German secretaries of embassy, former German attachés, come to pour into his receptive ear their several disillusions. They are a melancholy procession, these whilom diplomatists, for Emperor William has told them to seek other careers and their faces are long and their tales dolorous. Gottlieb von Jagow has his smile for them. The flower at his buttonhole is not fresher than his face. Everyone departs soothed and sustained. It is a much reduced diplomatic corps that assembles for his afternoon receptions; but Jagow is serene, confident. His instinctive politeness is reflected in every phrase of the most positive despatch. His twenty years in the diplomatic service have left him a master of its forms. His physique, none the less, reflects the delicacy of constitution that barred him from the military career. He is frail. The ordeal of a long reception visibly fatigues him. Since he left Rome for Berlin the pallor of his countenance sionists. He halts in ecstasy before a Recreation in the ordinary sense seems denied him, his constitution never having been sufficiently robust. His four years as ambassador in Italy built him up wonderfully, according to the Giornale, which saw him go with real regret. Never was a diner out, at least in the German diplomatic corps, so abstemious. Gottlieb von Jagow diets himself with care and his principal exercize is walking. Like von Bülow, he takes an occasional fancy to animal pets, but he is not followed everywhere by a little dog after the fashion of the former imperial chancellor. Jagow takes to flowers, to music, to poetry and to pictures. He is too good a courtier to run counter to Emperor William's well-known taste in art. For that reason, it is hinted with some malice, one never finds the foreign minister at an exhibition of the seces There is another view of Jagow as regards his taste in art, and a writer in the Tribuna sees in him a fine example of German culture at its best. Had he not sprung from a long line of Prussian Junkers, he might, thanks to his abilities, have become an artist of distinction or at any rate a brilliant student of the arts. COUNT TISZA: THE HUNGARIAN PREMIER WHO HAS BE- O FFICIALLY the Puritanical prestige when the Hungarian bank culiar trick of clenching his fists be- and strong-willed Count Stephan Tisza, as the Vienna Fremdenblatt calls him, is but the Hungarian Premier. In actual fact, as all European dailies seem to agree, he is now the real ruler of Austria-Hungary. Baron de Burian himself is but an instrument in the hands of the greater leader in Budapest. Erroneous as it may be to affirm that Count Stephan Tisza is working for peace, that he sustains relations by no means friendly with Emperor William- statements which Berlin organs denounce as English mendacities-the chancelleries of the allies persist in believing that he aims at a speedy end of the war. Paris papers tend more and more to trace to him the revival of rumor concerning that peace which the London Times scouts as preposterous. If, however, peace be his aim, Count Tisza, say the well-informed newspapers, can impose it even upon the Hohenzollern. He is stronger than Emperor William, says the Figaro, perhaps the strongest man in Europe to-day. He has become the hope of the peacemakers. In that sentence his position just now is summed up not only in the Paris press but in that of Britain. Nevertheless, if we may credit a writer in the London Post, Tisza is not loved in Hungary, even by his followers. He imposes himself upon Hungary and through Hungary upon Austria, by the exercize of an indomitable will to power, a conviction that come what may his policy shall prevail. How completely Count Tisza has recovered from the blow sustained by his For an explanation of the pugnacity of Count Stephan Tisza, Vienna dailies refer us to the turbulence of the Hungarian chamber over which he and his illustrious father presided in turn. The Hungarian premier, we read, has a pe fore an audience. He shakes his fore- He has inherited the tallness and the His regular features, with that austere cast of countenance which rendered him an ideal incarnation of the nobler Puritan type. The dignified simplicity of his life is in harmony with his singularly impressive appearance, and altho he is the owner of great estates, he lives like a poor country gentleman. only sister married Baron Bela Radvansky, guardian of the Hungarian crown, while his two brothers, like himself, inherited the title of Count from a brother of the great Koloman, who himself had no title of the kind. Stephan differs markedly from the other Tiszas in being through and through an energetic being, thinks the Neue Freie Presse, an embodiment of will-power which makes him scorn the more genial arts of the demagog. In this important detail he is the antithesis of his father, who was sweet, fascinating, a charmer. Count Stephan Tisza never charmed; but our contemporary credits him with a rare magnetism, none the less. There is the latent fierceness of the tiger in him, denoted by the flash of the glittering steely eye and the restless pacing to and fro in debate. He can never be at a standstill while talking. He lacks repose. His moods of excitement infect all who come into his presence while they last. Not a day passes without a reverent study of his Bible, which is his inseparable companion. His essential trait, will-power, is denounced as obstinacy by his enemies in Hungarian politics. One must see. him in the course of a political campaign, says the Vienna daily, to comprehend his extraordinary ascendancy Over the Magyars, upon whom he forced an acceptance of the dual principle when the union between Budapest and the Austrian throne seemed ready to expire. For this idea of dualism he stands, despite rumors arising from the peril into which the war seems to have driven Hungary. What he decides, as London organs agree, the Magyars will do. As the son of a Hungarian nobleman and an heir to great estates, Stephan Tisza not only attended the university in Budapest but was sent to complete his studies in Berlin and Heidelberg. An idea that he might prove a genius in finance led to his assumption of the directorship of the Hungarian company that collapsed during the crisis in oil. He was already a deputy and prominent as a liberal when the misfortune overtook him, a misfortune responsible for a complete change in his disposition. That, if we may follow the Figaro, caused the transformation of a character which, originally gay and lambent, was soured by unjust suspicion, by calumny and by a series of the grossest frauds for which a clique of predatory adventurers must be held responsible. Tisza was completely vin con dicated by a close scrutiny of every transaction, and he sacrificed a siderable fortune in making good the losses of his friends. The experience made him distrustful, reticent, perhaps misanthropic. He is in the prime of life, but already he looks an old man, we read, because the lines about his eyes are so numerous and the expression of the countenance is so stern, tense and abstract. Tisza is most human when he retires into one of his country estates, says the Paris paper. The large landed possessions of the Tiszas enable him to gratify his passion for the cultivation of fruit and flowers. He sprays his trees with loving care, plucking the fruit himself in season and superintending the harvest of his crops like a farmer. Here he reveals himself completely as a Hungarian nobleman of ancient lineage, loving the soil of his native land and the traditions of the Magyars, who, to him, are the flower of the Caucasian race. Hungary, her history, her economic resources, her poets and her painters, are so much the themes of his study and discourse as to gain him universal acceptance as the highest living authority on the subject. His favorite fiction is that of Maurice Jokai, who was an intimate friend of his father's. His library is rich in the writing of the British authors, too, for Count Tisza speaks English with felicity and the nicest idiomatic familiarity. His quotation of Shakespeare is often a finely effective feature of his oratory in the chamber, but for the most part his allusions are from the Hungarian poets. Poetry is a sensitive point with him. He insists that Hungary has produced the greatest epic in literature since Homer. The neglect of Hungarian literature by the world. in general mystifies Tisza greatly. His abstemiousness goes well, a writer in London Truth thinks, with his Puritanical attitude to life. For a man who takes such long walks and rides in the country, he is a very light eater. "THE SHOW SHOP"-JAMES FORBES' COMEDY OF HUMAN NATURE BEHIND THE SCENES P RACTICALLY every stagesecret is exposed in James Forbes' new comedy, "The Show Shop," now packing the Hudson Theater. Every trick of that "strange trade" of acting is ridiculed. But the comedy is a success not because of these divulgences but because of James Forbes' cleverness in exhibiting the genuine human nature of those whose business it is, as Francis Hackett notes in The New Republic, to play on human nature “in front." The folk who gain their living in the "show shop" are as human and as humble as the rest of us. This certainly is no new theme; but seldom has it been so cleverly, so humorously, and so poignantly brought out as in this comedy. The dialog is in the idiom of the Broadway stage. Each character is completely realized, both in the author's conception and in the hands of an excellent cast; and if the author dispels most of our illusions concerning the theater and the people of the theater, if he has torn aside the asbestos fire-proof curtain, so to speak, he has not failed to reveal to us the warm humanity behind the scenes. He shows us first the office of Max Rosenbaum, a theatrical manager. Rosenbaum is producing a new play with the characteristic title "The Wallop." It is a very poor play. The stage manager Tompkins, Sadie the stenographer, even "Rosie" himself, have no illusions about that. But "Rosie," who has made money catering to the needs of the tired business man, is now anxious to establish a "legitimate" reputation. Rehearsals are not progressing. Tompkins informs him that the leading woman has stopped rehearsing, and that the part of a young New York clubman is still vacant. for an actor, and Tompkins, the stage to get your teeth in. (She hands script engagement. When Mrs. Dean-who had given up MRS. DEAN. Will we come into New ROSENBAUM. Worse plays have. BETTY. I'd just as soon. MRS. DEAN. Well, if Betty feels so ROSENBAUM. Well, before I engage her, It develops that Bettina Dean, an Mary Turner in the eighth "Within The Law" company on the road, has an appointment with Rosenbaum that morning. Jerry Belden, an "idle rich. young man," is in love with Betty. Mrs. Dean, a typical stage mother, objects to the attachment, since her mind is set upon making her daughter a star on Broadway. Once Betty's name shines in the electric lights, the girl may think of marriage; but not before. Belden calls upon Rosenbaum to use every effort to prevent his engaging Miss Dean. He is mistaken MRS. DEAN. If you give Betty a mo- ROSENBAUM. Sure-take this speech. are. This speech isn't bad, but I'll see that it's rewritten to give you something BETTY. What's it about? MRS. DEAN. Never mind what's it about. When you read it, just fix your thoughts on something sad. BETTY. I'll think of poor, dear Jerry. MRS. DEAN. Yes. Now, about the clothes. Four acts - that means four dresses. BETTY. How will we get them? MRS. DEAN. (Puts script on desk.) We've got to get them. I'll make 'em. BETTY. (Rises.) Oh, mother, I'm so tired of seeing you work yourself to death for me. I'm ashamed of going around dressed like this, and you so dingy. You just wait, my dear, until you make your (Embracing her.) big success, then watch mother flounder around in the lap of luxury. MRS. DEAN. BETTY. But we needn't wait. I could give you everything you wanted if you'd let me marry Jerry. MRS. DEAN. Now, Betty, you've known Jerry only two months. We won't discuss that infatuation again. BETTY. And he says I'm the love of his life. It's not infatuation-it's love. MRS. DEAN. (Turning to Betty.) It sounded convincing when your father said it. Oh Betty, I've nothing against Jerry; but when I was your age I was swept off my feet just like this. I don't want you to make my mistake. All I ask of you is to wait until you've had a taste of sucThen if you want to give it upthat will be a horse of another color. Now where's that speech. (Gets part from table.) See, Betty, tears in your voice there-look wistfully here, make your lips quiver-trick it— cess. BETTY. (Throws part on table.) Oh, I'm sick of the tricks of the trade. I don't want to act. MRS. DEAN. If you felt all this about the stage, why didn't you tell me? You knew I was only living for the day to see you take a curtain call on Broadway. Living only for that one thrill of mother's: pride. I've never forced you to do anything you didn't want to do, and I won't now. You're free to make your choice. BETTY. (Turning to her mother.) I'm not free to make my choice. (Throws arms around her.) I love you-you know I do! No girl ever had a better mother. Do you think I want to disappoint you? But I love Jerry too. What can I do? (Enter Rosenbaum.) ROSENBAUM. Well, are you ready? Are you set? MRS. DEAN. Why-Mr. RosenbaumI-(Betty turns, looks at her mother, gets the part.) James Forbes shows a phase of life on the great white way with which few are familiar-the all-night rehearsal that usually precedes the opening BETTY. (Reads.) "I've been lonely too, Mr. Craig, lonelier than you for you've had your son, and for years I've had no one who really belonged to me. I've tried to forget the loneliness with the thought that some day this wandering would be over, that some day I'd have a home, a husband, and now you want to take the man I love away from me." (She breaks down, sits in chair, throws part on table. Mrs. Dean moves to her.) ROSENBAUM. (Jumps up, claps hands.) Great! Great! You've got the sob stuff all right. Here's your contract-one hundred and fifty dollars! (He holds out pen to Betty. She is crying. Mrs. Dean looks at her. Rosenbaum looks at them.) Aren't you going to sign it? MRS. DEAN. Why, I don't know. ROSENBAUM. Here you are, Miss Dean(Betty looks at her mother, who is watching her with tears in her eyes. Betty braces up, walks across to chair, sits and takes pen. Mrs. Dean gives sigh of relief, goes to table, gets part.) The Deans proceed immediately to the rehearsal, and Jerry Belden, coming into the office, attempts to influence the astute manager to make Bettina Dean give up the stage. The first act concludes in this fashion: JERRY. We could have been married if you hadn't given her this engagement. I wanted her to give up the stage. Betty is willing, but Mrs. Dean won't hear of it until Betty's had her chance in New York. We've promised to wait. Now what do you take to fire her? ROSENBAUM. What good will that do? JERRY. We can get married. Don't you see no other New York manager wants her. My ROSENBAUM. (Turning front.) God, have I got a lemon and a lion tamer? JERRY. Oh, Betty can act all right. ROSENBAUM. Oh, can she? Well, you can get a wife anywhere, but where'll I get a leading woman? JERRY. You've never been crazy about a girl. ROSENBAUM. Worse than that. I've married them-three of them. One was a leading woman, one was a heavy woman, and one was an ingenue - she was the business woman-she gets alimony. JERRY. No use appealing to you for sympathy. You're soured on married life. night of the new play. ROSENBAUM. Not at all. You've got my sympathy. I know what it is-these ingenues do get you. JERRY. This one has got me, you bet. ROSENBAUM. Honest, if I'd known, I'd have been tempted to help you. (He pauses as if struck with an idea.) Look here, have you ever acted? JERRY. I fluffed around in college plays. ROSENBAUM. Why don't you take this part of the man about town? I'll give you thirty dollars a week. JERRY. That won't be necessary. ROSENBAUM. Well, come on and take it. (Grabs Jerry's arm.) JERRY. (Laughs.) I couldn't act. ROSENBAUM. Anybody can act. You'd be in the company with Miss Dean, see her every day, dance a tango with her every night. JERRY. I couldn't go on the stage. My friends would josh the life out of me. (Mrs. Dean enters, followed by Betty.) MRS. DEAN. Mr. Rosenbaum, that man Tompkins is simply impossible. (Sees Jerry.) What are you doing here? JERRY. I came to buy Betty's contract. JERRY. I don't want her to go on the road. I hate traveling. MRS. DEAN. It's too bad about you. It isn't necessary for you to travel. JERRY. Oh, yes, it is. I've got to see Betty. MRS. DEAN. Do you think I'd allow you to trapse around the country after my daughter? Travel on the same train, stop ing to have Betty compromized by the atat the same hotel. Do you think I'm gotentions of an idle rich young man? JERRY. Compromized? That's so. (To Rosenbaum.) Say, what do you do to go on the stage? ROSENBAUM. Just go. "The Wallop" comes to an ignominious end in Punxutawney, six weeks later. Mr. Rosenbaum has come over to break the sad news to the members of the company. After the performance, Betty and Jerry, with Effie and Johnny Brinkley, discuss the matter in the parlor of the "Palace City Hotel." The Brinkleys are typical of the theater-neither husband nor wife has made much progress in the profes sion, not because of any lack of talent, but because they had sacrificed opportunities in order to remain together. Rosenbaum has brought a bagful of plays to read on the train. And Jerry, still determined to win Betty, and realizing that she is further away from Broadway than ever, offers Rosenbaum $5,000 if he will star Betty in a "surefire failure" and produce it on Broadway. He is confident that when Mrs. Dean realizes that her daughter has demonstrated her inability to draw New York audiences, she will give her consent to the marriage of Betty. Rosenbaum has no objection to the plan, and an amusing scene ensues in which Belden and "Rosie" pick out a play in which to star Miss Dean. "I don't believe I know how to pick a failure," declares the manager. They spread the manuscripts out on the table. Jerry holds his hands over his eyes and "Eeeny-meenygropes among them. miney-mo," he solemnly chants, picking up one of the plays as he says "mo." "By Jiminy!" cries Rosenbaum, "it's as good a way to pick 'em as any!" The play is "A Drop of Poison." It has all the requisites of a sure-fire failure. The last act of the play takes place eight years before the opening of the first (memories of "Innocent"!). Rosenbaum sends for Mrs. Dean to make his spurious offer. Assured that her daughter will really star on Broadway, she is favorably impressed, but insists upon changes in the play. MRS. DEAN. The title should include the name of the star part. Dora Chapman! Let me see! Of course, being the heroine, she's in trouble. I've got it! "Dora's Dilemma." ROSENBAUM. What's a Dilemma? MRS. DEAN. Another name for trouble. ROSENBAUM. That's a great title for any play. MRS. DEAN. Is Mr. Tompkins going to stage the piece? ROSENBAUM. Under your direction. You might as well do it first as last. on? MRS. DEAN. We'll do it together. ROSENBAUM. Then the deal's (Rises, reaches his hand to her across table.) MRS. DEAN. Wait a minute- (Rosenbaum sits again.) Of course Betty will have the usual privilege of a woman star-no actress younger than herself in the company. ROSENBAUM. Certainly. MRS. DEAN. No member of the supporting cast to be mentioned in the newspapers. Of course, if one of them should die, we couldn't prevent a slight obit uary. ROSENBAUM. Anything else? Patricia thousand dollars for me anyway. (Enter Betty.) BETTY. Mother, what are you doing? Aren't you ever coming to bed? MRS. DEAN. Oh, Betty, dear, the most wonderful news. You're going to be a star! BETTY. AM I? MRS. DEAN. But, darling, aren't you excited? BETTY. (Sits in rocking-chair.) No, I'm sleepy. Who's going to star me? ROSENBAUM. Me BETTY. I thought we were going with Belasco? MRS. DEAN. When you can go with Mr. Rosenbaum? The idea! (Rosie smiles conceitedly.) BETTY. It's all the same to me. MRS. DEAN. You're going to have everything you want. BETTY. Oh, am I? Will I have my say-so about who's in the company? ROSENBAUM. Certainly -certainly. BETTY. Then I want Effie and Johnny. MRS. DEAN. (Looks at Rosie-he nods assent.) If there's a place for them. BETTY. I'll make one and I want Jerry. MRS. DEAN. (Same business.) Of course - if there's a very small bit. BETTY. No bits, he's going to play the leads. (Mrs. Dean and Rosie are paralyzed.) (Recover MRS. DEAN. ing.) Do you want to handicap your career? (Turning to Betty.) BETTY. If any other man makes love to me on the stage it handicaps me in real life with Jerry. MRS. DEAN. Betty, listen to reason. (To Rosenbaum.) This isn't like my little girl. BETTY. Your little girl's enough like you to put her foot down and put it down hard. You want me to star and I want to marry Jerry. He is either going to be my MRS. DEAN. Yes the salary. (Puts leading man or my husband, and you can script on table.) ROSENBAUM. I'm listening. MRS. DEAN. Three hundred dollars a week, all dresses, and fifty-one per cent. of the profits-the real profits. I'll look over the accounts myself; and remember, Mr. Rosenbaum, I won a prize at school for arithmetic. ROSENBAUM. Anything else, before you are out of breath? MRS. DEAN. Yes, before I sign the contract I'll expect you to pay for the services of a lawyer to look it over, to see that you're not robbing me. ROSENBAUM. My, what a head for a Christian! MRS. DEAN. (Rising. Rosenbaum also rises.) How fortunate for you that we've met we'll make a lot of money for take your choice. ROSENBAUM. Mrs. Dean, come here a moment. BETTY. You two needn't try to put up any schemes. ROSENBAUM. Why not let him play it? MRS. DEAN. Have you gone crazy too? ROSENBAUM. Don't you see, if she has a good leading man it won't be such a walk-over for her. The worse he is the more she'll shine. MRS. DEAN. You're a very bright man, Mr. Rosenbaum. ROSENBAUM. Yes, I think so; maybe I'm partial. MRS. DEAN. It's all right, Betty, you shall have your wish; but it's a frightful risk. BETTY. I'll teach him to play it. MRS. DEAN. And I'll rehearse him in it ROSENBAUM. You're going to make five until he drops. (Enter Jerry, stops at the you. sight of them. Rosie and Jerry exchange glances, Rosie comes down.) BETTY. (Rises, goes to Jerry quickly.) Oh, Jerry, we're not going to be separated. I'm going to star (Jerry smiles) and you're going to be my leading man. JERRY. (Amazed, looks at Rosie, who moves away.) What! BETTY. My leading man! JERRY. (Step toward her.) Me! I am not! BETTY. Why, Jerry! JERRY. Not by a darn sight. (Betty. starts up to door, followed by Mrs. Dean.) ROSENBAUM. There goes my five thousand dollars. Wait! Wait! BETTY. I won't star for anybody unless he plays the lead. JERRY. (Goes over to Betty.) No sir, not on your life! MRS. DEAN. This is the man who pretends to love my daughter, and yet he spurns the great honor that is being thrust upon him. JERRY. I do love your daughter. I'm willing to do anything in reason-to make any sacrifice to prove that love. But act again! No! There are limits to my endurance. MRS. DEAN. You love her and yet you stand by and see her refuse a great opportunity-the opportunity for which I've spent years of watchful waiting. You'll ruin a great career, ruin all my hopes, my dreams, because of a childish prejudice against the noble art of acting. You have no thought for her-have pity on me-her mother! For God's sake, be her leading man! ROSENBAUM. (Who has been standing beside Jerry, whispers.) Go on, do it, and we'll have a sure-fire failure. JERRY. Mrs. Dean, if I do this for you, if I beat a lot of fool lines into my brain, if I go on painting my face like a chorus girl, what'll you do for me? (Jerry holds out hand.) MRS. DEAN. (Grasping hand.) Try to make an actor of you. (Jerry falling on table.) JERRY. My God! In the third act, Mr. Forbes shows us the final rehearsal of "Dora's Dilemma." Everything is in a turmoil. The scenery is not finished. Stage carpenters, electricians, property men are working as the tired actors rehearse under the direction of Mrs. Dean, Smith, the young college-bred author, Tompkins and Rosenbaum. There are verbal battles between all the elements that are essential to the staging of the play. Mrs. Dean appears to be the storm center of the conflict. Finally, worn out by work and the ingratitude of the author, Mr. Granby Smith, she hysterically protests against the treatment she has received: "You're all against me! Every last one of you! I'm just one lone woman against a band of pessimistic knockers. I can't stand any more!" She leaves, and Jerry suddenly realizes the great faith her disappointment will be. He is about she has put in the play and how great ready to confess his plot to Betty, but Rosenbaum persuades him not to do so. Now we are in the theater the open |