Things from the EMPIRE CITY

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XII, 22 September 1894, Page 272

Things from the EMPIRE CITY

BY

THE AUTOGRAFIC IDLER.

Church and Stage.

d A magnificent day was Sunday, and Sunday evening was in all respects glorious. After the conclusion of Divine service in the vari-

ous churches the people were seen trooping along in crowds, all tending, however, in one direction ; all wending their way to the Opera House, where Mr Walter Bentley was announced to deliver a lecture, commencing at 8 30, on * Church and Stage.’ Shortly before that hour entrance to any part of the house, except the platform, was impossible. Hundreds of persons were unable to obtain admission anywhere within it; even the capacious stage was crowded ; and when, precisely at the hour appointed, the light was turned full on, no one could desire a more cheerful, or, I may say, a more healthful and health-giving sight. The Opera House, as viewed from the front, when all its tiers of boxes and its capacious auditorium are crowded with occupants, is always pleasant to contemplate. On this occasion the audience was an unusual one, for church goers who don’t often go to theatres, and theatregoers who don’t often go to church, were there together. And when together they looked very like each other, and got on remarkably well. Sir Robert Stout was the chairman ; he announced that the lecture was for the benefit of the Hospital, and that on its conclusion a collection would be taken up in that behalf—and he then introduced Mr Bentley as an old and a personal friend. Ido not think that many of the enormous gathering present anticipated anything like the enjoyment, the instruction, and the literary treat, that Mr Bentley afforded. What one anticipated perhaps was a comparison between Chnrch and Stage—to the disadvantage of the former. The lecture turned out to be nothing of the kind. It was an extremely well put together and indeed artistic account of the relations between the Church and Stage, as they were, as they are, and as they might be, and ought to be. It came as a revelation to numbers present when they learned from Mr Bjntley, that the modern drama —instead of owing its parentage to the Greek drama, as is generally supposed—is a legacy left to dramatic act by the Church itself :it was the Scriptural plays of the early Christians that led, in due time, to the theatre. Indeed the Church, at first, resented the encroachment made by the theatres on its monopoly, and sought to have all dramatic performances, except their own, interdicted. Even to this day, were not a considerable portion of some Church services—and these not at all the most unimportant—dramatic? The lecture was a very lengthy one and was intensely enjoyed. It was of a thoroughly genial, kindly character ; and although freely interspersed with the most humorous anecdotes and sly hits at Presbyterianism as it used to be, could have been listened to and enjoyed by any Churchman whose views were extended wide enough to meet modern requirements. Scope was afforded by the subject for the introduction of some of Shakspeare’s finest efforts (such as the instruction to the players, from Hamlet; the Seven Ages of Man, etc , and these were given in Mr Bentley’s best manner. The elocution of the subject matter was perfect. Seldom, indeed, has a larger audience been seen in the Opera House—never before one so vastly entertained for so long a time. What a contrast between the lecture —the humour, the stories, the pathos of Bentley, and that of Talmage 1

The Agnostic.

The very last man, surely, whom one would expect to find thenoetin. or vetthe Agnostic.

cAprcL lu uuu me poevrn, or yectne Agnostic, is the master of a Mint. A coiner of sovereigns ought to have all the poetry that was in him—if there were any—taken out of him long before sundown on his first day’s acquaintance with thousands of golden tokens, and one can readi'y believe that the proper religions faith of such a man is to go round with rather a long face and a mufllad plate on Sunday. Nevertheless—this being the era of remarkable surprises—the master of the Melbourne Mint turns out to be a very excellent poet, and a gentleman who knows little or nothing as to the supernatural—and says so, honestly I Furthermore he con-

tends that it is the duty of people to think out for themselves all such momentous questions as creeds present to us, and to take no beliefs at second hand from parson or presbyter. And with this argument in view he has set out to write a poem on agnosticism which, as a poem, is a very creditable production—whatever be its demerits. The thing above all others which seems to excite his poetic sense of the unfitness of things generally, is the fact that the most pronounced believers in the existence of a futnre state and in the boundless happiness of a world to come, cling, with desperate tenacity to the pomp, power and wealth of the life that now is—and dread nothing so much as death. I myself have a perfect horror of this ghastly horror we call death, not because I am afraid of it. but because I’d like to remain where I am, bad as that place is, as long as possible, just to see, amongst other things, how Prohibition is going to work ; how the Seddon Government is going to go out; how the Bank of New Zealand became an out and-out State Bank ; how the railways got on when there weren’t Commissioners any more; how the farmers and cheap money got on together; how the land came back, gradually, into the occupation of the great miss of the people ! Bit you see lam an Agnostic—the next thing to a heathen—and I have never denied it—as, no doubt, it was proper I should have done ! Bat lam forgetting the Agnostic master of the Melbourne Mint. The sort of people he meets at that establishment (and elsewhere) haven't impressed him very favourably. He says the great bulk of hnmanity is :—

‘ A soulless, mercenary, selfish race. Scoffing at all things noble, true, and good, Barren of blessing now and hope to come ; Content to wallow in their brutish ways. Wrapt up in mean pursuits and narrow aims. And sneering down each grand, heroic throb By which the nobler manhood known of old Still strives to reassert its ancient reign.’ Mr Anderson—that is the Master of the Mint’s name—discusses a number of questions, besides the question of poor humanity ; questions such as the Atonement; the Trinity ; a system of rewards and punishments ; the immortality of the soul; and the resurrection of the body. The difficulties which would arise in gathering together the physical constituents of each human body at a general resurrection are set forth in the following lines :— ‘ Tn that mighty gathering who shall say To whom each particle of dust belongs ? Each having “ in its time played many parts ”; At one time scattered by the playful winds. Or at another by the ocean waves ; Sometimes an atom in a poet’s brain. Or in a hero’s arm, or lady’s eye. At others part of bird, or beast, or fish. Then back to man again, in ceaseless round ; Now in a bad man. therefore with him doomed To spend eternity in pains of hell; Then in a good man, and in him assured Of endless happiness in realms of bliss. But at one trumpet blast o’er all the world, Each atom must its many places take All simultaneously ! Could that be true ?’ However—Mr Anderson goes on coining sovereigns, weighing sovereigns, handing over sovereigns all the same ! We all would like to have them, and to have more and more of them—every one of us —church goers, bishops, parsons, everybody ! But it is pleasant to think that—as a sort of recreation—a master of a sordid Mint can write rather sublime poetry ! Hundreds of persons had to be turned away ‘The Silence . r J from the doors of the Opera House on the first of Dean presentation cf this psychological tragedy Maitland. i aa t even j n g e What it was that brought the people together in such immense numbers to witness, would

be difficult) to say. The story is well known ; but the general opinion seemed to be that it was hardly a suitable story to dramatise, and that being so, I must admit that I was somewhat astonished when I found that a seat could not be obtained in any part of the house. Through the extreme courtesy of Mr Manfred Rose, Mr Walter Bentley’s able manager and right-hand business man, this Graphic representative was soon able to realize the cause of the unusual excitement. Not the story of an author was it, but the realistic acting of an actor 1 Ido not, myself, think much of the story as a story. It is written by a woman, and has all the weak points that a story written by a woman invariably has—and perhaps must necessarily have. The play itself—written by aMr Wingfield (I don’t know who he is) for Mr Bentley—is not a well written play. The prologue, which is intended as a preface to clear up the mystery in anticipation, of a very improbable plot, doesn’t clear up the thing at all, but in fact leaves matters to unfold themselves as best they can. You or [ — especially the last mentioned—(l have no hesitation in saying) would write a far clearer and more artistic prologue, if Mr Bentley found any difficulty in getting on quite well with the one he has. It seems to suit every purpose anyhow—cavil we ever so I In the subsequent acts, no offence is given even to the very strictest religionists, for although one might anticipate some exaggeration, for dramatic effect, there is none. Even ministers of the Gospel are human—the several acts of the piece, when all put together, say no more. The Dean isn’t so much an unmitigated scoundrel as a weak, erring, cowardly man. He despises himself all along, more than anybody else does when his worst actions become known. It is needless to say that Mr Bentley was powerfully effective in hie portrayal of such a character. He looked exactly as he should look—he acted with consummate art and with sublime pathos. Many persons declared that Mr Bentley as Dean Maitland was the very finest display of dramatic ability ever seen on the Opera House stage. The audience were spellbound throughout, and went home deeply impressed with a wonderful performance. Although there are some twenty characters in * The Silence of Dean Maitland * there is nothing particular to say of any of them, except that they ably supported their chief throughout. Miss Ida Gresham is a young lady who is making considerable progress in her vocation, and I was snrry that she was not called before the curtain with Mr Bentley on that gentleman’s repeated ovations. The same remark might be made, also, with regard to Mr Boothman, Miss Kate Howarde, Miss Mildred Bolton, Miss Minnie Brandon and Mr Crossly, all of whom enacted their parts admirably. Mr Bentley’s season in Wellington, lam sorry to say, closes on Saturday. It has been all too short. As one of our best actors, and a truly genial, kindly, frank man, he has made friends in hosts, in Wellington as in all other places where he is known.