A Physical Tramp.

Otago Witness, Issue 2497, 22 January 1902, Page 77

A Physical Tramp.

"Alan Dale" has recently been inter\ lowing M Sardou — whom he callo "a physical tramp — a dramatic giant" — at his home at Marly-le-Roi : — "Such a queer little old thing you ha\e never seen." wntes the American critic. "He was shnv piled and tiny. On his head ho wore a black velvet skull cap, from which streaky grey hair crept in long wisps. Around his neck was knotted a looae tilk handkerchief, and his clothes bagged everywhere. They looked as though nothing would ever have induced them to fit — ac though they would have hated to fit. They simply covered him dtcentlv. He sat, all huddled up in a chair, looking like Guspard in the 'Chimes of Noimandie,' or like the portraits of Sii Mosp= Montefioie But though his face was t-harp, and peiLy, and angular, he had a pair of the kindest, most penetrating, and most magnetic eyes that I Ikivp evci allowed to X raj me "There was an old tune touitc-y about him that was simply ciiaiinihg. He begged m<> to sit beside him in the canopy. All my frivolity war, stabbed to death When I fir-t Paw him I thought previously- of applying to hi:! skull cap that beautiful riddle, 'Why does the miller vvp.ir a white hat Ansvvei : 'To keep hi- head warm ' But I couldn't. I was ningneti K ed "N.udou talks with hit- hand". Half his rnnvcr-atioisal powers would he lc.-t if lie had an aim amputated. He staits wit li difficulty, but jnce en >oute you cannot dam .he ton em of his eloque-nco. 1 led him m' to calk about the pretentious 'psychological' drama of to-c'ay, which ll 11l 1 - so strenuously oppcoed to his own drama of action — Ins 'D-p'oTiary,' 'Patria.' 'Fedoia,' 'Theodora,' <T .! Ff-ca,' 'Gi^monda,' and othe:-: ' ri'.p psychologu al drpmn '" he p\d.iimrd o.i'-'-pptuoinly '1 havr> it m boner' It '« > 'otic! It is a fad ' It is •.n<,hhci\ ' Vi « .1; France vomit at n 1 Wo had Bioru-

sen here lately, and we simply laughed him out of Paiis. You believe in it in America and England? What do I care? What do America and England matter? Ha! Ha! Ha !' 1 "This was promising. I love to excite these Gallic gentlemen. By a few wily insinuations (couched m evil French) I wound him up. Br-r-r-r ! T'lan ! " 'How dare you call those dreary dissertations, those foggy, shady idiocies, psychological?' he asked. "How dare you do it 9 Psychology — you know Greek? — means the study of the soul of man. "Hamlet" is psychological. "Othello" is psychological. I The study of a great criminal is psychological. Sophocles was psychological. So were Moliere and Racine. The modern school is imbecile — imbecile — imbecile ! Ib- , sen is an imbecile. Do you want to know my opinion of Ibsen? He is a fool and an imbecile. I am very frank A good many people think as I do, but they are not so candid. I " 'The greatest psychological play ever written was "Macbeth." That is a study. That is magnificent. That is the real study ■ of the soul ' I "Sadou was all ablaze. He hardly knew that I was there. For 15 minutes he talked vividly against the snobbery of fads and hobbies, and it was hard work to 1 get him away from the subject. I did so by as'r ing him if he was interested in foreign productions of his plays, as, for instance. I the recent revival of 'Diplomacy' at the Empire in New York. I "He shrugged his shoulders. His shoul- | ders were made to shrug. They spend most i of their time shrugging themselves. 1 "'I am only mildly interested,' he said. I 'They 'end me the criticisms, and, as I , don't understand a word of English, I have I them tranolated. But these productions, ( made by actors of whom I know nothing, are not exciting. They rather annoy me. The plays are perhaps mine (and perhaps not), but they are changed, played as I probably never intended them to be played, and I rm not i*n touch with them. I prefer to see the actors, to coach them, and J to feel that they are inspired by Sardou. Otherwise — I can_'t bother.' I " 'And when Sir Henry Irving produced your "Robespierre" in London, did you see i U \ I "' 'No,' said Sardou quickly. 'No — no — no. I wrote it for him, but t was not so I foolish ac to see it. I have never been in I Englapd in my life, and I certainly shouldn't go to see an English actor attempt Robespierre. It is not in his temperament. It would be impossible. He has not the Latin chai acter. "'I follow the theatre in England,' he said, 'but I do not go there. I hate to be lionised, and it has already been -hinted to me that if I went to London I should be feted and wined and dined until my soul would revolt. If 1 oould travel in a mask I might go to England. I dislike to be pounced upon and slapped on the back by every Tom, Dick, and Harry. It is so irritating. Tenez ! One year my wife and I decided to go. to a little village near Nice — just for rest and qu.et. I needed it, and I particularly wanted to find a spot where recognition would be impossible. We went to this village, and when we got to the hotel I congratulated myself on my seclusion. Nobody knew me. My wife and I sat in our room, happy as a king and queen. I went to get a shave, still happy and comfortable. But no sooner was it over than the barber said to me, "And now, M. Sardou. don't you want your hair cut?"' "Sardou brought his hand down upon his knee and roared with laughter."