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A WORD WITH THE WOMEN
(By Ella W. Peattie)

For six weeks or more Mr. Paul Potters dramatization of "Trilby" has been running at Hooley's theater at Chicago, and has at every performance filled every seat in the house, and often crowded the standing room as well. No play put on the boards in the last decade has so won its way into the hearts of the people, just as no book within the same length of time has so fixed itself in the affections of the people as George Du Maurler's tale of the Latin Quartier. It is somewhat amusing to observe the class of people who throng the theater to witness this excellent performance of
a clever dramatization. They are of all classes in a way, to be sure, but the pre-
dominating element is of the sturdy, moral and punctilious middle class, who
have not the disregard for moral looseness which the richer in their ennui often possess, nor yet the indifference to social laws which the lower class sometimes adopts. Decidedly the audience at "Trilby" are composed of strictly moral
persons- persons who would, if asked, place the sanctity of the family above every other moral law, and who naturally, and by education, stand for respectability.

It is very evident that the pleadings of the preachers, the objections of the
stupid, and the animadversions of the envious have all alike failed to impress
the people with the idea that there can be anything vicious in a redeemed soul, or that it is social offense to climb on [?] stones of one's dead self to better things. Love which purifies, love which sacrifices, love which uplifts the spirit, though the sacrifice crushes the body, cannot but appeal to the human heart with eloquence. There is no gainsaying its appeal. The preachers, the dull and the envious may as well submit.

And, moreover, in the dramatization referred to, the moral is, as it properly should be, kept in its proper place, and not allowed to dominate and hide the mere charming narrative of the play. The dramatization is one of the best ever put on stage. It was done by a man who has had a good deal of experience in that line- by a man who knows the value of a period- a man who has studied many styles of literary work, and who understands as few do the strength of brevity. But in all his work he has never done anything that approaches "Trilby" for its power and beauty. It is a masterpiece of condensation. It humbly follows after Du Maurier, in only one or two instances taking any liberty whatever with the author, and in one of these cases committing an offense against art. This is in the manner in which Svengli's portrait is conveyed to Trilby. It will be remembered that in the book it came by mail, "somewhere out of the mysterious east," no one knew from whom or from where. This was impressive. potter has perceived that it was impressive, but as the need for hastening the action of the play prevented him from using the incident just as it was, he has the letter brought by one of the young Frenchmen, to whom
it was given in person by what appeared to be the ghost of Svengali. Now, a ghost will not down. It sticks in the throat, Only Andrew Lang believes in ghosts. We can believe in a mysterious thing for which there is absolutely no attempt at visibility. We can believe that a portrait may come from somewhere to somewhere without or knowing the exact means, and are fascinated by the hint of mystery. But when it comes to the ghost- well, ghosts, if you handle 'em are always made of your mother's linen sheets.

However, that's an incident. On the whole, the dramatization of "Trilby" is above criticism Svengali is the character of the play, of course, and Lackaye is tremendous in it. The whole caste is good, well balanced, perfectly selected physically speaking, and trained to a high degree. The play has moved harmoniously, and the people looked like the artist-authors own representations. Some day there will, perhaps, be a greater and more magnetic "Trilby"- one, maybe, who can sing the "Impromptu' for her swan song, and keep the eyes of the audience off Svengali. Now, that great hungry spider dominates the stage as the baron de Cheveral dominated "The Parisian Romance," with this difference, that Mansfield made le baron, whereas Svengali made Lackaye. The latter actor talks of starting next season, wherein he shows himself foolish. But that's his own affair, of course.

The public has tried in vain to vulgarize "Trilby." It has named almost every article of wearing apparel after that beautiful wash woman, it has called cold drinks after her, and even a yeast powder, not to mention articles of jewelry and canes. But it cannot succeed in making it cheap. And, indeed, after most persons have forgotten all about the book and the play, and the sweet ideal fo purity won out of a stain, the book, for purely artistic reasons, will hold its place of honor on the shelves of those who choose their books with discrimination. In short, the artists will remember "Trilby" after the common herd has forgotten it, and after the persons who cannot read that or any other book understandingly have ceased their weary and ignorant chatter.