A Standard Theatre

IN this progressive age of ours, it seems, to a younger generation, hardly credible that the stage and all connected therewith lay very lately under a kind of social ban. Yet one need not be much declined into the vale of years to recall a time when, though the playhouse flourished precariously in large cities of the United States, many intelligent minds avoided it; while the players lived apart, and, in spite of Hamlet’s plea, were far from well bestowed. We have reformed that altogether with us, to-day. Even Puritan New England now finds no more offense in a good play than in a good novel. The theatre is a recognized place of resort in every small community, and the old unreasonable prejudice against it has died a natural death.

The permanent foothold thus gained so swiftly throughout the land indicates a national taste for the sympathetic art of acting; and the taste is, in fact, a strong one. We have proved ourselves so sensitive to the touch of nature which makes the whole world kin that no great foreign player considers his career complete without a renewal of his triumphs here. Moreover, though hampered by adverse conditions, we have produced more than one player of the first rank, whose name and fame are spread abroad. But two or three fixed stars do not make a firmament; nor does admiration of their incomparable beauty imply a knowledge of astronomy, or even a consciousness of one’s own ignorance. The fact remains that, while the popular taste has been demonstrated, its cultivation goes on but slowly. The fertile soil is unimproved. While, during the last twenty years, Music, Painting, and Sculpture have made a superb advance upon this side of the Atlantic, Acting, the youngest of the arts, still lags painfully behind her elder sisters.

The cause of this disproportionate growth is easily determined. Private enterprise, which in our republic nobly supplements the scanty allowance of government patronage, has bestowed upon us splendid museums, — treasure-houses constantly enriched by new bequests, with their attendant schools of instruction and traveling scholarships. The American art student, now made free of the best examples, has no one but himself to blame if he fails to profit by them; and that he improves these advantages was clearly shown at the Columbian Exhibition. In music our advantages are even greater, falling indeed little short of absolute perfection. New York has an opera house second to none, where the work of the great composers is interpreted with all possible completeness of detail by the best singers that the world affords ; and, through the generosity of a single citizen, Boston is endowed with an orchestra, justly famous. The public has attested in the heartiest way its appreciation of these gifts. Their success is proved beyond dispute. With them all, art stands precisely where it should. The commercial element, when the thought of it exists, holds but a secondary place; a desire to attain supreme excellence for the public benefit is the noble ambition that controls and guides them.

This true artistic spirit it is which governs the stage in France, and makes its reputation world-wide. There, the state grants annually large subsidies to certain Parisian theatres, upon condition that the masterpieces of literature shall alternate in performance with the reigning successes of the day. The value of such a system is inestimable and manifold. Thereby the public taste is quickened and cultivated through acquaintance with the classics, which grow familiar as household words. The modern author, writing for a trained audience capable of critical comparison, knows that his play will be judged upon its literary or dramatic merit; his spectators are by no means “ barren,” and to win their favor he must strive for vivid, truthful characterization, with accompanying graces of style. No cheap, theatrical device, no splendor of tinsel and lime-light, will serve his turn. Obeying Shakespeare’s injunctions to the letter, he may “ show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.” The greater his accomplishment upon these simple lines, the stronger is his assurance of success. He submits his manuscript to a management freed from the necessity of mere moneygetting, eager for good work and fully qualified to recognize it; one also having at its command a fine company, which, continually reinforced by prize-winners of the Conservatoire, is kept on the alert for new parts in comedy, tragedy, or poetic drama, as the case may be. A liberal treatment of the art, as an art, has resulted in those splendid organizations of the Théâtre Français and the Odéon, where even a succès d’estime is rare, and absolute failure an unheard-of thing. Every year the répertoire of these theatres is extended by new plays, worthy of the name, which hold the stage through all the changing seasons. The theatrical amateur, whatever his walk of life, becomes, in consequence, an enlightened being. Even the gallery gods grow keenly intelligent, and the public gain is incalculable.

Woefully different is the condition of things theatrical in the United States, where the stage is still a prey to private speculation. With us the successful manager is a shrewd business man, seeking personal profit, demanding from his author novelty, or the semblance of it, at any sacrifice. Too often he gives no evidence whatever of artistic impulse. But should such an impulse be his, he must smother it religiously, and adopt for his device the mournful text from Ovid : “ Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor.” Saddled with the fear of loss which may be his ruin, he can afford to run no risks, but, watching the foreign theatres closely, draws upon their resources for his experiments. If he ventures occasionally to revive an English masterpiece, this must be presented with an elaboration of detail which in itself shall prove a novelty, and so attract the town. The play is not the thing, but text and characters are slaughtered ruthlessly to suit his new setting or the limitations of his salary list. In short, he serves the time ; he does not even pretend to influence it. With him the question is purely one of business, not of art. His first thought must be to protect himself, and one can scarcely blame him for the defensive attitude into which he is driven by force of circumstances. But from every point of view except his own the result is deplorable. The public, lured by false fires, with no standard to guide it, with its traditions unguarded and forgotten, condones one fault after another and fails indiscrimination. The vicious “ star system,” hopelessly at variance with the principles of art, prevails, and is accepted meekly. The great French or Italian player comes before us with inadequate support which would not be tolerated in his own land. We study him at a disadvantage that is but imperfectly understood. With all its fondness for the theatre and its natural quickness of perception, the average American audience is certainly the least critical in the world.

The remedy for this defect and all the ills proceeding from it lies in the establishment of a standard theatre, on the broad basis of the Metropolitan Opera House or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, with sufficient capital to relieve it from the urgent necessity of moneymaking. So long as the theatre is liberally endowed and liberally managed, it matters not whether the capital be furnished by a syndicate, as in the case of the Opera House, or by one man’s gift, as the Boston Orchestra was founded ; nor does it matter for the general good what city shall undertake its foundation. The organized company would soon make a name for itself, and by playing supplementary engagements in other cities would set the standard far and wide. Opinions may differ as to the precise sum needed for such an enterprise ; but, surely, a theatre of the highest class might be carried on with a much smaller fund than that maintained by the New York Opera Syndicate for its famous singers, its important conductor, and its enormous corps of supernumeraries. The auxiliary course of instruction, which should be made a part of the system from the first, would undoubtedly pay its own way. Already New York has a dramatic school, directed by a man of strong artistic feeling, whose success proves that there would be no lack of recruits for a company devoted to the production of the best work in the best possible manner. With the endowed theatre once assured, the training-school must follow as the night the day.

Granting the possibility of such an endowment, the best method of employing it remains to be considered. The attempt made a few years ago to establish what was known as the Theatre of Arts and Letters is still fresh in all minds. Its capital was furnished by a number of small subscribers, and the management pledged itself to produce untried plays at stated intervals before the subscription audience, in a theatre hired for the occasion, with competent actors drawn from various well-known theatrical companies. Its general plan thus bore a close resemblance to that of M. Antoine’s Théâtre Libre in Paris. The limits and deficiencies of such a scheme were soon apparent. It was a trial theatre of occasional existence, and its performances, interesting as they were to the special audience, made no more impression upon the public at large than those of its Parisian prototype. Literary merit was desired, and was discernible in all the work accepted, but some of the plays produced, dramatic only in form, gave the entertainment an air of eccentricity which did not commend itself to the average theatre-goer. The fitful experiment was discontinued after one season, with no suggestion of its renewal. Its lines were narrow, and its failure, though regrettable, cannot reasonably be viewed in the light of a discouragement to an enterprise of wider scope. It was an intermittent theatre, at best; and so far as the written work is concerned, the result rather goes to prove that the theatrical art, like any other, has laws and limitations not to be disregarded, which confront the man of letters who would succeed as a dramatist. When he has kept these principles in view and has mastered them, literary skill is certainly no barrier to his success in Paris, where, in spite of M. Antoine’s withdrawal from the field, new plays of a very high order are brought forward every year at the subsidized theatres. Had we an endowed theatre which should compare with these in excellence, upholding the best work obtainable, whether new or old, it is safe to say that this would not languish for want of popular favor.

The one essential in the scheme of a standard theatre is that it should be broad enough to overcome any petty prejudice of the hour. No school of writers should govern it, but its list of modern authors should be as comprehensive as that of the Théâtre Français, where Dumas Fils and Catulle Mendcs stand side by side with François Coppée and Victor Hugo. In these matters, as in those of practical working detail, the long experience of the French Theatre might well serve as guide. Above all, as that theatre is the House of Molière, ours should be the House of Shakespeare, — not in a modern, mutilated acting version, but played with a full text, as Holière is played in Paris. There, the master’s work is presented with scenery entirely adequate, yet involving no long waits, and resolutely subordinated to the necessary question of the play, which moves swiftly from the first word to the last without curtailment. Corneille and Racine, always in readiness, are similarly treated. With these conditions in force, we might hope for a performance of Hamlet which should preserve the leading part intact, and should even go so far as to include the character of Fortinbras, whose acquaintance the theatre-goer is never permitted to make. One can imagine the effect of the Norwegian conqueror’s solemn entrance at the end, with “ the soldier’s music and the rites of war.” But as things go now, the play is shorn of that, and other abridgments lead to positive obscurity in its representation. This immortal tragedy holds our stage through the favor of some successful actor who makes its title part the touchstone of his inventive powers, warping it to suit himself, distorting all the other parts at pleasure. Many plays of Shakespeare, lending themselves less readily to these barbarisms, are shelved altogether, with those of his great contemporaries ; The Tempest, for instance, which has not been played these forty years. Marlowe’s “mighty line” is never spoken; Jonson and Massinger have become dead letters. The dramatists of the last century fare little better. Even the memories of Goldsmith and Sheridan, so long kept green, are slowly fading. We store up the richest dramatic literature in the world for special students ; the general public has no suspicion of its value.

The American painters, sculptors, and composers are rapidly coming to the front, stimulated to high endeavor by intelligent organized protection. Though the government is slow to extend its patronage, our rich men, fortunately, are anything but that, when their sympathies are once aroused; and their acceptance of duties unprescribed is a most hopeful sign of our civilization. Development in art is a slow matter compared with the building of a railroad, or even of a navy ; its growth is gradual, like that of a tree ; and, like a tree, it must be watched and tended before it will flourish. Those who are in a position to cultivate our unperfect garden have recognized the necessity in certain instances, and have risen to the occasion with glorious results. When the same care is applied to the theatre, the good work will tell in the same way. Our dramatists of reputation would eagerly contribute their support to an endowed management whose aim should be artistic excellence ; and younger men, who, under the present discouragements, turn all their skill into other channels, would soon be tempted to strive seriously for success on such a stage. The dramatic field is one of the broadest and finest in all literature. Why should it be left a desert waste, with rare oases, in this one land ?

It cannot be destined for all time to such neglect. The artistic spirit is stirred within us, and its influence widens, slowly but surely, among all sorts and conditions of men. Dally increasing attendance at our museums proves this ; so does our hearty appreciation of the best, when the best is attainable. We may grant, if we please, that the general public is an ass, and will as tenderly be led by the nose as asses are. The one thing needful is to lead it in the right direction. Sooner or later our slumbering intelligence will awaken to the need, and, either through one man’s bounty or through a combination of applied forces, the missing standard, without which we labor helplessly, will be set before us. We have the theatre sense, and, with that, the standard theatre is a thing inevitable. “ If it be not now, yet it will come : the readiness is all.”

T. R. Sullivan.