mystifying, revealing the master mind among modern dramatists. Say what they please about Ibsen, his plays, though apparently local in setting and limited in activity, have a meaning far beyond the mere limitations of locality and action. His types are universal ones, existent everywhere in civilized society. Any one with a mind not too hopelessly provincial and unobservant can recognize at once in Ulric Brendel, Mortensgard and Rector Kroll people commonly met with in active political and social life. And we do not come away from Ibsen with a "bad taste in the mouth" (notwithstanding what the sensitive critics may say to the contrary), but with minds refreshed and consciences quickened to the useless sacrifices and harsh injustices wrought by codes which bind mankind to ancient forms and outworn beliefs. It is quite different in the cases of "The Thief" and "Paid in Full," for example, where the spectacle of human frailty and ineptitude induces to pessimism and leaves nothing substantial for the mind to digest and refresh itself upon. Of Madame Nazimova's production of "The Master Builder" I wrote at length in THE ARENA of February last and further comment here is unnecessary. I consider Hilda Wangel the most impressive of all the rôles this actress has so far appeared in on the Englishspeaking stage. Later she produced "The Comet," by Owen Johnson, a young American dramatist, but this was a jumble of Ibsen, Hauptmann, Sudermann and others, and it failed to distinctly project a single, concrete, tangible idea. For this reason the interest centered almost wholly in Madame Nazimova's personality. Afterwards "A Doll's House" was revived and again claimed much attention. So long as the star system exists there will be conjecture as to which actor is entitled to be known as the leading star in America. It is being asserted in these later days that the one actor whose claim to this position-should his modesty permit him to make it—is justified by conscientious endeavor, wide range of versatility, devotion to art and ambitious enterprise, is Edward H. Sothern. And if Mr. Sothern continues to advance as he has done in recent years-and there is every reason to believe that he willhis claim to that title will be indisputable and unchallenged. Mr. Sothern added this season to his repertoire three entirely different characters and in each of them he won distinction. He successfully reincarnated his father's famous characterization of two generations ago, "Lord Dundreary." Then as Rodion, the student in Lawrence Irving's dramatization of Dostoieffski's Russian novel, Crime and Punishment, under the elongated title of "The Fool Hath Said, 'There is No God,"" he conceived a study of peculiar psychological interest and intensity. The play itself was a strange, incoherent mixture of realism and melodrama and, except in instances where Rodion dominated the scene, it was lacking in Russian atmosphere. The ending especially, when Rodion is depicted as becoming converted to religion through the repeating of the Lord's Prayer by a pretty young girl was so crude and contrary to Russian revolutionary character and so plainly a concession to the conventionalties, that it came dangerously near swamping Mr. Sothern's work with ridicule. Nothing so irritatingly inane and untrue as this could have been devised to recklessly invite disaster for any play. The wonder is that Mr. Sothern did not himself perceive this. He followed this with a production "Don Quixote," a dramatization of Cervantes' novel by Paul Kester. Mr. Sothern's art never reached a higher point than in his delineation of the old knight-errant, who, like many doughty heroes of to-day who fight to maintain theories germane only to a past age, went forth to perpetuate chivalry when the age (Russ Whytal as "Judge Prentice," John Mason as Jack Brookfield" and George Nash as "Frank Hardmuth." of chivalry was dead. All the sublime courage, the misplaced idealism, the sincere faith, the indomitable spirit of justice, the reckless espousal of the weak against the strong, the single-hearted devotion to his fair lady, Dulcinea-all these elements which were so crystalized in the person of Cervantes' creation were indicated by the actor with a rare sympathy, a charming quaintness and instinctive sensitiveness that touched the heart. For while you laughed at the mishaps into which Quixote's enthusiasm led him, you did not laugh at him. We all have our ideals-they are all we have worth living for-and they, too, suffer when brought into direct contact with the rude, practical world as Quixote's ideals suffered. And when the dreams born of our ideals are dissipated we may well wish to pass as did he, broken-hearted and alone, among his dusty tomes. It is not clear why Bertha Kalich has not gained full success in New York. She has certainly earned it, for she has shown herself to be an actress of great natural power, fine sensibilities and unlimited possibilities. And yet New York has treated her lukewarmly, while elsewhere she has been greeted with appreciation and enthusiasm. This would seem to justify the oft-repeated charge of New York's provincialism and immaturity in affairs dramatic. And New York is provincial-even though it be the metropolis. The fact is, New York has been so long sitting in judgment upon new plays and aspiring players that its horizon has become limited and its viewpoint distorted. Then also, too many of its critics have to live up to a reputation for erudition which they do not possess, while others have to write "smart," when to be sincere would be more difficult. Others, too, have minds which dwell in the past and cannot, or refuse to, recognize that change is the mainspring of progress in the theater as in all other things. I am inclined to believe that Madame Kalich's failure to win recognition in proportion to her ability lies in the fact that she applies the modern method of acting, that of repression and suggestion, to characters which are primitive and elemental, and the New York critics cannot adjust themselves to the phenomenon. They are accustomed to noise and bluster when the elemental emotions are depicted. It is asking much of these judges to believe that the expression of passion, revenge, jealousy, hate and love does not necessarily consist in tearing the planking out of the stage or in thundering the roof off of the theater. Madame Kalich does none of these things. She refuses to flop over the furniture or to demolish the stage settings, or in the stage vernacular, "chew BERTHA KALICH AS "MARTA." the scenery" in order to convey an impression of aroused emotion. What she does she does simply, directly and sincerely. She works surely toward a climax, and when it is reached she propels it with a force which is all the more effective because it is neither loud nor explosive. This was the case in "Marta of the Lowlands," where she thrilled with an exhibition of concentrated anger that was realistic without being bombastic; while in another scene the effect was as poignant though the method was the same. The play dealt with the power held by the feudal masters of Spain over the ignorant and enslaved peasant class, of which Marta was one. She found love and freedom with a shepherd lad whose unsophisticated nature was set in strong contrast to the brutal feudal ruler who had controlled and overcome the helpless girl. What promised to be a notable event of the season was the coming of the Russian actress, Madame Vera Komisarzevsky and her own company direct from St. Petersburg. This turned out an unfortunate venture. A book could be written about the strange adventures encountered in America by this company. Madame Komisarzevsky holds high rank in the Russian dramatic world; she owns a theater at the capital and her enterprise and independence have made her a great popular favorite. She rented the famous Daly's Theater on Broadway at her own expense and presented her repertoire of modern plays by Ostrovsky, Ibsen, Sudermann, Gorki and others. Not only did she show herself to be an artist of unusual ability but her impersonation of widely differentiated characters was a revelation in this land of one-part actors and underdone stars. Her company was a thoroughly trained one, Mr. Bravich, her leading man, being an exceptionally gifted and sincere actor. And yet the reception accorded Madame Komisarzevsky-a stranger in strange land, seeking recognition as an artist-was astounding. With the excep ACT II.-" THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE." (Walter Hampden as "Manson," Arthur Lewis as "The Bishop of Lancashire" and Tyrone Power as "Robert Smith.") tion of a small minority, who tried to make amends for the boorishness of their follows, the critics of the Western Metropolis assaulted her with a storm of ridicule, contempt, coarse wit and petty insult that was an outrage and a scandal. The enterprise could not survive such treatment, especially since the performances were given in Russian. Denied a respectful audience by the press, pursued by play brokers and adventurers, harassed by all sorts of petty annoyances, Madame Komisarzevsky cut short her stay at Daly's and during the few weeks longer that she remained here confined her productions to the East Side and other places where her countrymen congregated. They rallied to her support and at her closing performance she was presented with a testimonial containing 10,000 names, along with numerous gifts and many flowers. The company carried with them to Russia the remembrance of a most extraordinary experience in the great Western republic. Another unsuccessful venture was Arnold Daly's Theater of Ideas, which ran a short but brilliant career at the little Berkeley. Mr. Daly started out on new lines, eschewing newspaper advertising and the free list to critics. He was forced to change this policy, but the change could not save his enterprise. He produced one-act plays, all of them good and well presented. Finally he revived "Candida," and then he had to succumb for lack of public support. In a more prosperous period he might have pulled through and there is hope that he will try again some day. One thing was missing from the season: A social comedy like "Widowers' Houses" or "Man and Superman." There is a great dearth of such plays in America. "The Servant in the House" combines comedy with drama to a certain extent, but satire is needed. The material is here in plenty for it, but there appears to be none bold enough to use it. Instead we have George Ade wasting his ability on things like "Father and the Boys" and Clyde Fitch dishing up tepid humor in farces like "Girls." There is a great opportunity waiting for a dramatist with genius and daring enough to do for the American stage what Bernard Shaw has done for England and Arthur Schnitzler for Austria. Moreover, the time is ripe for some one to crystallize the facts of our industrial struggle into a sublime drama that will shock the great mass of the people into a realization of social conditions and an understanding of their causes just as "Uncle Tom's Cabin," crude as it was, stirred the Northern people before the Civil War. One thing, however, may be set down as definitely decided: The social play, the play grappling with social questions and setting forth ideas of social significance-this kind of play has come to stay. It can no longer be ridiculed or sneered out of existence. It is a vital, compelling fact in the dramatic life of our day. Its progress may be obstructed or hindered by antagonistic and ignorant forces, but this will be but temporary, for its ultimate dominance, both as drama and comedy, is only a matter of time and is as sure as social progress itself. WILLIAM MAILLY. New York City. THE NATIONAL SOCIALIST CONVENTION. BY CHARLOTTE TELLER. Socialism, the Socialist party and a Socialist convention are not one and the same thing, for while the first includes the second and third, and the second includes the third-the order cannot be reversed. Socialism is the reiterated demand of democracy for the control of all material things which will make democracy an abiding reality and make the development of the individual possible. There are to-day between nine and ten million men and women in its active organizations. In the various parliaments of Europe there are over four hundred Socialist representatives or deputies whose concerted thought and action give the movement its universal character. The Socialist party of the United States is a mechanism consciously used to hasten the Socialist movement. It differs from both of the old and established parties of this country not only in its open protest against the present industrial system, but in its form. It has a dues-paying membership of forty-two thousand; it has probably a million and a half adherents. If you join the Socialist party you make application to the local organization, and the first step is your signature to this paragraph on the application card: "I, the undersigned, recognizing the class struggle between the capitalist class and the working class, and the necessity of the working class constituting themselves into a political party, distinct from and opposed to all parties formed by the propertied classes, hereby declare that I have severed my relations with all other parties; that I endorse the platform and constitution of the Socialist Party and hereby apply for admission in said party." One might say that there was an educational qualification for membership in the Socialist party, and though the so-called "intellectual" is a skeleton in the closet of almost every Socialist local, the intellectual element is strong because it is demanded for entrance. To join the party you have to understand (or believe you understand) the (1) theory of the class struggle and (2) the materialistic conception of history, which in two words means (1) that the basis of Socialist philosophy is that belief in a struggle between the working and the privileged classes through all history; and means (2) that a man, groups of men and nations are influenced by the way in which they get their livelihood; that art, literature, religion even, spring from primarily or are fundamentally affected by the industrial processes in |