The Observer from London, Greater London, England • 17

THE OBSERVER, SUNDAY, MARCH 81, 1985. 3andotn. Peek's I5l)eatre5. UDramatts (B? St. 3obn jrvtjte.) SHORT FRENCH PLAYS.

more Important things we should to know from him. When his sight wk restored had he any sense of distahcie, or did hie see the world as a flat picture? Did he recognise an orange ail the round thing he had previously feltf and did know (by sight) the difference between a pair of scissors and a sofa-cushion? He would, in fact, have a new world of visual experience to fit in with an old world of sensory experience, and how puzzling a business it must be we can gather. from his admission that he thought. all stout men were the same shape as a the same, you do sometimes frighten him. You may not realise it, sir, but you are rather frightening." Pelissier unburdens himself to the boy: Soft-hearted people generally are.

(A pause.) They growl and they decide to make up for it to-morrow." Lord, man, think of it! A son, born of your flesh, of your mind! What a pal he'll be! He starts by being just an ordinary baby. You make faces over him. He grows into boyhood, he's unfinished, teasing, turbulent. He infuriates you. Then he's a big student fellow, lazy and proud.

When the final chrysalis falls off him -at last, you take a look. He is over twenty. He is a man! It's an epoch-making moment. You've attained your end, you've arrived. You yearn for him.

What an understanding there is going to be between you two He's flesh of your flesh, bone of your bone. You'll be able to talk to each other! Good God-, yes and then you begin to contemplate, and the result is silence. Your son is there in your house, his room Is at the end of the corridor. What is happening in that room? What is he thinking of in there? What are his dreams? His friends know, so do his sweethearts. But for his parents, for his ather, there's a closed door, with an unknown youth behind it.

Where's the pal now? Who is this stranger? That passage seems to me to express clearly and dramatically a profound emotion, a deep and common disappointment. Pierre Wolff has a charming piece, described as sentimental," in this volume. Its title is "Fidele!" Englished as "Faithful." I have no room in which to treat its theme, but it is delicately done. Each of the plays is preceded by an excellent brief account of its author. Jules Romain.

in It would be ungracious let March go without a word of thanks for these last beautiful weeks. For once the sunshine coincided with the official beginning of Spring, which so seldom troubles to announce itself. This year it has been possible to admire the daffodils without a shiver or an umbrella, and the rathe primrose has been less forsaken than when the east wind blows. Fickleness may come with April, but the generous sun and the balmy airs of the past fortnight have made a very welcome step- imig-owu me way summer. It seems a mistake to offer a prize for a new verse to the National Anthem, for experience has shown the problem to be insoluble.

Even if the poetry is better than the old (and it well may be) the addition refuses to join." Even royal command has found the omens against it. In 1857, on the eve of the marriage of her eldest daughter. Queen Victoria desired Tennyson to supplement the National Anthem for the occasion. The Laureate took ms pen and wrote; Let both the peoples say, God bless the marriage day: And of the union German Emperor. was horn the last The: announcement of the imDendinK sale of Melchet Court, near Romsey, re- minas usoi tne aiscrepancv 01 the spel ling "withnhe name of its former owner.

the late lora meicnett. there is something definitive in the double letter -that appealed to the -man of business. One wonders, too, whether the title of Lord Doverdale (whose death is an nouncea) was a variation on the more familiar Dovedale, which adjoined his old constituency of -the Hrgh reak Division, A new calculating machine the "differential analyser of incredible complication -and ingenuity, was exhibited during the-Week. It assists in the investigation of such problems as atomic struc ture ana nrooertles." "transients in electrical circuits," and vibrations of systems with non-linear restoring forces. This seems setting' dangerously near a and we shall soon come to wonder, like the Erewhonians, whether machinery is-not too formidable a rival.

We do not mind its ploughing fields and malting 000 ts, out. wnen it. comes to tne higher mathematics what chance has the plain map. with only a multiplication table? No wonder the- Calculating Machines, like the.ghosts in "Macbeth," push us off our stools." Fortunately calculating machines, as a race, have a low birth-rate. We shall before long be celebrating the tercentenary of the first, invented by Pascal in 1842.

That-wasonly for purposes of addition: it was Liebnitz, thirty years later, who extended its range to include multiplication. first English name in the list is Babbage (1822), of whom it is told that he-ws once detected by his partner at dinner in an elementary mistake in arithmetic "You explained. "I never could count. That's how I came1 to invent my calculating machine. Mr.

David Williams, who has just had his sight, restored by an operation, after being' blind from the age of two, tells of his disappointment on seeing human faces. That is natural, for there is little in the human countenance to indicate the importance of what lies behind it. But, necessarily, Mr. Williams's standards must be low and uncritical; and there are Penny on Shell on Of the three elephants which raided the market at Grewe, 1 consumed a bundle of celery, with lettuce and radishes No. 2 played havoc among the silk stockings at a hosiery stall; and No.

3 devoured a number .01 packets of highly perfumed soap." The last seems to hava nit on the solution of tne Problem which has long bulked so largely the advertis ing columns the secret 01 Bweet cream. Plans are, announced tor an aerodrome 10,500 feet 'up In the Himalayas to cope with the pilgrim tragic to the Badrlnath Shrine, which -is sacred, to the Hindus," That (along with the stories of vast motor-bus trips to Mecca) suggests the efficacy ot a pilgrimage depends spoil the goal and not the journey, which had always Been accounted lor merit in proportion to its hardships. la: there no spiritual 'significance in the RX.S. maxim that it is better to -Journey than to arrive? According to the new Hindu practice, it seems to. matter little Whether you reach the shrine by aeroplane- or by the laborious co-operation of shank-and staff.

With or without the- consent ot Its Phonetic Committee, the. BB.C has launched during the week the hew word "televiewer." It has the precedent of interviewer (as well as "of "sewer and and has the advantage of conveying exactly what it -means. But it is not desirable, in a language which makes so much use of the ure- termination, -to multiply words which lengthen the same sound to a dissyllable. It Is the. same ambiguity Which has filled poetry with slipshod rhymes like "flrer higher" and "wheelreal, Mongolia is less than China.

and we learn from -Mr, Peter Fleming's articles in The 8ie' soldiers, if not yet arnong-tliplr families, the consternation cause4 by the regulation proscribing almost Completely died out." It Was In the early century that China itself began to re-, consider the pig-tail. The critical' year was 1910, when six Chinese of. wealth and: influence publicly discarded their queues at Hongkong to the strains of a band playing Gilbert-and-Suliivan melodies. This was partly the result of an accident to a workman whose pig-tail got. caught in machinery; and it was computed that in two days ten thousand people-had signed the anti-queue pledge or whatever form the act of repudiation took.

It li hardly a century Blnce we ourselves abandoned the pig-taiL Trafalgar was won by' sailors with queues, and the Blues would have worn them at Waterloo had they not- been cut oft- by QUI barber at Dover. The pig-tail even 'survived into the Reform Parliament on the head of Mr. Sheppard, MJ. for Frame. But the Bill was a bad blow to the fashion.

When the measure passed the Lords, Lord Bathurst solemnly cut off his pig-tail, exel a iminfc-" Ichaboq. the glory is departed-Taneanlng the glory of England and not of his hyacinthine locks. Observatoh. the bottle" but the Road ersona. Diary of the Week.

"Family Group." Players' Club, It Pays to be Selfish." The Alchemist." King's, Hammersmith, The Magic Cupboard." Maddermarket, Norwich, "The Second Brother." WEDNESDAY. New, "The Old Ladies." TO-DAY WEEK. Arts, "Basalik." Hamlet finished its run at the New Thefjjre last night. A short suburban and provincial tour will open at Streatham to-morrow. Af ter that, and after a three-weeks' holiday, Mr.

John Gielgud will-next appear on London in a play that may a contrast to Hamlet English adaptation of Alfred Savoir's comedy, ''La Voie Lactee," ''The Milky Way." The leading lady in this play will be Miss Lucy Mannheim; the very, well-known German actress, who has "arranged to do two plays under the management of Albery Mannheim is one of the. very few Berlin actresses whose celebrity 'came anywhere near to approaching that of. Elisabeth Bergner. Her range- is1 -extensive, as she has' played everything from dramatic parts to musical comedy. Her English (except for accent) is quick and faultless.

The Stratford-on-Avori Festival ppens with "Antony and Cleopatra oh-' Mon day, April 15. Mr. Roy Emertpn and Miss Catherine Lacey will play the two chief parts, naiooar pus wm di will Mr. Randle Ayr ton. Owing to the particular' heeds of Stratford, the first week always: has to be a rush of consecutive first-nights exhausting alike, for the company, and producers.

It -is- impossible to run any One play continuously for a fortnight or so, for the reason that visitors' from all over England, the Empire, and America come to Stratford for a few days, and in those 'few days, naturally, want to see several different plays' rather one play repeated. Mr. Iden Payne; who now takes over the direction of; the Festival from Mr. Bridges Adams, showed ma Mr. Adams's! rehearsal-charts for last year (the scheme of work-' by r.

which half-a-dozen rjlavs were rehearsed almost In unison) and expressed himself, amazed by its ingenuity and the amount of labour1 that it entailed. He himself has cut this down a little, this year. Only three other plays-will- -bedone in--the-same week as 7" The-- Merchant of" Venice," The Merry' Wives." arid "As You 'Like It." SSL iKbrnisarjevsky is producing The Merry -Wives. The company includes Mr. Hoy Byford, Miss Gwynne Whitby, Miss Barbara Gott, Miss Jean Shepherd, mi; ana mi.

nare. In the cast of the adaptation of the French success, Tovaitch," to be pro-, duced -by Mr. Gilbert Miller about April 24, are Sir Cedric Hardwicke, Miss Eugenie Leontovlch, Mr. Allan Aynes-worth, Mr." Evelyn Roberts, Miss. Helen Miss Ina de la Hay Laura Smithson, and Mr.

John Buckmaster. Mr. Andre' Chariot's thirty-fourth revue, Char-a-Bang," will open in London at the Vaudeville' Theatre on Wednesday week. Its principals are Miss Elsie Randolph, Mr. Reginald Gardiner, Mr.

John Tilfey, and Mr. Hedley Briggs. The following night, Thursday, April. 11, the Galsworthy Festival will start at' the Playhouse. Justice will be the first play and will rim for three weeks.

Mr. Malcolm Keen, Mr. Arthur Wontner, and. Mr. Lion himself have been added to the cast already announced.

The plays to follow it will be "The Skin Game," The Family Man," The Fugitive," and "Old English." Mr. Nugent Monck, always enterprising, is producing for the first time on any stage this week The Second Brother." The play, is by the strange nineteenth-century character, Thomas Lovell Beddoes, who, though he died in .1849, was written about by Lytton Strachev as "the last of the Eliza bethans." His play is completely in the Eiizabeinan manner. The Westminster Theatre has brought off a coup again. Last week's play there, Mr. Anthony Kimmins' Chase The Ace." produced Mr.

Harold French. was a success, and is to reappear almost at once in the West End: Mr. Edward Chapman will remain' in one of the chief parts. Mr. Ion Swinley, Miss Kathleen O'Reean, Miss Meriel Forbes, and Mr.

Guy Middleton. (the hilariously greeted scout-villain of Young England) will be in a new play by Vernon Sylvaine, And A Woman Passed By." at the Duke of York's, on April 11. It has been reserved for the small St. Pancras People's Theatre (that in its time has done almost all Shaw, Ibsen, and to give the first English pro duction of the enchanting play "Noe," which we knew when acted by the Compagnie des Quinze." This will be on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of this week, at 8 p.m. Mr.

Ben Weldon, Miss Margaret Web ster, Miss coral Brown, ana Mr, Wyna- ham Goldie will appear with Mr. Paul Robeson in Basilik." at the Arts Theatre Club to-day week. Bobby RiettI, the remarkable chlld-actoiv-is making further appearances tonight and on Thursday (8.30) at the Cos- mopolis Theatre, 59, Finchley-road. Savings of VPfcfck. I raise my glass to the health of His Majesty the King of England.

M. Lituinoff. I should hate to think that I may live to 156. The Prince of wales. Painters have sone back again and again to the primitive in search of a renewal of vitality.

Why should not eaters do the same? Mr. Kooert uyna. Why is it that while books In praise of England are always written by Frenchmen, ana books in praise of France are always written by Englishmen, books in praise of Germany are always written by Germans? Mr. ftuip uitettaiia. What Is to become of that delectable mor sel the sausage? Mr.

Justice Hawke. All Englishmen should know who end what Father Coughlin is, and how he spells nis name; ana Americans snouia know who Hore-Belisha is. Sir Edward Crowe. Our language seems to be undergoing a progressive demoralisation until finally a term comes to mean the exact opposite of that which it was intended to mean. Lord Hewart.

The world is like a shop window in which a mischievous boy has so shifted the price tickets that high prices are attached to worthless objects and small prices to things of real value. The Archbishop of York. St James's. WORSE THINGS HAPPEN AT SEA." By Keith Winter. No doubt and easily, for nothing much happens on this shore.

The title, suggesting the inconsequent. Is just. This is larking play, not to be faulted for fail ing a logic which it never attempts to establish. A fragment of masculine nothingness, pretending to be an author, is petted by the kind of rich widow who would certainly rent the best villa on Parnassus, if there were such, and there in talk the worst rubbish. The nothingness has inexplicably acquired a sensible fiancee, who arrives at the widow's Sussex home to rescue the fellow, and, observing that he has now passed from nothingness to a minus Quantity, determines to let him dwindle and departs in wnicn resolve tne widow also at length agrees.

But there has been some ado about nothing enough to fill three acts with the help of croquet mallets, a game of tiddleywinks, and a portentous gramo phone. There is also a good deal of repartee, whose quality varies from the beautifully neat to the pretty chear. There are sharp and witty lines, but they rub shoulders with blunt, crude company. Mr. Winter has creditably made some thing out of his nothing.

His first two curtains are most effective Inventions, and his burlesque of the literary Left Wing, though it may seem too broad and obvious to readers of that kind of book, has been astutely fitted to the taste of the average playgoer, ho does not need specialised knowledge to partake of the general enjoyment. Moreover, the company would flatter any script. Mr. Raymond Massey's production has been skilful in the elaboration of business, and Mr. Athole Stewart has cleverly Dlastered some fun into a part which must look, blank enough in the text.

That Miss Yvonne Arnaud. as the wealthy widow, is lauitiess can De taken for granted; her touch on dialogue is infinitely creative; the good lines are enhanced, the weak disguised. Miss Ena Burrill, as the sensible fiancee, has an awkward job because, amid the general absurdity, she has occasionally to be serious and sincere. She effects these transitions ably. London, is happy to acquire this vivid actress from Liverpool; she handles a teasing part with address.

The play would be better balanced and more amusing if the cause of all the trouble were better reason for the much ado. The bogus novelist, with his addiction to the sub-human, should surely be one of the sweated Esaus of the game, and wag one of those beards grown In the curious faith that to cover a weak chin is to assert a powerful brain. Mr. Frank Lawton is too light for the part, and his whole style of playing is too smooth, his appearance too dressy, his manner too suave. With the alteration of a line or two, the novelist could appear as one of those Savage Messiahs recently in fashion with literary ladies.

Then to burlesque the creature would be to singe the King of Bunkum beard; as it is, to rag him is like bullying a new boy and splashing ink on his nice clean collar. Ivor Brown, Old Vic. "HENRY IV. PART TWO." By William Shakespeare. Despite a neat and economical style of decoration, there was something lacklustre about this production on its first night.

The Old Vic." company may be pardoned signs of stateness by the time, that April comes, and it was a good idea to supplement the first part of the Hen- riad," now on view at His Majesty's, with its even greater sequel. Mr. Cass, going outside his company to find a Falstaff, discovered in Mr. George Merritt a sound player, who did not fit the massive tunic of the knight. Mr.

Merritt knew his lines perfectly, but the text, with a paunch attached, is not Falstaff. There must be magnetism in this Old Pretender, genial, ludicrous, arresting, with size of spirit as of flesh. Mr. Merritt's performance was accurate, but not impressive; it lacked the essential juices of comedy, not because the player failed in general ability (that he possesses in abundance), but because there was not that particular flow of personality which turns a good player into a memorable Falstaff. Mr.

Merritt continued to punctuate his speeches with a somewhat mechanical mirth, and Falstaff must stir more laughter than his own. Fortunately, Mr. Morland Graham came, pippin-like, from his own orchard to give us the bloom and shine of Shakespearean comedy. Perhaps Shallow is a gift to any actor, but Mr. Graham, receiving the benefit of this exquisite part, restored it to us with a richness added.

Mr. Maurice Evans, having a rest as Silence, was excellent as Shallow's comrade-fribble. Mr. Alan Webb was rightly appointed Prince Hal, and Mr. Abraham Sofaer oddly cast as the King; but the poetry was safe with him.

The recruiting scene might have come better off; surely Feeble' We owe God a death should not be let slide amid the comedy. It is as tremendous as anything in Shakespeare, and, in the midst of rough drollery, should make us pause and quiver. Miss Vivienne Bennett's Doll Tearsheet was a lively termagant, but the Boar's Head scene somehow missed its greatness. It should have had more squalor and more pathos. One did not feel that this Falstaff needed much patching to get his old body into heaven.

Ivor Brown. Daly's. "LOVE AND LET LOVE." By Stafford Dickens, In farce we expect the laws of probability to be suspended, but not to the prejudice of wit in the dialogue or good fooling by the players. This would have been a happier evening if all its moments had equalled the best. We should then have been told a less dog-eared tale of connubial hope deferred, with more inducement to laughter.

Mr. Peter Haddon's pleasant fooling would have been more plot sustained. Miss Claire Luce would have had better lines to support her lively looks. Miss Olive Sloane's patent ability to bring more than a Marie Lloyd smile to work would have been encouraged. Mr.

Wyn Weaver would have had less stock-bound a beau-pere to accomplish. And Mr. Martin Walker's dubious chauffeur would have equalled his excellent style. In short, this would have been more like a rattling good farce than a curate's egg; for the company was very capable. H.

H. Savoy. "THE AUNT ENGLAND." OF By Cosmo Hamilton and Anthony Gibbs. Uncommonly good, for the wig and whisker we thought, as the Victorian peerage assembled for breakfast; and there is quite a show of whiskers on the tale which they present. A new play," says the programme boldly, as it introduces us to the village-organist, name of D'Arcy, whose vox hurriana falls so persuasively on the ears of Lady Victoria Alton, grand-daughter of the Dowager Duchess of Hampshire.

The amorous musienmaster, blue blood running warm, and true love that would wed below its station even if that means flying out-of the window have served before, and will apparently, for ever; At any rate, if we must watch these of the moonshine set to partners once again, we gladly admit that the Victorian scene, with Miss Thea Holme to dote ana swoon and flit with her D'Arcy, most prettily adorns the tale. And Harold War-. render, as D'Arcy's titled rival, is the very iellow fo take his port by the bottle and the music-master by the throat. But this affair, after all, is only an excuse for introducing Miss Haidee Wright as the Dowager Duchess who rules kith, county, and country with her staccato commandments and the tap of her ebony cane. As the perpetual Black Rod of Victorian Society the Dowager is exactly what any play-doctor would order, a fine, showy part twice as large as life and frankly played in that spirit by an actress who owns and uses a great personality, a vibrant voice, and a complete knowledge of the game.

That game might be described by disrespectful youth as hokum," but the strength of it can still ring the bell and make the acting of the younger school dwindle in pallor. If reality has anything to do with it, the best performance in this play comes from Miss Susan Richmond; but reality has nothing' to do with the Dowager Duchess, the seductive d'Arcy, and the errant Lady Vicky. Their parts have been, written in the grease-paint of yester-year and the ecstasy of the first-night audience proved that, as a writing material, this substance will do very nicely, especially if Miss Haidee Wright is there to conduct family grayers. read the Riot Act to the Peerage, randish the mailed fist, and expose, in a moonlit finale, the heart of gold. Ivor Brown.

Stage Sooloty. "THE MACHINE OF THE GODS." By Jean Cocteau. Translated by Allan Wade. The Greeks had a style for It It was the function of their tragedians to build a temple of Attic shape, fair attitude on the ground work of barbaric legend. Until Euripides came this supreme tact could disguise the gap between the civil method and the savage theme.

Euripides refused to reconcile himself to the traditional subjects and is exciting because a protectant. M. Cocteau has restated the beastly and blood-boltered tale of Oedipus from the exposure of the mutilated child to the hanging and self-blinding of the close. Why? I could not with- the best will- in the world discover his reason. Oedipus is certainly spared the attentions of psychoanalytical morbidity; but he is here without poetry, which was his one excuse for ever interesting anybody.

There never was a sillier myth nor a gloomier; it combines a merciless concept of pre-destina-tion with complete witlessness on the part of Oedipus and Jpcasta. One can sympathise as little with the human folly as with the divine cruelty. Naturally it makes acting parts, for there are breasts to beat, passions to discourse, dooms to implement Miss Margaret Webster and Mr. William Devlin filled the main parts with abundant, sincere, and disciplined emotion, while Mr. Esme Percy bestowed, on Teiresias a good episcopal manner.

But the best came when Cocteau was inventing, not re-stating. His notion of the Sphinx was lively and evoked from Miss Ursula Jeans a brilliant impersonation of the stone goddess with an inner flame. She convinced us that a lady who asked such fatuous riddles could none the less be good company. Ivor Browh. Arts.

"SHORT CIRCUIT." By Alec Coppel. The first act of this comedy kept us guessing as to the author's intentions and quality, ahd somewhat indifferent to the answer. Then, midway through the second act, the plot took a hitch on itself and became both pertinent and funny. It laughed, and enabled us to laugh, at its pair of adulterous lovers, who, unlike love, were unable to laugh at locksmiths. A further hitch in Act III.

enabled a much-wronged husband to express himself to his. much-wronging wife without raising the roof or missing a point, and gave Mr, Cecil Humphreys the chance his good acting deserved. It was, therefore, not a bad evening. The author, one felt, has the stuff by him, and will cut it more persuasively next time. Miss Iris Baker's sensibility helped us with the defaulting wife; Mr.

Anthony Ireland did wonders at short notice with a cad; Mr. Ernest Jay had a few masterly moments as a squalid sleuth, and Miss Pamela Carme played a game innings off rather unhelpful bowl ing. Comedy. "DELUSION." By Martin Brown. When Ivan Tsarakov limped into the green room.

Hell came with him. That lilt in his walk proclaimed the cloven hoof: his demeanour was satanic. Hav ing learned in suffering what he taught in dancing, his motto was Art for Heart's Ache, or Anvthine to Give Pain." He lived only to produce perfect ballet. But just when that dream was about to be realised, his instrument, young Feodor Ivanov, whom he had made the dancer of the age, lell in love witn tne uauerma. And Hell hath no fury like a Tsarakov scorned.

Does this suseest the argument of some less than uerfect ballet? It is the theme of this downright drama, which I will not nursue throueh its Camellian andante to the all-in coda. Rather let me recall such amenities as relieved an infernally rough passage: the opening scene, for instance, which gave us agreeable glimpses of ballet in repose, and Mr. Ernest Mifton his first entrance, which he made superbly. Here was a demon, indeed, fleeing from the wrath to come, who promised to turn hell inside out for our excitement. If only the dramatist had enabled him to keep that promise! For the rest.

Messrs. William Fox and Keneth Kent spoke up well for the damned, Alanova danced, and Miss Joan Marion tactfully contributed the traditional pathos. H. H. Other Theatre notices are on page 11.

Mr. and Mrs. Frank Vernon have performed a service to the English theatre by translating nineteen one-act plays into our tongue. The translations are far from being impeccable, and the translators, in making English versions of French poetry, display more audacity than distinction. Mr.

Maurice Magre's one-act verse play, Le Soldat de Plomb et la Danseuse de Papier suffers severely from its change into something new and strange, and even a person as unskilled in the French tongue as I am, soon realises that the rendering of Felix Arvers' famous sonnet, beginning Mon ame a son secret, ma vie a son mystere," is considerably less than adequate. To turn: Pour elle, quoique Dieu I'ait falte douce et tendre, Elle ira son chemto, distraite et sans entendre Ce murmure d'amour eleve sur ses pas. A l'au-tere devoir Dieusement fldele, Elle dlra, lisant cei vers tous remplis d'elle "Quelle est done cette femme? et ne wmprenira pas. Divine Will has made her finely gracious and sweet; She does not respond to my love's arduous heat Which asks for a blessing, but one touch ol her hand. She has lived all her life enslaved to her duty; So at last -when she reads these lines to her beauty She'll ask Who's the lady? and will not understand.

Is to do Felix Arvers a disservice. Magre's little play about the poet who failed to rouse any response in Marie Nodier is charmingly composed, and its fragrance is appreciable even in trans lation. Despite its defects, however, the book is valuable. It gives an unusually wide view of the quality of French plays, for the translators have chosen their pieces from a great variety of authors, some of whom, as, for example, Maurice Rostand, are young, while others, such as Marcel Girette, are old. Sacha Guitry and Eugene Brieux are here.

So are Francis de Croisset, Jean-Jacques Bernard and Jules Romains. The remaining authors are: Georges Courteline, Lucien Chantel, Paul Geraldy, Edmond See, Pierre Wolff, Henri Duvernois, Charles Vildrac, Henri Lavedan, Tristan Bernard, Romain Coolus, and Pierre Veber. The work of some of these authors is already known, even well-known, in England. It is only a few months since Mr. Sydney Carroll produced Jean-Jacques Bernard's Martine at the Ambassadors'.

The performance of Jules Romain's comedy, "Doctor Knock," which I saw at the Playhouse, Liverpool, was better than the performance I saw in London. The names of de Croisset, Vildrac, Guitry, and Brieux are familiar on English playbills. We know something of the majority of the authors in this book, even if it is only by repute. But we know little or nothing of them as the authors of short plays, and they deserve to be well known. I should like to see some of our amateur dramatic societies and repertory theatres attempting these plays.

There is only one poor play in the volume, the extraordinarily mawkish piece, entitled, Celui Qui n'a Pas Tue," or, He Who Did Not Kill," by Maurice Rostand. I read this piece with growing incredulity. Could it be possible that anyone bearing the name of Rostand could have composed so much banality. The author was very young when he wrote it, but he is now old enough not to permit it to be firinted, especially in a book of trans-ations intended to show the best work in short plays that has been done by French authors. The first fact that impresses me in connection with this volume is the depth of feeling in it.

The authors are seldom concerned with trifles or amusing anecdotes, as English authors of short plays almost invariably are. They are not afraid to explore in hard places. Their eagerness to put much thought into short plays makes me believe that French audiences are more respectful in their attention to such plays than English audiences. The one-act play, to the great injury of the English drama, has been abolished from the West End, but even in the days when it was commonly produced there, it was seldom heard or attended to. That execrable creature, the latecomer may his bones! Oh, well, I've said that before! made it an occasion for displaying his worst manners.

If he came in time to see it performed at all, he contrived to disturb it by pushing his way as noisily as possible to his seat. Why is it, I wonder, that no one has killed a late-comer? The verdict would surely be justifiable homicide? Other and much better people have been slain for less cause than he habitually provides. The evidence offered in this volume of activity in short plays by distinguished dramatists seems to me to prove that the French people are too civilised to insult authors and actors by treating their work with the disrespect that is commonly shown to them in the West End. The return made by the authors for this courtesy is work of fine quality. Consider the following passage of dialogue from Paul Geraldy's excellent play, "Les Grands Garcons," Englished as Just Boys." A famous architect, M.

Pelissier, has a son, Jacques, aged twenty-two, with whom he has difficulty in establishing affectionate relations. The father and son cannot reveal their love: each seems to repel or antagonise the other. Geraldy handles this fragile theme with immense skill and discretion. He does rot sentimentalise it, nor does he refine it to nothing. Contact between f.ither and son is made through the aoencv of the son's friend, Dureux, a Sad of twenty, and in this character, v.n, reality is never affronted.

The lad. in a situation in which some authors might make him seem to be a prig, remains natural and human. He is speaking to the father in the passage 1 am about to quote. My purpose in Quoting this passage is to show how tnnch deDth of feeling the author has rut into his brief play. Dureux tells Pelissier that Jacques i- afraid of him.

The father replies, Nonsense." Then Dureux says. All Modern One-Act from the French." Translated by Frank and Virginia Vernon. (Allen and Unwin. 7s. Sd.) the statement which precedes his play, "La Scintillante," Englished as "The Peach," is said to be a leader of the literary movement known as Their ideal is to express the life of the mass and the weakness of the individual conscience in relation to the collective conscience.

That is as may be, out there is no sien of this ideal in The Peach. which demonstrates very clearly the streneth of the individual in conflict with a collective opinion. The descrip tion of Unammisme which 1 have quoted makes me feel that it is fright ful tosh, and I suspect that Mr. Romain. a verv interesting author, ad- vocates it with his tongue in his cheek.

In the single novel of his which I have read, Mort de Quelqu'un," there is as little sign of l'Unanimisme as there is in La bcintillante. The second fact which impresses me about these French plays is the ease with which the speeches flow together. One does not feel that they have been dragged into their relationship. Long or short and the French play ranges rapidly from single-word speeches to speeches of great length they run at ease. This ease is, 1 suppose, inevitable in a nation of conversationalists such as the French are! The Irish have it, too, and the world knows what talkers they are! I sometimes tell my self that the reason why Scots are such bad dramatists is that they do not.

as a nation, converse easily or well. They preach excellently. They make remarkable pronouncements of every kind. They heckle and debate and argue with great ability. But they do not converse easily.

(And here, to save myself from instant death, let me remark that I am acquainted with Scots who converse with brilliance. But I am generalising, and not particu larising, when I say that the Scots are not a conversable people.) How often have I sat in a French hotel and en vied the French the ease and facility with which they will pass an evening in discourse! What would I not give to mingle with people who can refrain from always doing things, and can talk, if necessary, for hours! Is there anyr one so boring as that leuow who must always be hitting, pushing, shoving. slapping, smacking, patting, or kicking a ball The last and most significant fact which impresses me in connection with this book, is how little a part sex plays in it. Have the French at last rid themselves of that obsession? Do not. dear and gentle readers, misunderstand me.

I am not one of those nervous people who complain of sex in plays or novels. It is a tact of life, and highly important fact. A sexless drama is as dull as the greater part of the Book of Numbers. But a drama which is entirely concerned with sex and almost exclusively with one de partment of. sex, is no less dull, and argues in tnose who make it an ex hausted imagination.

It appears from these Dlavs that the old DreoccuDation with triangles is over, whether that be so or not, this volume contains the most interesting collection of short plays that I have read for a long time 3fuR6re6 years "3V go. excerpts from "Cbe Observer" ot flSarcb 29, 1835. Yesterday evening the long expected dinner to Lord John Russell, as leader of the House of Commons, was celebrated at the Freemasons' Hall. Lord Moroeth was in the chair. Lord John Russell referred lo the measure for the relief of Protestant Dissenters and that for Reform, and con tinued: "Let me now say that among the objects of my greatest ambition there was none to which, after those two subjects.

I looked with greater partiality than that of being, one day or other, the means of subduing another Rreat grievance 1 mean the grievance of the abuses of the Church of Ireland, wnicn seem xo me 10 couiunie uie nniitifnT ii-iiirnation of our close-borough system with the religious intolerance of our Test and Corporation Acts (tremendous cheering). We were informed that the number of members who sat down to dinner was exactly 260, and from our own observation we are inclined to rely on this statement. Weippert's band was stationed in one of tne galleries, ana a iaieiui uuuj u. nerfnrmers nave with Ereat effect the National Anthem, and what little singing there was in the course of the evening, There died on the 11th instant in Pari'! William J. Lenthall, aged 72.

He was fifth in paternal descent from the Speaker or trie Long Parliament, ana aescenuam of Sir Rowland Lenthall. Master of the Robes to Henry IV. and one of the commanders at the memorable Battle of Agin-court. Madame Vestris after the close of her season at the Olympic at Easter, is to visit the provinces. She makes her first curtesy at Manchester, where she is engaged for eight nights at JL40 a night.

She goes from to Liverpool, where she has always been a source of great attraction, and then, on her return, visits Birmingham for four nights, on the same terms, thus realising 800, exclusive of benefits, in twenty nights. YOU VAN IDE SVJIKE OF SMEILL.