any rate, unfolded, and rated for the thing it might become, rather than for what it actually was, and expectation awaited its revelation.

What is Forbes-Robertson now? In what way have these expectations been fulfilled?

This actor, whose charm, in the absence of genius, lay in the relief he afforded from the languid insipidities who fool the present stage, has himself become inert, affected, stagnant. The easy fashion of artificiality numbers him among the most passive of its slaves. The Castle of Indolence keeps whatever talent he may once have possessed, a willing prisoner within its well-oiled gates.

Even the significance of his outward characteristics has undergone a noticeable change. It is not asceticism now which he suggests, but its modern rival-æstheticism. The brows are no longer bent intently, but are lifted now with an affected yearning. The abstraction of the hollow eyes is the absorption of self-contemplation. The indrawn cheeks serve but to pout the carefully-posed lips. The head hangs on the feeble neck in languid selfabandonment; the limbs droop stiffly; and the hips yield inwards as the body poses on one side or the other. In short, the awkwardness of bearing, which once appeared the result of nervous tension, for the sake of which so much was excused, has now degenerated into the ludicrous angularity of W. S. Gilbert's "Greenery, Yallery, Grosvenor-Gallery, Foot-in-the-grave young man."

Nor is this the only change to be deplored. The voice, the sonorous voice, whose very tones were so musical that inflection, rhythm, and meaning were forgotten in them-what has become of it? Has the actor become ashamed of its manly tones, and does he now wilfully affect the effeminate falsetto which seems indeed the fit accompaniment to the new-fangled folly of his bearing? Or has continuous misuse taken its revenge, and so this affected shadow is all that now remains? It is certainly true that Forbes-Robertson has many a time abused the cunning instrument of nature which, if left to nature, would have served him so well. It is certainly true that, many and many a time, when his want of inflectional variety resulted, as it constantly does, in a flat monotone, he has attempted to heighten the emotion by forcing his voice into a rawcous hoarseness which must have been dangerous to the speaker, as well as painful to the listener. Failings of elocution cannot be atoned for by the misuse of voice. The fact should be so clear as to need no mention; yet actors constantly ignore it, and seek to make up for the lack of natural diction by the forcible abuse of voice-production. Forbes-Robertson has not been guiltless of this folly even in the days of his best efforts, but now it would appear as if the natural tone, once so fine, had left his voice for ever, for it is heard no longer on the stage. Instead of the deep bass, once so sonorous, he now speaks in a light, high tone, obviously artificial, incapable of any emotional power or tenderness, incapable even of comedy crispness, and so thin in quality that every inflectional incompetence is painfully apparent. And these elocutionary errors are but too frequent. Again and again is a fine passage ruined by the excess of accent or the absence of it, for he vacillates between the two extremes, important passages being over-accented, and unimportant ones so unimportantly delivered that they appear devoid of sense. Again and again is the same inflection repeated,

until the repetition becomes like a jangling burden with which the memory teases the weary brain. Again and again is the emotion of a passage belied, because the elocution is inadequate to express it, the inflections used being rendered doubly common-place by their association in our memories with the more ordinary passages in which they have been previously employed. These errors, combined with the artificiality of the high, strained voice, have gradually sapped from his performances all the intensity which was once their characteristic. It is as if the limp humours of æstheticism had affected everything about him. Not only is his bearing ever contorted into the dangling stiffness of this passing craze, not only is his voice attuned to its strained, unnatural inertia, but also his conceptions have lost what share they had of manly vigour, and have assumed the sickly complexion of the selfwrapt. At no time did he possess the power of realising a character different to his own. The Profligate and the noble Duke of Buckingham, the Baron Scarpia, and the sarcastic hero of "Money," were all akin, all alike out of the common run of men by reason of a bearing not only unconventional, but uneasy. There was about them all-even the courtier Buckingham, even the Italian Scarpia, even the society Profligate-the nervous awkwardness and slightly-forced self-possession (denoting self-consciousness), which was appropriate only to the poor secretary, and not even then to Evelyn as Lytton has drawn him, but to the typical dependent whom he in no way resembles. There was about them all that same excessive " empressement" of manner, that same over-amiability of smile, so strangely out of character with the caustic sharpness of the face, which always suggest the fawning of the poor dependent, and which were completely out of place in either character. They lacked the coolness which should have been remarkable in them all; they lacked the easy unselfconscious fascination which is so important for them all; above all, they lacked the alert decision of intellect which all should have, and which Scarpia and Evelyn, at least, cannot be played without. They lacked, in short, their chief characteristics, because the actor who portrayed them was, by his uncomfortable manner, his unready attitude, and his indecisive mode of speech, and monotony of inflection, debarred from the possession of these qualities, and marked with a peculiarity akin to nothing but himself. Much that is eccentric has, we know, a charm of its own, and, especially when united to a self-assertive manner, can often compel from the unthinking the amazed fanaticism which it audaciously claims as its due. Forbes-Robertson's self-consciousness, however, appears to lack the coolness of this audacity. He seems uneasy under scrutiny, although he takes no step to avoid it. His face suggests a certain sharpness of character, which his smile and manner studiously belie, being suggestive of an anxiety to please, an over-eager desire to conciliate, which jar upon one's ideas of self-respect, and arouse the suspicion of fawning. This suggestion is, of all others, the most disastrous in any sympathetic character, and even in the case of villains, such as Scarpia, it is fatal, because it takes from them the importance of their intellectual power, and lowers them to the level of creeping humbleness, in their hypocrisy.

Nevertheless, in the old days, in spite of all these intellectual failings, the bursts of intensity which stress of emotion never failed to call from him enabled him to keep the sympathy of his audiences, who paused not to ques

tion whether such an outburst suited the character impersonated, or whether it was but an oft-repeated accomplishment which the actor seized the occasion to display, but greeted the rush of vigorous exertion with the fellowfeeling which anything suggestive of genuine effort never fails to arouse.

Now, however, these outbursts of energetic emotion are heard no more. The thin, strained voice would be incapable of uttering them, and if forced into any exertion would undoubtedly give evidence of the over-strain by utter collapse. The unreadiness of manner is more artificial than before. It was awkwardness; it is now affectation. The fawning smile and conciliatory humbleness are now more frequently employed, and are converted into the suggestion of direct hypocrisy by the assumption of an artless boyishness which is painfully at war with the blasé character of the face, and of the voice and manner when the actor is off his guard.

Among the many faults of his Romeo, this affected artlessness and fawning courtesy were perhaps the most repellent, for, being so obviously assumed, they cast a sinister double-dealing upon a character which should be frank and natural before all things. The love scenes with Juliet, so far from exhibiting the impassioned earnestness which was expected, had the toadying humbleness of a flatterer, anxious to batten on the vanity of a patron. Romeo's similes are charged with all the extravagance of enthusiastic youth, and must be spoken with the frank manliness which is so truly moved to passion that it does not realise the exaggeration of its speech. ForbesRobertson aped the artless boy so much that passion seemed impossible to such a youth, and carried no conviction, and yet so obviously was this artlessness assumed and with so false a fawning were the love-speeches delivered, that the impression conveyed was that the speaker was himself aware of their extravagance, which he adopted for a purpose. In the same way, this same note of forced artlessness and conciliation took all the natural courtesy from Romeo, and made of him a creature who aped the demeanour of his betters, and aped it badly. The heroism and the sweet enthusiastic honour of Romeo were alike belied. Nor did the actor succeed better as Joseph Surface. One might have fancied that the eagerness to be as others would have him be would have been well expressed in this character. It was not so. Joseph's hypocrisy is made of robuster stuff. He is sanctimonious, but he never fawns; he rather lectures those about him. He takes the tone of moral superiority. The humbleness of Forbes-Robertson in the part would, one felt, have jarred at once upon Sir Peter Teazle's self-respect. It is impossible in a gentleman, and must at once have been despised by gentlemen. Such a Joseph would neither fascinate nor deceive. He must have been detected.

Still more marked are all these faults in the actor's latest rôle—that of Hamlet. The air of fawning is peculiarly offensive. It is apparent in Hamlet's attitude towards his uncle-his father's murderer-before whom he stands with bent head and humble gesture. It develops into a low-bred familiarity with all around him, which reeks of the good comradeship of the bottle, rather than the gentle courtesy of a prince of the blood-royal. From beginning to end of the play the actor is never in his part. When he would be meditative, he is mechanical. When he would be deeply moved, he is argumentative and shallow. When he would be sarcastic, he is apish. His elocution fails him constantly, because there is no meaning in his in

flections, which become a mere gymnastic display, without significance. His voice is not at his command. His gestures are vague and freakish. The dignity of the part evaporates in the constant appeal which the actor seems to make to the audience, at whom he speaks his words, with a curious air of apologetic surprise, as if he himself were astonished at the lines he utters, and wished to disclaim all personal responsibility in them. But why write more of a performance that was grossly inaccurate as to text and feebly inadequate as to conception ?

That an actor, not of the first order, cannot get beyond the limits of his own immediate personality, one can easily understand, and therefore one is not surprised at much of Forbes-Robertson's incompetency. But why does he wilfully fling away his natural gifts? Has the fashionable ennui, which so many modern actors vilify nature to assume, gradually enmeshed him and sucked his manhood from him? Ennui, indeed, would seem to have stamped him for its own. Its expression is set upon his face, and belies his every attempt at the impersonation of youth and vigour. Even this does not altogether account for the histrionic paralysis which his Hamlet betrays. Its cause must lie in that dread disease which the false system of the actormanager so fatally engenders-the disease of personal vanity.

AGNES PLATT.

THE SOCIAL EVIL PROBLEM.

I.

THE most important consideration in dealing with this problem is that of the physical health of the race. Morality is not a thing pertaining only to the mind. Ill-health is physical immorality.

The ingrained hypocrisy, which is one of the most serious defects of the English and Scotch character, in the lower and middle classes of life leads numbers of people to ignore facts and accept sentimental fallacies as satisfactory explanations of matters, which, if looked at squarely, could be much ameliorated, or even entirely prevented.

Because a man, in employing his right of freedom of action in private matters, should avoid scandalising his neighbours is no reason why he should secretly indulge in filthy vices, and, that he may the more easily indulge these, protest against preventative measures being taken against the spread of deadly and insidious disease among the young and inexperienced.

The habitual hypocrisy of English people is shown in perfectly innocent affairs. It is a fact that in the smaller towns of this country the respectable classes will not patronise their local theatre; but they will travel to a larger commercial centre, a few miles off, and go to the theatre there; while the way in which they support chapels and go to them on Sundays solely for the sake of appearances is too notorious a fact to need comment. No Frenchman would be so mean-spirited.

Then again the extreme callousness exhibited by the lower and middle-class Englishmen in the matter of the seduction of young girls is exemplified throughout the country; alike in towns and villages. Cases such as the following, which is a fact, occur almost daily throughout the kingdom. A shop girl employed in a Midland town makes the acquaintance of an agent in advance of a theatrical company; he walks her out two or three evenings, and ends by deflowering her in a field at night. He leaves the town. She is none the worse until in course of nature she is discovered in the family ( 304 )