struggling of souls in the net of circumstance.

Madame Nazimova illuminates the play with flashes of genius, that divine quality which is at once so recognizable and yet so indescribable. From the moment that she enters, free and unrestrained, the personification of youth, with alpenstock in hand, greeting Solness with a confident, expectant smile, her passionate, longing soul in her eyes, both a wise and a wild thing, we see in her Solness' Fate, that younger generation which is at the same time to inspire and ruin him. All the indefinable charm of the adolescence of youth is there, with the mystic personality that drapes her like a veil. She is that which appeals to the physical and spiritual in Solness, emblematic of the ideals which come too late for him to

realize. Such a performance is baffling in its analysis but clear as crystal, and arrived at by methods of which Madame Nazimova has shown herself a master.

A thoroughly capable company, particularly Mr. Walter Hampden in the difficult character of Solness, was in complete accord with Madame Nazimova and made the entire production a highly satisfactory one.

"The Master Builder" is almost purely an intellectual performance and one reflecting soul processes which are profoundly moving. It is a drama of motives which are rendered translucent by the interpretation of a dynamic dialogue rich in that superb artistry of which Ibsen was such a consummate WILLIAM MAILLY.

master.

New York City.

R

ICHARD MANSFIELD has gone. A host of admirers mourned his loss deeply and sincerely. The most praised and the most criticized of actors he undoubtedly was. Hence it is difficult for us to determine precisely his true rank. Mr. William Winter said he was a genius and our leading actor. Mr. Daniel Frohman stated: "I am not confident that posterity will remember him as a great genius in his art." "To call him a genius would be easy, is tempting, but would probably be inaccurate, asserts the Brooklyn Eagle. The New York American said: "Whether Richard Mansfield was the greatest American actor or was no actor at all will never be settled as long as human beings remain subject to differences of opinion. But no one can doubt that Mansfield was a genius." Mr. Harrison Grey Fiske said: "It cannot be said that the sacred fire flamed in his soul." In the New York Evening Post we saw this statement: "Mr. Mansfield, although an intelligent, original, attractive and popular performer, was not, except in a rather narrow range of eccentric parts, a great or even a remarkable actor." The New York Times said: "Richard Mansfield was for many years greatest actor." Alan Dale said he was our "worst actor." Thus we have a maze of conflicting opinions, but, from a study of Mansfield's acting, we will try to reach some definite, reasonable conclusion as to what he really was. Being human he had faults, both as man and actor. On his personal weaknesses we need not dwell at length. They are irrelevant in judging his position as an actor. His egotism, his eccentricities, his tempestuous temper did not affect the exercise of his powers.

our

Cæsar, even in his prime, had numerous faults; still he was a man of marvelous abilities: one of the colossal towers of antiquity. Of despicable habits, of unscrupulous character, Napoleon was, nevertheless, one of the most wonderful men of all time. Pitt's faults were many, chief among them being his excessive vanity. His power as an orator existed, however, in spite of his defects. Edwin Forrest's greatness as an actor was conceded despite his erratic ways and his jealousy of Macready. Some of the stories about Mansfield's irritability are true. Frequently he flared up in uncontrollable anger. He was at one time sued for assault. Often he harangued his audiences. Human nature is ever prone, though, to make a mountain out of an ant-hill. For one true incident related, a hundred false ones have been told. Notwithstanding his foibles, attributable chiefly to his high-strung temperament, he had many warm personal friends. Of very generous impulses, he performed many deeds of kindness, unasked for and unsought. Devoted to his wife, Mrs. Beatrice Cameron Mansfield, he led a pure home life. She, likewise, was strongly attached to him.

Eliminating, therefore, much consideration of his personal habits in a discussion of his merits as an actor, we come to his defects as such. They were glaring, consisting (1) of exasperating mannerisms of voice; (2) of lack of versatility; and (3) of the want of true humor.

(1) His mannerisms of voice-a choppy and indistinct utterance-were manifest mostly in the quiet, calm scenes of his plays, never in the big scenes when all his feelings were thoroughly aroused.

But, ofttimes, during the rest of the entire play, line after line was spoiled by his tyrannous mannerisms. Whether one was in the orchestra, or stood in the topmost part of the gallery, or sat in the balcony, the result was the same: his defects produced an unpleasing effect. Many times one was unable to distinguish some of his words. Clear elocution is certainly the crucial point in acting. If an audience does not hear an actor's lines, no matter what the intellectual or spiritual powers of the actor may be, it will go away dissatisfied. It is not contended that Mansfield's voice was not good: no other actor on our stage has a voice as rich and powerful as was his. The obnoxious elocutionary faults, the wrong use of his voice, were condemnable.

(2) Some critics have considered Mansfield as a very versatile actor. This he was not. Playing a dozen or more parts does not necessarily make an actor versatile. Almost all the parts Mansfield portrayed were Mansfield parts -parts especially suitable for his peculiar personality. Eccentric character parts, volcanic and also even repulsive, were the ones he took great delight in drawing. To this To this narrow sphere he practically confined himself. He could not play Hamlet or Romeo, being temperamentally unfit for them. He did play Brutus but failed to make a success of it. And his acting in "Don Calros" failed to interest the audience until almost eleven o'clock when generally people leave the theater. Then, indeed, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, he suddenly electrified his audience with his denunciation speech. But that was all: the rest of the play was dull. His "Ivan the Terrible" was one mass of vivid externals and failed to produce a tragic effect.

(3) His humor was ever of the same kind, not gay or cheerful, but sardonic and biting. What humor there was in "Peer Gynt," "A Parisian Romance," and in fact, in all the plays in his recent

repertoires, was bitter and satiric and seemed just to fit his idiosyncrasies..

For the above reasons, stated concisely as possible, many critics expressed the opinion that Mansfield was not a great actor. And, outside of a discussion of certain parts of his acting, we must coincide in this judgment. However, if his acting was not great and rather limited, why was it that ever and anon in his big scenes he enkindled a tremendous and unrestrained enthusiasm in his audiences? If his mannerisms repelled, something must have attracted. What was it?

Sarah Bernhardt is a great actress. There was always, however, even in her plays, one scene in which she overwhelmed her hearers. In Sardou's "La Sorciere," the newest play she presented in New York, she created a wonderful effect by her terrible, astonishingly forceful denunciation of the Inquisition. Most of all in the ghost scene in "Macbeth" does Robert Mantell arouse his auditors. In the heated argument in the second act in "The Duel" Otis Skinner rose to a lofty height. David Warfield in his new play "A Grand Army Man" has one emotional scene in the second act which presents the chance to profoundly affect and inspire his audience. So with Mansfield's performances: the big scenes only as acted by him well-nigh overawed us. Thus they remain imprinted indelibly on our minds while the slight impression made by the rest of the play is afterwards eradicated. No sincere critic will deny that in his massive scenes, shaking off his mannerisms, breaking loose from his vagaries, Mansfield rose to heights of matchless, incomparable power. Those flashes of some irresistible force were, indisputably, the salient features of his acting. And what was that power?

At those times Mansfield's voice shone forth in all its glory. Expressive eyes and features are helpful; the makeup is essential; the scenery is the background; but the voice is the chief means an actor

est passions. If so, then let us endeavor to ascertain whether his greatest strength was the strength of talent or genius. That is: Did those moments show he was really inspired? Did he then reveal the divine fire of genius i

After a life of mad aspiration, of foolish striving, Peer Gynt comes back to his native land. In the throes of ghastly ruin he is querulous and irascible Still he is repentant; his heart is touched. Eventually he finds himself near the hut of Solveig, the sweetheart of his young manhood days. He staggers to the hut when she appears in the doorway. Dropping on the ground beside her, burying his shaggy head in her lap, he cries out his sins. In her he finds true forgiveness. There he finds himself with God's imprint on his brow. There in her faith, in her hope, in her love, he

finds his true self. There in her he finds what we all so fondly and fervently pray for, God's blessing. Throughout this last act we saw Mansfield describing strong passions with great power. He cringed in terror; he writhed in agony; in great horror of mind he shrieked aloud with a penitent spirit; his outcry pealed through the air, impressing every

mind, piercing every heart and carrying conviction of the truth we know so well but forget so often: that love is the one solace of human life. As Mr. Winter Winter has said of Mansfield's acting in this long play: "At the close the actor, out of his own nature and because he could not help it, struck a true note."

"Don Carlos" proved a complicated