by this time. But there's no use arguin' with her; she's Dutch, and they're always a pig-headed lot. Got two other boys too, but she don't seem to take no 'count o' them, but any one of them 'd make two o' Karl. He was kind o' queer in the head an' wrote some stuff in a book with verses 'bout the creeks an' the clearin's an' the pastures an' the woods--jest common sort o'things; never 'mounted to much, an' nobody 'round here took any stock in 'em."

The traveler made no reply, but across the rhythm of the dead boy's remembered songs there came to him the words of that other clear-visioned one "A prophet hath no honor in his own country."

I.

NLY a few weeks ago I read in a leading journal the following paragraph, which prefaced an interesting account of Mr. Henry Irving's notable performance of Alfred Jingle:

pages

Mr. Pickwick and his companion have never enjoyed on the stage anything like their popularity in the of Dickens. This is true of all the creations of the great novelist which have been transferred to the footlights, though some of them have been more fortunate than their kindred whose sufferings caused Dickens to spend one evening at the theatre groaning on the floor more descriptive than dramatic, and that when they are withdrawn from the countless sidelights of witty comment and whimsical suggestion which play upon them in the text, they are apt to lose much of their vitality. This may explain the disappointment which has attended most of the attempts to dramatize Dickens.

of his box. The truth is that these characters are often

Statements similar to this have been printed so often that they have become commonplaces. Yet they are, perhaps, literally exact. Dickens, on the stage, is far different from the great novelist in his books. The plays suggested by his books give but a faint idea of the strength and genius of that fluent and delightful author-not less delightful to-day than he was thirty years ago, even if certain eminent writers of our time seem disposed to think otherwise. Nevertheless,

66

it should be remembered that what is a fact with Dickens is a fact with nearly all novelists. The best novels do not make the best plays; on the contrary, the best novels have, usually, made the worst plays. Even when the author of a thoroughly fine story happens to be his own dramatist, his own adapter," he is almost certain to blunder and spoil his work. The rule is, however, that the adapter of the great novelist shall be decidedly not a great dramatist: and who but the great have right to adjust great work to new conditions of art? It is not, therefore, surprising that novels of fresh power and originality should lose much of these delightful qualities when transferred to the stage-should, indeed, prove to be mere carpenterings or travesties. We have seen Jane Eyre," "Guy Mannering," Vanity Fair," "Tom Jones,' 99 66 Clarissa Harlowe," and how many others I cannot count, on the stage: but we ought to be glad to forget that we have seen them there.

66

66

It is not, therefore, proper nor critical to speak of Dickens as an exception to a rule which is well nigh general. And, after all has been said, who has fared better than Dickens, among the English novelists of the present or of the previous century, on the stage? Few of his novels have not been transferred, in one form or

another, to the theatre. Many of those which have been thus transferred lacked neither success nor a kind of distinction. For more than a quarter of a century Dickens has provided the playgoers of two countries-involuntarily, I admit-with some of their most agreeable and cordially relished entertainment. He may have been burlesqued, ill-used, misinterpreted, by dramatists, but a little of the true Dickens, the Dickens whom everyone might be expected to love, has surely found its way into the brightest plays drawn from his novels. Granting, then, that the stage has not been just to Dickens, that the pieces built upon his novels are 66 'disappointments," that his novels were clearly prepared outside of stage restriction, and are descriptive rather than dramatic, the fact remains that no other novelist has been more popular or more interesting on the stage than he. And, by way of emphasizing the importance of his contributions to the stage, I may add that few novelists have offered as rare and extraordinary opportunities to the actor. Many of the famous actors of the last half-century are identified with at least one of his characters; scores of brilliant and beautiful performances are identified with his name. Finally, whatever may be thought or written of Dickens in relation to the stage, it is positive that the stage retains an affectionate and permanent regard for its Dickens.

In the circumstances-taking into consideration all these facts, together with the quality of his genius, his temperament, his tastes-it is not hazardous to assert that Dickens might have been a great dramatist. That is to say, he might have subjected his genius to the discipline of the stage. If he failed to do this, if he failed to make arduous effort to rank as a dramatist, the reason is, undoubtedly, that he was forced, in spite of himself, to follow the bent of his age, to pursue the smooth road to success. His age was that of the novel, not of the drama. But the potentiality of a dramatist was just as much a part of him as his over-flowing fancy. His stories were not, above all, dramatic: but there was a great deal of drama in them. He had the gift of characterization in the loftiest degree, and I can imagine readily that, writing as a

dramatist, he would have added some immortal figures to the stage. As it is, many of his characters, even though deprived of the humorous or explanatory commentary which is enjoyed with so much zest in his novels, are strikingly individual on the stage. There are persons, without doubt, whose acquaintance with Bill Sikes, Nancy, Fagin, Jingle, Sam Weller, the Artful Dodger, Cap'n Cuttle, Bunsby, and twenty others, has been acquired wholly in the theatre; and yet I am sure that their impressions of these personages are vital and lasting.

Although Dickens did not write much for the stage--the few pieces that he did write are hardly worthy of remembrance--he showed in other ways his practical sympathy with the theatre. He was devoted to the welfare of the stage; he was never happier than when watching a good play, and was an astute critic of the drama. His criticisms, though short, are marked by singular honesty and pungency; and their value has been attested repeatedly. Then he was a stage-manager of exceptional skill-patient, tactful, unerring. The amateur theatricals which were given under his management had, as everyone knows, an artistic significance that amateur theatricals seldom have. He was also an actor of talent, and it was felt by his contemporaries that he might have gained reputation on the boards. In many of his speeches he spoke of the stage with the tenderest respect and with frank ardor, and his letters are often filled with comments on plays and actors. In fact, here was a man who was apparently born to add dignity to the theatre- who had, unquestionably, a genius, a skill, a business sense, which should have made him a conspicuous figure of the drama; yet it was only against his own will and judgment that his work found a place on the stage.

Dickens' criticisms, as I have said, were marked by singular honesty and pungency.

They were also marked by rare independence. Those tiresome conventionalisms which hamper most criticism, which make it perfunctory and absurdly cock-sure, were unknown to him. spoke his thought straight from his mind and heart. Who has forgotten his bold and just tribute to Charles

He

Fechter-an actor, by the way, who gave a powerful impersonation of Dick ens' Obenreizer? Here is what Dickens wrote of Fechter's Hamlet, and it is good reading at this late day: "Perhaps no innovation in art was ever accepted with so much favor by so many intelligent persons, pre-committed to, and preoccupied by, another system, as Fechter's Hamlet. I take this to have been the case (as it unquestionably was in London), not because of its picturesqueness, not because of its novelty, not because of its many scattered beauties, but because of its perfect consistency with itself. Its great and satisfying originality was in its possessing the merit of a distinctly conceived and executed idea. Fechter's Hamlet, a pale, woe-begone Norseman, with long flaxen hair, wearing a strange garb, never associated with the part on the English stage (if ever seen there at all), and making a piratical swoop upon the whole fleet of little theatrical prescriptions without meaning, or like Dr. Johnson's celebrated friend, with only one idea in them, and that a wrong one, never could have achieved its extraordinary success but for its animation by one pervading purpose, to which all changes were made intelligently subservient."

Another little touch of Dickens, as a dramatic critic, demonstrating that knowledge of stage-sense which he is supposed to have lacked, is found in this note to John Forster: "I have been cautioning Fechter about the play whereof he gave the plot and scenes to B; and out of which I have struck some enormities, my account of which will (I think) amuse you. It has one of the best first acts I ever saw; but if he can do much with the last two, not to say three, there are resources in his art that I know nothing about. When I went over the play this day week, he was at least twenty minutes in a boat, in the last scene, discussing with another gentleman (also in the boat), whether he should kill him or not; after which the gentleman dived over and swam for it. Also, in the most important and dangerous parts of the play, there was a young person by the name of Pickles who was constantly being mentioned by name, in conjunction with the powers of light or

darkness; as, 'Great Heavens! Pickles?' By Hell, 't is Pickles!' 'Pickles? a thousand devils!' 'Distraction, Pickles?'"

So much for Dickens as a critic. As an actor, his favorite characters were Captain Bobadil in Ben Jonson's comedy "Every Man in His Humour,” Flexible in Mr. Kenney's farce, "Love, Law and Physic," Justice Shallow in Shakespeare's "Merry Wives of Windsor," Lord Wilmot in "Not So Bad as We Seem," Mr. Gablewig in "Mr. Nightin gale's Diary," Richard Wardour in Wilkie Collins' play, "The Frozen Deep," and Sir Charles Coldstream in "Used Up." That strong novel, “A Tale of Two Cities," was suggested to Dickens by Mr. Collins' drama, and he was eager to get a play out of it. He was even ambitious to perform the character of Sydney Carton. A dramatization of "A Tale of Two Cities" was made by Tom Taylor, but was unsuccessful. Other dramatizations of it have also been made; and it is well known that a recent and romantic drama, "All For Her," is based upon one of its main incidents.

Mrs. Cowden Clarke is warm in her praise of Dickens' acting. But I venture to quote from another critic who, if not so enthusiastic as Mrs. Clarke, is possibly more judicious: "To say that his acting was amateurish is to depreciate it in the view of a professional actor, but it is not necessarily to disparage it. No one who heard the public readings from his own books which Mr. Dickens subsequently gave with so much success, needs to be told what rare natural qualifications for the task he possessed. Fine features, and a striking presence, with a voice of great flexibility, were added to a perfect mastery over the sense of his author, because that author was himself. were a certain ease and handiness which the practice of the art as a profession might have brought to him, he at least escaped the tyranny of those conventionalisms which the best actors (at least of our own time) have not been able to resist. Mr. Dickens's actingcertainly his serious acting-might have failed in a large theatre, just as a picture painted by Creswick or Cooke would have been ineffective if used as a scene

If there