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"LES ROIS"
A Play, in four acts, by M. JULES LEMAITRE.
Produced at Daly's Theatre, on July 2nd, 1894.
Indomitable as well as irresistible, Madame Bernhardt produced on July 2nd, a play new to London, the second piece that day given to the stage by a well-known dramatic critic. The previous week had been a six days' struggle with exhausting emotional parts. From the paroxysms of jealousy, anguish, despair, and horror which makes La Tosca one long spasm of pain, the great actress had glided into the tears and tenderness of morbid mawkish Marguerite aux Camelias and thence to the piteous throes of the inhuman madness and unavailing remorse of "Phedre." In each and all her hand has proved as true and firm as ever. Over none had she spared her strength or that store of fierce intensity which seems well-nigh inexhaustible. Yet in the new play her acting was distinguished by all its sterling brilliance and variety, and practically to her efforts alone was due the warm reception of a mediocre piece.
In "Les Rois," M. Jules Lemaitre has set in a political framework somewhat ordinary intrigue not innocent of melodrama. On the face of it his drama is up-to-date. We have reigning sovereigns as much attached as Charles I. to the dangerous doctrine of divine right, with sons infected with the modern spirit. One is a Socialist, and he would trust King Mob implicitly. The other would shuffle off his princely coil because his tastes are vicious, and steal from the glare of that fierce light which beats upon a throne the better to indulge them. Socialism, Anarchism, Abdication, Revolution, all are in the air, and as the play progresses, so closely does it tread upon the heels of certain sad happenings in imperial circles, so oddly does the political situation give shape to current fears, that an uneasy sense of assisting at tragical realities, of turning to stage account historical events, prevails. But pierce the surface, get at the heart of the play, and we are at once as remote from 1900, the period of the piece, as Queen Eleanor, King Henry, and Fair Rosamund.
The old King temporarily resigns his throne of Alfanie to Hermann, his Fabian son, who becomes regent, and promptly gives Demos its unruly head. To his consort, the queenly Wilhemine, he turns a deaf ear when troubles threaten, reserving his confidence for Frida de Thalberg, a Nihilist, who has been placed as lady-in-waiting at the Court, to further the murderous schemes of an implacable Anarchist virago. This deep-laid scheme, however, "gangs agley," because Frida and the Prince fall deeply in love. Indeed so serious is the attachment that, when at her Rosamund bower, in which her royal lover has secluded her, this fair conspirator receives orders from the Anarchical Council to "remove" the Prince, she disobeys the dread commands. More, she wildly declares her love and bends all her arts and charms to lure him to safety with her, in a distant land. He is yielding to her passionate appeal when his wife enters, overhears, snatches up a revolver, attempts to shoot the girl, and kills her husband. With this death of Hermann and the suicide of Frida, the way is open for sternly repressive measure's, which the old king executes upon his turbulent people, and the Princess, drawn to the sovereign by her consistent defence of the monarchy, is proclaimed Regent for her infant son.
From the point of view of what the play furnishes for Madame Bernhardt, which is really the only standpoint of importance, there are two good moments. The Queen Eleanor scene in the shooting box and the recital of the tragedy to the aged King are little gems of emotional acting for which alone the drama may be borne. Beyond this, however, there is little of interest. Either the minor players cannot lend to their parts the personal interest which attaches to everything Madame Bernhardt does, or the characters and intrigue in themselves are dull. I incline to think it is a mixture of both. But on this point no great emphasis need be laid. The one thing to remember is that a little of Madame Bernhardt at her best is worth sitting through whole acts of dulness for, and that in "Les Rois," if only for some all too few minutes, we do get her so, quite at her simplest, queenliest, her womanliest, her best.
The Theatre - August 1894.
