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Muhammad would never have dreamed of retailing these old world sagas and legends of rejected and persecuted apostles and prophets, but for their religious value in mitigatng his own sufferings at the hands of his persecutors, and in turning them from the worship of Al-LAt and Al-Ozza and Manat to the service of that One Eternal who begetteth not nor is begotten, like whom there is none.

Of all portions of the Books of Samuel it is agreed that the poetical pieces —the Song of Hannah (1 Sam. ii. 1-10), the version of the eighteenth Psalm 12 Sam. xxii.), and the last words of David (xxill. 1-7) are the latest. The elegies which David pronounced over Saul and Jonathan (2 Sam. i. 19-27), and over Abner (iii. 33, 34), are on all hands allowed to be authentic, and there is a lingering belief in the authenticity of parts at least of the Psalm; but the Song of Hannah and the last words of David have gone by the board.

This is a point upon which the Koran cannot give us any assistance, for although it ranges from the most Intense inspiration of poetry to the dullest prose, it contains no formal verses nor any poems corresponding in subject to those found in the Books of Samuel. In the old Arabian poetry, on the other hand, we find parallels in plenty. In the Arab elegies the two themes upon which the poets love to dwell are the warlike courage and the generosity of the fallen hero. It is the same with David's elegy for Saul and Jonathan, except that whereas for the Arab generosity takes the form of hospitality, with the Hebrew it shows Itself in the generous distribution of the spoil. In both the specially religious element, even in the early fanatical days of Islam, Is kept well in the background. At all the most strenuous turning points of life the Semite falls back upon Fate. The following lines are

taken from an elegy composed by a contemporary of Muhammad upon his brother:—

We were enriched by his goodness for

a space. Then she who strikes all men assailed

us. I know that the longest lived of men Is for an appointed time, of which the

furthest term is near. Death hath wrought ruin of life, and

there has come to his day One who was close to my side and

dear. If the world were for sale, I would

buy him back with It, Seeing that in him men's hearts rejoiced. By Allah, I will not forget him as loug

as the sun shines, And I can brandish a lance made from

a branch of arik.

The authenticity of Hannah's Song is denied on the somewhat contradictory grounds that there is nothing in it answering to Hannah's circumstances, and that an editor inserted it because v. 5 is really to the point. This takes for granted that we know what kind of song Hannah would have sung. We can know this only by comparing analogous cases, but the Old Testament otters no parallel. Hannah is in the precise position of a poet who has received largess from some exalted personage, and who out of gratitude composes a poem in his honor. An Arab poet in these circumstances does not recite a panegyric upon his patron. He composes a poem on any subject he pleases, generally upon a horse, or a she-camel, or a lion, putting his best workmanship into it, and presents it as a beautiful work of art for the acceptance of his patron. The ode which Kaab ibu Zuhalr recited before Muhammad, when seeking his protection, contains a minute, almost anatomical, description of his own she-camel, and another of a Hon. We cannot therefore tell what the subject matter of Hannah's song would have been, but its "execution" would have been the best she was capable of. In that respect the simple verses tradition has handed down are beyond criticism.

Considerations, such as the foregoing, appear to point to the conclusion that the theory of dual or triple authorship does not afford us an adequate explanation of the difficulties with which we meet In the historical parts of the Old Testament That it is to European scholars a satisfactory and convincing solution is due to the scientific and philosophical discipline in which they are trained. If we turn to such a purely Semitic literary product as the Koran, we find the- same phenomena as beset us in the Hebrew, and, to a less degree, in the Christian Scriptures. Yet the Koran is the rock upon which higher criticism goes to pieces. To apply to it the theory of double sources is out of the question. It is hard to get behind a text, the words of which are extant, engraved

The Contemporary Review.

upon nearly contemporary coins. With all its self-contradictions and inconsistencies, its flights from the loftiest poetry to the tamest prose, It had but one author—Muhammad. Of the early Hebrews, it is true, no coins exist, and, but for one or two inscriptions, we have nothing to go upon beyond the national tradition. The inscriptions and the tradition, however, are in agreement, and tradition with the Hebrew and the Arab is a more reliable source of knowledge than are written documents with us. As Professor Strack observes in the new edition of Genesis: Nations, like Individuals, remember their earliest years best. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that a study of the Koran would suggest that Instead of splitting up the books of the Bible into innumerable sources, we would be nearer the mark if we supposed, for example, that the first three books of the New Testament were from a single hand.

T. H. Weir.


In his Shakespeare and the Modern Stage Mr. Sidney Lee has dealt in a trenchant style with the elaborate scenic production of Shakespeare's plays which is the fashion of the day. He gives many reasons why scenic display should not be too elaborate, among them the practical one that the cost of such productions is so excessive that two or three pieces could be mounted for the same cost as one. That Is a matter which need hardly be discussed, for presumably managers know their own business and do not spend money on their productions unless they have good reason to expect it will be returned to them with profit. The chief practical objection, apart

from artistic grounds, against the elaborate productions of to-day, is that the initial expense demands a long run before the manager can be recouped, and long runs do not make for the best achievement of the actor's art. Unfortunately, Shakespeare is not the only sufferer from this state of things, and long runs are not always the result of an expensive production. While the theatre Is a commercial speculation, the manager will naturally attempt to squeeze every penny piece he can out of his commodities. The plays themselves suffer. Mr. J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan is an instance. It is now in its third year, and, we may assume, will gradually take its place as a dramatic perennial. It has not been Improved In its subsequent growths. The acting has not improved, and all kinds of tasteless "business'' have been grafted on to the original stock. The problem of long runs is very difficult to solve. It is all very well to say that an artistic manager should withdraw a play after a reasonable number of performances, which would be determined both by public demand and the players' Interest in their work; but London Is Bo large that, If a play be really successful. It may run for a year without having exhausted its audience. Mr. Pinero's Bis House in Order is a case in point, for that play Is not of the type which people desire to see many times, so that every audience is practically a fresh audience. Nor can it be said that Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who is the arch-priest of elaborate Shakespearian productions, keeps any one play on his stage for an exceptionally long run. Whether he changes them for financial reasons or other I do not know, but a year's history of work at His Majesty's shows sufficient variety. Much Ado about Nothing, The Tempest, Business is Business, Colonel Newcome and Antony and Cleopatra, besides a Shakespeare week In the summer, is not a bad record for one theatre, and compares favorably with any stage but that of the Court Theatre. The practical side of theatre management is beset with so many difficulties that we had best not touch upon them. The complication of the problem by the magnificence of scenery, upholstery, and costumes supposed to be demanded by modern audiences does not apply to Shakespeare only. It will be more to the purpose to examine the modern decoration of Shakespeare, and scenic elaboration in general, entirely from the artistic standpoint.

There are two opposed views which


call for some consideration. Mr. H. Beerbohm Tree, in a lecture to the members of the Salon, thus expressed the faith that Is in him:

I take it that the entire business ot the stage is—Illusion. To gain this end, all means are fair. The same is sometimes said of love and war, though I Incline to dismiss this declaration as an ethical fallacy. Illusion, then, Is the first and last word of the stage: all that aids illusion Is good, all that destroys Illusion is bad. This simple law governs us—or should govern us. In that compound of all the arts which Is the art of the modern theatre, the sweet grace of restraint is of course necessary, and the scenic embellishments should not overwhelm the dramatic Interest, or the balance is upset—the Illusion is gone!

These be wise words, but It will be noted they contain a very drastic modification of the blessings of "scenic embellishments."

Mr. Sidney Lee, whose opinions may be taken as representing those of the bulk of literary admirers of Shakespeare, bewails the fact that the imag- inatlon of modern audiences is so weak that they cannot create the environment of Shakespeare's dramas for themselves, as audiences did In the poet's day. But Mr. Lee is in favor of adequate scenery. He is not of Mr. Beerbohm Tree's "certain pedants"' who "apparently imagine that Shakespeare should be presented on the stage of the twentieth century in the same manner and with the same limitations, as were necessarily observed on the stage of the Globe Theatre In the sixteenth century." The general question of the place of scenery in drama is complicated, however, by the loose construction of Shakespeare's plays. Mr. Beerbohm Tree has quoted the chorus which precedes Henry the Fifth in support of his contention that Shakespeare did not consider the

limited scenic conditions of his own day "as perennial and eternal":

But pardou, gentles all, The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring

forth So great an object: Can this cockpit

hold The vasty fields of France? or may we

cram Within this wooden O, the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt? O, pardon! since a crooked figure may Attest, in little place, a million; And let us, ciphers to this great ac

compt, On your imaginary forces work: Suppose, within the girdle of these

walls Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting

fronts The perilous, narrow ocean parts

asunder. Piece out our imperfection with your

thoughts; into a thousand parts divide one man. And make imaginary puissance: Think, when we talk of horses, that

you see them Printing their proud hoofs 1' the receiving earth: For 'tis your thoughts that now must

deck our kings, Carry them here and there; jumping

o'er times; Turning the accomplishment of many

years into an hour-glass.

Mr. Tree sees in this a prophetic vision and justification of His Majesty's Theatre. Mr. Sidney Lee, on the other hand, considers the lines

a spirited appeal to his audience not to waste regrets on defects of stage machinery, but to bring to the observation of his piece their highest powers of imagination, whereby alone can full justice be done to a majestic theme. The central topic of the choric speech is the essential limitations of all scenic appliances. The dramatist reminds us that the literal presenta

tion of life itself, in all its movement and action, lies outside the range of the stage, especially the movement and action of life in its most glorious manifestations.

if Shakespeare meant that as an aesthetic theory the less Shakespeare he. A poet who knows that "the literal presentation of life itself . . . lies outside the range of the stage" and yet attempts that presentation, and excuses it in a prologue, merely shows that he has not thought about the theory .of drama. And, indeed, the greater part of the speech is a lame excuse for the disregard of dramatic unities which makes Shakespeare's plays so difficult to present on any stage without emphasizing their chaos of construction. We really must not account this chaotic chronicling of incidents as a virtue, or even as a magnificent lapse which can be made good by the imagination of an audience. This free-and-easy marshalling of incidents in Shakespeare is a weakness and a sign of drama in a low state of development.

in this respect many of his works are mere chronicle-plays, however magnificent they may be in the higher sense of drama: in their truth to human nature, their presentment of character, and their gorgeous verse. At the same time, although no modern scenic art can amend an essential breach of unities, Mr. Tree is partly right in considering this speech as evidence that Shakespeare could imagine a better setting for his play than the Globe Theatre was able to give him. "into a thousand parts divide one man" plainly cries out for the multitudinous supers of His Majesty's Theatre. Possibly, too, Shakespeare would have liked to see his horses "printing their proud hoofs 1' the receiving earth," nor would he have objected to his king being decked in more dazzling apparel than the thoughts of his audience could supply. In this limited sense the speech is on the side of Mr. Beerbohm Tree. Not all the spectacular Ingenuity In the world could, however, make two kingdoms of the "unworthy scaffold" of the stage. Moreover, if any argument against elaborate scenic productions of Shakespeare were required it is to be found in the very construction of his plays.


We must honestly accept this chaotic presentment of the stories Shakespeare has to tell. We need not pretend, in blind admiration of our great poet, that this chaos is a virtue, or anything more than the natural outcome of theatrical conditions of the poet's period. But it exists in his plays, and no modern manager can artistically pass it over. It should be stated at once, too, that chaotic as the conduct of the dramas may be, the sudden changes of scene, the "jumping o'er times" and the "turning the accomplishment of many years into an hour-glass," are an organic part of them. These cannot be cut out without injuring the main drama and destroying many necessary considerations. The modern manager has to eliminate some of these scenes or to incorporate them with others. The only alternative is the production of Shakespeare's plays as far as possible in the conditions of their original performances.

That our public would not accept them In that guise Is not evidence that the popular imagination is less strong than it was in Shakespeare's time. The audience of Shakespeare's day had to exercise rather less imagination than is required for the appreciation of notion. It is a question of custom. We are accustomed to scenery, and we miss it when it is absent. Moreover, a drama does gain by Its scenic environment. The difficulty the manager has to face In mounting Shakespeare Is

twofold: in the first place he must arrange his settings so that the least possible delay is caused by the change of scene; and, secondly, he should not allow the drama to be obscured by giving too much prominence to its embellishments. The first difficulty used to be overcome by a convenient compromise. By the employment of front scenes the action could pass almost as continuously as in the days of Shakespeare, and the only considerable waits were after each act. Mr. Beerbohm Tree has made an innovation even from Sir Henry Irvlng's method of producing Shakespeare. At His Majesty's Theatre there is never a front scene in the old sense. The less important scenes are set with an elaboration which certainly makes it necessary to limit their number as much as possible, both on the score of expense and of time. The consequence is that Shakespeare has to undergo even more reshaping than used to be the case.

The recent revival of Antony ami Cleopatra is, of course, a glaring example. It is one of Shakespeare's most chaotic plays, and it is difficult to imagine what an Elizabethan audience made of the continual changing of the action from Egypt to Rome and back. I do not believe that the average Elizabethan troubled his mind about it. He was too intent on the characters and the verse, and he was accustomed to take a large fund of make-believe with him to the theatre. The arrangement made for Mr. Tree was very skilful in many ways, but it could not escape certain anomalies, which were made more patent from the fact that at least two scenes had to be omitted at the last moment This would not have been necessary had the system of front scenes been followed, and had much valuable time not been frittered away in unnecessary illustrations of the text.

It must be confessed that Mr. Tree's grangerlsms of Shakespeare are often

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