left in a semi-circle several times, before the flight really begins. The other, in the meantime, is a fine picture of hypocrisy: it looks about with complete indifference, as if the whole affair were nothing to it. Now, however, the fun begins, as the leader springs forward, though not at full speed, and the other gives chase with enthusiasm. Should the pursuer overtake its mock prey, it tries to seize it by the neck or the hind leg, just as a dog does when chasing in earnest. The other, without slackening its pace, turns its head to defend itself by biting. Then a tussle often ensues. At last the players stand with tongues hanging out, breathing heavily, until one of them suddenly whirls around and the play begins anew. Indeed, to deny the fact that animals do possess an equivalent of that which men call theatre, that they are provided by nature with the predilection for acting, that they make use of such specifically theatrical features as the stage, the stage-setting, the dancing, the dramatic impersonation, the dramatic subject (prologue, theme, acting), etc., would be unjustifiable blindness. We have a perfect right, the sceptical critics notwithstanding, to speak of the [18]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM theatre among animals as definitely as we speak of the theatre among men. Let it be added that, by viewing animals from a “ theatrical ” standpoint, we gain a new tangible proof of man’s descent from ape-like ancestors, a new trait of resemblance between him and his humble four-legged relatives. To conclude I will cite one more example of the theatre among animals. As we know, the drama among men, particularly among Greeks, developed from the chorus performing play-song-dances in their syncretic stage. In this oldest European theatre the chief role was played by the so-called coryphaeus, the forerunner of the actor. It is really noteworthy that a similar — person? actor? how should we call him? exists in the highest branch of the animal kingdom, among gibbons. The already quoted Herr Groos describes the performance of his functions in the following manner: “ In Summer when the beams of the morning sun have dispelled the night mists, these apes leave the shelter of the leafy trees to which they have clung all night. After satisfying their hunger, they have time before the heat of the day to indulge in social pleasures, which, as befits animals so serious, are free from the unseemliness that characterizes those of many of their relations. They now repair to the shelter of some gigantic monarch of the forest, the limbs of which offer facilities for walking exercises. The head of the family appropriates one of these branches and advances along it seriously with elevated tail, while the others group themselves about him. Soon he gives forth soft single notes, as the lion likes to do when he tests [19]THE THEATRE IN LIFE the capacity of his lungs. This sound, which seems to be made by, drawing the breath in and out, becomes deeper and faster as the excitement of the singer increases. At last, when the highest pitch is reached, the intervals cease and the sound becomes a continuous roar, and at this point all the others, male and female, join in and for fully ten seconds at a time the awful chorus sounds through the q»uiet forest. At its close the leader begins again with the detached sounds.” According to Charles Darwin, who knew of these operatic performances given by gibbons, their voices are piercing but quite musical. Moreover, the great scientist believed that the ascending and descending notes of the gibbon’s song are each one tone higher (or lower) than the preceding, and that the highest note is exactly an octave above the first. The modulation of sounds, he maintained, is very musical, so that a violinist could easily play the melody of the whole song. It is truly remarkable that the historians and philosophers of the theatre who search for its origins literally everywhere should have never honored with their attention this striking gibbons’ song, nay, should have never honored with their attention the facts referring to the theatre in the animal kingdom in general. For what can be more suggestive than the sight of these man-like apes imitating, or, rather, forestalling, the Hellenic coryphaeus with his chorus? Indeed, the just described performance is enacted by gibbons after a meal (satiation). But didn’t the word u scene,” “ stage,” mean originally u a sheltered place,” and, according to some authorities, also a “ feast ”? [20]THE THEATRE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM And, by the way, is not the myth bearing on the origin of the Greek tragedy based upon the sacrificial u feast ” that Icarus held together with his villagers? Are these — coincidences? analogies? equivalents? not full of mysterious significance? Add to this that the singing gibbons group themselves around their leader and that the Greek chorus danced round the altar in a circle, and you will understand how meaningful is this parallel. Indeed, one peeps here into the very depths of human, and animal, feelings and instincts, and one discovers the same theatre in embryo. Men have for centuries used the words a nature ” and “ naturalness,” on the one hand, and “ theatre ” and “ theatricality,” on the other, as diametrically opposed, as mutually excluding terms. Can we use them in the same sense now, after this brief survey of “ theatre ” in “ nature ”? Is there a justification for such a sharp distinction between these two categories? Is nature so “ natural ” after all? And do we really know what we are talking about when we use the word “ natural ” as the antidote to the word “ theatrical ”? It seems to me that the time is coming when we will at last realize that there is just as much “ theatre ” in “ nature ” as there is of “ nature ” in “ theatre.” [21]Chapter III THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT WHAT are the psychological foundations of our liking for the theatre? On what feelings is it based? Historians and students of arts have answered these questions in most dissimilar manners. It was asserted that the theatre developed out of religious ceremonies and rituals and that it was in the beginning, so to speak, a byproduct of the religious feeling. It was also said that the origins of the theatre lay in the choreographic proclivities of the primitive man, that they must be sought in the general thirst of the human soul for aesthetic forms and images, that — etc., etc. I maintain, however, that all these explanations must be rejected and forgotten. Man has one instinct about which, in spite of its inexhaustible vitality, neither history nor psychology nor aesthetics have so far said a single word. I have in mind the instinct of transformation, the instinct of opposing to images received from without images arbitrarily created from within, the instinct of transmuting appearances found in nature into something else, an instinct which clearly reveals its essential character in the conception of what I call theatricality. The fact that man himself, though constantly paying tributes to this powerful instinct, has been unaware of its [ 22 ]THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT existence, is, of course, no proof of its ephemeral nature, because in the evolution of the human self it is inevitable that the moment of our awareness of any feeling should be separated by centuries from the time when this feeling originated. True, most of the manifestations of this instinct could not help but attract the watchful eye of science, but science, ever hasty in classifying phenomena, unhesitatingly consigned it to the aesthetical category. The instinct of theatricalization which I claim the honour to have discovered may be best described as the desire to be “ different,” to do something that is “ different,” to imagine oneself in surroundings that are “ different ” from the commonplace surroundings of our everyday life. It is one of the mainsprings of our existence, of that which we call progress, of change, evolution and development in all departments of life. We are all born with this feeling in our soul, we are all essentially theatrical beings. In this a cultured man differs but little from a savage, and a savage from an animal. Theatricality is pre-aesthetic, that is to say, more primitive and more fundamental than our aesthetic feeling, or feelings. It would be ridiculous to speak of the aestheticism of a savage. Indeed, who will conceive the felicitous idea of endowing him with the capacity of enjoying “ beauty for beauty’s sake ”? But the sense of theatricality he certainly does possess. Hence, the theatrical art is essentially different from all other arts. I remember that when I was yet a child I instinctively knew the difference between one and the other, between the [ 23 ]THE THEATRE IN LIFE many-headed art which is aesthetic and the single-headed art which is theatrical. It was the theatre for me when I put on dark spectacles and my father’s cape, and frightened the servants with my hoarse, terrifying voice of an imaginary intruder, while it was art to me when I was passionately absorbed in drawing and music. I should have been very much surprised if I had been told at that time that they both meant the same thing. How can it be maintained that they are the same? Is it not true that in the theatre the thing that I desire most is to be other than myself, whereas in art just the opposite is the case — I want to find myself, to pour out my innermost being in the sincer-est form of which I am capable? What have the two in common? Is it creative power? But under such a generalization as that we run the risk of including in the same category the birth of a child and the making of a coffin. Is it aesthetic enjoyment? But in my childish use of the dark spectacles and of my father’s cape one can hardly suspect a desire for aesthetic enjoyment. The art of the theatre is pre-aesthetic, and not aesthetic, for the simple reason that transformation, which is after all the essence of all theatrical art, is more primitive and more easily attainable than formation, which is the essence of aesthetic arts. And I believe that in the early history of human culture theatricality served as a sort of pre-art, using this word in the generally accepted sense. It is exactly in the feeling of theatricality, and not in the utilitarianism, of the primitive man that one must look for the beginning of all arts. A savage bores a hole in his nose and puts a wishbone through it not for the purpose of [24 ].THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT frightening away his enemies or carrying on war more effectively, but for the sheer joy of self-transformation. Is it not pathetic, indeed, that anthropologists find in the caves of primitive man not the ploughs, household tools or weapons, but bracelets, necklaces, odd-looking shells and other paraphernalia of the prehistoric masquerade? And is it not typical that the native woman of the western coast of Africa will gladly sell her honour for a button, because the shine of a button is of real theatrical value, but won’t even look at a good piece of cloth with which she might cover her naked body? That theatrical effect is more important to the savage than his physical well-being is evident from the following incident: In revenge for the death of Cook in Hawaii some Britishers set fire to a number of native villages. The natives fled, but, as soon as they found themselves out of danger, they stopped on the bridge and, amazed by the imposing sight of flames devouring their homes, burst out in outcries of enthusiastic admiration: “ How wonderful! ” Here are people who could find justification not only for Captain Cook, but even for Nero — the incendiary to whom Rome in flames appeared more interesting in the theatrical sense than the Rome which wearily preserved its time-worn treasures. There is so much theatricality among the savages that only blindness or bias can account for the failure to recognize it as such. Consider tattooing, piercing of the skin, lips and teeth in order to put feathers, rings, pieces of crystal, metal and wood through them, the practice of removing incisors, pulling out the hair and deforming the [25]THE THEATRE IN LIFE skull or feet — what are these evidences of the mania for transformation if not theatricality of the purest sort? Strong, indeed, is the instinct of theatricalization. It drives the savage as hunger, sexual desire or love drives him. The cynical saying “ Cherchez la femme ” might well be replaced by “ Cherchez le théâtre,” for the history of mankind is all saturated with this instinct. The savage is often ready to pay with his life for the joy of becoming different from what he is. To theatricalize his body the native of Borneo makes more than ninety deep cuts into his skin. He is all washed in the streams of his own blood, and his sufferings, intensified by the tropical heat and by the insects infesting his wounds, are terrible. In order that the scars should be sufficiently prominent and duly spectacular, the wounds are kept open by additional cuts and other barbaric measures for a very long time, — according to Darwin the cruel operation often demands several years for its completion, and it frequently leads to blood-poisoning and to a horrible death. And yet the native of Borneo dreams of the day when the cruel proceeding which makes of him “ a different man ” will begin! In this he differs but little from the Indian of the Orinoco tribe who will work for two weeks or more in order to earn the money which will enable him to buy the costly pigments for tattooing that are going to transform his body into an object of general admiration. However barbaric, these changes of appearance deserve our greatest interest and respect. They are the primitive man’s first steps beyond the boundaries of nature towards civilization. Painting his skin red and blue, sticking a [26]THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT wishbone through his nostrils, etc., the primitive man imagines himself different from that which he really is. He selects, so to speak, a “ part ” for himself. And then he begins to play this part. Is this not, roughly speaking, the psychological path of all social change, of all progress? The same instinct lies at the bottom of imitation. To imitate means to play the role of an acting character who, for some reason or other, has impressed our theatrical instinct. The birth of a child, education, hunting, marriage, war, the administration of justice, religious ceremonies and funeral rites, — every important event in life is made by the primitive man (and not by the primitive man alone!) the occasion for a purely theatrical spectacle. His entire life is a succession of such “ shows.” Without the zest of theatricality life would be to him like tasteless food, like sufferings and privations without a beam of hope. As soon, however, as he begins to theatricalize, it acquires a new meaning, it becomes his life, something that he has created. He has transformed the life that was into a life that is different. Hence, he is the master of life, not its slave. Who gave the parrot its plumage? Nature. But man, this proud, strong, handsome being, does not depend upon nature. He can provide his own feathers if he wishes. Who gave the panther its spotted skin? Nature. But man took the skin from the panther and wrapped it around his shoulders which he had made so shiny, sweetsmelling, ornamented. He himself becomes a panther, or, rather, a super-panther, because in his dancing he can show not only how the panther scratches, but also how the panther is killed for this offence. [*7]THE THEATRE IN LIFE An interesting example of the role played by the theatrical instinct in the cultural development of mankind is to be found in the history of our clothes. Here is a naked savage woman. She has blackened her eyelids and eyebrows and dyed her hair in the vain, but worthy, attempt at looking like a flower. She does not strive to cover her nudity, but merely gives it a different aspect. Yet, as the savage progresses, decorations used by him with the purpose of adorning his body are getting more and more numerous and complicated. Finally, at a certain stage of theatrical evolution, some sort of costume crystallizes out of these decorations. Indeed, if man, and especially man living in the south, had no instinct of theatricality, he would have no clothes. In the north he would use them only, during cold seasons, for what purpose would they serve in summer? It is not difficult to prove that chastity can play no part in the development of the costume, either, for the “ clothes ” of a savage often emphasize such parts of his, or her, body as chastity would require to conceal (an observation which applies in a great many cases to us, cultured people, as well). As to the feeling of shame, it certainly is a factor in the evolution of clothes. But this feeling must be understood here in the sense that the primitive man becomes in a certain period of his development ashamed of showing himself in the “ natural ” costume instead of an “ artificial ” one, in other words, of exhibiting his ignorance of the social etiquette which demands that the theatrical feeling of his fellow-men should be respected. Perhaps to this is added the fear of appearing incapable of exerting power over nature. At any rate, [28]THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT it is the theatrical instinct which is responsible for the wearing of clothes in the early stages of man’s civilization. Let us, however, try to penetrate a little deeper into the psychological nature of the theatrical instinct. Where does it come from? When could it have stirred for the first time in the man’s soul? It is not difficult to construe, at least roughly and approximately, the process of its awakening. Just imagine a savage who is telling his brothers that he hunted with success, that he had a good meal, that he then swam across a very wide river, that a tiger attacked him, but he succeeded in escaping, while his wife succumbed, and that, fleeing from the tiger, he fell from a very, very high mountain. His brothers refuse to believe; he argues and gets excited. He is requested to explain where is that wide river which, he says, he crossed — and the very, very high mountain from which, he asserts, he fell. The savage is perplexed and embarrassed. At this moment his wife appears — she is in perfect health and bears on her body no marks of the tiger’s claws. The savage is amazed. Meanwhile his brothers tell him that, instead of hunting, he lay motionless with his eyes closed under a tree, that is to say, slept. It is then that he begins to realize that, besides his ordinary “ ego,” there lives in him yet another “ ego,” and that this second “ ego ” is a very wonderful thing indeed, for it can leave this world of realities and wander in some other world which it has itself created. In other words, the savage begins to realize that besides his physical “ ego ” he has also a spiritual “ ego,” that man has a body and a soul and that this soul which [29]THE THEATRE IN LIFE possesses the talent of staging such wonderful plays while one is sleeping must possess it, at least in some degree, also while one is awake. Of course, I do not mean to say, that the savage went so clearly and logically from conclusion to conclusion as I am putting it here. But, however dim and hazy were his thoughts, he became aware of his gift of imagining things, of imitating reality with imagination, of beautifying his miserable life with his fantasy, that is to say, of theatricalizing. It is only in his capacity of theatricalizer of life that the primitive man bowed for the first time to God, or to gods. For in order to believe in gods man had first to acquire the gift of conceiving these gods, of personifying them as a dramatist personifies ideas, feelings and passions. Were it not for this gift of transfiguration, of imaginative creation of things and beings that cannot be seen on this earth, man would have no religion. This assertion of mine finds convincing proof in the fact that ethnographers know of scores of tribes which have primitive, embryonic, yet undeniable, elements of the theatre in their life, but have as yet no conception of gods. In other words, man became first an actor, a playerj and then came religion} “ Commedia Divina ” was preceded by “ Commedia.” It is for this reason that religious myths are essentially dramatic and, theatrical, — this applies to the history of all peoples at the dawn of their existence. The reader will now understand my assertion that the theatre as a permanent institution came into existence owing to the instinct of theatricality, but not to the religious, choreographic, aesthetical or any other feelings. [30]THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT Psychologically speaking, there is but a step from the “ masquerading ” of the primitive man in his everyday life to the theatre in the narrow, technical sense of the word. Indeed, is it not natural for man who adorns his colourless existence by organizing shows under such pretexts as marriage, death, administration of justice, etc., to organize them also without pretexts, that is to say, to stage shows for their own sake? Hence the institute of professional players, of actors. That this institute comes into existence in the early childhood of a nation or of a race is proved by the fact that even in the inarticulate Africa we find a great demand for professional players. Some wild tribe of Niam-Niam has quite a class of wandering mimes and singers wearing extravagant clothes of purely theatrical appeal and enjoying general respect and admiration, while Banbars and Mandingos value their “ troubadours ” and entertainers to such an extent that they are considered inviolable even in time of war. Moreover, a number of tribes might be mentioned in which the functions of actors are assured by chieftains, “ kings ” and other rulers. As we ascend the ladder of civilization we become more and more convinced that man progresses much more rapidly in the cultivation of his theatrical sense than in the cultivation of his other spiritual qualities. Let us recall Greece, where the theatre very early became a state institution, where the high office of ambassador was entrusted to a gifted actor, and where the passion for the theatre was so general that women often gave birth to children in the amphitheatre. The Romans candidly defined the sense of life by the phrase “ Panem and Circenses ” and saw in the [3i]THE THEATRE IN LIFE arena, along with the trained animals and prostitutes, the august personalities of Nero, Commodius and Heliogab-alus. In ancient Peru and Mexico, the most valuable gifts of royalty went to actors, among whom were princes and superior officers, all members of the large royal family. In China, interest in the theatre is so keen that not a single public dinner is held without the participation of actors, who, after offering the guests a veritable u menu ” of fifty to sixty plays, perform the one selected, to the accompaniment of little bone sticks. And while the people spend whole days in the public theatres of China, eating, sleeping and tending their children there, at Pondicherry, in India, where realistic performances take up from four to seven evenings in succession, the audience of from six to seven thousand spend the night in the theatre, unable to leave the place of the greatest of all temptations. What is really, characteristic of all these early or primitive theatres is their essential conventionality. They are all pre-eminently non-realistic theatres. To us, cultured men of the twentieth century accustomed to realism on the stage, admiring the Moscow Art Theatre of Stanislavsky, etc., the “ unnaturalness ” of Hindu or Chinese playhouses seems striking indeed. Suffice it to say that the Chinese actor playing an important role in a historical play has to convey to the audience the impression that he is riding away on a horse by mere gestures, without having even a wooden horse or a stick to take the place of that animal. He has to peep out from behind a tree, but there is no tree on the stage, — the whole scene must be again [ 32 ]THE THEATRICAL INSTINCT conveyed by mimic, gestures, movements. Moreover, the Chinese actor plays in a purely conventional mask, with a beard which does not look like a beard at all, in a costume which must be greatly beautified and patched up in more than one place by the imagination of onlookers in order to acquire a certain resemblance to the garments of the hero whom the actor impersonates. Everything, from beginning to end, is conventional in this theatre. Yet the audience looking at the performance of a play staged with such a hopeless poverty of theatrical means does believe that the actor rides away on a steed, that he peeps out from behind a tree, that the mask he wears is a face, that he is a hero! It is again the sacred theatrical instinct that we witness here at work. The Chinese audience believes in all that and enjoys the play because its theatrical instinct fills the gaps seen on the stage, co-operates with the actor, transforms ridiculous masks into solemn and proud faces, transfigures conventionality into a new reality. When the soul rebels it does not submit to the facts imposed from without by reality} it dictates its own laws and forms to this reality. Give only a pretext, an allusion to the theatrical instinct, and it will achieve the rest: it will build magnificent palaces out of cardboard, it will transform a piece of satin into an ocean, it will make a king out of a miserable player wearing a paper crown. [ 33 ]Chapter IV THE WILL TO THE THEATRE IN our childhood we were always playing, imagining ourselves or the things surrounding us to be anything we wished them to be. There is literally no human being who in his childhood did not play. What the child likes most is the theatre, that is to say, the transformation of actuality as given from without, into something that he himself creates. C. A. Ellis and Stanley Hall, who made a special study of play with dolls, state that children are not satisfied with a purchased doll, that is to say, an assumed doll, but always try to make a doll themselves. Children like these dolls, i.e., these transformed pieces of wood or rag, so much that in “ feeding ” them they themselves often forget to eat. Watching a child at play is a most wonderful experience. The observer sees the child completely absorbed in his play. Whatever is vital, strong, attentive and enthusiastic in the child surrenders to this unreal, yet actual, life. Indeed, it is a rare instance of creative activity going on not in the secret channels of the mind, but before our very, eyes. The child is always acting. Reality does not interest him in the least. The important thing to him is “ faire la guerre,” to impersonate a “ big horse,” to give the dog a [ 34 ].THE WILL TO THE THEATRE ride in the sled. For him surrounding objects are only means of bold theatricalization. “ And if you should suddenly stop him,” says Jean d’Udine, “ it would take some time before he returned to reality again. For in his imagined world of play the rhythm of his being was entirely different from the commonplace rhythm to which you forced him to return.” This also accounts for the extraordinarily developed ability of children to make wry faces, grimaces, especially when they feel that they are attracting attention. For all these are nothing but manifestations of the child’s irresistible instinct of theatricality. The underlying idea of this instinct of theatricality we find expressed in the words of one of Ibsen’s characters: “ that which is, does not exist; but that which is not, exists.” That is the “ theatre ” in the broad sense of the word. The child likes more than anything else in the world whatever relates to the manifestation of this theatricality, in other words, to that which it has been our custom to call K play.” The child likes the beads worn by his nurse and the rattle with which she diverts him, more than the nurse herself. He likes the toys given him by his mother more than he does his mother. This last paradox, though it is not willingly accepted by mothers, is confirmed by psychologists on the basis of a simple experiment in which the loss of a favourite toy was found to be a real misfortune frequently endangering the health of the child, whereas the loss of the child’s mother called forth only a purely theatrical interest in the funeral. The fact that the child plays without compulsion, plays always, plays of its own accord, and that no one has ever [35]THE THEATRE IN LIFE taught him how to play, how to make his own “ theatre,” proves that nature herself has planted in the human being a sort of “ will to the theatre,” and that the theatre is something infinitely greater than has been admitted by our philosophers of the theatre, something essentially different from what our dramatic critics believe it to be. Mohammed himself could not resist the wise temptation of play, and when Isha, his nine-year-old wife, brought with her some dolls into the harem of the great prophet, he sat down and played with her, in spite of the fact that Islam forbids the use of effigies representing the human figure. While among the Moslems this “ will to the theatre ” is emphasized by the a divine example ” of the great prophet, among other nations gods themselves appear as characters in plays of one kind or another. Thus, according to the traditions of the Hupa tribe in California, play was invented by God and his Brother j the natives of the Hervey Islands believe that the gods Tane and Ronga invented the kitej the Bakairi of Central Brazil ascribe the origin of festive games to the divine brothers Keri and Kame. In India, the deities Apsaras and Gandarvas are the patrons of certain games, and their sporting talents are sung in odes and poems. The god Xolotl of the ancient Mexicans was the god of the ball game. There is truly something divine in this “ will to the theatre.” u Every new-born child is entrusted by nature with the duty of creating its own world,” says B. Malachie-Mirovich in his profoundly instructive work on the educational value of the toy,. “ All children have the ability to [36]THE WILL TO THE THEATRE create a new reality out of the facts of life. Not all have this ability developed in the same degree. But in all of them it is more highly developed than in the adult.” This independent, individual, wholly arbitrary creation of a new reality from material furnished by the outside world is a form of creative energy to which no other adjective than “ theatrical ” can be applied. For no matter what one’s view of the theatre may be, one will agree that the essence of the theatre is the creation of a new reality. The child creates sometimes literally out of nothing; most trivial and insignificant material can satisfy him. He is a real little Creator who can work wonders even without clay. A paper crown makes him a king, a broomstick serves him as a horse, while the floor transforms itself most obligingly into the ocean. In his “ Creative Imagination ” T. Ribot quotes an example which, perhaps, will awaken in some of us the reminiscences of our own childhood. One of the children he observed was particularly fond of the letter “ W ” and called it “ my dear old boy W.” Another child, three years old, while writing the letter