STARK YOUNG AND HIS DRAMATIC CRITICISM

BY

Robert M. Lumianeki

AN ABSTRACT

Submitted to the School of Graduate Studies of Michigan
State College of Agriculture and Applied Science, in
partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of English

1955

Approved

The general objective in this thesis is to place
Stark Young in the whole milieu of the dramatic criticism
of the early decades of the twentieth century in the United
States. Since Mr. Young has been an educator, play director
on Broadway, novelist, dramatist, and critic; since his
interests have been very wide and varied; and since this
dissertation touches upon all his intersts, insofar as they
have affected his dramatic criticism, the material has been
arranged in four chapters. I

I. His life and works. Young is a product of the

 

"Old South" cultural tradition in Mississippi and was
brought up in it. In tracing his career from his early
childhood in Como to the publication of The Pavilion, we

 

perceive how the noblesse oblige ideology has been incul-
cated in Young and how philosophically and psychologically
this influenced his subsequent creative and critical activ-
ity.

II. The Man. An investigation of Young's philosophy
of living, art, and education reveals that in philosophy,
he is an idealist; in art, he is an aesthetic mystic; and
in education he is a believer in the Thomas Aquinas doctrine
of education of the whole man.

III. His dramatic criticism. Young has been the

 

most serious of the American theatre critics of the past

 

\.- l-_

 

generation. His approach to criticism was unique on Broad-
way. An analysis of the various kinds of dramatic critics
who flourished in America yields four classes, namely,
journalistic, stage, drama, and theatre-drama. Young is
the sole theatre-drama critic. As evidenced by his period-
ical and newspaper articles, as well as his books, Young's
method was that of the aesthetician whose major concern was
to reveal the elements of art in theatre performance, and
at the same time evaluate the literary worth of the play at

hand.

 

IV._Aptors and acting. Having a sympathetic under-‘
standing of the actor, he devoted much of his criticism to I
an investigation of the acting art. His numerous articles
on the art of acting show that he is neither of the repre—
sentational Stanislavsky school which advocates the actor
must play as though there were no audience; nor is he a
follower of the presentational school that presumes as with
music, an audience is implicit in the art. He stresses
only that the test must be based upon how well the actor
creates the "idea" and how well the audience realizes it
is art at which it is looking, and not nature.

In his genuine love for the theatre as an institu-
tion; his integrity as a critic and artist; and his ability
as a thinker, Stark Young is the most profound theatre-

drama critic of his generation.

The appendix contains an extensive bibliography of
his works and works about him, which is as complete as the

writer could make it.

 

STARK YOUNG AND HIS DRAMATIC CRITICISM

BY

Robert M. Lumianski

A THESIS_

Submitted to the School of Graduate Studies of Michigan
State College of Agriculture and Applied Science, in
partial fulfillment of the requirements

for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of English
1955

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VITA .
INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER I
His life and works . . .
Footnotes . . . . . . . . . . . .
CHAPTER II
The Man
His philosophy of living
His philosophy of art . . . . . . . . .
His philosophy of education . . . . . .
Footnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
CHAPTER III
His dramatic criticism
Historical . . . . . . . . .
Definitions
Types of critics . . . . . . . . .
Qualifications . . . . . . . . . .

Theatre-drama critic .

The play . . . . . . . . . . .
Theatre art . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Review . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Footnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

l- 96
97-110

112-13u
13u-138
138-152
151-160

163-169

170-176
177-18u
18u-188
188-199
199-2ou
205-232
23u-2h3

CHAPTER IV
Actors and acting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2u5—267
Footnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269-272
CONCLUSION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275-280
Footnotes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 281
BIBLIOGRAPHY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 282-296
APPENDIXA....................298-323

B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32u-327
c....................328-329

VITA
Robert M. Lumianski

candidate for the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy

Final Examination: March 7, 1955, 3:00-5:00 P.M., Room 212,
Merrill H811

Dissertation: Stark YOung and His Dramatic Criticism

Outline of Studies:
Major Subject: American Literature
Minor Subject: English Literature

Biographical Items:

Born, January 26, 1906, New Bedford, Massachusetts

Undergraduate Studies: Bachelor of Arts, University of
South Carolina, Columbia, South Carolina, 1928

Graduate Studies: Master of Arts in English, University
of South Carolina, 1928; New York State College
for Teachers, Albany, Summer Sessions, 1933: 193h,
1937: University of Michigan, Summer Session, l9h8;
Michigan State College, l9h9-1955

Experience:
English instructor (Peabody Teaching Fellowship), Uni-
versity of South Carolina, 1930; English instructor and
principal, Lake George (New York) High School, 1932-
1939; Quoddy Village, Eastport, Maine, l9h0-l9hl;
Director of Students and English instructor, National
Farm Junior College, Doylestown, Pennsylvania, 19hl-l9h2;
Captain, Air Force Intelligence, werld War II, 19h2-19h6;
Summer Theatre director, Lake George, New York, 1938;
Instructor in Communication Skills, Michigan State College
from l9h6 to present

Member of Phi Beta Kappa

 

ii

INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

It is difficult of course to assay the work of a
critic who is still living, even though he has ceased
critical activities. The years required for contemplation
and meditation in establishing proper perspective have not
as yet elapsed, so obviously any conclusion that may be
reached must of necessity remain not entirely conclusive.
However, an examination of Stark Young's contribution to
American Letters (always allowing for adjustments that must
be made in the light of subsequent studies) may prove not
only rewarding, but in some'respects help appreciably toward
establishing a final estimate.

This study proposes to review Young's life and
works, examine his attitudes (as exemplified in his works)
toward life, art and education, investigate his techniques
in his dramatic criticism, and try to estimate his position
as critic in the whole hierarchy of theatre criticism.

To achieve this, the writer has had the assistance
of a number of people, included among whom are his wife and
members of his family. Professor Paul Bagwell, the chair-
man of the writer's department, gave encouragement and
eased some of the pressures of committee work. Several
colleagues in the Department of Communications Skills at
Michigan State College gave freely of their advice and

counsel. One colleague, Dr. Frederick Reeve, was kind

 

iii

enough to read through the manuscript twice, each time
making valuable suggestions and recommendations. The
Assistant Librarian, Mr. Merrill Jones, and the reference
librarians, Mrs. Henrietta Alubowicz and Miss Ada Biester,
were very helpful. Through their effort, the writer was
able to use, by inter-library loan, the facilities of any
of the libraries in the country.

Dr. Lawrence Babb and Dr. David Mead, both members
of the writer's guidance committee, were kind enough to
read the manuscript and give their approval. Dr. Bernard
Duffey, also a member of the committee, read the first
chapter especially carefully; his searching and constructive
comment directed the writer's attention to various weaknesses
that otherwise might have been overlooked.

Mr. Young himself was kind enough to read through
the manuscript. He then invited the writer to visit with
him for several days in New York, during which time he made
suggestions that have been invaluable.

Mrs. Ruth Dow was more than kind to give up many of
her home responsibilities in order to make time to type the
finished copy. Besides typing, she did an exceedingly
painstaking job of proof reading, for which the writer
wishes to thank her.

And very important to the writer have been the help

and encouragement received from Dr. Harry R. HOppe of the

 

iv

English Department, Michigan State College. His lively
interest, his patient guidance, and his wise counsel as
chairman of the writer's committee have speeded the com-
pletion of this work.

It is impossible, of course, to mention all of the
individuals who in one way or another gave the writer
assistance. That would take pages of credits and still
would not be complete. So rather than try to list in de-
tail all the names that come to mind, the writer wishes
very simply to offer his appreciation to those mentioned
above and those "behind the scenes," not mentioned, but

very much there.

IIIthJ

Chapter I

 

HIS LIFE AND WORKS

A biographical sketch and brief
consideration of all of Stark

Young's literary works

 

Chapter I
HIS LIFE AND WORKS

When Stark Young edited a volume of Sidney Lanier's
poetry, he said in the preface that "a man's poetry is so
much a part of himself and his life that nobody would
ordinarily wish to divorce the two; we all feel that we
gain a fuller entrance into the poet's work by knowing
what kind of man he was in general and what his life was
like. . . . and the more we know of him and of his life
the better we can judge his achievement and even greater
promise."1 This seems to have been especially true of
Young himself, for one has only to read this author's work
casually to detect the nostalgia implicit in his tone and
style. And a more careful investigation confirms the
reader in his suspicion that he must first know something
of YOung's life before he can ever hope to understand the
critic fully.

Stark Young, who has tried to contribute as art
critic, book reviewer, dramatic critic, educator, essayist,
lecturer, linguist, painter, playwright, play director,
poet, and social philosopher, was born in Como, Mississippi,
on October 11, 1881, the son of Alfred Alexander and Mary

Stark Young.

He came of Scotch-Irish lineage,2 Michael Cadet

Young, his first American ancestor on his father's side,

 

having set out from England in 1705 to settle in the New
World. There was nobility as well as adventure on this
side of the family. "Michael, the younger son of Sir
Francis Young, a colonel who fell at Blenheim in the year
170k, had been taken prisoner at the same battle, imprisoned
in France, and from there had escaped to England and then
emigrated to Isle of Wight County in Virginia."3

On the mother's side there were both nobility and
culture. Grandfather Stephen Gilbert Stark, who was of the
same family as the General Stark of Revolutionary War fame,
moved South from Vermont. He built, owned, and presided
over a college on College Street in Memphis“ and another
at Holly Springs. ‘When he married into the McGehee family
in the South, he married into descendants of nobility. The
first McGehee (according to Mr. Young and Burke's Peerage)
occurred in Cromwell's time. When Cromwell won over
Charles I, he punished the MacGregor, head of the MacGregor
clan, by taking away his name. This same MacGregor had
married the daughter of the Earl of Antrim who had headed
the armies of Charles I. Along with other gentlemen, Pat
MacGregor came to America, but without a name. So he took
the name that finally became McGehee. It was by this side
of the family that Young was most influenced, since after
his mother's death he lived for some time in the home of

his Uncle Hugh McGehee about whom he tells so many stories.

 

11

When Young's father, Alfred Alexander, was fourteen,
he ran away from home to join the Confederate Army during
the early months of the war. He was brought back, however,
by the grandfather, with the promise that if he waited
until he was sixteen, he would not only be allowed to join,
but would be outfitted with a rifle, uniform, and horse,
as well. He agreed and subsequently served two years in
General Forrest's cavalry.5 Upon the conclusion of the
war, Young's father attended the University of Mississippi
and followed this by taking a medical degree at the Uni-
versity of Pennsylvania. He moved to Como, married and
started a medical practice. It was in Como that Stark
spent the early years of his life.6

The Como of Stark's early youth was a tree-shaded
town of the Old South tradition; here life was primarily
agrarian and seemingly completely unhurried; here the
time-clock was not king; here was an area where it was not
considered unusual for a railroad train to stop enroute in
the middle of a field so that some of the lady passengers
who wished to do so, might pick some blackberries;7 here
the landed gentry of the pro-Civil War days were attempting
to reweave the broken strands of their economic and cul-
tural lives.

Unfortunately, time, minstrelsy, and vaudeville have

beclouded the terms Old South and Old South Tradition in

 

such a haze of rose-colored romantic sentimentalism that,
unless cautioned, the reader may easily stray far afield.
In this regard, Rosser H. Taylor, professor of American
history at the University of North Carolina, writing about
the days before the war in South Carolina, explains the
term Old South as a "way of life which attained crystalli-
zation in the ante-bellum South. The roots of this way of
life spread far into the past; its finest fruits were dis-
played in the decades immediately preceding the War for
Southern Independence." This way of life was not alto-
gether static, but it resisted change and refused to con-
form to the ideology and practices of the industrial North.
"The generality of the people. . . . of the entire South,
shaped the view that the plantation civilization of the
South was superior to the industrial civilization of the
North in that the former conserved and perpetrated a way
of life which ennobled the individual and lent stability
to society." Although difficult to define exactly, there
is little doubt that this ideology permeated human rela-
tionships and social values in the South. "One can exer-
cise diligence, understand and describe the outward forms
of life in the Old South, but so elusive are some of the
elements which conditioned social usage as to leave the
student, after prolonged search, somewhat perplexed."8

Traditionally the Old South concept tried to

idealize the graciousness of living. To the better type
of planters the massing of a fortune was much less important
than the art of living. The accent was on humanism as
contrasted with the North's Puritanism; agrarianism as
contrasted with the North's industrialism. The "gentry"
developed from their cavalier forbears an "art of living
more charming and colorful and at the same time more re-
fined and elegant than has yet appeared elsewhere in this
country."9

Even though it was in an atmosphere of Old South
gentility, hospitality, courtesy, gallantry, generosity
and warmth of spirit that Young spent the formative period
of his life, already the New South influence was making
itself felt. Henry Grady, editor of the Atlanta Constitu-

 

tigg struck the keynote when in 1886 he addressed the New
England Society in New York City; the subject, "The New
South."' By 1900 when Young was only nineteen, "the Old
South was little more than a memory. Meat of those who
had remembered . . . its 'glories' had passed to the
Glorious Beyond. Their places were being filled by modern
'go-getters' . . . . Imitation of Northern manners and
customs had become the mode . . . even the best of its
[the South's] old life and traditions must now give place

to relentless nationalization."lo

This Old South may have been a glorious memory to

 

some but it was also very much of a reality in the Young
household. Throughout Stark's youth there was a long suc-
cession of kin ("cud'ns", uncles, aunts) who visited at
his home. Some stayed only for days; others for months;
but all left their indelible impression on the youth.
Since each guest had his individual approach to the Old
South philosophy, the youth was being regaled constantly
with various anecdotes associated with past glories. How-
ever, all these stories were alike in one essential: they
eulogized the spirit of noblesse oblige, a characteristic
so striking in the pre-war South. In fact it was this
early experience that kept Young from ever becoming Old
South in the reactionary or illiberal sense. On the con-
trary, when the time came for him to take a stand, he made
his position clear without equivocation. In In Memoriam
not in Defense he advocated a change economically and in-
dustrially. He wanted to see a New South that could be
characterized by "a spirit of helpfulness, a belief in the
future, and a desire to take a fuller part in the life of
the nation."11 What he did protest was the passing of the
spirit of noblesse oblige that saturated his youth.

It was from these relatives and especially from his
father that he learned what constituted a profound gener-
osity of spirit; a generosity that transcended the merely

physical. For example, there was the case of the "pabula."

Upon occasion Dr. Young would visit a close friend
and colleague named Dr. Yarborough. This same Dr.
Yarborough had developed a philosophy of life that depended
for its basic premise upon what he considered three kinds
of pabula, namely, the physical, mental, and spiritual.

He would expound his theory on any and every occasion.
Whenever Dr. Young went to visit his friend and took Stark
along with him, he would instruct the boy ahead of time to
be sure to inquire of Dr. Yarborough about the "pabula."
Dr. Young explained to Stark's Uncle Hugh why he wanted the
boy to do this: "'I don't care about the pabulum or the
pabula,' my father said, 'any more than I care about the
sense of Sin his vermont grandfather talked about, but I
do want hum EStark] to have a sense of deference to others
and to try to give them pleasure, and this we are talking
about is the kind of thing Dr. Yarborough always likes.

So let him tell you about the pabula, son.”12

At other times Stark would hear stories of his fore-
bears such as the one about his grandfather who planted
peach tree seed along the way as he rode about his own and
his neighbors' plantations. He planted them so that
travelers in the future might have shade and fruit refresh-
ment while on their journey. "This was not so much a
sentimental act on his part as it was a sense of the con-

tinuity of our life and a love of the land with its fruits

and blessings."13 Or, one might add, an action that
originated in a profound generosity of the spirit.

The only male child, Young lived in Como until he
was fourteen. Because of Mrs. Young's failing health, the

family moved to Florida for two years.1u However, shortly

after their return, she died at the age of thirty-two.
Stark, who was completely devoted to his mother, was over-
whelmed by the loss. It might be supposed that since he
was so young at the time of her death, the sense of loss
would soon have passed. But such was not the case. The
bond of love and affection between the child and his
mother had been profound. In fact, the loss affected him
so penetratingly and lastingly, that from the time of her
death when he had just turned eight, until he was almost
twenty, he neither spoke to anyone about her, nor allowed

others to speak of her in his presence.15

After the mother's death, Stark and his sister went
to live with Aunt Julia and Uncle Hugh McGehee. His sister
was sent away to a boarding school for young ladies at
which Stark's aunts taught, and he, at the age of eight,
began his formal elementary school education in Como.

Whether it was strictly an elementary school or a
high school or both that Stark attended would be rather
hard to say, since at that time in the South there seemed

to be no very definite line of demarcation between the two.

10

From Young's descriptions, there was no difference in
physical facilities. In this school, classes were held on
the first floor of a rickety building that was known in the
community as The Lodge. The second floor of The Lodge was
a meeting place for the local Masons. By the time Young
was twelve he was in "nine classes with as many subjects."16

He was spared corporal punishments because of the
fact that Dr. Young made it known to the school authorities
that his son was not to be man-handled or else he (the
father) would horsewhip the offending teacher.

When Stark was fourteen, Dr. Young married again.
Apparently the sense of loss that the lad had felt for his
own mother was in no way mitigated by the appearance of a
stepmother. In fact, the relations between the boy and
his stepmother were not so successful as might have been
hoped. He says of this new situation that "some kindness,
no doubt, was intended at times, but there was the inevi-
table strain, without any softening affection to go with
it, involved in such relationships as now arose -- the
less said the better."17

Subsequently, the Young family moved to Oxford,
Mississippi, the site of the state university. Here, he
was sent to a Mrs. Lancaster's private school. This
Virginia lady, now grown old and tired, was of a method

and temper that frightened this young pupil; he was so

 

 

11

greatly haunted by nightmares that his father withdrew him.
The only place left was a local Methodist college.18 Al-
though it bore the name "college" it was nothing more than
a secondary school and seminary for young ladies, though
local male students might also attend. His stay at this
seminary however was curtailed when a pig fell into the
cistern of the school, was drowned, and left behind him a
typhoid epidemic; the school was forced to close.19

Up to this point, as we have seen, Young's formal
education had followed a pattern common enough in the
provinces, and doubtless elsewhere, as often as not. So
much so, in fact, as to leave a void of one kind or another.
In some cases the author's reminiscing reveals satisfaction
at this void. For example:

. . . Thanks to a pig there are certain of the

larger high-school classics, mostly from our

American New England, that I have never read

yet. For example I have seen and heard those

first few lines about the murmuring pines and

the hemlocks - regarded in some quarters as

Virgilian - but to this day have not gone

through Evangeline, and have never done

Hiawatha. Switching to the British Isles I

should confess that I have read only a dozen

or so lines, heroic or banal, from the Lady

of the Lake. I have always regarded the

matter as my being spared a kind of literary
measles.

 

 

At other times his humility is great and he feels
that ". . . a curious thing has resulted from that loose
and uncontrolled procedure in my early school. It may well

be that from that slap-dash beginning the feeling arises in

12

me of an inadequacy of all knowledge . . . I have behind
my conscience the feeling that my knowledge is slight and
slipping, a sense of grim ignorance sticks in my crew. I
have far too little of the culture which is a heightening
of our sense of the antiphonal radiance existing in all

things among themselves.”21

There is no reason to believe that this last state-
ment is anything other than an expression of sincere
humility and serious reaction against the slip-shod methods
of his early formal academic training and our academic
training in general. As we shall see, his method of
dramatic criticism proclaims it. Besides, at the time
that these lines were published, he was turning seventy.

He had had ample Opportunity to survey himself.

To compensate for this early lack of formal training,
there were the conversations that went on at home. The
many relatives who were almost constant visitors discussed
all manner of subjects dear to the Southern heart. In
this way the youthful Young absorbed, through listening,
much of the essence of this Old South ideology that has
remained with him throughout his career. At worst, these
somewhat Platonic symposia produced for Young a rambling,
undirected, catch-as-catch-can type of informal education;
at best, they implanted in him a respect for knowledge,

perhaps otherwise unobtainable. And what is more important,

13

the warmth and simple dignity of these constant conversa-
tions instilled in Young a deep respect for the dignity of
man. "A thing I realized then, and it still seems to me
one of the chief things we used to know, is that men do
not have to dilate on matters like honor, pride, courage,
loyalty, and the endless ramifications of human morals and
virtues; we can learn them even in a spelling class pro-
vided the teacher has in himself those qualities. . . .

We knew that such things as love, loyalty, generosity,
kindness, honesty had more meaning than abstractions like
progress or reform or liberalism, so often mentioned nowa-
days."22 More meaning, no doubt, in the sense that they
were closer, more part of a way of life, and more of a
series of realities.

From his earliest youth, Young exhibited an interest
in the peculiarities of words and their derivations. His
father spent some time with him explaining etymologies, and
it may well be that from this source the lad's subsequent
interest in languages derived.23

His reading was somewhat restricted since the
library in his home was not well stocked. The burnings
and general destruction of personal property during the
Civil War had played havoc with the home libraries of the
South. There were certainly various books in the house,

talked about, read aloud and what not; and he could recite

11;

passages from the Psalms before he had read any books at
all. But he had read no books until he was eight years old

and the reading was a story called Sick_;im, a "work" as

 

sickly as its name. Possibly it was here that his distrust
of the novel as an art form began. Although he later gained
fame with the novel So Red The Rose, he never felt com-
fortable in that form and renounced it as his true métier.2h

His formal religious training was Protestant
Wesleyan Methodist, as he sees it later on, with "its chaos
of individual theory, ill informed convictions and personal-
reactions, self-assured if possible and aggressive if need
be."25 At Sunday School he was.impressed when he asked
his teacher at which point in time God gives a human being
his soul. The teacher did not cavil; he informed the youth
that there was disagreement on that point, namely, that
some claimed it was at the time of conception, others, at
the time of birth. Amidst all the round-about fuzziness,
the straightforwardness of this answer impressed the youth
tremendously.

However, his reactions to the church were not always
so desirably impressive. Now and then his parents enter-
tained an itinerant preacher at dinner. On one such occa-
sion Stark, who couldn't have been more than ten at the
time, displayed a potential ability with the sharp retort

‘that is not altogether undesirable in a future drama critic.

u“

l (I,

 

15

The preacher, Mr. X, a Methodist, remarked that Stark
would be a good—looking boy when his face grew up to his
nose. Stark said then that Mr. X would be a good preacher
when his manners grew up to his profession.26

After the seminary closed there was a crisis in
Young's education. Because there was no other secondary
school in the immediate area, the question arose as to
where the lad was to complete his preparation for college.
So at the age of fifteen, partly because of the peculiari-
ties of the circumstances, and partly through his father's
influence, he was allowed to take the University of Missis-
sippi entrance examinations. He records this in The

Pavilion:

 

I fancy my father contrived it through friends
at the University, and I was admitted at fifteen
on a kind of probation, with two of the regular
courses and the rest tutoring. I remember very
little about it except that I had only two weeks
for the Greek course, that I, having had a mild,
brief exercise in Greek classes already, sat
down to memorize the grammar to such an effect
that in a class of sixty or more I came out
fifth from the top, and was held up by the pro-
fessor as an example to laggards, a gesture of
his that ed me to serve more as a freak than

a model.

Thus, at an age when many youths were just completing
their first year of secodéry school, Stark Young, in 1896,
entered the University of Mississippi at Oxford.

His undergraduate experience at the University was

not uneventful. Although public performance seemed alien

16

to his sensitive temperament, when forced to participate,
he proved himself more than adequate. For example, each
year at the commencement exercises a prize was awarded for
the best piece of student oratory for the year. At the end
of his sophomore year, Young, upon his father's insistence,
entered this oratorical contest. He won it, after dancing
all night, with a recitation of "The Raven," the only piece
that he knew by heart like that. But he never appeared in
person to receive the medal that followed for this attain-
ment. His father, who attended the exercises, accepted it
for him. Dr. Young was angry at his son's lack of interest
in the award and told him so in strong terms. He never
knew that some years later in Europe, without the slightest
qualm, Stark gave it in exchange for some Italian memento
in silver.28

Later in his collegiate career he received another
prize, which he held in rather higher esteem. The Early
English Text Society sent to the Department of English at
the University several valuable volumes of reprints from
Old and Middle English,29 which were to be awarded to the
student considered the best scholar in this field. These
volumes included the Ageynbyte of Inwit, a title that in-
trigued the boy. With some modesty, Young makes the state-
ment that the prize was awarded to him on the grounds that

in the realm of the blind, the one-eyed is king; but it is

17

perhaps significant that this award he did not sell or ex-
change.

There were other honors that came to the young man.
He had already started writing verse and getting it pub-
lished in the college magazine. Some of the verse was in—
spired by a love affair that he was having at the time, a
love affair of such intensity that the "sun and moon .
seemed only accessories to it,"30 but most of the verse
was inspired by a natural leaning in the direction of art.
His literary efforts finally resulted in his becoming
editor-in-chief of the college annual. He was also active
socially as a member of Sigma Chi fraternity.

He read very widely. For example, his spiritual and
religious life was somewhat unanchored as a result of the
sporadic training he had received in his childhood. Con-
sequently, in an effort to solidify his thinking in this
direction, he read through all the sacred books of India,
in the four volumes of Max Muller's translations.

But most of all he received recognition for his
scholarship. So high did he stand that his name was sub-
mitted as a possible Rhodes Scholar.31 At that time the
appointments were made by the governor of the state rather
than by competitive examination. Although representation
to the governor was made in his behalf by Dr. Yarborough,

(previously mentioned in connection with the "pabula"), he

18

was not granted the scholarship. Academically however,

his years at the University proved very fruitful. His

first year he was a quasi-freshman;32 but in 1901 at the

age of twenty, five years after he entered, he was graduated

magna cum lands with the degree of Bachelor of Arts.33

Upon the successful completion of his undergraduate
work at Mississippi, he asked that he might be allowed to
take graduate work at Columbia University for a year.3h
Mr. YOung informed me during a visit that there was no
particular reason for preferring Columbia academically
over Yale or Harvard or Princeton or some other equally
important center of culture and learning. He simplg wanted
to live in New York City and partake of the "big city"

opportunities offered there in art and letters and culture
in general. The city was the magnet and his choice had
nothing to do with any coterie of Southern writers who
might or might not have been at Columbia at the time.

His father agreed to send him to Columbia, and with
some financial help from two of his aunts who were school
teachers, he enrolled at that institution. His under-
graduate interests haVing been in the field of literature,
he laid out a Master of Arts program in English.

Among the teachers in this_department with whom he
came in contact were Brander Matthews, W. P. Trent, and

Joel Spingarn, all of whom were men of stature in their

l9

respective fields.

Brander Matthews was at this time the first univer-
sity professor of dramatic literature in the United States
and as one of the founders of The Playersflags a strong
voice in the commercial theatre as well as dramatic litera-
ture. W. P. Trent, professor of English literature and a
fellow Southerner from Virginia may have Spurred the youth's

interest in Southern literature. Trent had published the

‘Life of William Gilmore Sims, Southegn Statesman of the Old

 

Regime, and Robert E. Lee. And Joel Spingarn, only six
years Young's senior and a follower of Beiggidetto Croce,
the Italian aesthetician, was beginning to become the pro-
vocative force in criticism that later publications like
The New Criticism and Creative Criticism made a reality.
All of these men were especially considerate of the young
'graduate student and had a marked influence on him. "Pro-
fessor Trent invited me from time to time to dine with him
and his remarkable wife. . . . Dean Carpenter took me to
dine at The Players where so many famous people seemed to
be strolling about, and . . . Professor Spingarn was as
generous."35

He took Professor Trent's course in English poetry
and read widely in Spenser and in the 19th century romantics.
In fact, by the time he concluded the course he had read

all of Spenser, Keats, Shelley, Byron, and Wordsworth.

20

In Professor Spingarn's course in Comparative Renaissance
Literature, he prepared a lecture on Rabelais, and his
other courses "wavered between philology and aesthetics."36
But it was partly the influence of Brander Matthews
and the Department of Drama that turned his attention seri—
ously to the stage. Hitherto he seemed not to have been
particularly interested in the drama. To be sure, as an
undergraduate he had read widely in the Greek drama, but
as far as the drama in performance was concerned, he had
never seen a professionally produced play until he was
seventeen. At that time he went to Memphis, Tennessee with
his aunt to see Julia Marlowe perform in As You Like It.37
One of the drama courses was taught by a Miss Sarah
McGehee Isom who was Professor of Elocution. Miss Isom had
studied under the same teachers as Modjeska, and it was
'said by one competent critic that she might have become a
great tragic actress herself had not family difficulties
interfered. As it was, Miss Isom taught at the University
and inspired in her students a deep interest in the drama
as performance. She had also taught at the University of
Mississippi while Young was there. As her middle name in—
dicated, she claimed some kinship with the McGehees and
thus, kinship with Young. Although her course probably
did not confirm Young in the theatre, it most certainly

turned his attention seriously to it.

21

More significant perhaps than his actual course work
at Columbia was the fact that a young instructor, whose
name he does not mention, of Professor Matthews' department
took a fancy to Young and guided him through the maze of
New York's Bohemia. In this way Young became an habitue'
of art galleries, theatres, and art soire’es; he mingled
tvith the artistic as well as the academic intelligentsia.
Every Saturday he would spend the whole day at the Metro-
politan Museum examining in detail the works of art dis-
played. Oftentimes he would become so absorbed that he
twould forget to go for his noon meal. On one occasion some
years later the director of a museum in London who had
watched Young in his absorption, became interested enough
in .him to invite him to his home for dinner. This attend-
ance at art museums became so much a part of his whole way
of life, that later when he would go to Italy to visit, he
Would "go to the galleries the moment the doors opened and
Stay there all day."38

As a result of these days at the Metropolitan, his
tFeczhnical perceptions of art and his response to it were
Profoundly stirred and dilated, so much so, that they be-
Came a habit of mind with him.” In his childhood he had
Wanted to take lessons in painting, buthis father had
8ternly forbidden it. This refusal was not unusual since

"the inherited Anglo-Saxon tradition did not favor a man's

 

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22

going into the arts."!"0 In the circumscribed tradition of
the South, the activities of the painter, musician, or poet
were not considered manly.ul A graphic example of this is
reflected by a character in Young's play, The Colonnade.

 

Major Dandridge of the Old South tradition, in~a patron-
izing tone that implies that the work of the artist is not
to be taken seriously, says to his post son John: "Writing
will be a good diversion for you. We'll give you your
grandfather's study.“+2

The tempo of life in New York City was, of course,
much faster than in Oxford, Mississippi, and it might have
been supposed that the impressionable graduate student
from the deep South would have lost his bearings. But such
was not the case. He simply assured himself that if one
has seen a cat in the weeds, he has seen a tiger in the
woods,h3 and refused to be deterred from his study. His
reading, inspired by Professor Trent's vast erudition,
spread over a wide area. In fact, by the end of the year
at Columbia, he had read so widely that Professor Trent
agreed that to give him a written examination would be too

perfunctory. Instead he invited Young in for a chat about

his reading.hh

He was still a very young man when he completed his
courses and thesis and was graduated in 1902 from Columbia

University with the degree of Master of Arts.“5

 

 

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23

Through the efforts of Professor Trent, who was set
to place him, Young was offered a teaching position at
Kenyon College. However, he turned it down in favor of a
military school in Water valley, Mississippi. He did this
because his father insisted upon having his son near him.

Since his college student career had ended in June,
and his position at Water Valley did not start until fall,
he accepted an interim place with The Brooklyn Standard-
Union. He did not last more than a few weeks on that news-
paper because as he writes, "I was not worth my salt, but
was treated most kindly; I was then, as I am now, without
any turn for things that make good or effective journalism
either for reading or writing."ué

His next move was Coffee Branch,’+7 a little settle-
ment of five or six in the mountains near Canton, North
Carolina. He had spent a summer there before with his
family, at a boarding house run by a Miss Laura Smathers;
so the place was not entirely strange to him. As a matter
of fact, Miss Smathers took a very personal interest in
him. He had written asking her to reduce the rent because
he was so poor.‘ She misunderstood his use of the word and
presumed that he was "skinny." So she reduced the board
from $20 to $19 and plied him with food and attention.

In May, he rented a log cabin, where he lived a

hermit's life, before taking up his teaching responsibilities

 

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Whatever the cause, his retirement to Waldenish
surroundings gave him an opportunity for solitude and an
umdisturbed association with the classics. He immersed
himself in Spenser, Dante, Catullus, and Malory, in a
setting that no doubt had an enormous effect upon his ap-
proach to art in nature and nature in art.(-|'8 As we shall
see later, this absorption with the romantic idealism of
Malory and the King Arthur stories resulted in the creation
0f Guenevere, a verse drama.

His experience in the North Carolina mountains was
not entirely without physical excitement. For example, at
One time he had to hide from a mob. The North Carolina
mountaineers were extremely suspicious of strangers from
the city. Moonshine stills dotted the landscape and Young
was suspected of being a Federal Revenue Agent. The mob
adVanced on his cabin, but nothing came of it. Young a1-
18yed their suspicions and made friends with them.

More significant than anything else in this "hermit"
exPerience was the fact that Young was drenching himself in
the glory of nature and making a profound emotional and
‘intellectual association between it and literature. He was
glad that he had with him the lines of Shakespere, Dante,
ESpenser, and Milton. Only such lines compared favorably

idth.the awe inspired in him by nature, for "In the midst

25

cfi'the natural world like this the great art that was in
books seemed only natural and right. Trivial writing might
not have done so; for I have long noted as I did then, even
in those bright days, that nothing so much shames any shal-
lowness in a work of art as does the reality and force in
nature."hg

He seems to have experienced here the ecstatic sense
of the sublime in the presence of nature's overwhelming
majesty; an experience not unlike that of Wordsworth, who

had'become one of his masters. For example, in The Prelude,

 

Book II, line 170, Wordsworth relates how he reacted on one
occasion in his youth to the impact of nature's beauties.
He had been left alone to meditate after a tramp through

the woods and a paddle on the lake:

then, the calm
And dead still water lay upon my mind
Even with a weight of pleasure, and the sky,
Never before so beautiful, sank down,
Into my heart, and held me like a dream!
Thus were my sympathies enlarged, and thus
Daily the common range of visible things
Grew dear to me; already I began
To love the sun.

Years later, in 19h3, when Young gave his first one—
FMn show of his paintings, his love for nature became es—
Decially marked in his art work. The critic who reviewed
the exhibit remarked that Young's "solid, slightly im-
Dressionistic flower pieces indicated close study of the

still-life masters by a man who loves nature as well as art."50

26

In 1922 he expressed himself profoundly on the sub-
ject. Said he, "Beautiful moments in our experience in the
world ought to shame lesser things in art; and beautiful mo-
ments in art ought to exact a noble distinction in the world;
as both must exact or shame in the matter of our living. And
there ought to be an identity existing among all those experi-
ences that seem to satisfy us with their perfection, with a
sort of infinite finality in them, that seem to dilate and
cemplete the parts of our experience that they include."51

His feeling toward the sanctity of human dignity
became more precisely defined; his idealism more solemnly
dedicated. At a much.later date, when asked why he did not
re-ereate for his reading public these North Carolinans
hath whom he came in contact, he replied: "I had no
technique to re-create such people truly. It was both
their simplification and their intensification of life
that made them what they were. The culture they had was
tfl‘the heart in its thirst for kind holiness; the education,
88'we know it, that they had was nil; and it was clear that
I could only stumble where they walked in light. Their
thoughts and desires, however simple, went up in fiery
Chariots and were not lost."52 Over and over again in
Various places does Young dwell upon the same theme, the
Simple dignity of Man in the wealthy as well as the poor.

He continually drives home the essence of the Old South
PhilosOphy of life and living. In The Colonnade, the son

27

John, who, drawn between his Old South allegiances and New
South thinking is moved to say: "But I wonder sometimes if

I can stand it . . . all this gentleness and fineness and
this affection and good breeding. And not through education
and intelligence, not that, but through love and simplicity
cfi'heart, so much understanding and such endless patience."53

There is no doubt that Stark Young's experience in

solitude in the log cabin in the mountains made a deep and
lasting impression on his thinking and personality. If as

he says in Guenevere, "Meditation is fair Solitude's True

 

sister,"Sh then he had a great opportunity for both sisters
to be together, in his life as a "hermit." And although
Guenevere was not published until 1906, possibly its crea-
tion grew in part out of this meditation in solitude in the
North Carolina mountains.

In the fall he started teaching at Water Valley. As
FMs mentioned above, it was upon Dr. Young's insistence,
that he accepted a position here. Water Valley was only
fifteen miles from Oxford. The head of the Methodist
Cellege (Seminary for Ladies) which Young attended briefly
and which closed because of typhoid, was the same person
as the headmaster at Water Valley.

Young's service here was destined for short life.
Vflmt happened is best explained by him: "I went to a mili-

tary school in Water valley headed by an evangelist. The

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28

name had been changed and nobody seems to remember to what.
At any rate bills were not paid etcetera - the teachers
quit, all but me who had never heard of closing or desert-
ing - small pox appeared so we closed around the beginning
of April."55

Consequently, this afforded him an opportunity to do
what for many years he had set his heart on doing, namely,
seeing Europe and especially Italy, the source of all arts
he so admired. So sternly had he set his sights in this
direction that at one time in his youth when he almost
drowned, his resistance was intensified by the realization
that if he were to drown, he would never get to Italy.
This idea constantly flashing before his mind's eye gave
him the added strength for the last push up from the bottom.

So it was at this time, after the school had closed
and he no longer had a position that he decided on Europe.
With his small savings plus a $100 loan he made his first
trip abroad. This was the first of a long series of trips
t0 Europe that he made each year until WOrld War I. During
'Hfle period he visited Italy no fewer than eighteen times.56
Ens trips proved very fruitful in that he came in contact
'flth many of the international figures who were eminent in
literature, art, science, and world affairs. For example,
onone of these European trips he was invited to the home

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adiose husband was editor of The Fortnightly_Review and in

vdnose home he met many celebrities. "It was clear to me

‘that all sorts of people frequented this house, poets,

‘painters, lords and ladies, Indian rajahs, journalists,

scholars and travelers . . . the conversation Mrs. Prothero

led them into (was) worth hearing . . . Henry James was a

close friend of hers and she went every morning to sit with

him and read aloud to him."57

At one time Young mentioned to Lady Prothero that he

would like to know how one would begin on a study of James's

novels. This inquiry was made by way of gallantry, since

he knew she was one of James's most loyal admirers, and he
(YOung) thought such an inquiry would please her. Here

were some of the fruits of the "pabula."

Young never really intended to start any serious

Study of the novelist. For one thing, he was not at this

tlme especially drawn to the novel as an art form in which
he might express himself best. And for another, he felt
‘xflt many of the contemporary novels violated one of the
tmsic rules of the literary art, namely, that "soul is form
anddoth the body make." Although this feeling did not
apply to James's novels specifically, to Young the general
runof novels is formless and without any "impulse or con-
‘dction strong enough to give any movement or style. A

talkative goose . . . could write the general run of novels.58

 

 

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30

Mrs. Prothero relayed Young's inquiry to James.
Soon thereafter Young received a letter from the novelist
111 which the latter gave two sets of detailed instructions
on how the "young Texan"59 might go about the study.

Rye.
Sept. lhth, 1913.

This please, for the delightful young man
from Texas, who shows such excellent disposi-
tions. I only want to meet him half way, and
I hope very much he won't think I didn't when
I tell him that the following indications as
to five of my productions (splendid number -

I glory in the tribute of his appetite!) are
all on the basis of the Scribner's (or Mac-
millan's) collective and revised and prefaced
editions of my things, and that if he is not
minded somehow to obtain access to that form
of them, ignoring any others, he forfeits
half, or much more than half of my confidence.
So I thus amicably beseech him - 1 I suggest
to give him as alternatives these two slightly
different lists:

1. Roderick Random.

2. The Portrait of a Lady.

3. The Princess of Casamassima.

h. The Wings of the Dove.

S. The Golden Bowl.

 

l. The American.

2. The Tragic Muse.

3. The Wings of the Dove.
h. The Ambassadors.

S. The Golden Bowl.

The second list is, as it were, the more
"advanced". And when it comes to the shorter
tales the question is more difficult (for
characteristic selection) and demands separate
treatment. Come to me about that, dear young
man from Texas, later on — you shall have your
little tarts when you have eaten your beef and
potatoes. Meanwhile receive this from your
admirable friend Mrs. Prothero. 6

Henry James. O

 

 

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But Young never wrote the study.

Through an introductory letter from Madison Cawein,
(a Kentucky poet friend, YOung met Sir Edmund Gosse, the
distinguished critic, who was at the time the librarian of
the House of Lords. Sir Edmund gave a party to which Young
was invited and at which the latter met many of the con-
tinent's leading artists and writers. On another occasion
he obtained a letter of introduction from George Pierce
Baker of Harvard and Yale, to Lady Gregory. At that time
Lady Gregory's one-act plays were being performed with
great acclaim by the Abbey Theatre Players.

Lady Gregory in turn gave Young introductions to
Other Irish literary and stage critics. She sent him for
an evening to the home of an important painter, where he
listened to W. B. Yeats read Tagore's unpublished poetry
aloud in English, to the accompaniment of an occasional
c0mment by Tagore. Thus it was that in part, at least,
Y'Oung was confirmed in the theatre and dedicated himself
t0 the life of art.

In 190k he returned from his first trip abroad to
reSumo teaching, this time at his alma mater, the Univer-
Sflty Of‘MiSSISSIPPI-él The University has since honored
”“5 Young by establishing a Stark Young Room in the library.
'mufi room houses all of Young's writings both in manuscript

andindnt. Also in this room there is a large portrait of

 

 

 

   

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32

tflie critic painted by Abram Poole. Young himself has con-
‘uributed several theatrical mementos, one of which was a
tapestry given him by one of his favorite actresses, Doris
Keane; another, the costume Mei Lan-Fang, the Chinese
actor, wore in his first tragic role.

It was not, however, until 1906 that Young's crea-
tive efforts began to appear. That year saw the publica-

tion of a play and a volume of poems. Guenevere, a drama

 

in blank verse, revealed clearly Young's basically ideal-
istic orientation. In this treatment of the Arthur legend
much is made of the King as a symbol of Truth, Wisdom,
Beauty and all the other Christ-like virtues. There is

an out-of—this-world mysticism about the literary treat-
ment of Arthur that in a sense has become the label of the
Young technique and style. One is made to feel in reading
the play that Arthur is never concerned with the physical,
nlaterial, mundane matters of this life. Rather, he is pre-
0cCUpied with vaSter regions undreamed of by ordinary mor-
tWJS, and "hourly weigheth him, some cloudvast enterprise."62
Vflwh he looks at Guenevere, it is never in the physical
sense, or the sense of sex, but instead "to him she is fair

‘Wmmnhood, the finer element, within the scheme, and not a
Woman. "63

This kind of romantic idealism that at times borders

1mmn sentimentalism is the natural outgrowth, it would seem,

 

 

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33

of Young's traditionally Southern upbringing. The when-
luaighthood—was-in-flower atmosphere, the exaggerated
chivalry exhibited by those who practiced plantation life,
the excessive gentility, the sovereignty of the emotions
over the intellect, all of these fostered in Young a
veneration for idealistic standards that transcended any
more harshly realistic philosophy that he otherwise might
have developed.

Added to this natural home background, he had

steeped himself in Spenser and Malory. In_The Pavilion

 

he quotes from Malory at some length and demonstrates to
what a large extent he had absorbed the idealistic approach
therein contained. Furthermore, Wordsworth, Keats,
Coleridge, and Shelley had been his constant companions

While he was at Mississippi, Columbia, and the log cabin

in North Carolina. To be sure Guenevere was a highly

youthful work (he was only 25) but it served as something
or a preview of the kind of artistry one could expect from
the thinking and pen of this author.

The style was rather heavy, in keeping with the epic

Proportions of the subject and abounded in reflections on
life and death. Guenevere yearns for death in sepulchral

tones: "Nay, let me have sleep's sister black garbed

death,"6h says she, and nuns who attend her think that

"Life is a restless sleep."65 The knights alternately rail

3h

zagainst Man's fate and the inevitability of his destiny
tvith lines like, "Would God had made us as we yearn/To be,
orielse had made us what we are/Without the yearning."66
Orithey get off statements that are saved from being plati-
tnadinous by the complete unselfconsciousness of the de—
Iliverer. Gawain says very calmly and matter-of—factly that
'Hro lose a noble friend/Is like the loss of a dear life, is
such/A loss; for a man's friends are his life."67

His small volume of poems, published the same year

(1906) under the title of the first poem, The Blind Man at

 

_§Qe Window, showed a certain preciosity that was to de-
velop very markedly later on. The influence of Keats's
"Eve of St. Agnes," is unmistakable in the delicate etching
of the style and form of some of the lines from the piece:
As when pale at the portal of her chamber
Stood, waked right strangely by some dim portent,
Mary, the mother of God, and watcggd the Angel
Dawn from the gloom of the trees.

Even at this early stage in his literary development,

YOung seemed able to do that which he admired most in

Dante. That is, "to express concisely the inexpressible
(in this case the infinite glory of the Godhead) and to

1mPly at the same time its inexpressibility."69

He paid such close heed to Coleridge's ballad form
and mystical style that Young's "The Ballad of the Bells
0fBoscastle" sounds almost like a breath from "The Ancient

Ehriner." Note the similarity of form, rhythm and tone:

 

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35

The captain glared, the seamen stared,

The wind is on the waste

The stars are dimmer one by one

The pilot crosseth him in haste.

The captain smote his brawny chest,

'Tis I that brought, quoth he,

The bells from Fraunce, no? asked for help

Christos moder dear, Mari. 0

There were other poems created during this period,
:namely "On a Disappointing Friendship," "Stanzas," and
"The Alamo." However, they were not published until 1908,
after Young had left the University of Mississippi.

In 1907 Young accepted a position at the University
of Texas as a Professor of English Literature, a position
that he retained for seven years. During this time he

edited an English Literature text71 and translated Regnard's

Play, Le Legataire Universal. He also had published a

 

collection of seven one-act plays under the title ggggg,

.flfldretta and other Plays. Two of the plays in the col-

lection, The Twilight Saint and Madretta were later, in

1918, produced at the dramatic school of Carnegie Institute.72
In The Twilight Saint the writer exhibited a growth

in and a continuation of, the type of idealistic romanti-

Cism he first displayed in Guenevere. In a medieval

 

Italian background, the play presents Guido, a peasant
poet. ¢}uido is impatient with Fate, for Fate has given
hhnru>opportunity for the serenity he needs to compose

ins Poetry. Lisetta, his wife, has long been bedridden

36

arrd requires his constant attention. Both are sad and at

tireir wits' end; both are becoming increasingly bitter.

Biit both are given renewed faith and courage by St. Francis

of' Assisi who appears briefly on the scene. This play,
lilce Guenevere, is in blank verse and reveals a gentle
cartimism and appreciation of the dignity of Man that has
811106 become the Young trademark in all of his criticism.
He even goes so far as to give specific instructions to
the director and actor as to how St. Francis is to be
Played: "The only instruction I would like to propose is
ifluat the actor of St. Francis keep him very simple, not

get him moralizing and long faced."73

At a later date Madretta, At the Shrine, and Addio
Were published together under the title Three One_Act Plays.

The three plays are love tragedies. Madretta, a lovely

CI‘eole wife is about to leave her husband for another man;

She discovers her mistake at the end. In At the Shrine

 

(published first in the July 1919 issue of Theatre Arts)

 

a Priest is overcome by the apparent sincerity of a "lost
women" and with his blessing lets her marry his nephew.
The "lost woman" becomes a virtuous woman. In.£§2£2 a
criPpled Italian organ grinder finds his long lost love,
PUt gives her up so that she will not be saddled with a
cripple.

So we see in these plays the emergence of Young as

 

 

 

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37

the romantic idealist. His characters search for Truth
umdarlying life, but not with bitterness. It is a romantic
realism seen always through rose-tinted glasses, the harsh-
nesses of life softened almost to the point of nonexist-
ance.7h

This period in his life is perhaps interesting to
note especially because he turned with increased vigor to
the drama in performance. It was at Texas that he became
Inora solidly confirmed in the theatre. He threw himself
wholeheartedly into the organization of a production group
at the University, a group known as the Curtain Club.
This effort proved successful in that it was the source of
lunch of his later enthusiasm and inspiration in the
theatre. He speaks with some pride of his play direction
activities at Texas: "I have not mentioned the Curtain
Club which I began in about 1908, at the University of
Texas. All men. First we gave The Silent Woman, then

afterward Moliere's The Miser, Goldoni's The Fan, The Two

 

Aggry Women of Abingdon, Le Legataire Universal of Regnard.
Then I went to Amherst and the Curtain Club took in women
and gave Galsworthy, Eugene O'Neill and what not."75

While at Texas, besides his teaching and directing
dUtiés, he concerned himself with the establishing and
edi-ting of a periodical, The Texas Review. But after the

FNblication of the first issue, he gave up this activity

38

for two reasons. He had accepted a position at Amherst

College in Massachusetts, and consequently was leaving the
Southwest; also, the activity had been foisted upon him by
the college authorities and he felt that his forte was not
magazine editing.76 His interests had by now taken deep

root in the theatre and his enthusiasms for The Texas Re-

 

view, after the publication had been established, lapsed

almost completely. Nevertheless, it is perhaps worth

noting that subsequently the periodical turned into the
Southwest Review and flourished.

In 1915, he moved to Amherst College. The circum-

stances of his move are worth relating. The summer before,

Young had taught summer school at Dartmouth College. While .
he was there, he was interviewed by Dr. Alexander Meiklajohn,

president of Amherst, for a position at the latter's insti-

tution. Young's name had been urged upon Meiklajohn by

JOhn Erskine of Columbia, one of Young's former teachers.
When the position was first offered to him, Young refused;

however, Meiklajohn followed Young to Texas, further to

urge the position upon him. The latter finally accepted.

Young was engaged as a full professor of English, after it
had been agreed with Meiklajohn that he (Young) would never

be Pressured into getting a Ph.D. It was Young's position

that he had no desire for a Ph.D. and would rather spend

his t3ime at more creative and less investigative activity.

39

For five years he served as a professor of English
811d continued his creative literary production, with short
:atories and poems for the current periodicals. For his
tachievements while at this college he was awarded an honor-
‘arw'membership in Phi Beta Kappa.

In the person of Meiklajohn, Young served under an
educator with strong liberal leanings. Meiklajohn was one
(If the first college presidents who applauded and encouraged
the pioneers of The New School for Social Research in New
lflork. In a letter to The Nation he commented: "To the
Imersons who lead the new enterprise, I doff my cap. They
are courageous, highminded, generous scholars. They are
(determined that we shall have greater independence and
tnioroughness in our social studies. In order to secure
these ends, many of these men are marching out of the older
institutions. As one who is left behind, I am sorry to see

them go, but glad to see them try their venture, glad to
wish them good luck."77

It was in 1920 while Young was still at Amherst
that Meiklejohn published The Liberal Colleg_. Later
Se'reral other studies reflecting the attitudes of the

liberal were forthcoming. These included: Freedom and the

lelSEg, 1923; The Experimental College, 1932; and Free
§m222§_§nd its Relation to Government, l9h8.

Young's interest in theatre became increasingly more

ho

intensified both as critic and creator. For example, while

at: this institution he created for the children of Dr.
Meiklejohn, a series of thirteen fairy plays that were
rneant to be read or acted by children, or produced by them
twith marionettes. These plays were later published under
'tlie title §weet Times and the Blue Policeman, (1925). They
tried to catch "Childish dreams and childhood terrors in an
Innsophisticated dramatic form."78 Each took him about one

half hour to write; so he told me.

Meanwhile as early as 1917 he had been contributing
ax~ticles to The New Republic on theatre, art, culture, and
1113 reactions to various areas in the United States and
Ehxrope. In these articles he demonstrated his ability to
:re—create human foibles, glowingly and sympathetically. It
is true perhaps that at times he paraded his love of learn—
ing and scholarship obtrusively. For example, in The Three

'1

nggtains, a collection of travel vignettes from his maga-

 

zine articles, in trying to compare and contrast points of
View about culture between the Anglo-Saxon and Italian,
Young reports a conversation between an Englishwoman and
an Italian friend. In the chat, the Englishwoman quotes

Verbatim very casually from Baudelaire, Beranger, Rabelais,

and Racine. The erudition, while perhaps a commendable

Characteristic, would seem in this case to be too obvious

and t00 unreal.79 But for the most part, as he does in

hl

Sizchlpieces as "Texas Lights,"80 "Dogfish,"81 and "Et Dona

Ferentes,"82 he presents his people and situations with
cflaaracteristic Stark Young romantic idealism. His love of
(Slassic beauty that sprang from his long steeping in the
(Ereek, Italian and English classics, was making itself felt.

Other periodicals like The Dial, North American
fieview, and Theatre Arts were accepting his essays, es-
Imecially those on theatre. The New Republic and Theatre
35533 were so impressed with his ability, erudition, and
illsight into the theatre arts, that the former invited him
'tCJ join the staff on a full time basis as theatre critic,
and the latter to serve as contributing editor, a position
that he retained until 19h0.

At the time that Young was invited to join, The New
IRepublic was already seven years old. The first issue had
aPpeared on the stands November 7, l9lh. This "journal of
Opinion which seeks to meet the challenge of a new time"
Was born because Mr. and Mrs. Willard Straight, wealthy,
and living in China at the time, had read Herbert Croly's
Momma of American Life. This book, the author's

f1Pst and best, impressed the Straights with its liberal-

iSm, idealism, and clear-sightedness. Particularly were

they impressed with his inquiry into the possibilities that

seemed to him to be available in the United States, after

the turn of the century. The Straights were not alone in

 

 

 

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being impressed. Croly's insight into the need for polit-
ical and economic reorganization, the better to realize a
full and satisfactory life for the people, moved Walter

mPPmamand later Felix Frankfurter to call him the first

 

1""I’Oili'tant political philosopher of the twentieth century.
When the Straights returned from the Far East, they
1r“""sdiately contacted Croly and offered to finance a maga—
31’19 under his editorship. Croly accepted and gathered
about him Walter Limmann, Robert M. Lovett, Henry Soule,
William Weyl, Francis Hackett and Philip Littel as co—
editors. Together they published the first issue of The
New Republic.
The policy of this new magazine would be to deal
With ideas rather than facts. Its main difference from
other magazines would be that it "would attempt to convert
criticism into a positive agency of progressive democratic
ascendency."83 It was intended to be anti-dogmatic, to
create in readers "little insurrections in the realm of
their opinions" and "prick and goad opinion into being more
vigilant and hospitable, in considering its convictions
more carefully-"8’4

Political philosopher that he was, Croly made his
““8321“ dedicate itself to a liberalism that might be a
great spIritual force. For it was his contention that mere

mutual reforms were no victories if the spiritual fiber

 

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was lacking. .And The New Republic's accomplishment in

 

kmlping to bring to fruition some of the practical reforms
amt it backed was by no means niggardly; to wit, woman
mnTrage, old age pensions, public development of water
Imwar sites, a national highway system, an injunction act,
alabor relations act.

Two years after the first publication, Lippmann
wifimrew as a full-time editor and was replaced by Alvin
S.thnson. The addition of Johnson is significant to
sue discussion, since it was perhaps in part through his
hflluence that Stark Young's earliest contributions (1917)

“Digs New Republic were accepted. They had been colleagues

 

atiflw University of Texas in 1908, Young as an English
DPOfessor and Johnson as an economics.professor. It is
hiBhly probable that they came in contact and found each
0ther compatible spirits as liberals and pioneers; Young
w1th his theatre venture (The Curtain Club) and Johnson
with his somewhat maverick antics as demonstrated by the
titlc of his first book, The Professor and the Petticoat.
Robert Morss Lovett, the distinguished critic and
literateur, co—editor at this time of The New Republic

 

"38 probably instrumental in getting Young a position with
”mt periodical also. He was very likely acquainted with
Ybungts work, since he (Lovett) was editor of The Dial

W
h“ Young had "Cities and Seasons and Islands" published

 

 

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in that magazine in 1919.

Johnson remained as an associate editor of The New
Impublic only until 1923. By that time he had taken over,
asdirector or president, the destinies of a newly estab—
liflmd liberal graduate school in New York City, The New
Sdmol for Social Research. More comment will be made
abmm this when the chronicle gets to Young's tenure as
lecturer at The New School.

The circumstances surrounding Young's Joining
Theatre Arts were somewhat different but no less inter-
eating or significant. This publication was first estab-
lished as a quarterly in Detroit in 1916, by Sheldon Cheney
and several other free and pioneering spirits in the
thOatre world. A statement on one of the earlier pages of
the first issue announcing the magazine's editorial policy
13 Of particular significance. It lies very close to

Ybuns‘s point of view. "Theatre Arts Magazine is designed

 

for the artist who approaches the theatre in the spirit of
the arts and crafts movement, and for the theatregoer who
1' awake artistically and intellectually . . . It will
“"9? the fields of all the arts of the theatre; or more
accm‘ately, it will cover all those contributive arts that
are working toward that wider synthetic art of the theatre
“1°11 is yet to be realized."85

By July 1919 the publication had moved to New York

 

 

MS

City and added to its editorial staff, among others, Edith
.L R. Isaacs. It was to this July 1919 issue of Theatre
.gjg that Young's first contribution was made, a one-act
phm'named At the Shrine. Later, in April 1922 another
mw-act play named The Queen of Sheba appeared, followed

i

hlAugust of l92h by his first full length play, The Colon—

 

gags.

By 1922 Edith J. R. Isaacs had become the editor and
meg and Kenneth Macgowan were the associate editors. The
nmmaKenneth Macgowan is important here since it was through
fins man that Young came in close contact with the Province-
hnanlayers. Macgowan was the director of that group,
Ibllowing George Cram Cook and his wife Susan Glaspell, and
”Bry‘probably was instrumental in getting several of
Young's plays produced. Macgowan was a co-producer for
O'Neill's welded when Young directed it on Broadway. In—
cidentally after a long and distinguished career as drama
critic, Broadway and Hollywood director, Macgowan by 1952
hadbecome head of the Department of Theatre Art at the
Ur'i'rersity of California.

Ashley Dukes, the English dramatic critic, was
added to the staff sometime later. The personnel remained
the Same for the next few years with the exception of the
adding and dropping successively of Carl Carmer, John Mason

rown, and Rosemond Gilder. Except for one year away

 

 

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to

(while he was'with The New York Times) Young remained with
jflgmtre Arts as associate editor until 19hl.

 

In 1920, Young's enthusiasm for teaching came to an
emL He told me that he felt he had been giving of himself
ulstudents for a long enough time and that now it was time
flmt he gave of himself to and for himself. Consequently,
hetook a half year's leave of absence in Europe, returned,
amiresigned his position at Amherst. He moved to New York,
Wifllno position in view, to free-lance. In 1921 he was

hrdted to join The New Republic as a contributing editor.

 

CNHy'had been impressed by Young's articles that had a1-
I'eady appeared in The New Republic, so he wrote him making
nuaoffer. Young accepted.

He served with this periodical until l92h in the
P01e of critic-of-allftrades, doubling as book reviewer.
art critic, drama critic, and commentator on world affairs.
He Wrote reviews of art exhibitions at the Anderson galler—
ies. Wildenstein galleries, New Kunst gallery, Reinhardt
galleries, and the Metropolitan Museum. The hours that he
Ind put in at the latter, while still a graduate student at
Columbia, now stood him in very good stead.

By the end of the first year with The New Republic
km "88 finished serving his apprenticeship and launched
kumself into a type of play evaluation that in the end

1 .
pa£ed him at the top, as one of the most respected critics

 

IL?

in the profession.

He associated himself with the Provincetown Players
who were directed by George Cram Cook and his wife Susan
Glaspell and later Kenneth MacGowan. In that group he met
zapromising playwright, recognized his genius and helped
mlget him a hearing. The playwright's name was Eugene
(HNeill. Young's subsequent laudatory reviews of O'Neill's
phms had much to do with the latter's rise to fame.

For instance, in March 1922, his review of one of

Eugene O'Neill's early efforts, The Hairy ApeJ was master—

 

ful. He gave a skillful, serious and exacting, as well as

86

detailed, account of the performance. His style was al.
ready showing the effects of his careful attempt to put
into words his intricate reasoning. He approached his task
With the creative critical intelligence that possibly) had
been stirred by Professor Spingarn at Columbia.87 He was
laying the foundation for what he later became, namely, the
critic's critic.

In 1923 he returned to directing. This time he di-

rected on Broadway in Lenormand's The Failures?8 The play

 

"33 Produced by the Theatre Guild in New York, November 19’

l .
923 w1th Dudley Digges, Jacob Ben-Ami, Winifred Lenihan,

and 89

Morris Carnovsky in the cast. It ran for twenty-four

perfOPMances

Ludwig Lewisohn's review of the play was congratula—

 

 

 

 

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tory toward Young. "The directing of the production (11113
Failures) by Mr. Stark Young is very able. There is
humanity; there is precision. I waited with some uneasi-
ness for Scene 10, fearing that Mr. Young would have yielded
to a touch of the fantastic. I was immediately reassured.
His feet remained firmly on the earth, where one's feet
belong."9o

The following year, 192h, he directed O'Neill's
M, produced by Kenneth Macgowan, Robert Jones, and
Eugene O'Neill in association with the Selwyns. The piece
first appeared at the Thirty-ninth Street Theatre on March
17, 192,4, withDoris Keane and Jacob Ben-Ami in the leading
roles.91

Incidentally, as a matter of passing interest, Mr.
Y°u38 held these actors in such high esteem that he later
"70% several very searching and appreciative essays about
thu!’ artistry. He did Ben-Ami the honor of offering him
the Part of Valdez, the leading role in his (Young's) play
%, And to Miss Keane he dedicated Immortal Shadows,
his b°°k on the theatre with: "To the memory of Doris Keane
1n Romanc here the effo t and exh u ti of the artist

N, w r a s on

went toward the projection of what only was beautiful,
lyric, passionate and witty; so that she became not so much
the elusive, remarkable darling of her public as their idol.

she w
as as it were all music and security of outline, like

 

 

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a swan on water, and something we long to believe can never
cease."92

As to the quality of directing in Welded, Lewisohn
could not condone the weakness that he thought he saw.
"Mr. Stark Young who directed Failures so admirably, failed
here. For even this gritty dialogue with its constant
flights into false and untimely eloquence might have been
softened and made human by the simplest delivery, by sub-
duing its artificial emphasis. Nothing of the kind is
done . . . The direction is rhetorical."93 Nathan in the

when Mercggy was also lukewarm. "The staging of the

 

manuscript by Stark Young was satisfactory save in the
matter of lighting."9u" Mr. Young informed me that, as di-
' r'ector, the lighting was no direct responsibility of his
”Way. The play ran for forty performances which was the
Winter that had been contracted. ‘

The same year he translated and directed Moliere's
.George Dandin on Broadway.95 The play opened at the
Provincetown Theatre, April 6, 1921+: on the same bill with
a dramatization of The Ancient Mariner, and remained for
mum327-three performances. Lewisohn for The Nation found
the translating "very fine felt" and the note Young in-
serted on the theatre programs "interesting and acute."
(A diligent search through all available theatre files

fai
led to turn up a copy of this program so that Young's

 

 

 

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50

note might be examined. A conversation with Young about
the matter was not helpful since he has no record of such
a note and does not remember ever having made one.) But
as to the directing, Lewisohn was only lukewarm.96
In 1921; he was called to The New York Times as drama

critic. His tenure with the paper lasted only a year how-
ever. As he said of himself during an earlier and even
shorter experience with The Brooklfl Standard Union, he was
neither by temperament nor inclination suited to the re-
quirements of newspaper reviewing. His evaluations and
analyses presupposed too much wide and careful background
knOWIedge on the part of the average newspaper reader.
39 had such high standards of thoroughness that he could
not make himself write with the superficiality of news-
Paper copy. He had a "habit of making [the readers] feel
uncomfortable. He did not write down to them. He used
”One of the reporter's tricks of easy interest, and he had
a sOlemn way of refusing to limit his copy to news."97

Young had become too much the theatre aesthetician
”9" to be satisfied with the superficial coverage given
by t’he daily reviewer. He simply could not do the reporting
Job t”'hat satisfied the requirements of the newspaper.

His years of academic association with literature,
as well as his years of devotion to the idea that theatre
is a literate art within itself, militated against this.

 

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His strong belief that theatre as an art was to be sepa-
rated irom mere entertainment would not allow him to lower
his aesthetic standards to the requirements of the daily
newspaper. This irritated at least one New York Times
reader so that he protested angrily: "Why do dramatic
critics [in this case Young] persist in the tendency to
make a hobby horse of a favorite word and ride it to death?
- - .[I am] somewhat tired of his use of the term theatre
in its abstract sense, . . . it would seem as if he cannot
write a review without putting the saddle on this old nag
and digging in the spurs."98

One reader of The New Requgg resented what he con-
sidered Young's verbose style and wanted to know if some-
thing couldn't be done to make him "talk sense and write
finish!” Justified or not, these remonstrances seemed
t° have little effect on Young's subsequent style. In
1931 when reviewing Raymond Massey's portrayal of Hamlet,
u” critic expressed disapproval of the actor's handling
of the sli‘eech at Ophelia's grave. And he expressed this
disapprmml in a diction much too illusive and allusive
for t11°38 less erudite than he (Young). "In the crocodile
08“ Speech at the grave of Ophelia, the high point in the
baroque excitement of the poet's style, following the na-

tiv
e Gothicism of the gravediggers, Mr. Massey exhibited
his 1nad°quacy "100

 

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52

Young's product was unusual among the Journalistic
critics, and this unusualness was not received with unmixed
approval by all of them. They gave him credit for his
seriousness and careful creation, but questioned the
writing technique he used in his zealous espousal of the
cause of theatre art. W. P. Eaton reminds his readers that
"Young is not always free from a touch of the verbal cant
which is the bane of too much modern literary criticism."101
Bailey remarks that the distinction with which he (Young)
writes is so elaborate that the "plebes of this world can-
not in the least understand what he is talking about,"102
and might well enjoy not understanding it.103 Even the
conservative critic of the staid London Times finds it too
bad that Young has to use such a heavy style.10b’ Nathan,
“11°80 statement time proved to be wrong, complained:

"Where the call is for clear, direct plan and thought as
' - - 1n the field of dramatic criticism, he [Young] is

1°“ - - . In criticism in particular, is Young a mere

°°mposer of crossword puzzles."105
However, his recognition as a critic with whom to

"9 reckoned was becoming more and more firmly established,

not Only With the aestheticians but with the directors and

r
p Oducers as well. While with The New York Times he wrote

 

a :-
eview of Max Reinhardt's production of The Miracle that

gain
ed a gpeat deal of respect, at least from Reinhardt.106

 

 

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53

The New York critics' reports were all "raves," but Young
showed that he, as a minority of one, was not satisfied

with the production aesthetically. In his review he pro-
ceeded to outline the how and why of it. It was only

Young's evaluation that Reinhardt felt merited preserving.107

This incident would not be especially worth recording ex-
cept to underscore the slow but certain development of
Young’s careful and deliberate technique.

But more importantly, in 1921i he wrote his first
full length play, The Colonnade. This he offered to the
Provincetown Players for production, but as we shall see

later in this discussion, they never produced it.
This play is a presentation of the conflict between
Major Dandridge (the Old South) and his poet son John (the
New South). It reaffirms Young's faith in the culture of
the traditional Southern agrarian aristocracy and restates
his allegiance to a South that is part of his very being.
It 1°°k8 forward to his attitude as expressed later in
WMy Stand. John, the poet in the play, embodies
this allegiance, romantically, emotionally and mystically.
In a Scene with his wife Evelyn heexclaims: "But look at
this night . . . What a night, my God, what a night! It's
1”credible. I always forget how beautiful it can be down ~ . -
here, I always know when it's like this that I love my
own country best after all, my own South. Look at the

 

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mmnflight over everything. You could read by it, couldn't
ymu Over the columns and the stones of the pavement. . .
It's like a heart beating."108

That is not all. In The Colonnade the author gives

 

usa clue to his whole aesthetic, a philosophy of art that
sahumtes all of his criticism. John, the poet, speaks of
theldnd of thing he hopes to write:

You see we've already the dumb gray of abandoned
farms, city sweat shops, back alleys, ashbarrels
and disease. That's no more real than anything
else. I don't want to decide that one thing is
the reality in life and another isn't. I'd like
to find a medium that was not afraid of warmth,
beauty, that let all this have its chance as
well as the drab and dismal, that is comic or
tragic as you please, but glows, sings, darkens,
dulls, as life does. I mean a realism that is
so real and so precisely true and close that

it becomes poetic, gives back their dream to
things. What I mean is that the great point

in art is to keep the life going in it, no mat-
ter what theory you follow. Everything moving
in the stream of all life, but sgen too with

its own particular life in it.1

This character might easily have used the favorite
meB expression, "an antiphonal radiance of all things
amng themselves by which their truth alone appears" and
havecome very close to expressing the basic Young theatre
aemmmtic. In this aesthetic one of the basic elements of
his theory is, namely, "The spring of life that enters into
an“ therlood of gusto, and energy, the pulse 8Dd glow."110

‘ The author became dissatisfied with the treatment

mu
p13? was receiving from the Provincetown players, 80

 

 

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55

it was withdrawn from that production group. Later, how-
ever, ”The Colonnade was done by the London Stage Society
and had very fine notices from Walkley and other critics.
Eugene O'Neill said it was American Chekhov, etc. Ashley
Dukes said in his London review that it was the best Ameri-
can play that had been done in England. It was also done
in Holland, I don't know at what theatre."111

One of the London critics pointed out that it was
not a good acting play. Instead of action which is re-
quired of good playing drama, there was only reaction and
not easily recognizable subtlety. He remarked that the
play was Chekhovian, a remark seconded by Eugene O'Neill;
”hit it was a play of symbolism. In it the author makes
the 0010nnade, at which the poet John Dandridge looks con;
“flatly, the symbol of freedom and escape from conformity.
Stark Young, the artist and dreamer "has attempted a vision
°f reality much is not a question of facts but of mood,
01' artistic conception, diffuse and atmospheric in sug-
section, ”112

A most interesting comment came from a London critic
who“ claim Was that if the play was not a success it was
not the fault of the play but of the audience. He insisted
that since the play's dominant interest was atmosphere, it
was 11p to the audience to surrender its spirit to the play,

and t
hat if the audience did not do this, surely the play

 

 

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56

and its author were not to be censured.]‘l3 The mountain
must come to Mohammad. This sounds like praise indeed.

Also in 19214, his second major full length play The
_S_a__i_r_1_t opened at the Greenwich Village Theatre in New York
on October 11.11"L Briefly, the plot of the play concerns
itself with the search for a solution to spiritual problems.
Valdez, a Mexican-American cowboy, decides to enter a Roman
Catholic seminary in a small town on the Texas-Mexican bor-
der. He hopes to find the answer by losing himself in the
ritual of the Church, but instead falls in love with a
carnival girl and leaves the seminary. In the carnival,
he achieves stardom as an imitator of Charlie Chaplin. He
loses himself in the part and for a time finds in art,
contentment and an answer to his riddle. Because the“ girl
18 unfaithful to him, he becomes disillusioned and leaves
the carnival. When he returns to the seminary, he discovers
that life there is equally unsatisfying, so he finally re-
turns to the plains. In range-rider solitude, he finds a
Measure 01‘ solace and security.

This play was produced by the Provincetown Players
with Maria Ouspenskaya, the Russian actress, as Pigeons,
the feminine character lead. Mr. Young wanted Ben-Ami, the
talented Yiddish Theatre actor, for the male lead, but be-
cause the actor had other commitments Mr. Young was unable

to at
8 him- Leo Carillo, who later gained fame as 8 3°11?

 

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wood cowboy in innumerable "Westerns," did the part. Young
himself was very much disgusted with the casting and thought
that his play had no real chance on Broadway because of ”.115
It was received by the Broadway critics with mixed
reactions, ranging from sympathetic understanding to annoy-
ance at Young's alleged ignorance of some of the basic pro-

duction principles .

His own New York Times (he was their drama critic

 

at the time, but of course did not review his own play)
thought it "a play of lofty aim" but was disappointed that
"it came to life only in flashes." This is an interesting
comment since one of Young's rigid aesthetic criteria in
his stage criticism is that the presentation "come alive."

Time was kind but negative. "Stark Young . . . is
a Critic of the theatre whose penetrating observation has
1038 been a tonic to our stage. Much to the distress of
his admirers, he has attempted to embody the rules and
measure of his wisdom in the heart and beauty of a play.
M!" Young has built up the fabric of a well-made drama; he
has strengthened it with a fancy thread of beauty: and he
has Wholcly failed to fill it with the air of sound

r
eality."116 Percy Hammond in The New York Herald Tribune

 

w
as 3°mOWhat more than blunt and called it "neither art

"01' entertainment. "

Nathan's comment was icy. He claimed that Young

 

58

possessed no genius; that he had not abided by the stand-
ards of excellence in the theatre art that he himself had
set up in his theatre essays; that his play did not even
come up to the level of other plays Young had already crit-
icized destructively. 117

One can understand the critics' and audience's
puzzlement, for an atmosphere of nostalgia and mystical
searching-and-never-finding pervades the play. One can
feel in it the search for the Holy Grail being reenacted.
This no doubt has resulted from Young's literary back-
eround in Malory and Spenser. It is a play that is "more

subtle and poetic than the common run of such plays,"118

and more firmly than before confirms this author as an
aesthetic mystic.119

This play also demonstrates something that Young
insists upon in detail in his later discussion of acting

in Mwer in Drama, where he affirms that dramatic

 

literature can only come alive through another medium, the
a°t°r° "The Saint is . . . distinctly an actor's play for
the theatre where the parts for their completion require
filling in by the body and the mind of the player."120
Y01mg feels very strongly that the actor occupies
the most important place in the whole sweep of the theatre
“sthetic.

As will be seen farther on in this discussion,

pend“ much time in his theatre books explaining in

 

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59

great detail the function of the actor and the responsi-
bility, training and artistry required in acting. He goes
so far in his critical reviews as to tell the actors what
specifically they should do to raise their efforts from a
more performance to a work of art. For example when he re-
VIewed Malvalocg a Spanish play with Jane Cowl in the lead,
he gave Miss Cowl some advice: "She needs to charge her
body with what this woman is: to put this into her feet,
her head, as it rises from her shoulders, her hands. She
Should then whiten the top of her voice and darken the
bottom of it. . . Without all this and more, her part is
only an elementary stage figure with a few poignant c11—
max°8"121 and not a work of art. His insistence upon the
1mportance of the actor as an artist rather than just a
Performer is particularly stressed in a statement like:
"M0“ than the designer who created the decor, or the
dramatist who gave the play and the central theme, or the
direct”. who controlled and shaped the whole of the theatre
work, the actors engage the audience; their mystery and
pow” are felt most; they are the singers in the song."122
Later in the discussion we will go more fully into
the matter of the actor, but one cannot help noting how
different; Young's attitude is from George J. Nathan's.

The
latter. classifies actors as parasites who are laid

OVer
the Peal art of the dramatist.123

 

 

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But to return to Young as poet of the theatre. This
poetic strain, this staring into the infinite, this search-
ing after eternal and universal beauty was becoming more
and more pronounced in all his writings. The short poems
like "The Garden of Psyche," that in his early youth he
had submitted to various periodicals, indicated this
strongly. Behind it was the influence of the "romantics."

In his more mature work the element of the mystical was be-
coming more striking; the probings into life's mysteries

more profound and subtle. The plays, although not very
successful commercially as stage fare, were achieving sta—
ture as literature and influencing deeply the author's

later critical output. The almost metaphysical, out-of-
this-worldishness of the early efforts was becoming more
”Phisticated and more symbolic. As one commentator ob-
301‘Ved: "Stark Young, who constructs his plays of color

and senslation and folk legend, derives his materials not
"1°39 from the past but from the out-of—the-way places in
Which the color and the savor of life run more high than

our °°1d zones. To these materials he has in At the Shrine ’
m: The Saint, The Colonnade, applied symbols remi-
niscmt 0f the earlier and purer practice of the stage."1?'u'

It is not altogether clear what the commentator .
Means by the "earlier and purer practices" but if the im-

Plic
“1°” is that in Young's work there is a trend toward

 

 

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the symbolic, the ritualistic and the religious, one is
inclined to agree. He is trying to "uncover the eternal
aspirations which underlie the specific social content."125
In 1925 after one year as The New York Times critic,
"from the floodgates of journalism [he] paddled back to the

millpond of The New Rep_ublic.”1‘?6

He enlarged his activity
by returning to one of his first loves -- teaching. He was
invited to give a series of lectures on theatre and allied
arts at the New School for Social Research in New York City.

The New School was established in 1919 and counted
among the nucleus of its moving spirits in its beginnings,
James Harvey Robinson, Charles A. Beard and Thorstein
Veblen. These men, liberals all, felt there was need for
a school less circumscribed than the traditional college
Eraduate school; that there was need for a school "provid-
ing Persons of mature intelligence with facilities for in-
Struction and research in thevvital problems 01' contempo-
rary life." The founders were very much concerned about
the fact that many of the graduate schools were being
Shackled by academic requirements and administrative red
tape, 80 The New School was set up on the basis of ninety
1’” cent teaching and scientific investigation; ten per

cent
administration. There was no elaborate building set-

up: 8
ince the school was to deal with mature students whose

work
c°uld be accomplished in the already adequate college

 

 

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62

amipublic libraries of New York City. The faculty was to
control the appointment and dismissal of teachers and also
govern the educational policy. The plan was "a cooperative
venhnw in non-authoritarian informal learning, the chief

mnpose of which is to discover the meaning of experience."

Unhampered intellectually or academically,
without social, political or religious bias,
The New School is an educational laboratory
to which the factory or the clerical worker
is as welcome as the lawyer, the physician,
the teacher, the engineer, and the social
worker, if he but bring the one necessary
contribution -- intellectual interest. This
institution fixes no entrance requirements,
confers no degrees or credits toward degrees,
and sets no examinations. As a result, the
students come by the process of self selec-
tion which Egaws minds of a high level of
attainment. ’

Herbert Croly, editor of The New Republic at the
time. and liberal political philosopher that he was, backed
the idea of the school in one particularly strong article.

The very fabric of civilization is endangered
because the results of scientific research,

of the pursuit of truth, is being used, not

to set men and women free but to fasten upon
them a more crushing bondage. The world needs
coasequently, truth seekers who are not indif-
ferent to the uses to which their science is
being put and social evangelists who are cap-
able of adapting the results of scientific
research to the needs of their own mission.

humanism is to triumph over . . . particu-

larism . . . it must anticipate in the lives
0r its own promoters the beginning of that

fitter cooperation between science and social
Intrpose, between the intelligence and the
will, which it hopes to spread throughout the
"Orld. Probably such cooperation will not go
zery far until it receives an impulse from
1is restoration of religion to a worthier

 

63

place in human life . . . In the meantime

something can be done to anticipate by ed-

ucation, the birth of the new faith, and

in this pedestrian job, schools of social

research . . 12gould make an indispensable

contribution.

The institution prospered in attendance; in the
fhmt seven years it had enrolled nearly ten thousand stu-
dents. For the first few years it was run by a board com—
posed of all of the teachers. In 1923, Dr. Alvin S.
thnson was called from The.hew_fiepublic, where he had
been an associate editor since 1919, to the Directorship
Of The New School.

It is fairly easy to trace, then, the series of
GVents that culminated in Stark Young being invited to
lecture at The New School. In 1908, Alvin Johnson and
Stark Young were colleagues at the University of Texas;
lmth "are apparently liberal and compatible spirits.
Jamson joined Croly's liberal weekly Thenfiew Republic in
1917 and undoubtedly had had a share in the accepting of
“Mia's early articles in that periodical. Herbert Croly
and his associate editors (including Johnson) because of
their liberal educational philosophy had backed The New
Sflmol at its inception. In 1925, after Johnson had been
sanded for some time as director of The New School, he
invited Young to lecture there.

Inlese lectures which lasted for three years, 1925-28,

0 I3Opular that they attracted more students than had

 

ever before attended classes at The New School. Although

the course could probably have gone on indefinitely, Mr.
Young, finding himself becoming less enthusiastic about
giving it, withdrew from the school.

Also in 1925 appeared the first two of his five
theatre books, The Flower in Drama and Glamour. Both are
collections of essays on acting and theatre art that are
modest in size but probably among the best contributions
"91‘ made to the understanding of these matters.129 One
critic goes so far as to say that this and another of
IWing's books together marked him as the "logical successor
'50 Lamb and Lewes and Coquelin in the slim list of those
"ho can write of acting."130 The Flower in Drama is a
“rise of fifteen separate essays, each of which treats
”"19 Phase of the actor's art. The first essay, "Acting,"
8°33 into a very detailed consideration of the 932 of
acting. Another essay treats of the work of the director
and tZhe use of the promptbook. One essay is an open letter
to Charles Chaplin, the movie-comic-pantomimist, in which
Young Urges the movie star to go on to greater heights in
his art. His analyses and the theories he expounds are
cree‘tj-Vely critical in that he is not content to tear down
and leave the wreckage in his path. With great patience

an
d sensitive imaginativeness he suggests changes to

mph”: Proposes additions and recommends eliminations.

 

 

 

 

 

65

Beta: a great admirer of Chaplin as an artist; so much, in
fact, that he borrowed the Chaplin stage character for
Valdez, the acting lead in The Saint.

The frontispiece quote in The Flower in Drama reads
asfbllows: "If one aims only at the beautiful, the flower
issure to appear." This is an interesting line since it
pohnm in some measure to Young's arrival at a sort of
aesthetic1nysticism. He apparently had made a study of
the Japanese N6 plays done by a lhth century Japanese play-
wright and painter named Seami. 'This same Seami had made
8 study of the acting in these plays, and evolved an aes-
thetic theory that "in imitation there should always be a
tinge of the unlike." He felt that if imitation is pressed
t°° far it becomes the reality and thus eliminates any
9°381bility of giving an impression of likeness. But

If one aims only at the beautiful, the flower,

as he [Seami] calls it, will be sure to appear.

If for example, in the part of an old man the

actor, merely because he has noticed that old

men walk with bent backs and crooked knees

and have shrunken frames, sets about to imi-

tate these characteristics, he may indeed

Achieve an effect of decrepitude, but it will

be at the expense of the flower. And if the

flower be lacking there will be no beauty in

the impersonation. What this actor should

- Study, Seami says, is that effect of will

“nthout the correspondigg capacity for action

that shows in old age.

Th
e a°t°r then would be able to give a performance that

won
1d present the "flower" in his artistic rendition of the
°himan.

 

 

66

Young develops this line of reasoning in some detail
in the section entitled "Acting." He has no patience with
the school of photographic realists in acting who believe
that the actor has achieved the ultimate when he becomes
the character he portrays; when Charles Laughton is no
longer Charles Laughton but Henry VIII; or Helen Hayes is
no longer Helen Hayes but Queen Victoria; or Joe Jefferson
is no longer Joe Jefferson but Rip Van Winkle; or Duse is
no longer Duse but Mrs. Alving. People who believe this is
the epitome of the art might better go to a zoo, for there
is nothing that acts more like an elephant than an elephant.132

It was in The Flower; in Drama that Young wrote
“Nye in the form of open letters to Charles Chaplin and
Eleanore Duse, complimenting the latter and advising the
former. In each, there is a critical appraisal of the
artist's talent that reveals Young as the creative critic
"11° eSchews "lively chit-chat about the stage, slangy dia-
tribe Or sophomoric enthusiasms. . . [in favor of] acute
a""157318, constructive comment, and ardent searching
Philosophy. ”133

Montrose J. Moses suggested that the book exclusive
of its Worth in its own literary right, is important as a
rallying point for those who are attempting to get under
Hay a Whole new movement in theatre appreciation. He

thi
nks t"hat with this book Young should be welcomed into

 

67

the fold "as one of the few who will help the new movement
immeasurably by interesting his readers simply, and with no
propaganda motive in reading a deeper appreciation of the
finest things in art."13"

Glamour, his second book on theatre art, was pub-
lished the same year, 1925, and was dedicated to his friend
David Prall, professor of philosophy at the University of
California and author of books and articles on aesthetics.
Young's acquaintance with Prall's sister, Elizabeth, re-
flulted in some interesting connections. During his annual
“Bits to Oxford, Mississippi, to see his father, Young
b“tame interested in a fellow Oxfordian, sixteen years his
Junior, named William Faulkner. With his talent for assay—
ing literary promise,135 Young recognized in Faulkner a
rich vein of literary gold. Forthwith he arranged to have
him come to New York and obtained a job for him in the
bookshop operated by Elizabeth Prall, David's sister.
sh°rt1y after, Miss Prall married Sherwood Anderson, and
thmugh Anderson, Faulkner was put in touch with "Horace
LiverWright, who published Soldier‘s Pay and gave Faulkner
the Usual three book contract, his first contract with a

P111911 Sher . N 136

Glamour includes another essay on Eleanore Duse,

th
e actress, written upon the occasion of her untimely

do.
th‘ Besides paying tribute to her as a performer, the

 

 

      
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  

author lauds her as an artist and launches himself into
number profound observations on the acting art. The third
essay offers a critical analysis and appreciation of the
mwkin America of the Moscow Art Theatre group. It may
lull be that this group kindled in Young the fire for later
hanslations of Chekhov. Of all these essays probably the
mwst interesting, critically speaking, is the one which
Presents a series of fictitious letters from dead actors

or distinction to living actors of promise. For example,
there is a letter from Rachel the French tragedienne to
Pauline Lord in which she gives the latter some tips about
"atYIe", a very important word in the Young aesthetic.

Garrick the Shakespere tragedian, advises John Barrymore

°n some details in the playing of Hamlet. Garrick tells

Barrymore, "You have an admirable presence, but you are

n°t numetic; your pantomime could mean little in itself.

Your body and your face are not eminently flexible and ex-

preBsive."137 Here again as he did in The Flower in Dramg

Ibung demonstrates his facility with creative criticism.

E" beComes himself the critical artist and explores the

3°°r°t path between the creator (in this case, the actor)

ind his work.

"Sophocles' Guest," the last essay in this collec-
t
ion, 13 perhaps the most important since it seems to sum

upthe Ybung philosophy of life. More strongly here than

 

69

   
  
  
    
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
  

anywhere else up to this point are the strains of the
mystic perceptible. What is God, then, to him but "an
antiphonal radiance of all things among themselves, by
which alone their truth appears?"138 This expression
”antiphonal radiance", one of Young's favorites, can be
found in at least ten different places in his writings.
Glamour like its predecessor is neither pedestrian
nor popular; its appeal is to the literary mind and the
connoisseur. It repeats in some cases almost verbatim
some of the materials in The Flower in Drama, but whatever
else it may or may not be it is never flippant, trivial,
or cynical. Rather, it is fresh, sensitive, intellectual,
PrOfOund and at times eloquent, demonstrating a facility
with the phrase more usual in the literary critic than the
(lunatic critic; as, for example, when he describes the
Wine man in "Sophocles' Guest" who has been shopping
“mad for a suitable religion to accept. Says he of him,
n°r the soul's Journalism he is a busy and well posted
“macriber-"139 Who but a literary artist himself could
Gouch so much "idea" in so neat and tight a package?

The following year, 1926, he continued his explora-
u°n 01' the theatre art with a textbook called Theatre
Me. This book goes into a great deal of specific ‘
detail abent the techniques of acting, staging, play—

Hr
1t1‘18, speaking, producing, costuming, directing, illusion,

 

 

 

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70

stage movement, realistic and poetic presentation, music,
color, lights, audience, and all the other supplementary
matters of the theatre.

Unlike The Flower in Drama this book does not have
quite so strong a philosophical flavor. To be sure, it
exhibits the same cultured, penetrating and constructive
qualities underlying all of his considerations of the
theatre arts, but for the most part it is designed as a
Practical handbook and textbook, complete with questions
at the end of each chapter. In this book three ingredients
are happily combined: Stark Young's years of college-level
educational facility; his years of practical experience as
playwright, director, producer, dramatic critic and writer
about theatre arts; and his years of wisdom as a subtle and
Senaitive aesthetician.

As if this were not enough accomplishment above and
beyond his regular theatre-review stint for The New Repub-
k: he meanwhile turned to the writing of fiction; and in

1926 his first novel, Heaven Trees, was published. Heaven

 

T318 pictures life on a Mississippi plantation about 8
hundred years before; as he says, "in the fifties." There
is no plot, and whatever charm there is grows out of the
Simple dignity of the story and the integrity of the
Writer. There are no artifices or subterfuges. No one

gets eKcited nor is there any excessive excitement. There

 

71

are only the endless comings and goings of fairly uninhib-
ited kith and kin.

There is portrayed here an account of the traditional
quiet Southern dignity, expansiveness, luxuriousness and
culture of which Young himself was a product. Uncle George
Clay owns the estate, "Heaven Trees," and Aunt Martha runs
it. Throughout the book, the smooth placidity of this
Plantation existence is contrasted with the harsh turbu—
lence of the North. When cousin Ellen from Vermont comes
to visit, her Puritan reticence and economy of spirit
SGI‘Ve to highlight the Southern graciousness of manner and
ease of department. About her there is a New England
t‘enseness and rigidity that Young describes very adequate-
1y: "Her gentle face, slightly pinched . . . was set on
81oping shoulders of a body that was naturally pleasant
but had been pushed by training into an odd sort of solem-
nitY- I can see now the figure of her standing there in
the Parlor at 'Heaven Trees.‘ It was a body that seemed
to imply moving joyously along in the manner of church
Slippers and taking its bacchanals on raspberry vinegar.

She seemed a little book of sweet and gentle poetry that
had been bound in buckram for a pew/’1“0

In a speech that gets to the very core of the mat-
tel" Uncle George makes crystal clear the difference in th°

b
881° philosOphy of New England and the South:

 

72

Men of northern lands . . . seem to be soured
by the discovery of truth. They seem dis-
pleased by any new revelations of the facts
of the universe, displeased but stirred to
think at once of changing something for the
better. But everyone, he said, who lived
under bright stars knew that to arrive at

any truth is to add to your intellect one
more harmony with the universe. Depth of
thinking brought to Plato's soul . . . a
melancholy beauty that would give John Knox
the dumps. What made Plato more lonely and
serene made John Knoi want to knock all Edin—
burgh over the head. h

This was Young's first attempt at portraying the
Emuth in a novel, and also represents an experiment in a
medium that he had not employed so far. It is romantic,
1cicalistic, and even sentimental perhaps, in keeping with
imat one is led to expect from his Malory-Spenser-Words-
w03"tl'1—Coleridge-Keats--Old South orientation. It is written
‘fith a realistic technique that made one Southerner say
thatthe conversations of the characters made her home-
Sidkrlhz Its greatest significance lies in the fact that
1“ Peints toward his later triumphs in this type of re-
gional portraiture.

The statement above about his realistic technique
“fight at first glance seem to be inconsistent with.previous
smatements, namely, that he objects to realism in acting,
and that he is a romantic. Let us say that Young objects
to a technique so realistic that it outHerods Herod and
leaves no opportunity for comparison and contrast with

re
Glity. As we shall see later, he disapproved the Broad-

 

73

way performance of Street Scene, because it relied too much
on shear type-casting and was accordingly too realistic for
effectiveness as theatre art.

It is photographic realism to which he objects; a
realism that has such an abundance of detail that the sheer
weight of detail gets in the way of the idea. When this
happens the poetic and the imaginative are destroyed and
t9he product is no longer art. He was encouraged when he
Observed the absence of stark realism of detail in The
M; he was happy to see that it allowed for the emer-
gence of idea.]""’3

He continued his sketches in another book named
Enc

. austics
hWe‘rer, the focus is not on the South. It is exactly

, published the same year, 1926. In this book,

What the title implies, namely, pictures of contemporary
life and living whose colors are burned in. This time the
author presents a collection that can only be described as
caustic comment in encaustics. For example, he is dis-
treeBed to observe from the overcrowded newsstands, the
kinds of reading Americans are doing in the POPUIGI' maga-
Zines; he is shocked at the emptiness of it all. He is not
despairing or shrill about it, for that would be as silly
as being cynical about the weather; however, he deplores
the Syruptomatic vacuity that it represents. "If it were
Only bEll‘baric, you might feel better; there is hope in bar-

 

7h

barism and beauty in it, as everyone admits. But this
active and competent and shallow adequacy.'"1m‘L

These sketches that cover a geographical area
ranging from New York to Texas to Italy are in a sense
polemic. Though there is no bitterness, no despair, no
h01y zeal to save the world, in essence his effort is
evangelistic. He is the devotee of culture, of art’; and
the apparent shallowness of 20th century living irks him.

He shudders at the worthlessness of the conversa-
tions he hears going on about him. Always direct address;
never a profundity of any sort; never a generalization
evolving from a series of deductions or inductions; never
an abstraction; only a strange and elusive emptiness.

Quietly and with exquisite finesse he warns against
the lowering of standards he sees about him. The prose
style has a muted thunder suited to the intent and is not
unlike that of George Santayana, whom Young admired.

From the time of his first trip to Europe in 1902,
shortly after the Water Valley School closed, he had been
making trips nearly every year, usually to Italy, which he
loved most of all. Many of his stories involving character
aketching had their locale in some Italian city or country-
81d°~ He familiarized himself completely with the language,
"mm": and tradition of the Italians, and thus became well

equipped to translate some of their literature, which he did.

 

75

In 1927, he resumed his translating activity; this
fine it was Machiavelli's Mandragola, a very earthy five
actcomedy that deals with amatory and domestic intrigue
involving the powers of the Mandragola plant.

But he did not neglect his role as the philosopher

ofthe theatre arts, for also in 1927 he published The

   
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
 
  

'flmatre, the fourth of his five books on the theatre arts
and dramatic criticism. This like his two previous efforts
was a serious study of the theatre and its chief elements,
the play, the director, the actors, the setting, and the
audience. It added, however, only a very little to what he
had said in its two predecessors. In fact much of it was

veI'batim repetition of portions of The Flower in Drama,

 

Elgflgur, and Theatre Practice, but it did continue his in-
vestigations'into techniques and source materials of the
artist. It examined with authority practical problems of
the director for which he was well qualified, for, as he
3‘1d later, "I should mention that I myself have directed
More than one play on Broadway and have seen many rehears-
‘13 Otherwise; so I have some practical knowledge of the
business of directing, the methods and problems and evi-
d”m°B 0f it."lhs It brought into play again his vast
background in every element of the theatre. The treatment
is thoughtful, discerning and illuminating. It hits upon

some 0? the basics in theatre art and reflects its author's

 

 

 

0"1

 

 

76

well-grounded fundamentals. More than anything else it
establishes the notion that to Young "The play is the most
important thing in the theatre,"lh6 a matter for discussion
later in this thesis.

In the next two years, he continued his portrayal of
the South in its more attractive aspects. In 1928 appeared

The Torches Flare, a story of the present day and the con-

 

 

flict of the Northern and Southern philosophies.

The plot is uncomplicated. Briefly, it tells the
comparatively simple story of Lena Dandridge (the same
Darldridge family of The Colonnade) from Mississippi who
leaves her home in the South to go on the New York stage.
She becomes a great hit but because of illness has to give
it all up to return South. There is a love story; her
lower follows her South but they finally break up. Young
13 Very obviously Hal Boardman in this novel. As Boardman.
he relates the story as it has come to him from the char-
““93? who is "I."

It is in this knowingness that The Torches Flare
realizes part of its significance. The book gives the
“tho? an opportunity to exhibit his knowledge of the
Bmadway theatre scene from both back and front stage. He
“1‘93 his readers on a behind-the-scenes tour of the most
arty 0f the Greenwich Village spots; he draws from his ex-

perierice in the art salons, matinees and soirees of his

 

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77

(hhmmia University days; he brings to bear the insight and
understanding wrought of many years as Broadway drama
crnflc; he makes tense and piercing comment on art, society,
amicertain aspects of the meaning of sin.

But it is when the scene moves South that the author
is at his best. He brings into play his talent, already
dammstrated in Heaven Trees, for recreating serenity and
fine de vivre inherent in the pre-bellum way of life in
theEmuth. The picture is real and moving and represents
the second flagstone in the walk that leads ultimately to
the consummate artistry of So Bad The Rose.

In 1929 he laid the third major flagstone in this

tr’ee-shaded walk, with his novel River House. This repre
'sentg a restatement of the thesis in The Colonnade, which
13 a plea for a better understanding of the mores of the
Old South. It is in some places a verbatim transfer from
the medium of the drama to the form of the novel. The
situation is the same, the characters are the same, with
Very few exceptions, and the dialogue is the same. This
is unuaual.dlthough we have many cases of novels being
t“med into plays, we have very few examples in reverse.
The plot is light, being concerned with a conflict of wills
between a father, Major Dandridge, and his poet son John.
This Change from the form of the drama to that of the novel

1
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”Young's real province is fiction, [for] his ability as a
creator is superior to his ability as a critic. For it is
sensitivity that is his forte, not analysis."lb'7 For us
this is an illuminating comment, as it testifies to the
range of Young's creative talent. Combined with his powers
for analysis it is this very creative power which makes him
the ideal creative critic.

About this time he was also associated, though
briefly, with the Southern Agrarians. For several years
at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tennessee, there
had been growing a strong urge among a number of Southern
literary men to take up the torch for the Old South. This
group, also known as the Nashville Fugitives, because their
”881'! was The Fugitive, was made up of Allen Tate, Robert
Penn Warren, Donald Davidson, John Crows Ransome, and
Others. They were Southern agrarians who had been agi-
tating a long time for a return to the traditional planta—
t1°n economy of the South. In 1930, they joined literary
forces to collaborate in a Manifesto against the economic
determinism and industrial materialism of the North. The
effort resulted in I'll Take My Stand.

Young was not a member of this Nashville group per
se, but he was an intensely loyal Southerner, as all of his
literary work had thus far indicated. Also he was a close

1‘
riend 0f Allen Tate. It seemed, therefore, natural that

 

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79

he should be invited to join with the"Fugitives" and con-
tribute an essay named "Not in Memoriam, but in Defense."
He was not especially sympathetic with the effort and other
than contributing this one essay he "never had any dealings
otherwise with the movement."]'l*8

The essay defends traditionalism and provincialism
in America and pleads for a return to the moral stature of
Southern agrarian Victorianism. Note the phrase moral
Stature. He definitely does not want a literal return,

but in keeping with his philosophy heretofore expressed in

Mower in Drama and his other books of dramatic crit-

 

iclam, he is pleading for the return of the "flower" or the
worthwhile "core-essence." "If anything is clear, it is
that we never can go back, and neither this essay nor any
1m"elligent person that I know in the South desires a lit—
eral restoration of the Old Southern life, even if that
were possible; dead days are gone, and if by some chance
they Should return, we should find them intolerable. But
out Of any epoch in civilization there may arise things
worth'dhile, that are the flowers of it."1h'9 His allegiance
t° t"he spirit of the more or less unreconstructed South has
I'emained with him and is the theme implicit in what many
consllder his masterpiece, So Red the Rose.

Also in 1930 The Street of the Islands, a collection

0 x ‘
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80

these snapshots and short stories had appeared before singly,
in magazines. Collectively they reflected, like The Three
Wing of an earlier date, sidelights and variations on
the theme: the Latin and Anglo-Saxon cultures clash when
they meat.

It was at this time, 1930, that Henry Croly, editor
Oflhe New Republic, died, causing a re-alignment of the
staff. The publication was now produced on a co-editor
basis and Young was elevated to full co-editorship with
Bruce Bliven, Robert Morss Lovett, George Soule, and Edmund
Wilson.

Young took to lecturing in 1931 and "through the
Offices of the Westinghouse [Westinghouse Foundation] I
Made a series of lectures in Italy on certain aspects of
American life, sometimes on our industrial America, some-
times on the cultural. The choice of the lecturer is left
to the Institute of International Education, acting with
the Italy American Society.""150 The circumstances sur-
1"Winding his choice as the lecturer are not clear, but the
fact that he had been an annual Visitor to Italy for many
Years, an admirer of Italy and things Italian, undoubtedly
had a great bearing upon his appointment.

At any rate, the lectures were delivered in Italian
to Italians151 on four phases of American art, namely, The

Theatre, Theatrical Decor, Fiction, and Architecture.

 

 

 

81

COpies of the lectures are unavailable since they were de-
livered from notes and were never published. The cities
included in the tour were "Milan, Turin, Florence, Venice,
Naples, Bologna, and Rome."152 Only in Rome did he give
all four. Apparently both he and they were very well re-
ceived as evidenced by packed houses and by the fact that
the King of Italy awarded him the highest title in the
Order of the Crown, Commendatore, for his achievement.153

For the next three years there was a hiatus. Except
for the articles in Theatre Arts and his regular contribu-
tion to The New Republic, nothing appeared. During this
time he was working on a novel and in 1931; he achieved his
greatest acclaim as a novelist with the publication of _S_9_
__Red the Rose. It received immediate popular approval. Two
daYs after publication a second printing was required and
it was first on the best-seller lists. By March 1935, it
"38 still sixth on the best-seller list and was going into
its eighteenth printingfils’4 At the present writing it is
Still on Scribner's selling list and has been translated
into Danish, French, German and Italian.

Critical applause did not lag behind the popular,

f0? this novel and Heaven Trees before it were to serve as

 

curtain raisers to the Civil War novels so conspicuous in
the middle thirties.155 Ellen Glasgow in The New York

W hailed it as "the best and most completely

 

 

 

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82

realized novel of the Deep South in the Civil War that has
yM3been written . . . 80 Red the Rose has, in the true
sense of that abused word, an epic quality.”

In this novel, the fifth flagstone in his walk back
domuthe path of time, Young takes his stand on the near
perfection of life as expressed in the ante-bellum period
hathe South. "In a sense it is less of a novel than a
series of descriptive essays of Mississippi life hung on
thecmnvenient framework of the McGehee family and its
Nmflflns'.”156 It depicts—the Old South of the "before and
after" Civil War days. As plot, its story about the
McGehees of Montrose and the Bedfords of Portobello is less
81Snificant than its penetration into the spirit that in-
f0I'ms the facts. There are a host of characters in the
Cast not the least of whom is Miss Mary Cherry. Her out—
sPoken individualism and her unquestioned acceptance as a
guest at various homes for short or long stays as the case
may be, in a sense syMbolize a way of life now not so com-
mOU in the South but far from forgotten by Young.

The novel does not concern itself much with a de-
IHCtion of the conditions surrounding the Civil War, per se.
flare is not much.of the fighting or the depressing de-
atruction which was its aftermath:

For the world which Stark Young re-created

was, like that which Henry James re-created,

filled with furniture, but it was not . . .
the mere stage furniture, so carefully in-

 

 

 

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83

stalled by historical novelists. It was
rather a set of properties which united
the present with the past and acknow-
ledged its indebtedness, as the carvings
and stained glass windows of medieval
churches unite present with past in ac-
knowledgement of eternal truths in re-
ligion. It all gave a sense of continu-
ity and thus of security, reminded men
that they belonged in the stream of his-
tory and that their lives had meagépg
only as they touched other lives.

As was true with Heaven Trees, The Torches Flame

andjflyer House, there is no galloping action in the novel,

 

mistirring war gallantry, no medal winning or medal pin—
“1218- There are no romantic fireworks or Freudian sex
evaluations. There is only the quiet portrayal of the
dignity of man in the kind of society that Mr. Young ad-
rures, a society in which "people belong to something
b1Seer than themselves -- to a community, to ancestors, to
thin88 that have meaning because they were built by loving
lmnds,v158

‘The very fact that he gave slavery and states' rights
Such'diSpassionate treatment hampered Hollywood the follow-
:hg Year when it made a picture from the novel. According
fi>some Viewers the cinema directors tried to insert the
mmmional unrest aroused by the conflicting ideologies of
Math and South, but even they were unsuccessful. Mark
Vmuporen’ who at the time was reviewing films for The
Mflflefl'ireceived an anonymous letter from a subscriber who

ur86d
hi“! to protest against the picture on the grounds

 

 

 

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untit revived old passions. But, said Mr. Van Doren,

"Icmnnot protest; I missed the passions.”159 What was

true about the film was true about the book.

The characters might carry more conviction if oc-
casionally they would sweat and show bursts of temper
through their serenity, but such a presentation would be
outof keeping with the romantic idealism of Young's whole
imahung, education, experience and background. For he is
theoreative artist working sensitively in a medium that
seflusto penetrate the somnolent, sometimes dull surface,
to find the "flower."

One cannot help comparing at this point Young's and
Faulkner's treatment of the South. John Arthos of the
University of Michigan writing in Shenandoah sees much re-
semblance.

The question of genius apart, in values
and ideas the difference between the writers,
Faulkner and Stark Young, is not great. Both
live intimately with the past of the South,
and both accept the idea of its glory as in
part the generous cultivation of sentiment
and in part as courage. It is by their sense
or kinship with the past, that both Oppose
the common enemy, commercialism. Faulkner
Most often expresses his criticism of the
Present age in portrayals of the invasion of
sensitive souls by crass and ugly forces,
where Stark Young is pretty much content to
write something closer to history, to write

about” the invasion, or at least to keep
the reserves of writing history and to fore—
‘80 the passionate release of fiction.
‘Faulkner, of course, has the greater imag-
1native power, invention, the last per-
sistence of endeavour, while Young's writ-

 

85

ing is reflective. The sense of dedication

and mission in Faulkner is probably less

articulated intellectually, and for a cer-

tain kind of artist that 1I6 of course, a

condition of his strength. 0

Feliciana, the last of the sextet of flagstones
imidicomprise Young's shadedwalk down into the garden of
OhiSouth memories, came out in 1935. Taking its name from
onecfl'the counties in Louisiana, it presents a series of
Mutraits, character sketches, and anecdotes, some of which

arelaid in the Old South, some in Texas, and some in

Italy. As was true with The Three Fountains and The Street

 

 

Qijgm Islands, each entry had appeared somewhere before in
magazines published between 1928 and 1935.

Here, just as in his other treatments of the South,
he refuses to look at the more unpalatable and uglier as-
iwcts. In a collection of this sort, the sentimentality
18Perhaps less apparent than in a full length novel. He
h33<nlthe sun glasses, however, and is just as leisurely,
gracious, urbane and idealistically romantic as in his
prmfious effort. He refuses to look at the drab, or un-
kempt, or the untidy.

As he did in the earlier collections, he makes com-
p“130m: between the Angle-Saxon and Italian culture and
f1maths former somewhat naive, unsophisticated, and un-
aflfi to distinguish fine gradations or nuances. Sardoni-

ca v
11’ with a fine tongue-in-cheek irony directed at the

 

 

86

Anglo-Saxon, he observes that: "The Italians have, alas, a
tendency to condense nature or some natural effect to a
phrase; which only shows their lack of profundity. They
fire some notation of the natural world with passionate
humanity; which only shows their classicism, their lack of
botany, profundity, pantheism, and rapture. The poor things
have noted the snail on the thorn, but failed to deduct from
it that all's right with the world.”161

For the next few years, in keeping with his earlier
interest and experience in the academic teaching of litera-
ture, he busied himself with editing textbooks. In 1937
he published two of them; the first, Treasury of Life and
W in four volumes as joint editor, with educators
Lymgn, Moore and Hill; the second, Southern Treasury of

M Literature, as editor.

 

It was of course inevitable that Young, loyal South-
erher that he was, should edit a volune of Southern litera-
ture. The selections in verse and prose range from William
Byrd t0 Allen Tate, and are accompanied by short biograph-
ical notes about and lists of each author's work.

In his preface to the Southern Treasury, Young
Sounds a little like the apologist. While conceding that
the South has brought very little great literature into
being he defends this failure on the grounds that she spent
herself in oratory; as for example with Clay, Calhoun, and

 

37

Pinckney. However, he also intimates that the South is not
alone in having produced very little great literature, for
neither says he, has any other section of the country. New
England, he believes, was luckier than the South in that
shekmd.a more concentrated presentation of her literature;
shekmd.what would now be called good press-agentry. He
thinks nevertheless that her poetry was bad (so much so
thatkw never read poems like "Hiawatha," and thus was
8find "a sort of literary measles"); that it was poorly
imitative of stale English models thought to be Virgilian.
lilittle acidly and perhaps unwarrantedly he says that "for
15116purposes of literature a zest for life may Conceivably
8° farther than a distinguished — if it is distinguished -
taste in stale things."162

The publication of these textbooks was followed by
a Teturn to translating. For a number of years, Young had
interested himself in the Russian Theatre, its actors, its
dramatists, and its contributing artists. As early as 1922
wh'enhe had just started with The New Republic any Russian
Play On Broadway was likely to receive particularly close
attention from him in his reViews. To musical shows like
"Che“VB Souris," (See appendix A for "Chauve Souris" and
"Tw°:FOIlies") or plays like Dostoievsky's "Idiot," he
inmld devote more than a single article. To Russian artists

111.
9 the dancer Nijinski, he would give space whenever

 

 

 

 

pp,

‘1

 

88

there was opportunity. For example, he wrote a preface for

David Magriel's book, Nijinski.
The Moscow Art Theatre, its players and its plays

were the subjects of several of his articles in The New
M. The company spent a repertoire season at the
Fifty-ninth Street Theatre in New York during January and
- February of 1923163 and a second season at Jolson's Fifty-
ninth Street Theatre in 192h.16’+ Younga, reviews of their

work were highly appreciative and sympathetic. In one

aIt'ticle, "The Moscow Art Theatre," he urged that American
actors study closely and profit by the Russian representa-
tional techniques which "profess the intention of. ignoring
the presence of spectators and of producing an effect of
life as life would be seen going on if the fourth wall of
a 1"00m were removed; everyone knows by now the phrase
'SPiritual realism' implying a selection among realistic
details that can bring out the inmost spirit of the actual
Mattermlés

Suggesting that the Axnerican performer would do well
to emulate the perfectionist efforts of the Russians, he
Commended the Russian actor's dedication to his art and was
appreciative of the hard work the latter put into the per-
fecting of his techniques.

Especially did he find Chekhov a kindred and com-
patible spirit. A brief survey of his theatre essays will

 

 

 

89

show that about Chekhov and his work, Young presented arti-
cles in Theatre Arts and The New Republic such as "Two
Follies," "Tea with Madame Tchekov," "Sea Gull," "Gulls and
Chekhov," "Chekhov Theatre's First," "Three Sisters," and
"Cherry Orchard." In fact Young had admired the Russian
dramatist so much that it was not at all strange that he
should be likened to him. Eugene O'Neill and a London
critic in commenting on The Colonnade had called the play
American Chekhov which would seem to indicate that there
was enough similarity in technic, method and/or style to
warrant such a comparison. So in 1938 Young turned his
attention to translating Chekhov's The Sea Gull. It must
be noted that one of the more interesting matters connected
with this translating was the linguistic virtuosity dis-
played by Young in handling a language so different from
the French, Italian, and Spanish that he had translated
heretOfore.

It was through the interest and encouragement of the
”tors Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt that Young was able to
“mm-eta the translation. "Those finally whom I must thank
a“ Miss Fontanne and Mr. Lunt. Evidently they had talked
for some time of doing The Sea Gull . . . and it was by
then. glowing invitation that I undertook to do The Sea
Gull' It was by their recognition of the difference between

a
dead sentence and a live one that I felt encouraged to go

 

90

on; and by their respect for the text as the author of a
play has written it. that I believed every word I might con-
trive for this translation to be important.“-66

The Theatre Guild revival opened at The Shubert
Theatre, March 28, 1938. Besides the Lunts there were in
the cast such other fine artists as Sidney Greenstreet,

Uta Hagen, and Margaret Webster, the Shakesperian adapter
and director.l67 Although no popular success, since it
lasted only forty-one performances, it proved to be some-
Fhing of a succes d'estime.

The published translation appeared in 1939 and with
it a preface. In this, Young explained how he had had ac-
cess to earlier works by seven different translators. But
unlike them, and very much like himself, he had striven for
a tOne that would give unity to the whole. In keeping with
his Own philosophy of art, many times elsewhere expressed,
"if one aims only at the beautiful, the flower is sure to
appear," he captured the spiritual beauty inherent in the
Chekhov lines, transcended the language barrier, and ren-
dered the "flower." At least the critics applauded. Burns
Mantle thought Young had achieved a great beauty of lan-
guage in translation;168 in fact he thought that it was the
"clearest and most satisfying of all of the translations so

far ‘
made of the great Russian dramas“)9 John Mason Brown

saw 1
n it "a great improvement on its predecessors in

 

 

 

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91

English. ”170

In 19M his translation of Chekhov's The Three
Sisters was published by the Samuel French Company. How-
ever, this play with Young's translation was never performed
on Broadway. Nor is there any available evidence that it
was ever reviewed as a book. Consequently the critical
estimate, at this point at least, must remain obscure.

For the next two years (besides his The New Republic
stint) he turned his attention to painting. As was men-
tioned earlier in this sketch, in his youth he had asked
that he might take lessons in this art, but had been re-
fused permission by his father. Now, at the age of sixty,
he taught himself to paint. For two years he worked at
Painting as a hobby and in 19143 gave a benefit one-man show
f0? the Friends of Greece, Inc., a charitable organiza-
tion.171 Intemting artistically and intellectually was
the fact that the writer received critical acclaim as a
m. The critics saw in the painting of Stark Young,
the aBathetic mysticism so prominent in his writing.

Stark Young, though a newcomer in the realm

Of exhibitions . . . has attained distinction

elsewhere. . . . has been painting for only

about two years; but working quite by him-

Self, he has evolved a paint manner subtly

adapted to the intimation of his thoughts

and reveries. Several of the flower sub-

Jects are charmingly brushed. The imagi-

rIatively wrought fantasies, sometimes re-

IIlzlnding a little of Greco, sometimes a
little of Ryder, are irradiated with a re-

 

 

 

 

e .

92

vealing and yet eluding, an always Baunting
and intensely personal mysticism. 7

In a personal conversation (December l9Sh) Mr. Young
revealed to this writer that a number of his (Young's)
paintings now hang in important art museums in the country.

From l9hl, when he published his translation of The

Three Sisters, until l9h7, nothing came from Young's pen

 

other than his regular contribution to The New Republic.
However, all was not quiescent at the periodical's office.
As a prelude to what was to come The New Republic was
"streamlined" in l9h6. A new editorial board was formed
with Henry Wallace (one-time vice-president of the United
States) as editor, and Michael Straight as publisher.
Young, now sixty-five, was reduced to staff contributor.
The pilblisher boasted that the new staff averaged only
thirty-one years of age and would now "meet the challenge

of a new time."173

1h} Cherry Orchard, another Chekhov translation, ap-
peared in 191” and like The Three sisters was published in
soft cover by the Samuel French Company, dealers in play
scripts and royalty agents for many American playwrightS-
Although no Broadway performance was ever given or either
of Young's translations of The Three Sisters or The Cherry
@1333. there were a number of productions done by com-
munity t”his-Nantres and other amateur groups.

The Same year his love for the South exhibited it-

 

 

93

self again in his edition of the Selected Poems of Sidney
Lgn_ie_r. The volume was accompanied by a preface that de-
fends vehemently the right for Southern poets to be heard.
Young, along with Davidson, Warren, Tate, Ransome, and
others of this school, feels very strongly that the regional

F-w

literature of the South has been much overlooked, and uses

this means of championing that literature. The interesting 1
.1’

thing about this volume, however, is the kind of choices
i
made as r«_£“reser1tat1‘re sf Lanier. Young's selection of [f

Lanier's pieces reflect the preciosity of his (Young's) 0WD

tastes and delicate artistry.
But this year is chiefly significant in that it marks

another turning point in Mr. Young's life. In July 19147,

after approximately twenty-two years with The New Republic,
he resigned. Herbert Croly, the editor who had hired

Young because he liked both him and his criticism, had
died, and a new editorial policy under Bruce Bliven was

being inaugurated. The accent apparently was to be on

natiohrfil and world political affairs, with a reduction or
materlals on art, culture, and literature. Accordinglfi
the Space given to drama criticism and kindred art subjects
was being drastically curtailed; and since the space being
allotted Mr. Young's articles was becoming microscopic in

h
13 55'68, and way out of proportion to their importance as

a
n ”pression of American life, he quit in protest: "After

 

¥ ——_ __ —‘

 

 

91+

the death of Herbert Croly, who as editor-in-chief of The

New Republic had profound understanding of the place of all

 

arts in our society and of the problems of critical writing,
the editorial policy of the magazine gave less and less
authority and concern to the arts in general, so with the
Proper urging my articles got shorter and shorter. I
therefore resigned from The New Republic in July, l9h7."17’+
0? as he summed it up elsewhere, he withdrew because "con-
ditions there seemed no longer either distinguished, sym-
pathetic, or advantageous."175

In 1914.8 he published Immortal Shadows, the fifth
bOOk in his theatre Pentateuch. This like its predecessors
13 theatre criticism at its analytical, philosophical, in-
tellectual, and artistic best. The volume is a collection

01‘ sixty-five essays selected from Young's The New Republic

 

and ll‘_r_1§_lle_v_.t_}'ork Times reviews, representative of the late
tWenties and early thirties. Contained in this volume are
many 01' the petals of the "flower" of Mr. Young's criticism.
Although the author announced that Immortal Shadows
"mud be the last of his theatre writing,176 this decision
did not keep him from other forms of writing. His most re—

cent prOduction, The Pavilion, 1951, some sections of which

 

he I'e-Ivrote as many as thirty times177 is an autobiographi-

c
81 sketCh that takes him through his graduate year at

Col
umbia. The work is so painstaking that the author

 

95

claims that he had to "retire from life" for over two years

in order to achieve in it just exactly the right "tone."178

In The Pavilion we find him reliving his early years in the

 

eighties and nineties in Mississippi. Most of the book is
taken up with an account of his kinfolk, their gentleness
and eccentricities, and reflects the author's philosOphy of
11‘71ng, fashioned as it was from a luxurious, gracious, Old
South background. It expresses the "essence" (a word that
f1gures often in Young's vocabulary) from the "flower" of
the Southern culture.

No resume of Young's literary and critical activity
would be complete without mention of his contributions to
the periodicals and newspapers, which to date number as
t'Ollows: over one thousand newspaper and magazine articles;
eight hundred to The New Republic; one hundred to My
Y_°Pk Times; and one hundred to various other periodicals
11"finding American Magazine of Art, Art Digest, Bookman,
M2121, Dial, Harper's, Independent, Nation, North American,
Theatre Arts, Virginia Quarterly Review and Yale Review.

Since the publication of The Pavilion in 1951,
nothing has come from the pen of this writer. Mr. Young
has retired from active literary or critical activity, but
he informed me during a recent (December 19514.) visit with
him in New York City, that he is now preparing more auto-

bio ‘
graphy. He contemplates having his next autobiographical

 

 

96

sketch pick up where The Pavilion left off.

The art editor of Time commenting upon the worth of
Young's painting once made the statement that "if his paint-
ing matches the quality of his dramatic criticism, it will

be something."179 By the same token, one might say that if

 

the sequel to The Pavilion is as good as The Pavilion, it

will also "be something."

 

97

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER I

 

Note: The following key to abbreviations will

hold throughout the thesis.

American Mercury Am Mercury
English Journal Engl J
New Republic New Repub
North American Review No Am
19th Century 19th Cent
Saturday Evening Post Sat Eve Post
Saturday Review of

Literature Sat R Lit
Virginia Quarterly

Review Va Q R
Yale Review Yale R
Sewanee Review Sewanee R

Footnotes not prefaced by the name of the author

are to be considered as written by Stark Young.

 

98

1Stark Young, ed., Selected Poems of Sidney Lanier, (New
York, 1914.7), p. vii.

2E. A. Alderman, ed., Library of Southern Literature,
(Atlanta, 1908), vol._13, p. 6065.

JStark Young, The Pavilion, (New York, 1951), p. 79.

thid” p. 6h.

“

5
Ibid. , p. 11.

‘—

6
"Stark Young," National Cyclopedia of American Biography,
(New York, 1939), vol. F, p. 211.

7
The Pavilion, p. 72-

 

8Rosser H. Taylor, Ante-Bellum South Carolina, (Chapel
Hill, 19242), p. vii.

9
Bgnslfendrigh, The South Looks at its Past, (Chapel Hill,
a p- o

10
M.) p. 1,4,1.

11
H011and Thompson, The New South, (New Haven, 1919): P. 1-

12
The Pavilion, p. 56.

13lb
#1., p0 270

11+
mg. ’ p. 920

 

99

1
5Ibid. , p. 19.

16,,
Chapters from a Book of Memories," Va 9 R, 214. (October
19%), 568.

17The Pavilion, p. 89.

¥

18
Ibid., p. 1211.

19
"Stark Young," Scholastic, 25 (January 5, 1935), 9.

 

20
% Pavilion, p. 125.

 

100

31M. , p. 58.

2
3S. J. Kunitz and H. Ha craft, eds., Twentieth Century
Authors, (New York, 19 ). p. 1566.

33John E. Drewry, Some Magazines and Magazines Makers,

(Boston, 1921;), p. 1611.

311"Chapters from a Book of Memories," Va 9 R, 21.; (April
19118), 217.

3
SEE Pavilion, p. 168.

6
3 Ibid., p. 168.

~

37Ibid., p. 156.

‘—

38
"Stark Young, Painter," Time, 111 (June 111, 19113), 112-

39
.The Pavilion, p. 169.

0
Mind Poems of Sidney Lanier, p. viii.

111
.._The Pavilion, p. 176.

112.
'The Colonnade," Theatre Arts, 8 (1921+), 530-

1&3
The Pavilion, p. 11.

fl
lghapters From a Book of Memories," Va Q , 21; (April
“2” 221.

115Th

W, p. 167.

 

 

- L All”,

 

101

u6w'! p0 171.

LnIbid” p. 172.

uaFred Millett, Contemporary American Authors, (New York,
19110), p. 663.

hgThe Pavilion, p. 182.

-—_

S()"Stzark Young, Painter," Time, 111 (June 11;, 1910), 1+2-
51..
Vista," New Repub, 31 (July 5, 1922), 158.
2
S The Pavilion, p. 178.
S3"
The Colonnade," Theatre Arig, 8 (1921+), 551-
5h
Stark Young, Guenevere, (New York, 1906), p. 611.

55
Letter to R. M. Lumianski, January 29, 195(4-

56,

'Stark Young, Painter," .Time, 111 (June 111. 19143), (+2-
57

Wlion, p. 131.
58

gjgd." p. 1300

59
This was an error on James' part. Young at this time was ‘

fiaching at the University of Texas but, of course, was a
881asippian.

 

 

102

O
Perc Lubbock, The Letters of Henry James, (New York,
1920 D p- 332-

6
1Letter to R. M. Lumianski, January 29, 19514..

Guenevere , p . 11 .

6311.4.

68
Stark Young, The Blind Man at the Window, (New York,

1906) , p. L10.

69
.The Pavilion, p. 186.

70
Mind Man at the Window, p. 58.

71
Stark Young, ed. , he English Humorists of the 18th
el'l’cur , Thackeray, New York, 1911)-

72
H’ L. Cohen, One Act P1313, ,(New York, 1930), p. 10.

7h
H.
R. Fish, Drama and Dramatics, (New York, 1930), p. 19.

 

‘

 

 

 

 

103
75Letter to R. M. Lumianski, February 16, 1958.
76Letter to R. M. Lumianski, January 29, 19511.

77Alexander Meiklajohn, ”Letter,” The Nation, 107 (September
7.1918), 266.

 

78"Sweet Times and the Blue Policeman." Theatre Arts, 10
(January 1926), 70-

 

7c9"‘I'hree Fountains," Nation, 118 (April 30, 19211), 511.
80,, "
Texas Light, New Bepub, 31 (August 2, 1922), 280.

81
"Dogfish," New Repub, 23 (August 11, 1920), 302.

gm: Donna Ferentes," W, 211 (September 15, 1920),

83
Groff Conklin, ed., The New Republic Antholofil, (New York:
1936), p. miii.

 

8h
gami'erP. Wood, Magazines in the U.S., (New York, 19119):

"Editor's Note," Theatre Arts, 1 (November, 1916): 1-
86 I!

?he Hairy Ape," New Repub, 30 (March 22, 1922). 112-
87

fitYoung stated in a letter to me dated June 211, 1951;

Cert; he has never read Spingarn's Creative Criticism, but

theoainly the similarity in this instance, of critical
1'? and approach are striking.

 

 

10b,

8Lawrence Langner, The Magic Curtain, (New York, 1951), p.
151.

89BurnssMantle, The Best Plays of 1921-211.. (New York, 1921+).
p. 35 .

C”Ludwig Lewisohn, "The Failures," The Nation, 117 (December
12, 1923). 692.

glMantle, The Best Plays of 1923—211, p. 1.109.

2
mortal Shadows, p. vi.

93Lugwig Lewisohn, "Drama," The Nation, 118 (April 2, 19211),
37 0

George J. Nathan, "The Theatre," American Mercury, 2
(May 1921). 115. *

9 .
5"Purely Technical," New Repub, 38 (April 9, 192M, 18,4»

figgwig Lewisohn, "Drama," The Nation, 118 (April 23, 19211),

97
JOhn Mason Brown, Upstage, (New York, 1930), p. 21124..

98

Sec. v11, 2, col. 3.

99,
'Mailbag," New Repub, 99 (July 26, 1939), 337.
100"
amlet," New Repub, 69 (November 25, 1931), A“-
101

w
33:11:» P. Eaton, "Immortal Shadows," 11.1: Herald Tribune
\ Review, (November 28, 19118), p. 16.

 

105

10213. S. Bailey, "Theatre Practice," Independent, 117

(October 2, 1926). 396.

103 . S. 88116211 "The Theatre," Indep_e_ndent, 119 (October

8, 1927). 3

101h'Theatz-e Practice," TLs, (September 30, 1926), 6117-

lOSGeor e J. Nathan,"The Theatre," American Mercury, 3

(192 )s 500-

106"Tho Miracle," The New York Times, (November 9, 19211):

sec. VII, p. 1, col. 2.

1 .
07Letter to R. M. Lumianski, February 16, 19521.

10
8"Th0 Colonnade," Theatre Arts, 8 (192(4), 5’43.

 

1°9Ib1d., p. 553-

110
"Vista," New Repub, (July 3, 1929), 180.

11-
1Letter to R. M. Lumianski, February 16, 195M.

112
G-H.F., "The Colonnade," Illustrated London News, 76
(Apr11 25, 1925). 751.

113
$113.8” "The Colonnade," Bookman (London), 68 (May 1925),
1n,

fgrns Mantle, The Best Plays of 1924125, (New York,
21‘.) 3 p. 1‘69.

11;
Letter to R. M. Lumianski, February 16. 1951+.

_?
V

f

F41,

‘T— W, - ingrmrn v. Taliban
( .
LL“.—

 

106
116..NW Plays," Time, 1, (October 20, 1921,), 11,.
117Nathan, The Theatre, 13- 502-

118Barrett H. Clark and George Freedley, LHistory of
Modern Drama, (New York, 19147), p. 7157

 

119More will be said of the author as a mystic further

along in the discussion.

120"The Saint," Theatre Arts, 9 (December 1925), 81,6.

121

"The Equity Play," New Repub, 32 (October 25, 1922), 223.

122
"Actor," Bookman, 65 (August 1927), 628.

3George Jean Nathan, The Intimate Notebooks of George J.
Nathan, (New York, 19327, p. 115K.

Thomas H. Dickinson, Playwrights of the New American
Theatre, (New York, 1925), p. 297.

125
John H. Lawsoné Theory and Technique of Playwriting,
).

 

 

(New York, 193 p. 122. .
126
E- V. Wyatt, "Critical Confidence," Catholic World, 12
(January 1928), 526-
127L l
0 a Jean Simpson, "A Continuous Performance," Century
111* (August 1927), (+511- ’
128H b
°1‘ ert Croly "A School of Social Research " New Repub
15 (June 8, 1918), 171. ’ '
129

Eri ’
lghg)?e§g%ey, The Playwright as Thinke_r, (New York,

.7 “Tor-u]
?
3

Ianm_. an..-“
.1

 

107

130theatre Practice," Sat R Lit, 3 (August 21, 1926). S7.

1'31Stgrk Young, The Flower in Drama, (New York, 1925), p.
13 .

lBZTFilm Note," New Repub, 72 (September 28, 1932). 177-

133Mary Canfield. "Seeing the Point," Ngw Rogub. 1+3 (c1111?

15. 1925) . 21b-

1
31J'Montrose J. Moses, "New Forms in the Theatre," Outlook,
133 (May 9. 1923). 853‘-

 

sInteresting sidelight on Young's ability to recognize
literary and dramatic genius; he sponsored O'Neill and
Faulkner, both of whom were subsequent Pulitzer and
Nobel Prize winners.

1
36‘ZII'_he Pavilion, p. 60. '

-1
37Stark Young, Glamour, (New York, 1925). P. 135.

1 8
3 Ibid., p. 208.

139
332.53., p. 187.

111.0 -
Stark Young. Heaven Trees, (New York, 1926), p. 31,.
1M
Lde" p0 277'
1112
Emil

3 Clark, "Stark Young's South," Va 9 ' 11 (October
1935), 626. ’

1113..
2§§3t°1°"8k3'5 191.917.." New Rorub. 30 (April 26, 1922).

fr.“ 41---“..5‘A.“ 1'- A
f'
I

 

 

108
letark Young, Encaustics, (New York, 1926), p. 7.

lusggfiroyan Directing, Note," New Repub, 101, (May 12, 191,1).

m6stark Young, The Theatre, New York, 1927). 1,5.

1u7"River House." New York Times Book Review, October 13,
1929, p- 6.

mBLetter to R. M. Lumianski, June 21,, 1951,.

lugStark Young, 1111 Take My Stand, (New York, 1930), p. 328.

150"American Theatre in Italy," Theatre Arts, 15 (October

1931). 825.

1
51"Parallels in Italy." Va 9, R. 8 (January 1932)’ 15'

l
52"Stark Young, Writer, Back," The New York Times, (June

20, 1931), 21, col. 7.

1
53Letter to R. M. Lumianski, January 29, 1951,.

15 1
"311311;“ Seller List." publishers "11°61‘14“ (March 16’ 1935),

155
Millett, Fred B., Contemporary American Authors, (New
York, 191,0). 1» SB-

156
Fedfiiil Writers Project, Mississippi, (New York, 19116).

157

fgnry S. Commager, The American Mind, (New Haven, Conn.,
50). p. 1117.

 

109

158Henry S. Comm-gar, "The South that was Swept Away,"
Scholastic. 57 (November 29, 1950), 12.

159Mark Van Doren, "Films," The Nation, 11,1 (December 18,
1935). 7211-

160John Arthos. "In Honor of Stark Young," Shenandoah, 5
(Summer, 1951;). 25-

 

16"'Stark Young, Feliciana, (New York, 1935). p. 221.

Stark Young, ed. , A Southern Treasury of Life and Litera-
ture, (New York, 1937), v11.

163Burns Mantle, The Best Plays of 1922-2 , (New York, 1923),
p. 517.

16""BurngéMantle, The Best Plays of 19243-211. (New York, 1921,),
P. 3 .

165
Stark Young, Immortal Shadows, (New York, 191,8), p. 15.

166
Stark Young, tr., The Sea Gull, by Chekhov, (New York,
1939), p. 11.
167
BurflséMantle, The Best Plays of 1937:38, (New York, 1938),
p. 3 .
168
urns Mantle, Contemporary American Playwrights, (New
York, 1938), {7—2113-

169

e13.

170

gohglMason Brown, Two on the Aisle, (New York, 1938).

9.1;.

1",.“ tic—s : MT.

 

110

1
7"War Friends of Greece," The New York Times, (May 19,

19,43)! 28, 001. 7c

172"I.oca1 Shows," The New York Times, (May 23, 191,3), sec.

II, 10, col. 3.

 

173"Editor's Note," New Ropub, 115 (December 9, 19116). 778-

 

1
7"Immortal Shadows, p. vii.

175Letter to R. M. Lumianski, June 214. 1951+-

1 .
76_I_mmorta1 Shadows, p. vii.

1
77J. K. Hutchens, "On an Author," New York Herald-Tribune

mok Review, (September 30, 1951), p. 2.

 

1
78I’bid.

179
"Stark Young, Painter," Time, 1,1, (June 11,, 191,3), 142.

 

Chapter II

 

-THE MAN

A consideration of Young's philosophy
as it seems to be exhibited in his
published writings.

His philosophy of living

His philosOphy of art

His philosOphy of education

 

 

Chapter II
THE MAN

The ingredients that go into the making of a philos—
ophy of life, the ramifications involved in attempting to

trace a man's thinking are obviously too complex to be

covered casually in one chapter. An entire paper of course,

could easily be devoted to this aspect of Stark Young's
Portrait and still the matter would probably not be covered

exhaustively. However, it appears to me that a brief in-
qUiry into Mr. Young's philosOphy of life and living might
be especially fruitful in enriching the biographical sketch
already offered.

There are a number of ways in which this investiga-
15101') might be accomplished most profitably; one of these is
based on the assumption that if one examines a man's atti-
1Slides toward living, art, and education he is very likely
1° set a fairly dependable profile of his subject. In
""330 three areas an individual may very well reveal some
°f his inmost characteristics and to understand these may
be t"0 understand the man. At any rate, it is upon the
"“318 of this reasoning that the following 13 presented.

When in 1909 Young was penning his paeon of praise
to PsyChe ("Garden of Psyche"), youthful effort though it

ma
y ha"e been, he made a statement in blank verse that

com
0s as close to striking the keynote of his philosophy as

 

113

anything he ever wrote. Said he to the goddess of Beauty:

Thou knowest I cannot set to little themes,
Sprung though they be from out the common heart,
True haply, but yet momentary gleams

And often smacking of the mart.

Busy me not with passions of a day,
Give me to climb where Godlike rule hath away, 1
Give me to wrench the torch from their high might.

Young has not been able to "set to little themes,"
or busy himself "with passions of a day" throughout his
literary life. He has tried "to wrench the torch from
their high might" and in the opinion of some critics
climbed so close to the "place where Godlike rule hath
away" that he‘disappeared from the sight of the plebeians
Of this world. Be that as it may, these lines symbolize
YOUDg's philosophy2for he is ever the seeker after the

ideal, the perfect in art and man.

In the frontispiece of The Street of the Islands
there is a statement that "every man is an island, and
that, in the midst of these islands, runs the street of
1113’. ”2‘ This certainly sounds like the statement of a
dmanmr and poet, and even though it is a generalization
that lacksspecificity it would seem to establish the au-
th°P as an individualist at heart. He does not intend to
”‘croate the symbolism of "The Pilgrim's progress;" what
he wishes to say is that he is revolted by a world in which
man 13 being made to be more and more anonymous and life is

bec
(fining more and more impersonal.

 

111,

His best novels and sketches abound in characters
who live by the code of individualism in the South. In
fact the emphasis on individualism in 80 Red the Rose is
most striking. Uncle Henry, one of the more interesting of
the McGehee clan, felt that society had made too many de-
mands upon his rugged individuality; so in protest he re-
moved himself, a la Thoreau, to a cabin in the woods.

Young himself, as we have seen, sought solitude in the
North Carolina Mountains at one time.

The fabulous Mary Cherry, the perennial visitor at
the homes of all her relatives, is symbolic of an individu-
alism that Young admires. On occasion Miss Mary would as-
391'15 herself by ordering all the cooks out of the kitchen,
mixing up a batter, making some cakes, and then repairing
150 her room and eating them in solitude. On one occasion
"At the Tait house, where she often had the guest room di-
rectly over the parlor, she had complained so of having to
walk down the hall that a special door for her had been cut
1‘9 Open directly on to the head of the stair."3 On another
Occasion, the unreconstructed Mary, disliking the hymn that
the coI’Jgregation was singing, sang one of her own choosing
and drowned out all the others with it. During the War be-
tween the states she refused to "stay put." She browbeat
many a Union officer into letting her pass through the
picket lines, and thereby carried to her Southern friends

 

115

many bits of food and vials of medicine hidden within the

ample folds of her skirts. There were no limits to which

some of Young's characters would not go to assert their in-

dividualism. For example, Uncle Miles McGehee maintained

his own chair on a Mississippi River boat, so that when he

Journeyed down to Natchez there would be no doubt about who

was occupying what chair. Childish as these matters may

teem, they are cited here because they are symbolic and
8“Automatic of the pride of the individual, the code that

each followed, a code to which Young would subscribe.
Yes, "every man is an island" and must remain an in-

dividual, to be free. He is an island in the sense that he

13 completely alone basically and dependent upon his own
resources and devices, and also the solitude of his spirit.

He cannot be fashioned by an industrial pattern and retain

his freedom. There is a code, not a mold. Contained in '

this idea is a part of the kernel of the Young philosophy

01‘ life. As one critic has stated about the author's

Philo sOphy:

It is not what we are or do or have that makes
us, but what we wish to be and do and have; it
is not logic that determines courses, but the
subtle imponderable falling out of things; it
is not the energetic disposition to examine
carefully and Judge conscientiously that guar-
antees worth and destruction to many of us --
1TVIOst of us simply have not brains enough for
Jildgment; it is not that, then, but the dis-
pOsition to act -- unreasonably and blindly
11‘ we must -- within a code, after a highly
conceived pafitern that it would be blasphemy

0 question.

 

116

Young deplores the state of affairs in a materialis-
tic society that allows success to be measured only in
terms of "more gasoline, more food, more victrola records,
Land) more motion."S After a visit to Hollywood, the
cinema capital, he returns to New York more disillusioned
than ever. From his observation the prevailing attitude
in most of the studios appeared to be "more automobiles,
divorcing, big business, bathtubs, estates, speed, action
and competition."6

All of this causes involuntary convulsions of the
Young digestive tract, for he is an advocate of something
9111126 different from this. Young feels sure that there is
a destiny that shapes at least half our ends and he lets
One of the characters in Guenever_e say as much: "man's
W111 is half his destiny."7 Nevertheless, he contends that
this destiny is very closely involved (as it should be, ac-
°0rdi.ng to him) with ancestry, community, and matters of
318M. ficance that have been built up by loving hands. His
"hole philosophy of living is based upon a sense of values
deriving from a way of life rather than a class or a
"y‘tm- Although in So Red the Rose it might appear on
the s“I'face that he is defending the planter class of the
01" SOUth, he is in reality admiring a type of society in
"huh peOple seem to belong to something that is bigger

th
an theluselves. He gives us evidence of this when he has

 

117

one of the McGehee elders give the following advice to his
son who is departing to serve in the Confederate Army:

"Ybu know how 'tis in our family. It's some-

thing to know that you were loved before you

were born. . . . The way I've been obliged to

see it is this: Our ideas and instincts work

upon our memory of these people who have lived

before us and so they take on some clarity of

outline. It's not to our credit to think we

began today and it's not to our glory to think

we end today. All through time we keep coming

in to the shore like waves -- like waves. You

stick to your blood, son; there's a certain

fierceness in blood that can bind you up with

a long community of life."

And no system, no arbitrary classification, no eco-
zmmic ranking can take the place of the security of tradi-
1300. in his scheme of things. The Negress of the Old
SWNHI, whose background transcends all neatly pigeonholed
a”terns, balks the efforts of the Northern White Feminist
w119 attempts to make the Negress rise to the bait of equal
Idshtza for women. In one of the most delightful of Ybung's
essays, a visiting Northern White Feminist expands much of-
fiHW ,and‘breath in a futile attempt to make a Negress cook
mic Southern plantation feel that she is not receiving her
“31. Share of womanly rights. The effort of course is
fruitFleas, for the Feminist and the Negress simply do not
"p“k the same language. The Feminist finally gives up
‘flth 3’) air of complete defeat and comments resignedly to
her hoflt: "Do you know . . . it's difficult to know what's

b
est for various kinds of people."9

 

118

There is just no common denominator since the guile-
lessness, the sentiment, and the com‘niness of the Southern
tradition cannot be understood too readily by the cold ob-
jectivity of New England's industrial materialism or any
materialistic philosophy for that matter.

Young is the humanitarian. He is certainly his
brother's keeper, but perhaps in a little different way
from the commonly accepted method of humanitarianism. He
realizes that "man's deviltry doth pass the devil"10 but
applauds when he sees Man's humanity to Man in action. He
observes in one of his sketches about Texas life how the
old Negro Eph is treated. Old Eph once having been a "mem-
ber" of a plantation family has become senile and nearly
imbe(=11e. His health has fallen on evil days. And what
9°68 his white "family" do for him? Instead of shutting
him up in an institution,11 they give him a place by him-
”lf. and a few animals to keep and order around. .

Young disapproves heartily of a way of life that
develops from industrialization and over-organization.

ml." each his own" might be his motto, i.e., reduce the
bursIlucratic centralization of philanthropy and make hu-
man“Sarianism more locally human. In River House the gentle
Aunt Rosa is delighted that people think so highly of her
“013119" John because he is so polite. She is also amazed

t
hat, bsing polite should be looked upon by people as such

 

119

an unusual accomplishment, until she bethinks herself iron—
ically that she read recently about some man who paid ten
cents to a society to help him be kind to his mother.12
The social worker with the black notebook, the tailored
suit and the cold unsympathetic eye would never, as an in-
stitution, receive Young's support.

Which does not mean, of course, that Young in his
Philosophy objects to social service per so. On the con-
trary, he urges the need for it and even advocates the use
of the stage to represent social service in operation. In
re'Iiewing a WPA theatre project play he makes the statement
that "to bring politics, causes, and local crises on to the
”386 as realities is a good thing, to get them close to
the audience is even better."13 ' In fact he does not even
019.1601: to propaganda on the stage. About Irwin Shaw's
Lury the Dead, a diatribe against the waste and brutality
°f "81‘, Young points out that "there can be no objection
bash3ally to art that is propaganda."1"' But it is help
that Comes from the heart; help that carries with it not
dollar's alone but warmth and love as well that he advocates.
He 81"83 a heartwarming account of one of his Italian
priest friends. The latter embarked upon the career of
30°13)» worker in his own village of Siena in Italy. ’He
organized a boys' club; collected for a swimming pool; re-

duo
ed delinquency; albeit not without initial antagonism

 

 

 

 

 

120

from parents.

And why the antagonism? Because the whole idea was
cannery to the Italian ideology that makes much of family
and tradition. As soon as the parents were reassured that
thiscmganized social work would not effect the family
tradition per se, the antagonism disappeared.ls This is a
Very interesting account told by a sympathetic reporter who
believes more than anything else in the family:

Is it not better that I should believe lies,

believe in my family, desiring its luster for

myself, shamed by its ideals and my own un-
worthiness, touched by the past of its af-

fections and its standards, than to believe

another special sort of American lie, such a

one, for instance, as believes Mr. Henry

Ford's opinion on art to be of any importance,

merely because of his success with wheels in

a mechanical system that makes men constantly

dryer, more thwarted and lefg exercised, and

Mr. Ford richer and richer?

He rails against the preoccupation with knowing
abOUt things rather than knowing them; the lack of concern
0"” the truth and too much concern over what people

18
think. He is impatient with a society that fashions all
or its members into one mold of Rotarians;19 who are bent
Imon '"keeping as much like one another as they can;”20 a
80°1°ty that builds thousands of miles of concrete side-
w
alkg, only to find that they lead nowhere;21 achieves a -
r
aster; mile than has ever been achieved before, and is un-
ab1

a t‘3 do anything with the achievement but go on to the

next
Iniile;22 or exploits our Christmas and Easter celebra-

¥
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII .-_______

 

121

tions into orgies of advertising and business enterprise.23
Even the actor's art is prostituted by rank materialism
which appraises values in terms of salaries, apartments,
and suppers, and actors seem to imitate the techniques of
department store salesmanship rather than study the rules
of their art?“

About all of these situations Young seems to be
slightly bitter. The superficiality that the above matters
represent would never fit in with his scheme of things. He
has fixed standards in his philosophy of life and living
that are too profoundly rooted in classic disciplines, ever
tO be satisfied with the brittle, staccato "ballyhoo" that
he hears about him. He cannot be a party to it. When he
hears the talk of American tourist returning from Europe,
the same tourists who have missed the grandeur of the
GOthic cathedrals, the paintings, the statues, the spiritual
and artisitic culture of the centuries, he is further re-
"°1t°d. These tourists have seen only the garbage on the
“ewes and missed the beauty in the human sou1.25

That Young is something of a mystic and dreamer,
th°r° can be little doubt. He once wrote the present
Writer that "life in spite of the sharp realism of its

"26

d
”all. has always seemed to me a dream. This appears

to
be true not only of his writing but also of his painting.

Who
n he gave his second show at the Rehn galleries the art

 

 

122

reviewer noted this. Said he of Young's paintings: "His
skies are wonderful; his flowers fragrant and spectral.

Now and then the two themes will be brought into mysterious
confluence, and he becomes openly the mystic -- Just as he

is at all times the poet of imaginative nuances."27

As playwright, novelist, and drama critic, he has
been described by Walter P. Eaton as an "aesthetic mystic,"28
because he has such a great passion for values that are in-
tangible. One can start with his very first plays, 1906,
and trace the ripple of his mysticism to its final growth
into huge waves. As early as Guenevere one can feel
throughout the blank verse, a mystical something that is
1mPlicit in the very tone of the lines. Here for example
18 thevgood King Arthur commenting on the mystery of life:

Tis a poor weary foolish world where we

Blow in like wind, ruled by dark outer forces,

Sfiafiuilgigé.‘h2n3°ii?"i.“Efinfihigi‘ifi.55“” m”

.

0n the surface this appears to be cynicism or at
17°” pessimism, but fundamentally it is an expression of
an “Wareness of outer forces too awesome and too mystical
toccuItemplate. Later in 1912 when his first group of one-
act plays appeared, we find more of this preoccupation with

t
h° "IFBtical. In The Twilight Saint whatever trace of -

 

s
uapected pessimism there might have been in earlier plays
ha
8 gone from the characters and the mysticism has become

more bet)
ign. Guido, the poet, and his invalid wife Marietta

 

h-.._— iw‘fi— -— -..—v‘

123

are strengthened and reborn by St. Francis of Assisi's

blank verse assurance that,

There is a life larger than life, that dwells

Invisible from all, whose lack alone

Is death. There in the soul the stars may rise,

And at even the gentle thoughts return

To flock the quiet pastimes of the mind.30

He progresses to a more atmospheric mysticism in a
later one-act play, The Queen of Sheba. Here in a Gothic
and Keatsian setting, the poet searches through the vagaries
of dementia and finds that it has its mystery too. In a
Gothic monastery a nun and a medieval doctor observe the
Peculiar posturings and blank verse speeches of two elderly
People who have lost their minds. One believes himself
King Solomon and the other fancies herself the Queen of
Sheba. Neither is violently insane. Rather, each seems
to have a gentle melancholy and vacuity.

The tone is sombre and the verse has a muted melody
of 8adlfless. There is the groping into the mystery of mad-
ness, an insatiable groping that intensifies the mysticism.
The doctor can stand watching the two patients no longer,
for his observation of the case is affecting him emotional-
1y. "I have watched until I have no more strength. I will

0
3 now, and it is time, for this sickness spreads into my

Sou .
1 I cannot keep in my science, nor take this as mere

mad
“as“: when there is so much beauty and sorrow and glory."31

Young's mysticism progressed to its highest flowering

 

‘_—-.-

 

1211.

in The Saint where he finally finds an outlet for the ex-

 

pression of those feelings about eternity, infinity, and

the vastness of the world of spirit, beauty, and truth a-
rownd us. It is a feeling about these matters that millions
of people everywhere share, but which no one, even the
greatest of the world's poets, has yet adequately and suc—
cessfully put into words. Young, too, fails in his probe,
but with that we are not immediately concerned here. What
We are concerned with, is the outlet for his mysticism.

In fie Saint, Valdez watches the religious processions and

 

f1nds there his inspiration. He submerges himself in the
mysterw'of the lighted candles, the flambeaux in the streets
and the ritual at the altar. Through Valdez, Young uses
the orfly’outlet he knows - ritual. In fact, "had he been
bans in some other place and time he might have found con-
tomilltlent in endless repetition of the complicated 'offices'
°f 8Orne monastic order, but cast as he has been upon the
nmdermu world he cannot be naive enough to accept any one
ritual as complete or absolute and it is accordingly the
“1°“ behind all ritual which fascinates him."32

One might presume from all the discussion that has
gone 0:1 before that Young has no sense of humor. On the
contrary, he has an excellent one. For example, he glee-
fully relates the story of his Aunt Elizabeth, who insisted

up
on Wearing hoop skirts long after they were out of fashion.

 

 

 

125

Consequently, she suffered "some discomfort" once when a
small pig became lodged under her skirt and jumped about
wildly. The ludicrous picture that Young draws of Aunt
Elizabeth bouncing about with a wildly hysterical pig under
her skirts is boisterously laugh-provoking.33
He tells a droll story about Dr. Clay, one of his
ancestors who was an alcoholic. The good doctor who was
called out one evening when he was quite drunk, found his
Patient, an elderly lady, reclining in an old-fashioned
four poster bed. As he reached for her wrist to take her
pulse, he missed completely and, to break his fall, wrapped
himself around one of the posts. In so doing he caught his
0"“ right wrist with his left hand. He remained in this
P081131 on and started counting his own pulse. When he con-
cluded the count, he turned to the lady and said, "There's
nothing in the world wrong with you, Madame, except you're
thoroughly intoxicated."3h
In the same tongue-in-cheek vein, he recounts Uncle
Gem'ge 's remark that his wife, who was a New Englander and
possesSed of a Puritan conscience, used that conscience,
"0'; to prevent the performance of unvirtuous acts, but
rather, to keep herself from having any fun in doing them.35
This sense of the comic extends to his dramatic I
criticism as well. He tells, for example, the story of

Gr
“30, the actor, who received a rousing ovation for his

 

126

Playing of a death scene. When the audience would not stop
applauding, the actor got up from the floor where he had
lain dead and played the scene all over again.36 In his
review of a performance of the Gilbert and Sullivan "Patience,"
Young discussed the matter of the music versus the words,
and concluded that cutting down on the music to accent the
words would be like taking "Dr. Arne's song37 of 'My mother
bids me bind my hair,‘ and playing it on a comb to bring
out the hair."38 Anyway, says he, people are never too
concerned about the words in either comic or serious opera.
”his even Caruso once scratched himself on a pin that was
”hiring out of Geraldine Farrar's costume and promptly

Changed the words 0 Suava Fancuilla of the Italian aria

 

that he was singing, to O Spills Grudele (Oh Cruel Pin)..

 

The audience, apparently neither understanding nor caring
about the words, gave him just as much applause as he would
"We received had he sung the right words.39

The same kind of thing happened with Sarah Bernhardt
at one time. Young relates the incident with a twinkle in
his eye. "And once I heard Sarah Bernhardt in 19323 stand-
lng o"er Scarpia's body, when she had stabbed him, break
into invective against the scenoI‘Y- A piece of the wings
had 8"hang on its hinges and flapped against her; g_9_t_’_c_e.
co

We tomber she declaimed, in a rasping voice of hate

an
d I‘e‘renge, her eyes on her dead enemy, 'this column is

 

127

going to fall, these damned carpenters haven't got any
sense. ""40

To sum up completely the many facets of Young's
Philosophy of living as revealed through his writings and
thmnngh.personal conversations would take more time than
"0 need to spend here. But briefly we may say that he be-
lievea in living within a code, a code fashioned from a
tradition. And tradition he thinks has a place in a way
01' life. This does not mean that he subscribes to the
idea (3f ancestor worship, but rather, that he has a respect
for the accumulation of knowledge, noblesse oblige, culture,
and generosity of spirit that started as a ripple in the
“Ply colonial South and grew to a wave. Although he has
"0 immediate family of his own (he never married) he is the
°hamflDion of the family as the modus operandi of tradition.
Family in the broader sense of the word looms large in his
expeJf‘ience as a shaper of attitudes and character and as a
purveyor of culture. The reader may recall how much stress
was placed upon this aspect of Young's early life in the
biographical sketch.

Young is an individualist whose very gorge rises at
how completely the false standards of materialism and in-
dustrialism have robbed the 20th century American of his
lndjl"idealism.

Young's sense of humor is precious and sardonic. It

 

 

 

128

could be no other way for as an aesthetic mystic he stands
away from and above the little ones of this world and as an
humanitarian he is bitter about the destructive inroads
that materialistic standards have foisted upon this society.
His philosophy of art refers invariably to Plato's
Premise about art being a general name signifying something
33 Where something 13.31122 before. It is upon this premise
that Young's aesthetic rests. On one occasion when dis-
cussing acting he notes that acting is not an art until it
Portrays not only what it has to portray in its own terms
but "adds to it {the portrayal] something that was not
there before."l"1 Or in another connection when discussing
the decor in the production of The Birthday ofgthglnfantso.
"9 States that for the result to be art "an element must be
t”We that was not there before. It must be incredibly
translated into something else; it must be the same and not
m“ Same, like the moon in water, by a certain nameless
diff'Brence born anew. ""2 Stated in other terms "art is a
form of translation by which one thing is expressed in
“ms of another)” or a way of "creating in one section
01' living, an experience we have in another."’-‘J* Whenever
°r°fition in art occurs, a species of chain reaction is set
up, for "art indeed can be thought of as a restatement of
a" exiperience in one part of life in terms of another part

0
1‘ 11:83:15 The musician puts his creation into sound.

 

 

129

The architect hears the sound and translates it into mass
and textures; the lover, into poetry; the painter, into
line and color; the sculptor into planes and elevations;
the dancer into movements, and so on. Thus the creation by
a nameless something is "ever born anew."

What must the poet or the artist do then to create a
work of art? Is it enough to imitate Nature? Is it enough
t0 Photograph? In terms of Young's aesthetic, this would
not be enough. "It must be incredibly translated into
“Metrung else." That is, mere translation is only photog-.
rEMnr, but an "incredible" translation is something else
“Sana. It imbues the subject with a magnetism, a glow, and
an"antiphonal radiance" that far transcends mere transla-
tu°no To use an expression that he employs quite often,
it”makes the matter being treated by art "come alive."

This Coming alive. may even involve a restatement of the
material "a translation into living terms so that its truth
may 8hay alive.“+6 Young follows this reasoning when he
refers to John Mason Brown's Two on th_e Aislg:

When it comes to today's dramatic criti-

cism and the restatement in our terms of the

original meaning, or quality, in terms of

the people involved, we could scarcely find

a better example than in Mr. John Mason

Brown's brilliant article on "L'Ai lon and

Miss Le Gallienne" . . In such an article

the richly charged phrases convey the tone

and character that within its own epoch

Rostand intended his play to have, but at

the same time we are made aware of the
transformations that have gone on with time,

 

130

changes from French into English, France to

gagiggaczixgnofifihe problems, ever renewed,
In reviewing a Broadway production of Macbeth, Young makes
the point that part of the eternality-of—truth in this play
is dependent upon the response to it. And in order for
this response to remain alive there must be a restatement
of it in the living terms of each generation. If Macbeth
were to be given in Elizabethan style, it might be of in-
terest archaeologically but it would be "far from profound
truth; a mere dead fact. . . . The vitality of Macbeth, the
shadow, the fire of it, its great single line, are not se-
Curely and comfortably ours by mere inheritance; they are
alive only through the pressing life and new wonder and in-
vention and singleness that we can put into its perform-
ance."h8

Furthermore, to go on with this line of thought,
”“1? work of art that is worthy of being so called must
“main within itself life, not necessarily consisting "in
""101“! of strenuosity but in a pressing inner force, a kind
or preasure from a center outward.""9 In short, a life
that defies suppression.

To be sure, "art can spring only out of natural
happy satisfactions of some life light or dark, comic or
tragIC,"50 and it must have its basis in Nature.51 However,

a
s 1“ POints out in connection with acting, Nature herself

 

131

was never art. An actor who merely. feels the role will not

necessarily be an artist. He will have to supplement his

mental, physical, and spiritual talents with technique, in

order to become the consummate artist. Young does not hold

with those who subscribe to the volition theory, that there need
be only a "will” and a "feel" for great art to result.52

Much more than that is needed. Close attention to
detail on the part of the artist is an indispensible re-
quirement. Young illustrates this belief time and again in

his reviews of plays. In one review he pointed out that an

actress by the mere placing of her feet, established the
insensitiveness and mediocrity of the character she was
trying to portray.53 For Young, this would be the differ-
ence between creating a world of art and simply giving 8
Performance. In the case of the "acting" in Dinner at
Efihj he found the actors were so typecast that no acting
l‘68!111-.ed, only performing.s"" He finds this to be true of
all art, namely, that great artists are very muCh aware 01'
“1° importance of detail. There is a difference between a
mn‘°r-the-mill painter and a real painter; the difference
being that the former will paint anything from Washington
Crossing the Delaware to The Old Swimmin' Hole in Peoria
Without a moment's hesitation; whereas the latter is so
:Ware or the need for technique and attention to detail in
”Ida-11,18 "the flower," that he "trembles before the mere

 

132

character of human hands and the problem of their. conversion
[through detail] into the unity that is his style."55

And as to style, this is a matter of importance also
in the Young aesthetic. Since it is part of the emotion
expressed, the style in which a thing is written or spoken
must be understood. Otherwise the receiver cannot get the
full impact of the work of art. 80 important does he rate
style, that he re-wrote parts of The Pavilion thirty times
in order to get the proper tone and "by tone I mean styles"S6

After doing any extended reading in Young, one per-
ceives that his style is sometimes extremely involved and
"Worked over." It is true that in his journalistic writing
he, like many of his colleagues, often falls into a
"critics. Jargon" that becomes prolix and tedious. He
“8“ PQPetitiously, expressions like "art is long and life
is short," "all life," "all art," "all nature," "dilates,"
"music is the ideal of all the arts," "in the realm of the
blind, the one-eyed is king," "the foolish man going
thro‘gh life as a spoon through soup, without perceiving
its 8a"our," "the defect of the excellence," "the least
11eg dalAghter is the family beauty," "con amore," "it has
a rightrless," and so forth.

Nevertheless in his more serious and ambitious
Pieces he is a careful, skillful, and exacting writer; and

13 8°
metimes so painstaking in his effort to be thorough

¥

 

 

133

that his style becomes heavily Victorian. His review of

O'Neill's Hairy Ape falls into this category. The encomium

is done laboriously and is a most conscientious estimate of

the production.57 He lavishes the same care on his theatre

reviewing that Ruskin does on architecture.

Ybung is even more concerned about form than he is

about style. In his aesthetic, form ranks high. He sub-

scribes to the Neo Platonic Spenser premise that "soul is

form and doth the body make." This is not surprising since

he had been nourished on generous helpings of Spenser.

Form for him is the unifying principle in all art

and nature. In one essay he chooses three different works

°f art, a painting, a drawing, and a model for a stage set

01' Dante's Divine Comedy. With these examples he tries to

311°" how each is an entity while still related to the
other; how each is basically related to all experience;
”"1 more especially how £933 is the unifying principle
that 1"Slates all art to our whole existence.‘38

He heartily commends Susan Glaspell for the emeriv
mental aspect of her play The Verge, because it experiments
:ith new forms. He is impatient with those who are forever
prattling about new forms in the theatre and then fighting
any attempt at new material . . . we shall never have new

form
s "1 thout having first the new matter of which the soul

at
1ength becomes the form."59

 

 

 

131’.

In another place he takes Bernard Shaw to task. He
reviews Shaw's Back to Methuselah and berates the dramatist
because he seems to hold form in such low regard:

And there is another thing that Shaw has never
seemed to know, which is this: great form in
art is not a showing off, a strutting rodomon-
tade of puffed up vanity and nonsense; it is
on the contrary, the natural and inevitable
result of carrying the quality of a thing to
its ultimate essence. Great form in art is a
consummation and immortalizing of the matter.
It is the duty that the soul feels under the
highest excitement to render this excitement
in terms of its last perfection and almost
abstract finality. Form in art is nothing to
be shy about, or to mistrust as a kind of ex-
hibitionism. It is natural and inevitable
wherever life is driven to perpetuate itself
and separate what it wills to be its incor-
ruptible and pristine prt from the inci-
dental and corruptible.

Thus we come to a consideration of Young as the
aesthetic mystic, who believes that art "provokes the sense
°f3hnagination and wonder, and supplies that reminder of
the Strange and unguessed in life."61 The "strange and
mguessed in life." This, like "antiphonal radiance" is as
nmch a key idea in the Ybung aesthetic as the Lady of the
lake's arm, clothed in white samite, "mystic, wonderful,"
18 a key phrase in the Idylls of the King. There is the
same concept of unspoiled childlike wonder, awe, and
naivsté implicit in both. It is innocently, unsophisti-
catedly beautiful. In Tennyson, according to some, it be-
comes overemotional and syrupy. In Young: however, “9“

th
Ough he believes "there is no more reason to doubt the

 

 

135

value of emotional experience than of the so-called intel-
1ectual,"62 it is protected from such a fate by a fine in-
tellectual grasp.

The strain of mysticism is very evident in some of
Young's work, as has been pointed out elsewhere in this
<flscussion. It is even more pronounced in his definition
of the poetic:

In life for instance we have particular moments
of deep feeling, say, or suspense. We do not
separate these, hold them compartmentally off
to themselves. What happens is a gradual
heightening, and intensification of our beings.
The pulse concentrates its stroke, it is
quicker or it seems almost suspended; but its
existence is deepened and made more compul-
sive. The body increases its life, it moves
toward more complete unity. The mind is
charged with a vaster region in which it
dilates and seems to breathe a wider air.

The whole of us, mind, body, spirit, is

driven toward a simplification, a oneness.

We draw more easily and luminously a radi-
ance from ourselves . . . and t at is what

the poetic is in our existence.

Having a sense of wonder provoked to an antiphonal
I‘8diance generated by the play of all things one upon the
0121191561; sounds like an echo from the philosophy apparent
1“ William Blake's brightly burning tiger, where the ar-
tist's presentation of the tiger is more deeply like the
”331" than the tiger can itself ever be. In any event. it
seems to have the same kind of complex and ephemeral in-

tan
31bility; the same kind of inscrutable evanescence and

expr
888rive inexpressibility; the same kind of out-of—this—

 

136

worldishness, while being within-this-world; the same kind
of unreality within reality that Blake attempted.

It would seem that we have here a strangely incon-
sistent combination. Confessedly, Young is a champion of
the Greeks and their classic disciplines. Yet, very obvi-
ously he is not of a kidney with the Dryden-Swift-Pope
school. Young follows Reason all right, but not the reason
01‘ the cold zones; or of the coldly scientific, or the ob-
Jectively precise. Rather, it seems to be the reason of
the enigmatic, the mystic, the religieux. Guenevere, the
queen in the play of the same name states the case effec—
”"0137 when she says:

. . . Reason speaks to reason
But unto heart only the heart can speak.65

One of his Roman Catholic priest characters expresses
the concept for Young fairly succinctly with: "I tend to
follow Reason; and to me Reason is the kind of imagination
that perceives the relation to one another of all things,
how they check or support one another, the relation, signor,
of all things in our world about us and in our world of
time,!v66

This is basically a romantic concept that Young fol-
lows closely. Sometimes for him, art is a mystic thing
that 8tends apart. In a sense it is the are gratia artis
Concept. There are times when he thinks art should not and

°enn '
0t e"l'broil itself in serious worldly problems or time-

 

 

1..
r

 

137

liness. It should concern itself only with that "nourish-
ment on which our imaginations live.“>7 Thus, in an arti-
cle defending Synge's play, PlayboLof the Western World
against charges of paganism, Young points out how great
works of art finally come to be looked upon for what they
are, namely, materials acted upon by a mystical alliance

of "mind, body and spirit toward a simplification, a one-
ness."68 For him such works are neither polemic, evangeli-
cal, nor socially reformative. They have no message. They
are simply "antiphonal radiances" and should be appreciated
as such. As evidence of how this comes to be finally with
great works of art he points to Milton's Paradise Lost.

He Detes how the impact of this piece was so strong for one
generation that it was looked upon, not as a work of art,
but I“ether, as part of the Bible, as are Deuteronomy or
Exodus or the Gospels. The following generation disliked
t7116 theology contained therein, so Paradise Lost was neg-
IGCtSd- Finally, the poem came to be read as a work of
art, just as Homer is, without dogma.69

On the other hand, on occasion Young can adopt a

Point of View quite contrary to that of the pure mystic.

He advocates a this-world mysticism. He thinks it is "high
time that

hei ht people in the theatre learned to look more for
thrfug:ned and mystical veracity . . . for a something

‘Vflich the shock and pressure of our invisible living

 

 

138

inpregnates with itself the outer substance of life, as the
light of day impregnates with itself the outer substance of
life."70 It is the function of art to express society;
"its necessity is to distil and shape . . . what there is
to shape and distil, outwardly to achieve the definity of
order and the mystery of form for what was hitherto wander—
ing or in solution; and inwardly like the evening star, in
its immortal and intense suspension, to bring us back to
the knees of life."71

If one were to attempt to restate in capsule form
Young's aesthetic, he would most certainly have to begin
with the Platonic" premise that art is a general name in-
dicating something is where something was not before. In
YmmS'S text, all art is a re-expression that acts after
the m5113mm of a chain reaction. The artist finds his ma-
terials in Nature (which is not Art) and acts upon Her with
form, style and technique so that the materials "come
alive," And if the artist is an aesthetic mystic, as is
YWHB, his aesthetic, like Young‘s, will rest upon a founda-
tion of the "antiphonal radiance" drawn from their own

Part;
8’ or all things.

Because of the fact that Young has achieved fame as
critic
t and artist one is likely to forget the fact that he
8 arts
d as an educator. For sixteen years he taught at

three
different colleges, and for a number of years he was

¥

 

139

lecturer at another. He was held in high esteem by stu-
dents and colleagues alike and his opinions in education
were respected. Apparently the United States government
felt his opinions in this field were worthy also, for in

a ILew Republic article, Young refers to the fact that he

 

served on a Federal education commission.72 Exactly what
this commission did or what its function was is not alto-
gether clear. In a personal conversation, Mr. Young indi—
cated that he cannot remember the details. And the matter
does not warrant an exhaustive search through government
files. It is enough to note that he served on such a com-
mittee.

On the premise then, that the character of a man
may well be reflected in his attitudes toward education,
an examination of Young on this score may be revealing.

Young's ideas on the subject were fashioned from a
combinfiltion of early home influences and college training
that made his point of view strictly non urban, agrarian,
and intensely Old South Southern. He had been nurtured
among p60Ple who valued close family ties, and realized
most of tilleir social and cultural satisfactions from these
“98' The ingredients that nourished his thinking he des-
cribes succinctly in The Pavilion (p. 112):

iglizonsisted not so much in what usually is
ed education and informed studies, as it

Sid in personalities and the general princi-
Bs that were accepted by them out of life

 

 

 

mo

as it was, and that were to be lived by.
Partly by inheritance and partly by the way
we live our people came into an interest in
human beings that was not so much psycholog-
ical or analytical as it was personal, secret,
open and bright with what is living; the
closeness and carefree downrightness of their
talk had in it what Yeats calls "the gay ex-
aggeration of equals;" there was about it a
certain plainness with the earth, as it were
a plainness that had left in me, and has
still left a limited patience and flat un-
belief as to the pseudo-intellectual palaver
of the drawing rooms in a great city.

This "plainness," this "simplicity," this that in-
volves the simple dignity of man, is basic in Young's phi-
lommlny. He expresses it in different ways in different
places, but fundamentally the argument is always the same.
IDth<9 "uncut diamond" state, the human being has about
hhna ‘fineness, a genuineness, a gentility, and a naivete
that Young respects. He admires these characteristics in
Mr. Wallace, his unspoiled Texas farmer friend, about whom
he writes an article. Mr. Wallace "had a sort of refine—
ment, he is clean like a fine animal, fresh hearted as a
b°y° His intelligence is active and simple and sharp. His
passions are strong and genuine, and they are kept to an
OPQJEEHi wholesome proportion and temperance by his rela-
tion to the world about him. His relation to men, the soil

an
(ithe liatural earth is evenly distributed on account of

the way he lives.”73

Young's pre-college training was "spotty" and by his

own
adM. 881011 the training that he received at the Univer-

 

 

 

 

lhl

sity of Mississippi was far from thorough or complete. He
defends it partially on the grounds that it was based on
the humanities, especially the classics. In fact, he makes
more than a defense, he makes a plea for the return to what
he considers the more authentic values to be found in the
classics and the "Great Books."

His faith in, his admiration of, and his profound
respect for the dignity, restraint, and simplicity of the
Greek and Roman classics stem from the traditional (strict-
ly unvocational) Old South upbringing that he had both at
home and in college. Even after college, while living alone
in a Cabin in the North Carolina mountains, he steeped him:
3911' in the originals of these classics, and later came to
the Conclusion, after many years of teaching on the college
level. that here was part of the core-curriculum upon which
his basic college system might rest.

He stresses the fact that "what small bits of ideas
and knowledge I received were filled with some vague passion
and ambition; our conception of education was at least
larger than ourselves; it did not deride, but on the con-
trapy denied nothing in the splendor of the dead who had
gone before us; it rested on something lofty and remote
° ' that was honorable and high like Hamlet's soliloquies

o
r Plutarch's Lives or General Lee."75

At his own University of Mississippi, Young finds

 

“#2

grave flaws in the educational philosophy and psychology
behind it all. Looking back at these courses in Greek and
Latin that he had there, he concludes that they were
planned not "as insights into living or exercises in the
delight that lies in store for us in poetry, but rather,
as if we were all being prepared to be professors of Latin
or Greek."76 In other words, to Young, the individual has
the right to expect that higher education will supply
Spiritual, intellectual, and human long-term values quite
aside from the vocational. The universal verities are not
t0 be found in the training of human adding machines.

Even though the training at his University was less
thm’ough than he feels it should have been, he CODtSNdS
that 1t was deeper and more solid than what he might have
received at one of the great Eastern Universities. There,
the training might have been a little more over-organized
and better labelled; it might "without any significant re-
gard to social tradition or profound continuity in a way
of life. have been more informative and obligatory;"77 the
information disseminated might have been more accurate and
hatter disciplined; but there would have been less of the
'humanu touch.78 In short, the more "advanced" Eastern
8ch°°13 Would not have inculcated with any profundity, a
way of life or a significant social tradition, a matter

Whic
h to Young is of prime importance.

 

 

1&3

He would also claim for his University and many
other universities in the South that they were doing what
they were doing with an excellent purpose. Their system,
says he, is simply a means of combatting the attitude of
industrialism, and making a distinction between the spread-
ing of culture and the constant yammer about equipment and
the election of trustees from the ranks of the National
Association of Manufacturers.

The vigor with which the materialists have taken
over higher education has more than distressed Stark YOung.
Eh W88, however, encouraged on one occasion:

I shall never forget the encouragement
with which I saw for the first time that
some of the dormitory doors at the Univer-
sity of Virginia needed paint, so sick was
I at the bangup varnishing, rebuilding,
plumbing, endowing, in some of the large
Northern institutions.

If they learn little at these Virginia
.Halls, it is doubtless as much as they
would learn at the other and they at least
escape the poison of the success idea that
almost every building is sure to show, the
'belief that mechanical surface and the
outer powepg of money are the prime things
in living.

”Wherever he expresses himself specifically on the
”b.1631: (and he does in a number of places as the following
Will Show) he is antagonistic toward some of the college
proresSors, the persons that he considers are higher edu-
cation. 8 high priests. He has no quarrel with the pro-

fee
810*) per se, only some of its exponents, like Professor

 

 

 

I“.

 

demse:

Stomach hangs plumply out, not fat but soft

and loose like his face. He looks pleased

with himself. Plainly he is one of those

self made men in academic life who take very

seriously their rise in the world. . . .

You can look at him and see that he has no

interest in the world, no passionate devo-

tions or dark fits of despair, or elevation;

he is not studious, not active, not medita-

tive, not keen. . . . He makes a living -

a sort of living - at the University. But

he probably potters around in his brain very

much as he dogs in the mild stewardship of

his backyard.

When he describes a professor as a "platitude at
prayer,"81 or accuses him of dealing out curious platitudes,
absorbable only by sensitive college students,82 or likens
him to a captain who has sailed all around the world but
“BYE? in it, he demonstrates his impatience with those who
"mud relegate an academic college education to mere theory
and ofiltercises. He wants the whole man trained, so that
life can be faced, not just thought profoundly about.83
Young is fond of the expression "come alive." He likes to
See a line of poetry come alive, or a line in a play or a
Ifiece <Df philosophy. And it is the professor's responsi-
bility to make that happen.

Nothing irks Young more than the downright oblivious-
n
as” manifested by professors, in the social significance of
th .

e subJects they teach. Particularly is he concerned with
the
fa‘rb that the future of the land may very easily become

doPen
dent upon higher education and its professorsfih And

 

11:5

unfortunately the professors, he thinks, are too willing to
sit tight and vegetate. Anyone who has the temerity to try
to be creative in his approach to the subject matter or the
method of teaching it, is likely to be dubbed a radical and
fired from his college teaching job because of the "too ad-
vanced" ideas he is allegedly planting in the minds of the
students.85 It is difficult to say how directly autobio-
graphical an author's references are, since in a sense
e"or’ything that an author writes is likely to be tinged
with his own experience. In this case, one can only ob-
serve that in every article that touches on the subject,
the characters and situations occur at institutions in
Mississippi, Texas, New York or a "small New England Col-
loge," The reader will recall that Young taught or was a
student at the University of Mississippi, University Of
Texas, Columbia, and Amherst College (a "small New England
College").

Whether the following were real peOple with whom
Young came in contact as colleagues or whether, as is more
likely, they are composites possessing all of the character-
istics Young dislikes most in college teachers, is not very
important. But it is interesting to observe how he vents
his spleen on some of the fraternity. He is not given to
the excessive use of sarcasm, nor does he ever use it simply

for 1t
8 Own sake. However, when he does use it, his words

114.6

go straight to the heart of the matter. He makes certain
that he is "seeing the point" a caption that he uses for
some of his critical essays. Observe, if you will, one un-
flattering description that he supplies: "He became an
assistant in a University, one of the young professors of
literature who combine teaching with trying to write, until
they are either exploded out of one or the other, or else
get the dry rot in both."86 Young, at least in part,

joined The New Republic in order to escape what he con-
sidered the "dry rot."

He certainly seems to have a healthy disrespect for
some of his colleagues' minds. Says he of one: "I knew
even then that his mind was permanently adolescent; it
would make him a good college teacher for the first few
years."87 Not all of them however are doomed to the dry
I‘Ot or short term success. Some of them will achieve a
footnote immortality as did Simmons who "went most suc-
cessfully through a Middle Western College and became at
length a professor. He is now 8 13837011010813" or standing,
hated and admired by his academic competitors, invited to
read papers at conventions, and frequently referred to in
footnotes . "88

It is almost impossible, quoting out of context, to
render the withering scorn contained in the above quoted

lines. "Hated and admired by his competitors!" This vary

2
I
F
i

 

11L?

probably reflects Young's irritation with the bureaucratic
hierarchy of backbiting from which, according to him in
"Return Of the Teacher,"89 college teaching suffers. His
attitude may be somewhat biased on the subject. Young ex-
plained to me in a personal interview on one occasion, that
he felt he had been the victim of such jealousies while at
Amherst.

Having disposed of some of his teacher friends Young
feels free to develop an opinion as to what has brought
about this state of affairs. There is too much specializa-
tion and this again entails, as above, a discussion of the
teacher problem. There needs to be a return to a more
general education program. Too much effort is expended on
administrative detail. Teachers have become exalted book-
k"GI-lore. There is an over—concentration of effort on the
coldly objective type of scholarship that divorces the
bOdF 0f education from its soul and spirit. "With the
Smfiller men it has too often served as an excuse for low
grade mechanics and mere union labor. It has helped sepa-
rate the teacher from the student's complete interests."9o

An Italian priest, one of the characters in Feliciana
(“fleetion of vignettes) makes a statement that bears upon
and exPlains the matter very interestingly. The priest had
been explaining about the complexity of life to one of his

00
neagues: "I tore a leaf in pieces and begged him to re-

I
i
a
I
I
i
t
D

].

 

 

1&8

flect how with all these parts of it we yet had not the
leaf. The leaf had, therefore, not been the mere sum of
these parts, something had been present which was its char-

acter or soul and which now had fled. . . «91 In Just such

fashion have the directing and compartmentalizing in educa—
tion killed the soul of learning. The students have not
only been separated from the teachers but alienated as well.
In the mad search after specialization, the teachers have
become more and more limited in their range and scope of
learning. "There is obviously less demand, then, for good
breeding, sophistication, and sympathy in the teacher, for
the Aristotelian virtues; for Aquinas's wholeness, harmony
and radiance; in short for a man."92 Rather, the demand,
as "#8 mentioned above, is for cold objectivity, devoid of
any humsmness or humaneness, where the teacher finds him-
“lf between two lines of fire. If he is too profoundly
erudite, he is accused of lack of spirit; if he shows any
animation or life, he is, naturally, not very scholarly.93
YOung's strictures are not confined to the calibre
of undergraduate teaching. He can turn quite acid about
the fact that dinner at any faculty club might let one meet
many admirable men, but it might also reveal that "a fool
' ° ' may become a professor because of the discovery of
some use of £1.12 in Anglo-Saxon;"9u or Young can wax quite

iI'Onic
ally flippant about his own adventures in the vineyard:

 

11:9

In the end I was assigned for my Master's
Thesis the academic and sterile subject of
James Montgomery, once Poet Laureate, of
England and so banal a versifier of the
Scriptures that it took me a great deal of
Keats and Spenser to wash out the taste of
him. The best I can say of the learned as-
signment is what the old colored man said
of the bootleg whiskey they tried out on
him: it was just right; if it had been any
better they would not have given it to me,
and if it Bgd been any worse it would have
killed me.

What then would be the author's solution to what he
Considers the muddled aims, the exhorting grades, the rules,
degrees, and prizes that he says the colleges use to keep
Uflngs going? What then would be his suggestion for re-
turning the colleges and universities to the life of the
mind and the life of human thought?

The answer of the Young philosophy of education is:
exercise greater selectivity; reduce the number of entrants
"0 a chosen few and make it understood that higher educa-
tion is suited to a small number only. He makes this point
in"Not in Mmmoriam, but in Defense," with the following

lines:

Then I should add, the resounding education
in the richer parts of the United States is
already by many observers admitted to be
most futile, and that I should like to hope
that a return to confidence will lead the
South to turn toward the general idea that
education of the university sort, not pro-
fessional or technical, is suited to a small
number only.

This at present un-American idea of educa—
tion may spread if in our schools and uni-

 

 

 

versities a less democratic, mobbed and imi—
tative course of things should come to be

. . . [For the present status seems to repre-
sent] . . . an adolescent mentality and prag-
perous innocence of what culture may mean.

Is this heretic? Un-American? Undemocratic? Not
really at all; for he is not attempting to set up an aristo-
cratic caste system. He merely wishes to render unto
Caesar what is Caesar's, to train those who warrapt train-
ing.-

He subscribes to the European theory that higher ed-
ucation (at least in the Humanities; and without the Human-
ities there is no education, he would contend) is for the
few. He is opposed to the democractic principle of equal
c’Pportunity for all in higher education. He recognizes
the Statement in the Declaration of Independence concerning
equality of birth, but doubts its reality. "For the verve
and Snato of popular life there must always be among a
DBOple where all are born equal, a prize for those who,

mm 01.:respect for the Constitution, if nothing else, were
born equal but overcame it."(97 Mass education to him is
abhor-rent just as mass anything would be. This is not
Ipoted.:in an intellectual snobbery, but in a profound be-
lief t"hat the greatest good for humanity, for a culture,
for a way of life, for a tradition can come only by return-—

in
8 the colleges to those who have a sincere respect and

lov
e for learning.

 

 

 

151

And, as to the teachers, he would have men in the
college classrooms who by training and inclination are more
than mere regurgitators of content material. He wants men
who are dedicated to a sacred profession; men who have an
insight into their subject matter far above and beyond the
mere call of pedagogy; men who have a profound respect for
their own calling and the materials with which they work.
They must be more than "footnote" scholars or specialists;
rather, they must be men with vision who see below the hard
8m‘I'ace of materialism. They must be men of faith who be-
11°V° in the destiny of their profession and the high re-
‘P0n81bilities attached thereto. Is this, then, perfection-
ism and idealism? The answer is yes, for this is indeed
char‘acteristic of all of Stark Young's thinking and writing.
H° 18 an idealist; he is a perfectionist.

Obviously all of the complexities that go into the
makeup of a man's philosophy of life have not been touched
upon in this discussion but it would seem that enough has
be”) covered to reach the following general conclusions:

Young is an optimist at heart and a staunch believer
in the innate goodness of man. The word "dignity" ranks
high in Young's vocabulary. He is a stern opponent of the
coldly and barbarously mechanistic philosophy that evolves
from worship at the shrine of the machine and "success."

Thi
8 he deplores, as does O'Neill in his play Dznam . He

 

152

has no patience with the ideology that grows from the con-
centrated devotion to material things. He is the humanist
and the humanitarian, while at the same time he is the de-
votee of culture and the dreamer.

Aside from the traits of character that seem to show
through his writing, one is impressed by personal associa-
tion with Mr. Young with his immense sincerity. To have
withstood the onslaughts of cynical Broadway and to have
emerged comparatively unscathed is in itself something of
a major accomplishment. But to have been able to preserve
a fresh and unjaded attitude toward life and living and
toward his fellow man is a triumph indeed. Young has re-
mained to this day what he calls "country Southern," which
is another term in his vocabulary for true humility. Said
"9 Once, of his work: "I who know the smallness of my

"0106 . . . wonder if any words of mine could matter much
«98

 

 

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER II

 

Footnotes not prefaced by the name of the
author are to be considered as written by

Stark Young.

 

 

 

15h

1Stark Young, "The Garden of Psyche," Forum, Lt2 (1909), 175.

ZStark Young, The Street of the Islands, (New York, 1930).
frontispiece.

32kg Pavilign, Po 7.

"John D. Wade, "Two Souths," Va 9 R, 10 (October 1931;), 616-

slhe Flower in Drama, p. 51-
6
Ibid., p. 70.

(rarer) evere, p. till.

8Henry S. Commager, "The South that was Swept Away,"
iglolastic, 57 (November 29, 1950), 12.

9"The New," New Repub, 31 (AUEUSt 16’ 1922)’ 333'

 

10
W» p. 28.

1
w. p. so.

12
Stark Young, River House, (New York, 1929), Po 19-

 

 

 

13
"kpress1on1stic," New Repub, 86 (April, 1936), 225-
lhml‘h
e Great Doom's Image," New Repub, 87 (May 13. 1936): 21'
1591M
odernism in 816118," New 'Repub, 21.; (September 1, 1920), 19°
16

I'
'\llT\akg My Stand, p. 351.

 

 

 

155
18.1115}. p- 35h-
19giver House, p. 213.
ZOGlamour, p. 151.

211:1). Take My Stand, p. 335.

221mm, p. 356.

2

3Feliciana, p. 207.
2

l(Glamour, p. 152.

2S
"Bruised Patriots," New Remit), 23 (August 18. 1920), 331-

 

26
Letter to R. M. Lumianski, January 29, 1951!»

27
Edward A. Jewel, "An Annual History," The New York Times.

(November 18, 1915), sec. II. 7. col. h-

28
W P Eaton, "The Saint," New York Herald—Tribune Book

Re*3l-§.,(October ’4, 1925), p. 5.
29G

uenevere, p. 31.
3081:

mark Young, Addio, Madretta, and Other Plays, (Chicago.

12 2). p. 79

313

lsfirk Young,"Queen of Sheba," Theatre Arts, 6 (April 1922),

32
J0
193°Dh Wood Krutch, "Drama," Nation, 119 (October 29,
2*) mu? .

 

 

156

33The Pavilion, p. 106.

3l‘kaven Trees, p. 141;.

35Ibid. , p. 9.

*

3("Marginal Notes," New Repub. 87 (July 8! 1936)' 272'

 

37h! a letter dated January, 1955, Young noted that he,

Young, had made an error, and that the name should be
Haydn not Arne.

38
"Patience," The New York Times, February 1, 1925, sec.
VII, 1, col. 2.

”Immortal Shadows, P- 151'

to
"Billet D0111," Theatre Arts, 13 (October 1929)) 7350

waver in Drama, p. 10.
m1 Shadows, p. 11,.

A3
Stark Young, Theatre Practice, (New York, 1926), p. 1'

 

 

1th

I!
Orchestra]. Drama," New Repub, 55 (May 23. 1928): 19-

 

1&5
W, p. ’42.

A6"
MECthh,n New Regub, 38 (April 2; 192(4), 153‘

’47,,
Characters," New Repub, 97 (November 16, 1938), 1+5-

 

 

 

157

“B"Maobeth." New Repub, 38 (April P: 192M, 153'

 

h9"The Mould of Form." New Ramp.» 33 (January 3. 1923). 1149.

0
5 "Two Follies," New Repub, 33 (November 29, 1922), 21.

1
5 "Back to Creation," New Repub, 30 (March 15, 1922), 80.

52
Q Flower in Drama, p. 16.

53"An Actress and a Dramatist." NOW 331mb: 60 (November 6’
1929) , 321)..

5’4,
'Dinn or at Eight," New Repub, 72 (November 9, 1932), 356-

55
"Street Scene," New Repub, 57 (January 30, 1929), 296.
56
'7' K. Hutchens, "On an Author," New York Herald Tribune
W, (September 30, 1951), p. 2.

'HaiI-y Ape," New Repub, 30 (March 22, 1922), 112-

58
"The Mould of Form," New Repub, 33 (January 3, 1923), 1H9-

 

59.
'After- the Play," New Repub, 29 (December 7, 1921). 1&7-

60..
Back to Creation," New Re_p_ub, 30 (March 15, 1922). 80-

61"
After the play," New Repub, 29 (December 7, 1921), (47-

 

 

2"
Sad Photograph," New Reppb, 32 (October 18, 1922), 189-

63
Th
Mr in Drama, p. 119.

 

 

 

 

158

61""Social Science and Culture," New Repub, 16 (August 17,
1918), 68.

Qenewere, p. (4.3.
66 Y R 1921;) p. 57.
Stark Young, The Three Fountains, (New or , ,

67"After the Play." New Repub. 27 (June 29: 1921), 117'

 

681112 Flower in Drama, p. 119.

 

69"After the Play," New Repub, 27 (June 22' 1921)’ 117'

7o"Dost:oievslary's Idiot," New 30131113: 30 (April 26’ 1922)’ 255‘

71£\_S'Z>'uthern Treasurl of Life and Literature, p. viii.

2
7"Citizen Tom," New Repub, 33 (December 27, 1922), 1214.

 

73"”an Lights," New Repub, 31 (August 9, 1922), 308.
7h

A3 "as mentioned earlier in this study, a pig drowned in

 

the school well, polluted the drinking water, caused
t”hold, and closed the seminary.
”ISTh
° Pavilion, p. 158.
76
M’ , p. 1&8.
77
'I~bi\d. , p. 1560
78
Ibid.
79

we My Stand, p. 339.

 

¥

159

80
"Texas Lights," New Repub, 31 (August 9, 1922). 306.

81"Citizen Tom," New Replib. 33 (December 27' 1922)’ 1214'

8zfieliciana , p. 113.

83"Henry's Art Course." N6" Repub, 31 (May 31’ 1922)’ 18'

8
""0hapters from a Book of Memories," Va Q R, 214. (October

8
5"My Aunt Lavinia," New Repub, 70 (February 17: 1932), 17'

86
"Mates and Sublimates," New Replib. its (February 3. 1926)»

8
7"Chapters From a Book of Memories," Va 9 . 2b. (April
191L8), 222.

88,1, ..
aahalia's Behavious, New Repub, 33 (February 7. 1923).

89"R
1 8turn of the Teacher," The Nation, 107 (September 7.
918) , 251.

90
m.
91
WE! p. 212.

Return of the Teacher." 251-

93"
A FaI‘ewell to Arms," New Repub, 6).}, (October 8, 1929): 208-

9h"
Retul‘n of the Teacher," 251.

 

 

 

160

95The Pavilion, p. 168.
96:11 Take M1 Stand, p. 339.

97"gulitzer Prize Emotions," New mum 79 (May 30. 1931.).

98"Stark Young. Painter." Time. kl (June 11h 1993” "2'

 

 

Chapter III

 

HIS DRAMATIC CRITICISM _: 4

Definitions
Types of critics
Qualifications of theatre-drama critics
The theatre-drama critic
The play
Theatre art

The reviews

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter III
HIS DRAMATIC CRITICISM

After having read hundreds of Young's theatre re-
views, as well as his books devoted to theatre and drama
criticism, this writer has come to several conclusions about :7 m?
Ybung's organization, content, and completeness of treatment. 2
Among other things, he follows something of a formula in his
PeViews, just as many of his colleagues do; that is, the
pattern, the technique and the mechanics of organization
vdll be the same regardless of the play. He SPSDdS more
time with.the consideration of acting than any other one
flung; ht: dislikes reviewing inferior plays and when he
<kms, 33 Efirs. Isaacs, editor of Theatre Arts says, his
Wrflflng Ibecomes inferior.1 Young himself has said upon oc—
Cmflbn 1r) regard to the worth of a work of art that "if $29
ammum tC) nothing, in the end your art amounts to nothing."2
By the Same token, a play that amounts to nothing will in-
variably get a review from Young that amounts to the same.

Therefore it would seem that a better estimate of
this critic can be made from a selection of reviews of
superior pla ther th n f 0 his eviews of mediocre 0P

ys re a r m r
Deer dramas. This does not mean, of course, that inter-
Pretation and evaluation have been confined to these few

“Views 81
one. On the contrary, the present writer has

used 9'73 I‘Yt
hing that he felt was necessary to make the

 

¥

 

 

163

study as complete as possible. Examples have been winnowed

from all of the author‘s works, but it should be noted here
that the choices for the next two Chapters were carefully
limited.

The essays selected have been the reViews of Pulitzer
Prize Plays, New York Drama Critics' Circle Award Plays,
Eugene O'Neill Plays, and several Shakesperian Revivals.
Also chosen were miscellaneous plays that involved out-
standing companies or actors (Abbey Theatre Players, Old
Vic Players, Moscow Art Theatre Players, Mei Lan Fang, etc. ).

The assumptions in the choice of the Pulitzer and
Critics' Award Plays is that they must have been among the
more worthy of the season's productions, else why would
they have been accorded the honor of a prize? The O'Neill
plays were singled out because by general assent, he is the
greatest dramatist this nation has yet engendered. The
I‘GBasons for the selection of the Shakesperian plays pro-
duced by great companies and involving fine actors are ob-
VIOUS enough.

Consequently one assumes (in keeping with Young's
edict that the play must amount to something if the criti-
Cism is to amount to anything) that prize winning plays, or
Plays written by great writers or plays acted in by great
artists, will evoke noteworthy criticism. The reader is

remind
ed to bear that in mind when observing the examples

Of cpit
1°18"! offered in the next two chapters.

 

161;,

Dramatic criticism in a broad sense has existed
probably, ever since there has been drama. And this, rough-
ly, may date back to 3000 8.0., when, it is said, the
Egyptian actor I-kher-nefegt "reviewed" his own production
of a Passion Play of Osiris. The Greeks developed theory
in 38).; 8.0. when Aristotle produced his Poetics; hundreds
0f years later, Dryden examined this theory in his Essay on

mimetic Poesie and Defence thereof. In fact, dramatic

 

criticism, until recently, has been within everyone's
PPOVince and was never confined to the few. Philosophers,
scholars, and others who have written on the subject have
numbered in the thousands and their output has been pro-
lific.

However, the professional dramatic critic, in the
sense that he is an individual who is hired by a specific
agency to do the job of reporting and evaluating theatre
Performances, is a comparatively new arrival of the latter
part Of the 19th century. Because of the nature of his
work, he has emerged in the 20th century, invested with
some degree of glamour, not, seemingly, possessed by other
kinds of critics. He is thrown intimately into association
with the magnetic figures of the stage, art, music, and
literary World. He deals with an art that is a combination
of many arts. And his origin as a professional is not too
mm“? known. It is held by some that this type of

critic
was born in England in Fop's Corner. It was here

 

¥

l,
._ 7
KW —-—

 

165

that the "critics" of the Restoration Theatre passed judg-

ment orally, immediately after the play. This occurred

Oftentimes in the hearing of both audience and performers.
It may well be that from this humble beginning has evolved
our present exalted panjandrum of Broadway.

At any rate, regardless of how this kind of drama
critic may have come into being, the fact is that with the
raDid rise of newspaper and magazine production in the mid-
dle of the 19th century, he was becoming more and more
I'ir'z'rily established. And by the turn of the century in
England, France and America, he had arrived as a recognized
institution.

As early as 1836, Jules Janin as professional critic
was contributing a piece on current theatre every Monday in
the Paris Journal des Deba_vi. He continued to do this for
forty years and upon his demise, Francois Lemaitre con-
tinued the critical column. In 1850, Saint Beuve was doing
the Same every Monday for The Constitutionnel and by 1867,
FranclSque Sarcey was the theatre critic for a rival paper
W.

In England, although Hazlitt, Hunt and Lamb had con-
tributed occasional reviews of contemporary dramatic pro——
ductiona to the periodicals, no "professional" critic ap-
Pears to have been operating until 1867 when Joseph Knight
Performed in this capacity for the Athenaeum in London.
From 1872 when Clement Scott started with the Daily Tele-

 

 

166

m, and 1878 when the distinguished William Archer

started with Figaro, there followed a regular line of pro-
fessional critics for the newspapers and periodicals.

Thomas Groin served on the Sunday Times, Bernard Shaw on

t"he Saturday Review, James Agate for the Manchester Guardian,
Samuel Littlewood for The Morning Post, Alfred Walkley for
The Times, and most recently, Ashley Dukes for the _I_1_]_._u_§-

“~—
Efited London News .

Concurrently in America, William Winter, in 1865,
served as professional critic with The New York Tribune.
He was the counterpart in America of the English Clement
Scott. Each fought with equal vigor the introduction of
Ibsen into England and America respectively. To be sure,
is early as 18h0, Edgar Allen Poe as staff member of the
Low York Mirror and editor of The Broadwaj J ournal had con-
tributed articles on the stage. It is also true that in
th° eighties and nineties Howells, Twain, Garland and James
inteTested themselves in the theatre and drama to the ex-
temt that they had written feelingly of it. But generally:
until the end of the nineties, the theatre was treated in
the pilblic press as an amusement, and came under that head-
ing wheI'ever it was handled at all. So lightly was the
theatre as an institution taken that one leading actress
of the day (Modjeska, the Polish actress, performing in
America) was moved to protest bitterly. A review of a

perfor
marIce of Julius Caesar in which she had starred was

 

 

167

Placed in the public press under the heading Amusements.
And what was most gelling to this artist was that the "re-
View" appeared immediately below a report of a show that
featured trained monkeys.3

William Winter did what he could to raise the pro—
fessional theatre critic to a position that might be taken
more seriously, but it was not until the appearance of
James Huneker that the theatre critic came into his own.
Huneker came to The New York Sun in 1900 at which time the
8911118 periodical and newspaper critic had its real start in
America. Before him, the reporter who reviewed the theatre
”Grits for the paper might also have been the same one who
1"averted the baseball games and the local dogshows. But
Huneker with his wide interests in art and his special in—
tWest: in dramatic events, changed all this. He made the
evaluation of Broadway stage offerings his major business.

Possessed of an extremely ebullient personality, he
"as 8 man whose tastes roved impressionistically up and down
the whole scale of high to low arts (he was a gourmet who
could and did write pages about the "jolt" he received from
van—0‘18 kinds of new and exotic foods). His was a richly
baroque charm, completely uninhibited and florid. It was
he, aceOrding to Mencken, who released American stage cri-

tici
8m from its sentimentality and stupidity. It was he

Berta
11113,, from whom many of the present Broadway critics

sprang .

  

I! '~ . 3. Tfilfi'mr‘é f. A u .. -...
‘i‘ r ' H e.. 24

 

168

Since William Winter's and James Huneker's time, a
host of Broadway reviewers have come and gone. In the pass-
ing of time, the position of professional theatre critic
has become more and more highly specialized and respected.
The critic's work has become, perhaps, more exacting and
thus the critic haQ had to possess qualifications that are
more demanding. He must be a serious worker in the theatre
art. He must be a creative artist, as well as an apprecia-
tor, evaluator, and judge. Increasingly he has had to re-
sist the blandishments and pressures of the advertisers and
sthen whose only interest in the theatre is commercial.
And til’lese pressures at one time were so strong that editors
for the New York dailies did not hesitate to dictate to the
critics how the reviews were to be written. The editors
cared little, seemingly, for their critics' integrity; the
concern was mainly, amount of advertising space.

Consequently, in the first fifty years of the 20th
““111? Broadway critics have reached a [stature previously
mt enJoyed. Such men as Ludwig Lewisohn, for many years

critic for The Nation, and Joseph Wood Krutch, Lewisohn's

 

Successor for The Nation, labored hard and long in the
un°Yard. Names like John Erskine, William Lyon Phelps:
Burns Mantle, and Brander Matthews were becoming more
prominel’itly associated with Broadway theatre criticism than

eve
r before. Critics like Percy Hammond for The New York

HeI'al _
W, Alexander Woolcott for The New York Times,

 

169

Robert Benchley for The New Yorker, Theodore Dreiser for The
33w York Post were being succeeded by others like George
Jean Nathan for The American Mercury, Vanity Fair, Newsweek
(and several other periodicals), John Mason Brown for _'I_'h_e_
§Aturday Review and Brooks Atkinson for The New York Times.
And one of the most serious of the newcomers of course was
Mr. Stark Young for The New Republic and Theatre Arts.

It would seem that an examination of the Young method
or criticism might best be started by clarifying two mat-
ters. We should know exactly what preparation a critic of
the Young calibre must have and what specifically consti-
tlfis dramatic criticism. And in order to do that success—
fUIly we must distinguish among the various types of critics
and the concepts underlying their functions. Since the
terms that will be used are often employed loosely and in-
terchangeably, we shall for the purposes of clarity make
somewhat arbitrary distinctions among them. Our distinc-
tions, to be explained more fully hereafter, Will be:
Jour'I‘lalistic dramatic critic, theatre or stage critic, and
drama critic.

Taking first the least exalted, the journalistic
dramatic critic, we may say that he is mainly involved in
I‘eporting an event. Following a kind of formula, he at-
tempts to give an objective account of what happened; and
becau3e his dail review of a l 's o enin results from

y P ay P 8

a "co
ntaCt of mind with mind at the moment of critical

 

¥

 

 

 

170

Judgment'm’ (that is, he has to make an "on-the-spot" judg-
ment), and also because he must meet a newspaper deadline,S
the reporter has no time for philosophizing about content,
Style, sociological significance, or artistic attributes.
At any rate his approach is likely to be quite different
from that of the periodical critic "where the news side of
the theatre is not the same as it must be in a daily
paper,"6 Young says that the newspaper reviewer is less
likely to be railed against because he "may for the nonce
Stick to sheer news, to be or not to be followed later on
as 0f a Sabbath article, by more abstract lucubrations."7
Thus he is more likely to resort to the formula of re-
cording audience reaction and presenting a summary of the
plot. As one observer says, "A daily reviewer tries to do
W0 things. He attempts to describe what happened during
the Play he is writing about, thus conveying information to
the readers. He tries to report upon his own response to
these things, thus providing guidance to those among his
readers who have found by experiment that they are apt to
”3°37 or be stimulated by the things that amuse or arouse
1111,1318

Thus, within the limits of this definition, he is a
JournalElastic dramatic critic. Many of the current Broadway
newspaper critics who are members of the New York Drama
critics v

Circle may well fit into this category since their

bec 15
kg Ound is "newspaper work rather than academic scholar-

 

171

ship."9

The theatre or stage critic, the category into which
fall many of the periodical critics like John Mason Brown,
Joseph Wood Krutch, Mentrose J. Moses, and George Jean
Nathan, may offer an evaluation based upon the success with
which the play concerned measures up to the physical exi-
Sencies involved in production. He is "supposed to follow
matters through somewhat further and to invite a different
consideration,"lo than is expected of newspaper coverage.
The theatre critic sees the play in terms of acting, di-
recting, de’cor, voice, tempo, stage setting, music, mechanics,
and atmosphere. He appraises the play's force and worth in
terms of the emotional and artistic results that accrue from
a combination of these elements; he examines carefully the
heightened theatricality that occurs when dramatic literary
materials pass through other media, namely, the stage and
the a(31’sor.

His considerations are most often confined to the
1"mediate aesthetic response to the play in performance.
For him, the actual visual presentation may be the thing,
not necessarily the play. However, it should be noted that
for YOUDQ, drama criticism involves more than the visual
alone. It involves "the visual response and the abstract
"Sponge Within the visual."11

The theatre critic is, of course, not completely di—

 

172

vorced from the newspaper critic in method and technique,
but the fact that the former is not so pressed for meeting
a deadline makes a very great difference. Only a critic
who writes for a weekly or a monthly, or who free-lances,
has time to come up with "a critical essay on an event in
the theatre as distinguished in method and writing as Stark
Young's reviews."12

The drama critic, on the other hand, is involved
primarily in literary evaluation. Besides being a reviewer
for a newspaper or periodical, he is a free-lance writer on
drama. His method is essentially scholarly and investiga—
tiVB; his approach, intellectual. In this category are
critics like Eric Bentley, Joseph W. Krutch, Arthur H.
quit)“. Barrett H. Clark, William L. Phelps, Brander Matthews,
Ludwig Lewisohn; and Walter P. Eaton. To some of this type
0f Critic, production may be merely incidental (oftentimes
"”1 annoying) and only the worthy printed play is given
the analytical treatment that would be lavished upon any
“he” literary product.

The drama critic's examination may be psychological,
philoaophical, aesthetic, sociological, or historical, for
he is interested in drama in the broader sense as a re-
fleetion or expression of an age, a culture, a tradition,
or a milieu. To the drama critic an individual play in

part
”Tahoe may be of little significance; it is the drama-

11.73

tist, the trend, the type, or the style that is important.
The stage itself is only a minor interruption.

For example, Spingarn says specifically that the
physical theatre is not of very great significance and is
only a comparatively unimportant one of the many facets and
influences that have combined to result in the literature
of the drama;13 that the literature of drama is a creative
art which springs from the brain of the playwright and is
not just a result of the demands of the playhouse and ac-
tors;1’-l- and that the concept of drama in terms of physical
theatre evolves from a sixteenth century notion that plays
are intended only for stages. He further contends that any
drama critic of stature would never consider transferring
his interest from drama to the physical theatre any more
that) a- lover would study the "'laws of love' and the 'con-
ditions of love' instead of his lady's beauty and his own
sou1,v15

An interesting sidelight that demonstrates how drama
critics are sometimes both uninformed and not especially
intereSted in theatre, is contained in Young's report of how
one Pulitzer prize play was selected.

In due time years later I was to serve with

PI'Oi‘essor John Erskine of Columbia, and

PPoressor Willian Lyon Phelps of Yale as

1rman on the Pulitzer Prize Committee.
. We met two or three times over a
300d bottle of red wine and talked matters

over. For divers reasons Professor Phelps
appeared to go to the theatre very little

17h

anymore, if at all, and Professor Erskine,

for all his gifts as an essayist, poet,

and novelist, seemed to be, so far as the

theatre goes, an innocent. As a journalist

reviewer I was obliged to see most of the

plays that came along, and thus it was that

I was the only member of the committee who

could rightly have any opinion at all. I

remember in one case that I proposed The Old

Maid, a play by Zoe Akins, based on a story

3T‘Mrs. Wharton's, and that one of my fellows

on the committee . . . was obliged to go out

and see it, so that we might have two at

least 028 of the three votes and thus a ma-

jority.

Incidentally, Brander Matthews, even though he is
essentially a drama critic, would differ very radically
lfiwm this point of view, for to him "to judge a play by
reading it, is like judging a painting by a photograph."17
1“ we shall see further on in this discussion Nathan and
Young as well as Matthews depart from Spingarn in this
matter.

These categories, of course, are artificial dis-
t"incisions. Probably no critic, of whatever type, stays
strictly within the confines of the above set of definitions.
Ymms. for example, while critic for The New York Times,
Wen though hampered by the limitations of time and space
inml‘md in daily reviewing, was able to surmount this
barrier and approach his reviewing with a seriousness that
f
ar transcended mere reporting. (Parenthetically, we might
no

te here that perhaps these very limitations prompted the

cr1
tic to move back to the relatively calm waters of peri-

175

odical reviewing, a place where the urgency of deadlines is
less pronounced. For the one year that he stayed with The

313w York Times he gave his readers much more than a cold re-

 

port of what he saw. )18

Another critic who does more than a newspaper re-
viewer's job is the present New York Times critic, Brooks
Atkinson.

YOung is fundamentally a theatre critic, but his
vast erudition complemented by his years of rich academic
exPerienoe as Professor of English at various institutions
of higher learning, establish him as drama critic as well.
Only very seldom is he a journalistic dramatic critic in
the sense of being a mere reporter. Occasionally, while

With 1139 New York Times, he had to resort to this, but he

 

usually rectified the shortcoming by an extended discussion
in a Sunday edition. So for the purposes of this discus-
sion we will use a combination category, theatre-drama
£11113, when referring to Young and his work, and in our
“91‘; section attempt to examine some of the qualifications
that 8 theatre-drama critic should possess.

George Jean Nathan puts the theatre-drama critic's
qualifications high. He claims that,

to write a single piece of living, first

Pate criticism of a first rate play, a man

must have within his grasp the sweep of

all the literatures and all the traditions

or all the stages of the world. This one
Piece of first rate criticism must auto-

176

matically be builded upon what remain of

the man's findings from all the first rate
criticism that has gone before, and it must,
if it would survive, be superior to such
prevenient criticism. Anyone may copy
Brunetiere and die the next day unknown.

To live on, one must improve on him and ad-
vance him. [Or re-express him, perhaps, as
Spingarn has suggested in Creative Criticismil

 

Dramatic criticism, unlike dramatic com-
position, demands without exception a knowl-
edge of all drama, all human nature . . .
The‘writing of a Romeo and Juliet requires
a very great genius; butithe writing of a
criticism of a Romeo and Juliet that shall
endure as the play endures requires clearly
a greater genius still . . . Dryden by his
own confession, found his critical Essay of

8

 

 

Dramatic Poesie a vastly more diff
labor than his drama All For Love.

 

 

These are qualifications that are possessed only by
a few, but agreed upon by many. It would appear then that
the critic must be something more than a privileged press
agent udth.a glib flow of language. He must be an histor-
ian, an artist and a philosopher. In other words, being a
nmre newspaper journeyman is not enough.

Mr. Young would undoubtedly agree that a critic
mUSt have the above qualifications as a minimum essential.
Being the strong advocate of the theatre that he is, he
vmuld endorse the Nathan premise. For YOung is more often
than not distressed by the lack of theatre erudition on the
rmrt Of'his colleagues. "If most of our so-called dramatic
crit“cism has nothing to do with theatre art at all . . .

w
e Should strive to remember that most of the dramatic

177

critics so-called have never seen much theatre worth seeing
tuninever heard of any theatre aesthetics. We are lucky if
the critic is even literate."20

To a scholar-artist like Young, the critic must have
the talents and the genius of the creator. His criticism
must be creative criticism or it is nothing. That is, it
must possess that heightening and radiance that places it
as a work of art on its own. The critic must be able to do
more than judge and give a grade; he must be independent of
the artist or art he is judging, for "fine criticism has the
same use for the artist that the queen bee has for the male
whowillfertilize her. The artist, like the male bee, is

8 necessary instrument, and nothing more."21

This is a qualification that he would impose on any
critisc, especially one of the theatre or drama. He finds
this element of creativeness praiseworthy in the work of
Nathan. Such a critic as Nathan "may be taken as an in-
tellectual foetus in this throbbing body of response . . .
In recording himself he thus records a sort of theatrical
bi°81"o!=‘lphy not of himself but of the thing to which he con-
tributes an element."22

The critic must possess a highly developed percep-
t1°n and sensitivity. He must be able to "see into the
1“" or things". One commentator claims that "the critics

t
0 who"! we should be able to look for more significant

178

judgment, a criterion of a period in art risen from art's
vast store of experience and far reaching tradition, write
about the literature of the theatre, about personalities
that flicker and die out; and they write pages of observa-
tions that not only indicate a relapse of imagination but
also leave a feeling that they know nothing of life but a
Photographic reality."23 It is because Young alone among
811 the theatre-drama critics possesses a quality of poetic
1mg‘81nation in his criticism as opposed to a photographic
reality, that Edward Hussey in reviewing Young's Glamour
is encouraged with the whole state of theatre and drama
criticism in America.

George Jean Nathan divorces truth and beauty com-l
pletely and claims that "Truth and Beauty . . . are often
strangerafleh Says he, the business of art is beauty; the
business of criticism, to state facts, evaluate them, and
p338 judgment. Yet in Young we have an individual who
cr'eates and seeks after beauty, while at the same time he
states and examines facts. How reconcile the two functions?

To reconcile this seeming paradox we must fall back
on Young's idea of a something within a something. That
18’ Just as the theatre is concerned with the "visual re-
sponse and the abstract response within the visual," so
must the critic possess qualifications that allow him to
be ths artist while being the stater of facts, judge and

 

179

OValuator. Such are the qualifications of the creative
critic. Young makes specific recommendations in this re-
gard where theatre-drama critics are concerned. He says,
"it could be said moreover that the critic has a certain
Obligation toward the creative. In sum, if he makes ob-
Jections or points, he should have some decent or useful
SmEgestions to present . . . A certain test of the critic,
thOD. nmy'lie in his ability to suggest practical, theatri-
cal solutions for his random points."25
Without any question Young himself follows this
prineiple. In review after review he tells actors, di-
rectors, costumers, stage technicians what he believes they
can do to improve their art. For example, to choose only
a few illustrations, when he reviewed Margaret Webster's
production of Othello which appeared at the Shubert Theatre
on October 19, 19h3, with Paul Robeson as Othello, his sug-
gestlens to the actor are "practical solutions for his
[Young's] random points."
Mr. Robeson, a singer of distinction, still
lacks for this role the ultimate requirement,
which is the fine tragic style. By virtue
of true feeling and soul he has its equiva-
leJt at times; and then he is moving and
deep. There are two things that I would
suggest. One is that he recast, as it were,
his first speeches in the play and a number
of others later on where he is too aggres-
sive vocally, has too much projection of the
tone, gives us the wearing sense of an over-

worked diaphragm where only the relaxation
of dignity and strength are required . . .

180

The other suggestion I would give Hr.
Robeson has to do with style, the elusive
matter of stage bearing, so important in
this part, as his acting often shows. In
the scenes of despair he crumples up into
a defeat far too domestic, gentle and moving
though it may be. He must discover a style,

remotezgut equally pathetic, for these mo-
ments.

Although deeply impressed by the portrayal of the
Negro heaven in The Green Pastures, he nevertheless made
Suggestions for the improvement of the production. He
recommeznded that there be heavier Negro voices for the
81"Bing and that the choice of spirituals be less aprOpos.
Th9 nTusic, to him, sounded too much like a choir doing an
o“1:03:40. There is too much exploding and bursting into
““8, says he in effect; the rendition is too pat, too
technically correct. He thought that in the choice of
""3143 at least, the play would achieve greater art, more of
the childlike, simple dignity of the Negro, more of the
mya"321.cal beauty and truth for which it strove, if there were
a different selection of spirituals. "There are many spir-
1tufils with Jesus as the theme, and a simple effect of
1"3086 Negroes bursting into one of them, childlike, apropos
only by the roundabout course of the heart, emotionally
app1"0131‘iate but not so obviously so, would be far truer to

th
e I'atzial material and much more disarming and moving."27
He applauded the Emlyn Williams production of The
Cor
W and rejoiced in the wit, tenderness, nobility

181

and superb ”presence" of Ethel Barrymore in the leading role
of Miss Moffat, the schoolteacher. But he nonetheless hesi-
tated not at all in his capacity as critic to make a crea-
tive suggestion to Miss Barrymore, "solutions for his random
points." "I would suggest one thing. If in Act I this
bold-minded and surprising . . . personage [Miss Moffatj
could have more of the wit and edge and spirits that come
so easily to Miss Barrymore, the play's more intense and
serious requirements later on would gain by it."28

The Theatre Guild production of Shaw's Caesar and
§L°°patra received an accolade from Young, together with a
Piece of advice as to how the setting might be improved.
"The moon in the Sphinx scene at the Guild can rise as Shaw
meant it to do, revealing the huge form as it sits looking
f°r6Ver across the sends; the music of Memnon can be made
t° count. more overwhelmingly as the voice of the night, of
time and of the world -- these are as much the drama as the
c11‘5‘1'3‘3tezlr's speaking there . . . And most of all . . . the
wh°1° Performance can be more Joyous and inclusive, more
811“ with the indescribable and mysterious brightness of
life and art."29

And finally, Young feels, it becomes the concern of
the critic to equip himself so that he may be prepared to
develop whatever criteria are necessary. These criteria

must n
0t be imposed from without, but they must come from

182

within. The first rate critic must have the ability to
”perceive the characteristic quality underlying a work of
art. He abstracts this characteristic from whatever em-
bodiments of it may be apparent; he carries it to some
ideal completion, and then judges the work of art by this
ideal, by the extent to which this complete realization of
its idea is achieved. Where the critic can do this, he
transcends individual accidents of mere choice. And no
small part of his cultivation will derive from his training

in the perception of and the acquaintance with many charac-
teristic qualities."30

Young himself possesses these qualifications of
Which he speaks, and is constantly being "prompted by his
own first rate sensibility."31 As a matter of fact, it is
Partly because of this that he is not a particularly ag-
gressive critic. Rather, much of his work is sheer ap-
Preciation and he becomes the artist-critic or the creative
critic.

Brooks Atkinson the erudite New York Times critic
is libel-‘81 in his attitude about a critic's qualifications.
He cannot stomach the dogma that has grown up about this
pmfession; he is especially rebellious against the "I-know-
more-about~1t—than-you-do school of critical judgment, since

he f9
618 there are no absolute standards in art.

3: Principle I do not subscribe to the
sillanious notion that some people know

 

183

what is good in art and others do not. There

are no final authorities - least of all those

who come to regard themselves as such. For

there are no such absolute standards in art

save the ultimate one that cannot be defined,

because, like God, it goes deeper than artic-

ulate human experience. But some opinions

are more valid than others. I respect the

opinions of interesting people who bring to

the appreciation of art the same sanity, ‘

vigor, and independence that they apply to

their personal lives. Some people are more

alive than others and what they thigE is

accordingly vital and illuminating.

St. John Irvine, as theatre critic, railing against
those who would set up arbitrary qualifications for pro-
fessional critics, speaks out against some of those things
that one suspects Stark Young would advocate. "Is the
critics' Circle to turn itself into an academy wherein ap-
Prentice critics will be taught what Aristotle said about
the drama so that they may say it too?"33 Possibly Young
would like to- have it so. At any rate he places much store
by the Aristotelian precepts.

Thus we may say generally that Young's required
qualifications for a theatre-drama critic would be: that
he be Widely read (possibly well grounded in the Greeks)

a

nd free from parochialism as far as world literatures are
co

ncerned; that he have keen perceptive sensitivity and
sen

3113111135,; that he have taste, originality, culture, ex-
Deri a

once in the theatre, and, of course, intelligence of a
high Order-

It becomes necessary to try to define theatre-drama

 

18h

critic. And this is somewhat difficult to do, to be sure.
Perhaps it cannot be done successfully at all. However, the
attempt must be made, and it would'seem that to define the
critic and his work in terms of the nature of the work in-
volved might be the best approach.

First, speaking in generalities, the theatre-drama
critic is an individual who knows why he likes what he likes
and is articulate enough to make others become enthusiastic
about his choices. He is interested in and has a knowledge
of human living; he takes part in and expresses clearly for
them, the intellectual lives about him. It is his function
to "define, help form, and help organize the contemporary
sensibilities and make conscious the standards in it . . .
It is not his function to offer us coherent systems of
philosophy, coherent theories of the nature of language: 01'
e‘ren ideological systems . . ."3'4'

The above is true of all critics; but the critic of
the theatre art has a specialized knowledge of the tech-
nique 01‘ his field which makes him different from other
critics. He bases his judgment of a play upon its tech-
nical viz“l‘auosity, its characterizations, its power to en-

ter
tain. Its humor and its pathos, the quality of its dia-

10 u
E 9’ 33 well as its more intrinsic values, are also ex-

amine
d closely. By intrinsic values is meant its plot

struct
ure’ its use of idea or prOpaganda and its relation

 

185

to other works dealing with the same theme. This critic
would also be concerned about the play's originality and
its credibility.35
At the same time, the nature of his work places re-
strictions upon him unfelt by other types of critics. For
example, he is different from the literary critic who "is
a gentleman seated before his fireside. . . a book in his
hand. He reads and receives an impression which is purely
his own. If he is tired he puts down the book and picks
it up another time. When there is something he does not
understand, he turns the page. The dramatic critic is a
gentleman who has dined hurriedly, arrived at the theatre
a little bit out of breath36 to take his seat with the
Other critics and who is unconsciously a little impressed
With what is happening around him."37 In other words, the
literary critic gets an impression when he reads the piece
01' literature, that is peculiarly his own. He may in
QUIetude return to the printed page to refresh his imagina-
tion or his memory as often as he wishes. The theatre-
drama critic has this recourse only in part. Even though
he be a weekly, monthly or freelance reviewer with no dead-
linchanging over his head, he still cannot restore the
illusion that the play in performance has produced. The
decor, the
acting, the voice, the music and all the other
contribUtin _
3 arts have gone. All that remains of the i].

 

186

lusion are shadows; immortal perhaps, as Young says, but

nonetheless, shadows.

Perhaps the best explanation of what a theatre-drama
critic is, may be obtained from observing what the latter

does. It is his job, says Young, to try to comprehend what ‘.""'"‘~‘“«_gi
the playwright is trying to do. Ethically and aesthetically 3
he is bound to do this. He must "observe, analyze, strive

to dilate his means of vision and patiently and generously 1" j 3
to enlarge the avenues of his perception and response . . . LJ

After he has done his best at this, he will then make a
synthesis of all he has been able to gather, and will try
to gauge by that the extent to which the dramatist has
achieved what. he aimed to do."38 To achieve this the critic
must have complete freedom, unhampered and unfettered by
precedent or custom, unbound by rules, but rather, aided
by both.

Which is not to imply that Young abides by no "rules,"
and ObJSCts to all of them. On the contrary, he has his
own strong convictions and theories about criticism. This
is the "Springboard of many of his enthusiasms and detesta-
tions'"39 These enthusiasms and detestations are born of
much serious thought and much scholarly investigation. His
Standards which are high are founded on the "rules" laid
down in the classics. However, he, like Nathan, believes

in "1.111989?
not commandmsnts. When it comes to theatre-

 

 

187

drama criticism, he is a liberal and no believer in immut-
ability as far as theatre-drama criticism is concerned.

But he has his limits. He would not, for example,
go so far as St. John IrVine who would banish all fixed
laws of art. The latter contends that anyone can be a
critic if there are fixed laws. It would be automatic.
Just match the work of art to the laws. "If the regula-
tions insist that a play shall be in four neatly made acts,
and that action not dialogue shall be of the first and only
importance, than clearly the critic is right who denies
that Mr. Shaw is a dramatist. Have we not heard learned
men say so, proving their point with a wealth of quotations
from eminent authorities? Yet Mr. Shaw exists and his
plays are performed."u1

Young is not quite the firebrand of the Irvine
3011001. He is more the conservative, "white-tower" devotee
of culture whose ideas are fashioned by his unusual reading
Sources (Hindu, Japanese, Russian, etc.). To be sure, like
Irvine who claims that he never read a book on critical
princ 1P1es in his life,h'2 Young is not an extensive reader
°f criticism or books about it either.u3 But this does not
mean that he feels the critic can afford to reject this
large and substantial body of literature and refuse to be
guided by any of it. Nor does it mean that he depends sole-

1
y Upon his own personal taste, individual preference: 01‘

 

188

private response either. On the contrary, he’leans, and he
feels that important theatre-drama critics should lean
heavily on the classics.

According to Young, besides making an audience for
himself,'which is only incidental, the critic should make

an audience for the theatre:

 

 

the best thing a critic can do is to point i
out or proclaim qualities in a work of art 3
or elements of merit. His readers who have ‘
insight will go on past him, for they will
perceive the ideal implied in the qualities
and elements pointed out, and from their own
syntheses they will project something con-
summate in its own kind by which the work
will be measured.

In this way the habit already so strong
in men's minds of abstracting for themselves
ideals of things from an experience with
them and so getting a measure of projection
in kind, may be encouraged and strengthened
by the critic. And the critic's achievement
and the achievements of his readers may at
least help to increase the amount of culture
that ought to arise from the presence of the
theatre in society-. . . And culture is the
process of perceiving the light that shines
from one thing upon another; the antiphonal
radiancghexisting in all things among them-
selves.

So much by way of defining the theatre-drama critic.
Let 118 now turn to the matter of the "play" and its meaning
in YOI-lrxg's aesthetic. An understanding of this may 8° a
lkmg ‘Hay toward making more comprehensible, the methOdS
Young employs in his reviews.

First, we will consider the "play" in the theatre

so
use,_ In 1926, in discussing the weaknesses of a p18?

 

%_

 

189

named The Strange Prince, an adaptation of Dostoievsky's
M, Young defined a play as "a piece of literature about
a section of life written in such a way that it will go
over the footlights in such a way that what it has to say,
it can say in the theatre. That is the sole test. If it
can do this, it is a playfhs It may, to be sure, be a
bad play, but if it can do the above, it is a play.

In another place Young says that if a piece of liter-
ature can be written in such a way that it will go over the
rOOtIights, it will be a play. This is especially inter-
esting because it concurs with Nathan whose personality
and attitude toward the "art of the night" are considerably
' different from Young's. Nathan is the flashily brilliant
but flippant scoffer who speaks of a play like Barrie's
M as "the triumph of sugar over diabetes;" whereas
Young is the more deliberate, the more dignified, the more
careful, the more serious, and the more intellectually pro-
found aesthetician. But on the subject of that makes a
play, there is agreement, for Nathan says that "good drama
is anD'thing that interests an intelligently emotional group
of Persons assembled in an illuminated hall."l‘L6

It is interesting that both men in making their
definition carefully overlook the outdoor drama. Illumi-
Dated hall? Illuminated by what? The footlights in Young,
or the sun in Euripedes? Which need not be construed to

 

 

190

mean that Young was not aware of the outdoor drama. In
fact in another connection in an article on The Voice in
gs Theatre, he notes specifically that "in the theatre of
Dionysos the lighting was that of the sun.”h7

In 1927, Young repeated verbatim in a m arti-
cle his definition of a play which he had made earlier in
a 133w Republic article (vol. M), p. 136) and expanded it
by saying that the dramatist's efforts result in a play
Only insofar as the main idea is expressed in theatre
terngI-B Everyone knows fairly well what these theatre
terms are, as differentiated, let us say, from drama or
literary terms. There are the physical aspects of the
Stage; there is space and distance from the audience; there
is the optical illusion, the media of voice and live actors,
and audience response. It is through such media that a
piece or dramatic literature finds form and so, to use a
fa'rori‘te Young expression, may "come alive.”

Furthermore, if it is a good play, it must "be a
piece or writing in which the idea has found a theatrical
body for- j.t:se1f."l"<9 Young lays a great deal of store by
the importance of "idea" in the theatre art. He claims
that this art can come to its most perfect fruition only
“hen the "idea" is completely and sincerely expressed.so
One of Young's chief complaints about the journalistic
dramatic critic is that the latter too often "finds" ideas

in r
p Oduc”Silons that are rubbish, and have no ideas. He

 

¥

 

191

scolds David Belasco in reviewing his production of Laugh
flown Laugh because the latter is too superficial. It is
all surface veneer with no body, and the playwright's es-

sential idea is entirely missed.

You rarely, if ever, find Mr. Belasco going
to the bottom of a scene -- much less a play
-- to discover what is its essential shape
and meaning. With all his pains, his train-
ing, his advertised research he is apt to
give you everything but one thing -- the
point. In this Laugh Clown Laugh, for ex-
ample the first and central point of the
play is the glowing center of life that the
clown is. Through him life is to be set
.forth, alive, a quivering comic mask over
the shadow of passion and simple dreams

. . . But in this production those ele-
Inents are expedited, fuddled, jigged, de-
tailed, animated, Yithout ever finding a
significant base.5

110 matter how important the idea however, unless it
has adequate and suitable theatrical expression, the result
WJJ net; be a good play. For examrle, a professor of so-
Ciology might write lines that would cause the actors to
tmn'Oth: their hair and the result might be a poor play.

But Bernard Shaw might write lines on sociology, as he often
lms,azjci ,qake them glow with a heightened theatricality,

and "antiphonal radiance" so that the result becomes all
theatre and we have a good play. On the other hand, it is
OqUally true according to Young, that a poor idea, no matter

ho!"
\ all placed in a theatrical body will result in 8 Poor

Play,

Young believes very strongly that the function of a

 

192

play is not only to underscore the forces that are in human
nature, but also to dilate and reveal the very meaning of
life. Thus, theatre without "idea" is for Young repugnant
and less than nothing.52 It was because the Broadway
theatre in 1933 was so lacking in "idea" that Young was de-
pressed about the whole state of the American theatre. In
an essay praising the play Run Little Chillun for its liter-
ate and adult subtlety of idea, he points out what there is
about it that makes it both a significant and at the same
time a good play. A worthwhile play such as this, he in—
forms us, must "dare the technical limits of the theatre
form, extend the imagination, enrich the language medium

or Send the spectator home with the sense of power, crea-
tion, music, or simple intensity of rich change within
hlm'"53 Such plays are unfortunately unusual in the Ameri-
can repezrtory. And when they are performed they are likely
to rece 1ve a lukewarm reception from the audience. In his
review of an Othello production he suggests that several
difficulties have to be overcome from the start. Not the
16°” 01‘ these is the fact that Othello requires a cerebral
response to which we are unaccustomed. "Democratic princi—-
p16 combined with business methods has led us steadily into
the 6331 er and easier, the trashier and trashier, any way

you turn . "Sh

Here on the subject of "idea" in the theatre or in

 

 

 

193

the play, Nathan and Young part company. For Nathan, the
theatre is a place for entertainment and the exercise of
the emotions, not the intellect. To prove his point,
Nathan takes a number of what he considers the world's
best plays including Electra, Oedipus, Hamlet and £311; and
shows how each lives because of its emotion, not its
thought.55 The theatre, says he, is no place for profound
ideas. Its very nature would seem to militate against
this. Even Shakespere would have put an audience to sleep
With a theme like the influence of John Dewey on Progressive
Education. It is best equipped to handle "such easy spec"-
lations and second hand quasi-philosophies as Andreyev's
on the burden of religion, as Dunsany's on fate, as Brieux's
0” her'edity and Galsworthy's on social economics."56 He
”5”” to discourage playwrights from writing anything with
prorundity. He claims that "a present trouble with Ameri-
can drama is that too many of its authors are trying to
write ideas instead of plays."57

110 two critics could be at more opposite poles in
this ”latter than Young and Nathan. Not only does Young
advocate "idea" in theatre, he is upset because the lack
of “idea " is forcing the theatre to drift toward what he
calls ha1’-‘barism. "We have almost no social point of view,
and it is only to be expected that in this same year of
grace [that was 1930] we should have no tragic drama . .

 

 

 

19h

no social comedy in which the life depicted is significant-
ly seen against any scale of ideas or conception of socie-
tYo”58 Thus does Young deplore what Nathan accepts uncom-
plainingly.

On the subject of theatre compared to printed drama
(literature) Young is something of a fence straddler. He
is not sure that any distinction can be made or that one
even needs to be made; and so he is not certain which, if
either, is the more significant. Partly because so many of
our good plays, the Elizabethans', Dryden's, Congreve's
have been traditionally in the printed form; and partly
because the more modern and serious Ibsen influence has re-
lied heavily upon the printed play for the dramatic effect,
Young is inclined at times to award the banner of greater
importance to the written play.

"Although his heart is seriously with the theatre,
his Mind is with literature. Obviously he cannot reject
the literature idea since part of the theatre's art is the
art of the word. He admits that the dramatist (the liter-
ature maker) is the most important element in the eternal
theatre; that is, the theatre that outlasts a generation
and goes from are to era being reinterpreted in terms of
the 1”" era.59 The "word" has a high place of honor in
his hie:'~"31"chy of theatre elements. "In some curious way,

the '
Word can seem the test of the whole. The word is the

 

 

19S

blood. Not the vitality, not the energy, necessarily, but

the warm current flowing throughout“)O When Young came to

review the production of Eugene O'Neill's The Fountain, he
found its major weakness to be the lack of the poetic, the

exalted, or the majestic in the writing. The theme, the

search after eternality (Ponce de Leon and the Fountain of

Youth) was exalted enough, but the writing, Young thought,

was not equal to the theme. And he notes "the value of

written dialogue, which it cannot be forgotten is of all

the elements that go to make up the art of the theatre,

the most engaging, the most permanent, immediate and
binding. "61

But conversely it can also be true that too fine or

too lengthy an arrangement of words can keep a play from
b91138 good theatre.

Young does not object too strenuously
to this .

He merely points out that it happens, and when it
do”: the talent demonstrated is already poetic and literary

even if the play doesn't realize its full power theatrical-
13~62

This happens, as has already been mentioned, in

c

1““ drama, but it can also happen in regular Broadway

Gr
ama. Young found this to be especially true 01' one 01'

E.
3' Cuminga's plays named Him. Young was r°V1°W1ng it

for
WRejublic and although he seemed to like the

D13
Yhe Made this interesting statement about its greatest
weaimm.

"But art is long and life is short and the

 

L__l

1%

length of a passage is implicit in it. And length in the

theatre is not the same as in the art of words. This ought
to be obvious. Those scenes between 313 and Him are often
beautiful in the writing, but they are too long. The stage

adds the person, voice, gesture, to the words, which in

literature would be all."63
On the subject of the library or closet drama and

the divorcing of the printed from acted play, Nathan and

Young are again in agreement. They both depart from
Spingarn, who, as was noted earlier does not place any
sPecial significance on a play's possibilities in terms
of stage projection. To Spingarn production has negli-
81b10, if any, real significance. It is too evanescent.
"0“ 80 with Young and Nathan. With Young, the mere fact
that such a thing as closet drama exists does not reduce

th" importance of theatre.

To judge a play, written or published, as
literature is to mess up the whole question.
There is no such thing as a play that is
sheer literature. We may speak of litera-
ture cast in dramatic form. Or we may
Speak of the literary aspect, a quality 'of
a play by which we mean certain elements
t3hat exist independent of its stage per-
f'Olr'mance. Some most reliable things have
been written in play form that were not
°"en intended for the theatre; but that
goes not change the principle. Swinburne‘s
Atalanta in Calydon" will serve as an ex-
ample. On the other hand if we take such
a piece as Eugene O'Neill's "The Emperor
aromas" it exists only faintly as litera-
ure; taken so, it is at best a mere strong
short story. Nine-tenths of its force and

 

 

 

I97

suggestion of actuality must lie within its
stage presentation and expression. As
theatre, the argument would fall, accord-
ingly against Swinburne, as literature
against O'Neill, and no harm done.

to u
'0? 'd'

This . . . is only another way of saying

that as the theatre art approaches a full
life of its own, its contributing ele-
ments -- drama, acting, directing, and
so on -- are with more difficulty iso-

lated and seen each in its own self. And
yet the aim and practice in making these

Sistinctions are among the chief negfis
gns of any theatre knowledge.

Young would be among the first to agree that there
are plays whose very nature militate against successful
He finds this to be true especially with re-
When John Webster's

production.
‘fivals of late Elizabethan drama.

Iflilflgghess of Malfi was done at the Ethel Barrymore on

October 15, 19M), Young found it unimpressive as stage fare.

Even in this new form the play did not

. . . come off as living theatre. Its
best efforts were the famous purple
patches that scholars have hit the pub-
lic over the head with and poets have
swooned over . . Such passages, doubt-
less, came off rather furiously in their
epoch . . . But George Rylands, the di-
1rector, . . has left many elements in
it very mild for our consumption. The
gauchess of Malfi has been almost suspi-
<=iou§ly dear to the hearts of professors
and graduate students, who are apt to
whip up this drama from heated passages
113ther than from its presentation on the
Stage. Seeing Webster's play thus, in
'tlle theatre flesh as it were, more or
less confirms an old impression of mine
131let it is a drama, often high in import
and power, that belongs, for us at least,

 

198

to the printed pageégather than to the
stage of a theatre.

In fact Young goes so far as to insist that because
alflece of writing is dramatic it need not necessarily be
good for the stage. Specifically he finds this to be true
of’somecof Hemingway. In discussing the production of the
novelist's play The Fifth Column, Young makes the point
that, "nearly everyone at times reading some book of Mr.
Hemingway's must have noticed its dramatic quality and felt
that it would make good theatre. There is not space to go
into the discussion, but only to note that a thing's being
hi~8th dramatic does not necessarily mean that it is to
that degree theatric. It may in fact be dramatic without
being even possible for the stage at all.”66

And conversely, plays that are not plays at all can
under certain deft handling become theatrically perfect.
‘hmmg .finds Noel Coward a master of this kind of dramatic
Inwserltation. The critic finds Hands Across the Sea one of
thecuae-act pieces in Noel Coward's Tonight at Eight-Thirty
such a play.

This little piece is perfection itself, and

in a way has been created strictly within

‘the theatre. It is one of those happy things

Iaorn from a dramatic germ, grown into a

Shining life on the stage, built up during

rehearsals, impossible to record anywhere

EHRVe there in the place it comes to life.

‘A- small acquaintance with the problems of

8tiaging a scene will tell anybody what a

triumph this is, what patience, fun, free-
0m and resource went to its deve10pment.

 

 

 

199

There is no way of writing down what a

glitter ensues, a flowing rhythm of wit

in stage terms, of lines, business, en-

semble, give and take. This is Mr. Coward's

field. It illustrates the security with

which he can always count on revues, facile

ideas,6?nd a great variety of theatre de-

vices.

For Nathan, drama loses if it remains only printed,
because "to say that the reading imagination of the average
cultured man is superior in power of suggestion and de-
piction to the imagination of the theatre is idiotically
to say that the reading imagination of every average cul-
tured man is superior in these powers to the combined im-
aginations of Gordon Craig, Max Reinhardt, and Eleanoanuse
operating jointly on the same play."68

And so we come to the last of the terms that need
defining when one attempts to place Young in the hierarchy
0f critics and criticism. Thus far, we have tried to
clarify, in connexion with Young's writing the terms:
Journalistic dramatic critic, theatre critic, drama critic,
theatre-drama critic and "play." Now we come to "theatre
art."

Shortly before the close of the Elizabethan period,
the English stage as a serious art form began to decline.
There were no established theatres outside of the cities,
30 attendance was confined to those who lived in that area.

w
1ththe jpuritan ban on theatre performance, this art fell
int
° diseard. Up until the middle of the nineteenth cen-

 

200

tury, when English critics like Hazlitt, Lamb and Lewes,

and French critics like Sarcey, Coquelin and Talma inter-
ested themselves and their readers with serious treatments
cufdrama in performance, any discussion of drama would in-
variably be limited to the printed play. So Young theorizes
in the prefaces to one of his books, that from this set of
circumstances over which the stage had no control, the
theatre as a serious and distinct art fell into disrepute
and decay.

Spingarn in his milestone-ish Creative Criticism

 

made the judgment and found in favor of the printed drama.
In a long essay on the matter, he accords to the theatre a
place not as a separate and segregate art within itself,
but a place as an unwanted stepchild appendage to the
printed drama. To such a point of view, YOung as champion
of a theatre art would never agree.

He believes that the theatre art is a composite of
all the arts involved in production. It concerns itself
not alone with any one of these: the writing, the acting,
the setting, the directing, the music, the lighting, the
timing; but rather, with all of these. Each one of these
items is an art within itself and each contributes of it-
self to the more inclusive (and at the same time elusive)
overall medium -- the theatre art.

It must not be assumed however, that this art is

201

nmrely a combination of literature, actors, settings, reci-
tation, movement and sound. It is to be sure, all of
these, but it emerges as a distinct and separate entity,
tmset'by its own problems. In his appraisal of O'Neill's
The Hairy Ape, Young makes his critical evaluation on the

 

tmsis of the fact that "we must begin at the very start
and say over again that the art of the theatre is a sepa-
rate and distinct art in itself."69

The combination, synchronization, and synthesisation
of the various arts that result in theatre art are not
easily achieved. Each contributing art must complete the
whole and there must be a unifying characteristic that
gives the whole, life; else there is no creation.

Always about the theatre art there is that baffling
elusiveness that almost defies definition in the word medi-
tnm There is inherent in this art that peculiar personal
1mgnetism that a particular actress like Duse or Bernhardt
has about her and mich she brings to her role. There is
that inexpressibly heightened theatricality that develops
from the occasion and the actor-audience rapport. These
considerations, so elusive in theatre art, Young points out:

The terms of the art of the theatre are the

play, the audience, the actors, the lights,

and setting, all combined, all used to ex-
press what is to be expressed. Theatricality
is the heightening that comes upon the ma-
terial when we successfully express it in

these terms. Every work in the theatre,
when it is really theatre, has theatricality.

202

In so far as it has not theatricality it is
not theatre, however admirable it may be as
literature, morality, or social science.
All significant plays, Hamlet, Tartuffe,
Candid? . . .‘haya this theatricality and

are alive by it.

In many of the hundreds of reviews of Broadway pro-

chwtions that Young wrote over a period of twenty-five
years, he made much of productions that even partially
achieved this almost mystical alliance. In four particular
productions which will be used here as examples, he found

this subtle combining and merging of the arts masterfully

achieved.

In The Birthdgy_9f the Infants; a one-act play trans-
lated from the Spanish and performed on February 12, 1922
at the Hanhattan Opera House, he takes Robert E. Jones'
setting and makes his point. The setting involved a good

deal of architecture and Young said of it:

Nowhere in Spain have I seen buildings like
these. But I have seen in Spain that char-
acter of sterility, of color and mass. I
have seen that barbaric and cruel barren-
ness of sheer walls emerge, though any a-
mount of rococo and baroque or plasteresque
ornamentation had been superficially laid
on to soften the aspect of it . . . The
.1mportant thing to be said here is that
'this is not architecture in Spain or any-
where else, but a translation of archi—
‘tecture into theatre terms.

The same is true in a region more dif-
.Idcult perhaps, and certainly more elusive:
the costumes . . . were not particularly
Ilnteresting as reproductions of Spanish
fashions toward the end of the seventeenth
century. I have seen much better cOpies

 

203

than they were or tried to be . . . These
costumes . . . were distinguished because

they were . . . seen superbly in terms of
the theatre. They would suffer heavily

if taken out of their present employ-
They are inseparable from the whole,
shemselves they are moving and ex-

ment.
and in
citing.

Young was a great admirer of Stanislavsky's Moscow

Nevertheless in general, he was unimpressed

However, as ardentChekhov

Art Theatre.

by that group's second visit.
shfient and translator of three of his plays, he was tre-

mendously impressed with the company's production of The

_Cherry Orchard and The Sea Gull. He found in these pro-

auctions "that rarest of events in the theatre anywhere,
the combination of acting, producing, and dramatic writing,

one proceeding from another, and all illuminating one

idea."72
He wrote a glowing account of The Dybbuk, a Yiddish

Play done by the Habima Theatre of Moscow at the Mansfield

Theatre, December 13, 1926, in the original classical

Hebrew; He didn't feel that he understood the play very

well for it contained religious, ritualistic and racial
overtones and undertones too foreign to his background.
But he was impressed more strongly than ever with the unity
of GJJL the theatre media expressed in this production. In
re88rd to setting and makeup he says, "But the dim, clay
°°1°red walls, the naked, drab architectural shapes, and

abOVO all the extraordinary use of light are completely one

20h

tuth the whole idea. The very stylized make-ups, carried
hathe point of violent mask patterns at times —— noses
rminted white on one side, black on the other, triangles
hlblue or green or black on the foreheads and so on --
arelof a piece, as a whole, with this effect of a dream

dreamed by a race for a thousand years, and fiercely and

tenderly kept."73

By the same token, Young objects when the setting
and déeor do not carry the intrinsic power that ultimately
blends with the theme the playwright is attempting. In
Lee Simonson's set for O'Neill's Dygamo, the critic found
exact photographic realism but nothing of the essence of
the playwright's theme. The alliance was not achieved.

In the last act the scene in the hydro-
electric plant may be . . . like that

known to the dramatist near Ridgefield,
Connecticut, but, though devised with
admirable craft, it merely presents an
actuality that makes the worshipping hero
more obsessed and lacking in significance
-- giving up the world and the flesh for
that familiar engine that sits there to

the left of the stage is a trifle hard to
swallow or be interested in. By what dis-
tortion, what drawing, what alteration of
reality into emotional meaning, this power-
house scene might have been converted into
the abyss against which this soul plays out
its lost struggle towards God, is not so
much a matter for the critich suggestion as
the designer's creation. It is his place
to discover in that mechanical scene, the
one line, the shadow, the light, the mass,
the restatement that will express th? dra-
matic moment that evolves within it. h

hon'saae slab-u;

 

 

new

0‘1
AI»

.4 .

 

205

Thus equipped with an insight into the Young atti-
tudes. toward theatre and his definitions of theatre terms,

we may now turn to a consideration of his reviews.

An examination of hundreds of the Young reviews of

Broadway plays indicates that the pattern of the essays

follows a kind of formula throughout. Each is about

fifteen hundred words, except where the critic launches

himself into pamphlet-dimension encomia, as he does with
several O'Neill plays. Each includes an examination in

varying proportions, of the following: the plot, the

author, the writing, the acting, and the producing. The
proportionate amount of attention each of these items re-
ceives, depends somewhat upon the importance, type, author,

and occasion of the play. In all of the reviews of the

O'Neill plays, a large proportion of the space is spent
with an evaluation of O'Neill as an artist and genius.

In reviews of such plays as The Hairy Ape, Strange
lgterlude, Days Without End, and Mourning Becomes Electra,
he draw out his most eulogistic adjectives and congratu-
lated O'Neill generously on the latter's pioneering spirit,

his inventiveness, and his daring experimentation with new

stage forms. Particularly did Young outdo himself in the

critical evaluation of Mourning Becomes Electra, since that
essay appeared to be much longer than most of his other

theatre reviews. And that includes his paeans to The Moscow

5 ' . - ‘i‘r-fl m5... . ..
r‘ Rafi... ;

FIN» a.‘ ”I..-“ -

 

206

Art Theatre, Mei Len-Fang, Duse, Bernhardt, Chekhov, and

Charles Chaplin.
Practically all of the essays include a resume of

the plot. This is to be expected for two reasons. First,

Young is a classical scholar and bases many of his critical

and aesthetic precepts on the Greeks. Young tells us that

Aristotle considers the plot of first-rank importance as

far as the dramatic elements are concerned. He tells us

also that Aristotle considers plot the most expressive and
the most difficult of the dramatic elements.75 Therefore,

Young gives the consideration of plot, a place of prominence

in his reviews. Second, just as a matter of standing pro-

cedure, he believes that "a review, as such, requires first

a brief account . . . of the story."76 Strangely enough

though, he seems apologetic when he gives a summary of the

plot. He tells us, in judging a George Kelly play, that

. he is only giving us the plot so that he can make some
points about it;77 points such as showing how much the
play depends upon the plot, or how the meaning of the
scenes may be better understood by a knowledge of the plot.
In The Great God Brown the experimental use of
masks to reveal the character's inner self or other self
(that is the self that cannot be seen or that may be dis-
torted) is so innovative as a stage device, that Young does

not wish to spend very much time with the plot. He con-

 

207

siders it subordinate to the other elements and indicates
that any account of it must be a mere travesty. But this
does not keep him from trying to give a full account of it,
travesty or not.78 The same is true of his treatment of
Paul Green's House of Connolly. A section outlining the
plot is followed by a sentence indicating that the outline
is necessarily "a mere travesty on a play whose best vir-
tues lie not in the story but in the characters and the
lines they are given to speak."79

This pattern of seeming to apologize for giving the
plot and then going ahead with it in great detail, main-
tains regularly in his hundreds of reviews. The importance
of such accounts differs in different reviews. The inten-
sity ranges widely. On one occasion it may be a casual '
"it hardly needs telling," when speaking of Katherine
Cornell's starring vehicle, The Letter, by Somerset
Maugham.80 On another occasion, as in minim Be Done,
with Duse,81 the plot may be given in great detail, so that
the critic may have an opportunity to evaluate the actress's
conception of the role she plays.

The apologetic statement is varied, depending upon
the importance of the playwright and the significance of
the play. In Mourning Becomes Electra, he gives a compre-
hensive and detailed resum‘ of the plot. But he doesn't,
in this case, think it detailed enough. In fact he thinks

 

 

208

itxmther bare, giving no more than "a scant indication of

"82

. .. the . . . meaning of the scenes.

When in his Opinion the story is such an intrinsi-

cally artistic part of the play that the very life of the
xflay rests upon it, he spends no time beating about the

 

bush. He simply tells the reader, as he does in Journey's
gag, that it "is necessary to set down at such length the

story . . . because so much of the play's credit and effect

lies in the story."83
On the other hand, at times he spends very little

actual wordage on plot. He says instead that the values

are so carefully interwoven with the other dramatic ele-
ments that separation of plot and play are well nigh im-

possible. At these times, his inner eye sees far beyond

the surface features of the story being unfolded. Mystic,

poet, and creative critic that he is, he sees into the

more profound nuances implied. This happened when he re-

ported on his reaction to the Habima8h Players of Mescow.
They had presented The Dybbuk at the Mansfield, December
13, 1926, in the original Hebrew. YOung's sensitivities
were so deeply moved by the production, that he rated it
the finest thing that had been done on Broadway since the
Moscow Art Theatre's The Cherry Orchard of several years
The play is semi-religious and Young confessed

before.
that due to his lack of Hebrew background, he could not

 

209

understand completely the more ritualistic plot elements.
&lhe told very little of the story. Instead, he indicated
that the author, Ansky, had "inwoven [into the story] the
ecstasy of a race, all the shadowy origin of its passion,
its faith, its primitive mysticism and confusion and
strength. " 85

The second portion of the review is invariably de-
voted to a discussion of the writer and the writing. Here
again, the length varies with the importance of the play-
lndght and the significance of the play. If the dramatist
involved is among the moderns (Ibsen, Shaw, O'Neill), the
critic will spend more time with the writer and writing
than he does with any other one phase of the review.

Young himself has read widely in dramatic litera—
ture. He is thoroughly conversant with the classical,
Shakesperian, Restoration, Victorian, and twentieth century
periods in drama. He also is well acquainted with the
French, Italian, Spanish, and Russian drama. And because
of this, he lays much greater store by the printed version
of a play than do many other critics. He uses the pub-
lished play as a back-drOp from which he can launch his
discussion of the performed version. Interested as he is
in theatre art per se, he is still not content with an
evaluation based solely upon perfonmance. Nor can he

tolerate theatre writing that does not adhere to the same

 

 

I
° :"
1M_ all—”4

210

high standards observed in good book writing. Once in a
1922 article86 and again five years later,87 he makes an
almost identical statement about how strange it is that
hflmlligent people are willing to accept "stuff" in theatre
writing that they would never tolerate in a book. If the
‘adter oa.writing has not come up to the standard for stage
waiting that Young has set, the latter does not hesitate to
afield the mace. He was willing to admit that in Somerset

Phugham's_1he Letter there was a certain amount of effec~

 

tiveness in the way the dramatic situation was developed.
"Otherwise, [however], Mr. Maugham's script is mostly
trash."88

If the play happens to be a translation from the
classics or from the modern foreign languages (Italian,
Spanish, French), he will comment at length on the new
version. Or if it happens to be a play whose plot and
dramatic elements are based upon classical themes, as is
fiburning Becomes Electra, he expands the review and devotes
most of it to an historical and literary examination.

Sometimes the comment is designed to "damn with
faint praise," and at other times it is outspokenly de-
structive. He was impressed by Katherine Cornell's per-
sonal magnetism in her production of Antigone, but as to
the writing in the translation, he was less enthusiastic.

"Here she {pornellx is presenting an American version of a

 

211

French version of a Greek version, of something that is at
least worth talking about.”89 He thought the Gilbert
Murray translation used for Margaret Webster's production
of Euripedes' The Trojan Women was a very poor choice. And
he also disapproved of Dame Whitty's interpretation of the
Hecuba role. But he did not condemn the production en-
tirely. What he said was: "I would not, however, advise
people to stay away from the production. I would say
rather that those who know nothing of Greek drama may get
more idea of what it was, and those who know something,
[Young falls very much into this group) more idea of what
it wasn't."90 When he comes to Maxwell Anderson's 1113
flngless Victory, he is so irritated with its weakness as
literature, that he says he would not even review it, were
it not for Anderson's achievements in his other plays.
After heating it unmercifully to a pulp, he delivers the
final tour de force of critical destruction with "It sounds
like [the writing in the play) a Stephen Philips version of
an Arthur Symons translation of an decadent German versify-
ing of a lax translation of Euripedes."91

If, on the one hand, it so happens that Young is
unfamiliar with the printed version of a play, he will read
it before he makes his analysis of production. 931.19 how-
ever, if the production is significant enough to warrant

it. When the Theatre Guild opened its 191m season with

 

212

Ethel Barrymore in Embezzled Heaven, a stage version of a
Franz Werfel novel, there was a case in point. In his re-
view, the critic indicates that had the stage presentation
been more distinguished, he would have felt obligated to

read the novel before making his estimate.92 This does not

mean that he automatically ranks the play in terms of its
Far from it. But he does like

:~ 500.". --_.___.i-s._ _
a.

success in another medium.
He found Tetheroh's Wild Birds more

-.—_._

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:

to make compari sons .

profound as a printed play than as a production.93 In
considering the Theatre Guild's production of Dostoievsky's
The Brothers Karamazov, he intimated in his appraisal that
he had the novel before him, but the play must stand as a
separate entity.9h

If, on the other hand, he feels that the production
is impressive enough, or a better understanding of its
point can be gained by re-reading, he will do that, too.
Sometimes the reereading is brought about because he is

seeing a revival of a play and wishes to weigh his present

responses against those of an earlier period. This happened,

for example, when he was considering Bernard Shaw's Heart-

break House in revival by the Mercury Theatre Players,

Orson Wells directing. He was sufficiently concerned to

re-read the play, including its long preface, before con-

structing his review.95 And as a result, the essay emerged

as a comparison and contrast of Shaw and Chekhov.

 

213

Judging the play on its merits as a product of a

dramatist's genius also helps to clarify the issues as to

acting interpretation. When Ethel Barrymore was doing The

Kingdom of God, a translation from the Spanish of Sierra,

 

Young objected to the way she railed and ranted in her role.
It seemed to him that she would have been more impressive
under-projecting her voice rather than over-projecting as

she was doing. With this criticism in mind he turned to

Sierra's text to verify his suspicions and discovered that

the dramatist specifically directed "speaking quietly."96

The poetic vision implicit in the words of Paul
Green's In Abraham's Bosom is not lost on Young. He reads
the text, sees the production, and feels he has been present
at a "full passionate story told by a poet."97 When he
reads Shaw's lines in Saint Joan, he feels the sharp in-
tellectual impact; an impact that is reflected in full
measure in his (Young's)review of the Guild production.98
He is quick to applaud when he discovers in the playwriting,
as he does in Brief Moment, an adultness and state of mind
that are mature.99

An excerpt from Young's critical evaluation of

Dynamo will serve here to indicate the length to which the

critic may go in his reviews, to accord the writer his due.

The quote is long but justified in the sense that it brings

into bold relief the importance Young attached to a dis-

r‘ m .57

Mang, _
v. ‘ a- su-kml.du.- m'fifir..-
}

 

213

cussion of the writer andvuriting.

I have often thought, seeing his plays, that
despite his great theatrical gifts, Eugene
O'Neill's talent has two aspects not strictly
theatrical that have contributed as much as
anything else to his wide reputation.

One of these is the character of lyric feel-
ing behind all that he writes. Strange In-
terludefiin its earlier scenes, and’in its
last scenes banal and something short in .‘
taste, and Dynamo may be concerned at cer-
tain times w profound and eternal human
problems and at others with what is adoles-
cent, trite and over familiar; but it remains
true nevertheless, that the feeling behind
everything is close and genuine and personal.
It arises from the author's own turmoil and
emotional necessity, and has about it the
urgency of his needs. From this cause it
happens in Dynamo, as it did in Desire Under
the Elms, t a we feel the presence 0 two
elements: the play proceeds, with whatever
agreement or tedium it arouses in us as we
hear it, but meanwhile, alongside this agree-
ment or boredom, there runs this personal
lyricism, the sense of some individual poign-
ancy whose stress and pressure has involved
these scenes. This in itself is moving and
endearing; it stirs in us the impulse to de-
fend Eugene O'Neill, and to respond to feel-
ing that in himself is moving even though

it turns out to be unequal and half baked.
It happens therefore, that even when we are
not at all touched by the feeling itself or
the idea presented, we are stabbed to our
«depths by the importance of this feeling to
111m, and we are all his, not because of

'what he says, but because saying it meant

so much to him.

*~‘~‘"i?; -. ~ .

'
:1! .-'I ‘: “.M‘ijtt ‘

a

The writing of this new play of Eugene
O'Neill's is divided between a certain
cllbse realism on the one hand or at least

a IDoetic accuracy -- gained partly through
thGB use of lengthy asides -- and on the
°t11er, a typicality by which the characters

 

21h

and the events are not individual but are
fi‘éflbml’fii“ °2etip°oi~1fiiiénfifififim
y pa e n e .
fflmn he goes on for another page extolling and analyzing
the virtues of O'Neill and his writing.

As can be seen then, the writer and writing are ex-
tremely important matters to Young. Consequently the re—
'dew,‘both as a matter of pattern and a matter of interest
‘u>the critic, always contains adequate consideration of
the literary aspect of the play.

The section in the review dedicated to the produc-
tion, which includes the decor, lighting, costuming, and
directing, occurs in the order of its importance as a major
element in the play. Generally speaking, Young thinks "the
decor is far behind the play and the acting as an expressive
m6dium.in the theatre."101 In a classical or Shakesperian
play where the call is for the more formal and stylized,
the ingenuity of the individual creative artist or designer
will receive detailed analysis. Incidentally, the American
artists in this field that Young seems to hold in highest
regard are Robert E. Jones, Lee Simonson, and Norman Bel
Goddes; the Englishman Gordon Craig. But to return -- if,
as 1nElmer Rice's Street Scene, photographic realism is
Werly photographic, a note will be made to that effect
also. ij the décor, instead of being overly photographic,

h
as just enough realism to be authentic and yet allows the

 

 

215

Mmerver to be aware that he is looking at art, not nature
m‘reality, Young is satisfied. He noted this condition
empecially in a Norman Bel Geddes set for a play named
éflflffiflflu' He (Young) had been in some of the Arab towns
amt are portrayed and was startled by their authenticity
maths stage. But authenticity alone is not enough, for
"there should be a constant sense that you are looking at
art not at nature . . . [the scenes] are essentially Arabic
but not that either; they vary from resemblance and repro-
duction to abstraction and complete freedom."102

When estimating the worth and significance of pro-

duction matters Young writes with aséurance. His criticism

takes on the same "rightness" that he finds in many stage
sets. The criticism becomes historically valuable because
it gives the reader a complete (almost photographic) picture
or first reactions to innovations that the decor might
represent. Especially with O'Neill, in The Hairy_Ape,
§£R8nge Interlude, and Mourning Becomes Electra, the reviews
undertook to examine painstakingly the decor and technical
n°Y91ties such as double length of play, asides, masks,

and 30 forth. Young constantly has his eye out for the
essential dramatic element in the settings. With him, this
13 quite as important as the action in the play and in some
cases may'be more important. For example, he was particu-

l
arly disappointed in the dramatization of Pearl Buck's

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l a 'i‘ir'

mall

'- d“ ‘ - CL“.— _._..__ . _‘_
i
(

 

216

The Good Earth. "Except for the rich red-lighted bed on

much poor O-lan died, the settings contributed nothing to

the dramatic needs of the play. The make-ups varied; some

a need"
«103

cfl'them are entirely independent of China; some, .

ed<xfly'a candle inside them to be ready for Halloween.

.___.._-.__.-
a In,

The Guild's production of Shaw's Caesar and Clegpatra also

came in for some comment in this direction. Young thought

the performance needed a great deal of polishing and that

". In YEN—‘4“

theisets in several scenes were not doing adequately the

job for which they were designed. "The marking that Shaw

brings out of the cosmos to the drama of the human lives

there on the stage can be more strongly underscored. There

is that supper scene, for example, where the passions and'
ambitions, the petulances and jealousies and hot, passing
beauty and splendor and meanness of the characters' lines
are seen against the great forms that their race has
evolved architecturally, and against their racial immore
tality expressed in sculptured stone, and in the midst of

the Egypt where the world seems to reveal itself so splen-

didly . . . All these are dramatic elements as much as

the action is."10u

Shakesperian plays are likely to receive a lavish

treatment as far as production is concerned. On the whole,

the critic found John Barrymore's portrayal of Hamlet, in-

telligent and praiseworthy. He thought the Hopkins' pro-

 

217

mumion of it important. But it was toward Robert Edmond
.kmes that he directed the real kudos. He found the de-
signer's work especially princely and austere, in keeping
idth the whole spirit of the play. Particularly was he
xfleased because the decor had no "clutter of costumes or
elaborate variations in apartments, but instead a central
Imwthm of images, of light and shade innate to the dramatic
moment."105 It is indicative of this critic's method that
he looks always for the dramatic element in the setting that
is inherent to the play. In this production he feels that
the designer has found and reproduced that intangible, but
at the same time essential, quality.

‘When this happens, he is generous in his praise.
We see'Young, the poet, mystic and creative critic ex-
tolling the virtues of the artist-designer in terms of the
literary art. The Orson Welles' production of Marlowe's

2!: Faustus moved him to such an ecstasy. Said he of

 

Feder's (the designer) décor: "The settings appear,
through the means of light, to be some chiaroscuro of the
cosmic. They seem some concentration in space. It is as
if we dealt here with that Tapes-nous of the Gnostics,
'space-mind,' the agent between Creation and creator."106
But when it does not happen, he is quick to note the fact.
The Chekhov Theatre Players did a version of Twelfth Night

that drew Jeers from the reviewer because of the decor.

 

 

218

Hecmmplained, "There are no scenery shifts but merely bits
like the prison walls, or chairs, draperies or gates indi-
cated by chords, all changed by screens in various satiny
colors manipulated by apprentices to various degrees of
music. The effect as decor is of an idle and worn-out in-
vention and the result an impression of distracting con-
trivance, superfluous and much too lively as well as waste-
ful."107

Too often, he thinks, the designer does nothing but
"dress up" the Shakesperian scene, with all kinds of
Elizabethan "authenticity." The play then becomes, per-
kmps, acceptable archaeology, but poor Shakespere, poor
drama, and poorer theatre. Oftentimes it is not even fine
archaeology, as was usually true with the Sir Henry Irving
and Augustin Daly Shakespere productions. They were "cut,
rearranged, filled with lantern parties, meticulous and

shoddy antiquarianism, mouthed, star-struck, mussed over

with draper's goods."108

Young would prefer to underaccent the "clutter."
In 1922 when he was commenting on a "modern dress" Hamlet
he pointed out that there were two extremely important ad-
vantages to having such a Hamlet. For one thing, "the in-
trusion of splurging . . . costumes . . . is stripped
away;" and for another, "the surviving elements in the

drama . . . are more keenly exposed."109 It is 311 a

 

 

219

matter of relativity as to how far the producer should go
wiuiattempting to reproduce originals. Young seems not
always to be consistent. In Maurice Evans' Hamlet he could
rmt resist the remark that the Renaissance language coming
from actors wearing 1938 coiffures was somewhat ruinous to
the illusion.110 In the main, however, the matter of decor
is important in his theatre criticism. He is simply in-
sistent that the decor not become something in its own
right. He wishes it fused and made part of the unity of
arts combined in the theatre. When it is anything more
than this, it is to be deplored and avoided.

On the subject of archaeology and Shakespere,
Belasco's production of The Merchant of Venice with David
Warfield came in for its share of notice. To the critic,
the experience at this performance was interesting as
would be going to a museum to see copies of Titian,
Tintoretto and Veronese. But as to authenticity or signif-
icant art or an exposition of the essential dramatic moment
involved in the play, he thought it might all be taken with
the proverbial grain of salt.111

Costuming must have a "rightness" or the play is
hindered. It must be more than an external display, a
circus parade. It must have an intrinsic value that fur-
thers the central theme. In Romeo and Juliet he carries

the criticism of the significance of and symbolism in what

 

mm ’s .‘ :4]

~M.
j ‘4 .1
I

‘ A A

4

 

220

hfliet wears, to a very great extent. About Jane Cowl's
hfliet he says: "Her gown is too loose and easy, a tighter
and more formal effect in the cutting would help enact the
(hematic idea that this girl is imprisoned within the
family patterns and the feudal conceptions that go along
iuth them."112 In one production of Macbeth using Gordon
Chaig sets, Lady Macbeth's costume was, in his opinion, so
out of keeping with the general tenor and milieu of the
play, that his evaluation reduced the costume to an ab-
surdity. "The costumes were of old style Lohengrin tradi-
tion, not bad on Christmas cards in the Victorian manner,
but astonishing in front of Craigish settings. They hit
bottom in Lady Macbeth, who were for the murder scene a
black afternoon affair, up-to-date in figure and showing
beneath it a stretch of light stockings and high-heeled
satin shoes, and for the banquet scene a sort of Madame
Jeritza Madison Avenue effect that was quite beyond words.
[And he did not mean words of applause, either]. Even if
thesiettings had come off, these costumes would have mud-
dled the issue."113 He found the same thing to be true of
Florence Reed's Paulina gown in The Tempest. He thought
it might have come directly from Fifty-seventh Street.11h
To repeat, then, the decor needs to be at the same distance
from reality that both the acting and writing are.

From the early days of his tenure as drama-theatre

 

 

221

(udtic with The New Republic, Ybung showed a keen interest
hifbreign companies visiting in America. On one occasion
km wrote an essay in the form of an open letter urging
Eleanora, Duse to come here with her Italian company. When
muiRussian Moscow Art Theatre Players, the Chekhov Players,
the Mei Len-Fang Chinese Players, and the Abbey Theatre
Irish Players, came to the United States, he greeted them

with a ringing welcome.

This was true also with the Old Vic Players from
Imndon. But his sense of hospitality and good-neighborli-
ness did not dull his sense of what was acceptable and the
opposite. From a production point of view the Laurence
Olivier—Old Vic Company failed to impress Young favorably
in the Shakespere series. When he comes to their classical
productions he is outspokenly scornful. Oedipus Rex was a
debacle and much of it was caused by the costuming.

The costumes . . . are a part of the debacle.
They are many and varied . . . But these
costumes were made with so little fundamental
conception of costume cutting that they were
largely without either historical or . . .
dramatic value. They were also for the most
part badly worn, not carried with any style
at all by the wearers. Most of the wigs had
no style or expertness, and the same was
true of the make-ups . . . Mr. Olivier
looked more like a bad Roman coin of the
late Republic than an Attic hero of the
Cumaean Zeus, the convention of the Peri-
clean theatre. Mr. Olivier further compli-
cated matters by his costume . . . u‘iit’.
V451 too youthful and too trivial. It" is
entirely out of key with the large type
treatment in Sophocles of character, ideas

 

 

222

and events. In all this . . . I am talking
about style as implying the significant re-
lation between the thought an? the outward,
or visual, expression of it. 5

The point is, as it always is with Young when he is
defining art in the Platonic manner that "costumes become
the art of the theatre when clothes are translated into

something which they were not before, and have added to

them smmething that was not there before."116

If an actor in a Sephoclean tragedy is
given a costume and wants to learn to
wear it, he can study the nature of the
period and the essential quality that
underlies Sophocles' conception. Char-
acter, events, emotional reactions are
here seen in large and typical outlines,
universal and stately, and are never
particularized into individual detail or
realistic and subjective minutiae. The
reading of the verse exhibits the stately
and simplified scale of recitation suited
to such drama. The movements of the
actor's body, of his hands and arms and
head, his stride and his carriage, have
the general and nobly chosen and simpli-
fied style that the whole conception of
the play requires. Having discerned these
qualities in the play and achieved them in
the acting, the actor must recognize that
they are inherent in the costumes as well,
and are to be carried into the wearing
them. Let him think of the Greek marbles,
of that land, with its sure, final out-
lines . . . He must keep clear like that
the lines of his costume, lines flowing
singly or in complex rhythms upon the mass
of it. A quick movement or a nervous car-
riage, a sudden individual impetuosity of
gesture, deny the very character of the
costume and through that begin the loss of
the dramatic effect.

It is a platitude in the Young production aesthetic,

 

223

that there be a unifying element throughout and that the
demn'be at the same distance from reality as the nature of
therflay requires. So when he sees a classically formal
stage setting for a play like Street Scene, or a realistic
rmeduction technique in an Oedipus Rex, he is moved to pro-
test. The point is, that production is so basically and
intrinsically a part of the theatre art, Young cannot re-
sist either protesting or congratulating as the case re-
quires. In any event, the décor is likely to receive more
than ample coverage in his reviews.

Although Young devotes a good portion of his criti-
cal review to the actors and acting, not very much time
idll be spent here with that aspect. It is of such im-
portance in the Young theatre-drama criticism that a sepa-
rate section must be devoted to it. In this present sec-
tion, a more general examination of what is covered in the
reviews will be attempted.

Again, as with the other items, the statement must
be made that the length and comprehensiveness of the con-
sideration given the acting will depend upon the importance
of the play or playwright as compared with the art and mag-
netism of the acting and actors. ‘When he deals with a
Duse vehicle the actress is likely to receive more atten—
tion; when he deals with an O'Neill play, the playwright.

This statement is a generality, since on occasion when con-

 

 

22h

:fldering Duse in an Ibsen play, the critic will give equal
attention to the playwright. One suspects that a devote’e
of’culture like Young considers Ibsen's somewhat brutal
let's-get-directly-to-the-point, no-beating-about-the-bush
technique, nothing short of barbaric. So he devotes quite
a bit of time to airing this attitude when he comes to an
Ibsen play. This, at the expense of criticizing the acting.
In every review Young weighs the actor and the act-
ing in terms of the "inner necessity." He admires and ap-
plauds technical competence in the actor. But in keeping
with his feeling about the acting art, he expects more
than surface perfection. The actor's portrayal must come
from an inner emotional stimulus that transcends mere
glitter and personal magnetism. Although John Barrymore's
Hamlet drew words of praise from the critic, the latter

was still not completely satisfied.

The inner limitations of Mr. John Barry-
more's Hamlet are both less tangible and
less amenable perhaps. They are in the di-
rection of the poetic and human. With time,
meditation and repetition it will gain in
these respects, no doubt; but it needs now
more warmth, more abundance in all reactions,
more dilation of spirit. It takes too much
for granted, makes Hamlet too easy to under-
stand, and so lacks mystery and scope. It
needs a larger inner tumult, more of a cere-
bral and passionate ecstasy pressing against
the outward restraint of the whole pattern.
It needs more of the sense of the ungovern-
able vitality, more complex subtlety and
power. It needs Tare tenderness and . . .
more generosity.1

 

 

225

Among his favorite and most respected actor-artists,
past and present (included among whom are Mounet-Sully,
Bernhardt, Grasso, Doris Keane, Ouspenskaya, Chaplin,
(heenstreet, the Lunts, the Barrymores, Cornell, Ben-Ami,
IMdley Digges) Eleananpuse comes in for some of the most
detailed and devoted treatment“

When he speaks of Duse, it is with awe and bated
breath. Since he was instrumental in getting her to make
an American tour, he reviewed her performances to the hilt
when she did come.

Young has always contended that the actor "may carry
the idea farther than the dramatist himself had ever con-
ceived it,"119 and it is notable that Young finds Duse
doing that very thing. "She enlarges the meaning and
quality of the play until it goes beyond anything the
author had imagined."120 He is impressed by her technical
excellence in ghosts and expresses himself enthusiastical-
ly: "The variety of Duse's reading, the tone, the pressure,
the ictus, the vitality of it; the stillness with which she
could imbue the quieter pauses in the emotion; the marvels
of rhythm that are brought to the lines; the scale of
values for which she sorted and unified the many reactions
in thought and feeling; and finally the continuity of motion
that she gave to her presence on the stage were almost past

belief."121 However, he admits that she is not a supreme

 

226

craftsman in the sense of being an actor's actor, as
Velasquez was the painter's painter, or Spenser the poet's
poet. She is not the kind of skilled performer in whose
craftsmanship one can delight for its own sake. Rather,
she suggests to him "a state of music which must have come
from a long love and study of that art. And most of all
you will see that such a gradation of emphasis throughout
the play 'Cosi-Sia -- 2311 Will Be Done] and so fine and

so elusive but unforgettable a comprehension of the entire

 

meaning of the character and theme could come only from a
remarkable ability and association with culture and ideas,
combined with a poetic and reflective nature, with a
courage of mind, and finally, with something throughout the
personality, quiet and taken for granted, a kind of un-
touched and unstressed and constant spiritual audacity."122
He does not a ccord this kind of praise to Helen
HBYBS. 0n the contrary, he relegates her to the realm of
the prosy, unpoetically imaginative, uncomplex, bourgoisie
0f the acting profession. He considers her a polished per-
f01’mer who is not an artist. When he was attempting to
define "actor," (The Flower in Drama, p. 5), he indicated
that if the actor "has no distinction of his own, a man
[or Woman, of course] may, in a sense, be an actor and not
an artist." He observed Miss Hayes in the title role of

W (pseudo-history about Harriet Beecher Stowe) and

 

22?

thought her a "sturdy, highly honorable player, capable
mfly of sensible style and without any great imaginative
scope or boldness."123 Such an actress would never receive
iflgh praise from a critic like Young whose heart and soul
and sympathies are primarily with the poet of the theatre.

When the artist's performance seems to defy adequate
critical analysis, Ybung has to content himself with the
ldnd of statements that he used for Pauline Lord in Ethgg
£199.12: He found her art so baffling and elusive that he
has to say: "By what process it is in Miss Lord's por-
trayal, that her opening of a door and standing there . . .
can begin our entrance into a region that we cannot ex-
plain, nor predict technically, nobody can say. Her per-
ibrmance has a miraculous humility, a subtle variety and
gradation and shy power that are indescribable."12u Young
is also baffled by Ethel Barrymore in Embezzled Heaven (a
play based on a novel by Franz Werfel) when he observes
that "she possesses some grand elusive quality of her own.
She is unique and special, not as a performer but as a
personage on our stage."12S

He reaches the height of this kind of bafflement in
analysis when he writes his encomium to Laurette Taylor in
Tennessee Williams's The Glass Menagerie.

What Miss Laurette Taylor does with these

matters can be at least partially imagined

if you know the quality of her special gift.
This, even after just seeing the play, is

 

228

almost impossible to convey with anything
like the full wonderful truth. Hers is
naturalistic acting of the most profound,
spontaneous, unbroken continuity and moving
life. There is an inexplicable rightness,
moment by moment, phrase by phrase, end-
lessly varied in the transitions. Tech-
nique, which is always composed of skill
and instinct working together, is in this
case so overlaid with warmth, tenderness
and wit that any analysis is completely
baffled. Only a trained theatre eye and
ear can tell what is happening, and then
only at times. Miss Laurette Taylor is
capable of a performance so right and per-
fect that you do not even think of it as a
great performance. I do not mean to go
into a kind of Seidlitz hysterics, to make
my point about what she does with the role -
in The Glass Menagerie, I merely say that
it has a characteristic of seeming beyond
any contrivance and of a sort of changing
rhythm of translugence rarely to be seen
in the theatre.12

YOung was a great admirer of the Yiddish Theatre
actor, Jacob Ben-Ami. He had had many contacts with this
player, included among which were his disappointment in
not being able to have Ben-Ami for the lead in The Saint.
He had directed the actor on Broadway in Lenormand's Th3
Failures and also in O'Neill's Welded. He had written
several essays concerning Ben-Ami's talents. In these he
accorded him the same kind of praise he had given Duse and
later Pauline Lord, Ethel Barrymore, and Laurette Taylor.
He found in Ben-Ami's acting, that same kind of poetic
translucence and luminosity that rendered analyses of the
others so baffling. He called Ben-Ami's art, "not so much

of a structure as . . . a transparency through which shines

 

 

229

the light of the truth alive within it."127

Young was, to be sure, a serious and sincere worker
hithe theatre art, but even he could not escape some of
the hardness, the pseudo-sophisticated cynicism of Broadway.
Ikirubbed elbows with the newspaper people and felt the
{measure of the "big time" so that eventually some of the
Southern gentility (so much a part of his writing person-
ality) began to rub off. An examination of the reViews
shows Young to be extremely able at hurling the verbal
machete. The hurly-burly of Broadway robbed him of some
of his sympathetic patience with other workers in the
theatre -- especially the actors. So at times he joined
the school of brickbat throwers and lay about him with a
will. .

‘When he reviewed the Spanish play Field of Ermine
by Benavente, with Frances Starr and Charles Derwent in
the leads, he dismissed them with: "Miss Frances Starr
. . . has a method that is enough to kill any scene . .
Mr. Charles Derwent strikes you as only a means of enun-
ciating final syllables."128 In another play, Young thought
that the leading actor, George Hassell did the "most to
thwart [the author's] play of its right stage effect."129
At damning with faint praise, Young is a past master. He
admires the actress, Madame Sorel's "divinely callous"

performance in Camille, but he cannot refrain from re-

 

230

marking that she "is the most delightful example I have
ewn'known of empty competence. I have never seen so much
"130

emuession that expressed nothing. Or with supreme

hmmy he applauds an actor in The Late George Apley, the
adaptation of Marquand's book about Boston's Beacon Streeters
tm'commenting: "It could even be said that his very lack
(fl‘talent was an aid to the stuck and inexpressive emotion-
afl.nature implied in this role."131 In 1918 he reviewed

The Patriot, Ashley Dukes' adaptation from the German play

 

by Neuman. It should be noted that Dukes, the English
drama critic, was at this time Young's colleague as an
associate editor of Theatre Arts and, as such, possibly
.came in for more than the ordinary amount of sympathetic
treatment. But even this did not keep him from commenting
sourly on the one female role in the piece: "Miss
Titheradge did something less than nothing with it."132
'Young was never one to hold the English theatre in
very high.esteem. In several articles he assures Americans
that they need not borrow from the English for their drama,
since the English are too disinterested in drama anyway.133
He insists that the Englishman "lives in a society whose
essential quality passes more easily into arts like litera-
ture or religion than into the art of the theatre."13"
So when he reviews an English company's production of

Galsworthy's Loyalties, he has nothing but scorn for some

 

 

231

oftme acting. He remarks that "the sofa in the last act
(Md quite as much acting as the lady in fainting on it."135

These examples of Young's virtuosity as a "flame
‘uupwer" could be compounded many times. From 1922 to 1928
km poured the vitriol undiluted. In 1922 he disapproved
kmartily of Bernard Shaw's Back to Methuselah as stage
fare, and found one of the actors in it especially objec-
tionable. Of Dennis King who played the part of Cain in
the early Biblical creation scenes he says: ". . . so im-
possible that one wishes him [king's Gain] in Abel's shoes
or out on the hills with Enoch."136 By 1938 his sarcasm
had reached a new "high" and he demolished a whole Macbeth
company with one stroke. "The two murderers of Mr. Bernard
Savage and Mr. Harold Thomas seemed to me excellent per-
formances. Their one fault lay in not killing more of the
cast."137

As we have seen, Young is not an ordinary run-of-
the-mill critic whose light shines only briefly in terms
of his own stylistic talents. He is more than a newspaper
reviewer, for he has standards that stride into an aesthetic
far from Times Square. He sets up and satisfies qualifica—
tions that place him apart as a theatre-drama critic. His
examinations delve into the aspects of drama that involve
several of the theatre arts; his discussions include a

consideration of the play as literature; and his critical

 

 

232

essays are concerned with practical production evaluations.

Although the reviews follow a pattern which is con-
cerned with plot, playwright, production and acting, an in-
vestigation of acting and actors is his major effort. Con-
sequent1y this discussion will move to a more comprehensive

examination of Young's activity in this field.

 

“Q...— ._
i I— 1.569(1-4-5. _
l

a I'M-
J

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER III

 

,-.~————4——
LI... .
‘ I ‘e. .4.

Footnotes not prefaced by the name of the

re—ll
I

author are to be considered as written by

Stark Young.

 

23h

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER III

lEdith J. R. Isaacs, ”Theatre of Stark Young," Theatre
Arts, 26 (April, l9h2), 257.

2The‘Flower in Drama, p. 15.

3Helena Modjeska, "Endowed Theatres and the American
Stage," Forumz 1h (November, 1892). 338.

h"The'World and the Theatre," Theatre Arts, 1h (February,

1930), 96.

5The Broadway newspaper critic, according to several
Broadway critics that I have read, may leave the theatre
shortly before the final curtain (11:15, perhaps), rudh
to his office, pound out his review and by l A.M. have
it on the street with the early edition.

6
"Three and One," New Repub, 10h (April 21, 19hl), 533.
7"Cherry Orchard," New Repub, 110 (February 7, 19hh), 180.

8"Failing Plays and the Critics," Theatre Arts, 25 (Novem-
ber, 1921), 777°

9Lewis Nichols, "Nine Cold Men of Broadway," The New York
‘Iimes Magazine,(November 16, l9h7), 50.

10"Cherry Orchard," New Repub, 110 (February 7, l9hh), 180-

llncolor Organ and the Theatre," New Repub, 29 (January 18:
1922). 225.

lznThe critics Say," Theatre Artg, 16 (January. 1932), 72-

 

 

235

”Joel E. Spingarn, Creative criticism, (New York, 1925),
p. 92.

1"Ibid., p. 53.
151bid., p. 96.

16The Pavilion, p. 139.

l7Brander Matthews, "Undramatic Criticism," No Am, 211;,
(July 1921), 113. '—-—"

”Ward Morehouse, Matinee Tomorrow, (New York, 19119), p. iiO.

19George Jean Nathan, The ngular Theatre, (New York, 1918),
p. 93.

2(3va 141181: Handbook," New RGRUb, 111 (November 6, 19,414.): 596'
21"The Flower in Drama," N0 Am, 217 (April, 1923)’ 556’
22"Tale of Critics," New Repub, 81 (December 5, 1931+): 106-

23Edward Hussey, "Stark Young," No Am, 221 (1925), 763.

2"George Jean Nathan, The Critic and the Drama, (New York,
1922). p. 7.

25"Stage Traffic," New Repub, 105 (December 8, l9iil), 762.

26"0th6110," New Repub, 109 (November 1, 19h3), 622.

 

27"The Green Pastures," New Repub, 62 (May 19, 1930), 28.

 

'1 I .i ‘AL‘M_
f "al‘i- ‘1

 

236

zefighe Corn is Green," New Repub, 103 (December 9, 19M”,
7 9-

29Immortal Shadows, p. 60.

30"Seeing the Point," Theatre Arts, 8 (June 1924), 397.

31Eric Bentley, "American Theatre Critic," Kenyon Review,
12 (Winter, 1950), 138.

3"(Brooks Atkinson, "Credo of a Critic," Sat R Lit, 32
(August 6, 19hh), 136.

33$t. John Irvine, "These Critics," Literary Digest, 9h

3"William V. O'Connor, "A Short View of the New Criticism,"
Engl , 38 (November l9u9). has.

35Beirgiard Sobel, The Theatre Handbook, (New York, 1914.0),
P- 37-

36And sometimes without other things besides breath. Lucius
Beebe, in a book about theatre personalities, First Nights,
gives an entertaining account of one critic who arrived at
the theatre faultlessly attired in top hat, white tie and
tails, but completely innocent of shoes and socks.

37"The World and the Theatre," Theatre Arts, 1’4 (February
1930). 96-

38"T2eatre Liberty," New Repub, 101+ (February 21b 1911-1):
27 . -

3c"John Mason Brown, Upstage, (New York, 1928), p. 15.

l*OGeorge Jean Nathan, Art of the Night, (New York, 1928),
p. 1 .

 

237

luTThese Critics," Literary Digest. 9h (July 2: 1927): 27°

lerid.

"3Letter to R. M. Lumianski, June 2h, l9Sh.

""The Flower in Drama, p. 80.

"5"Prince and the Pirate," New Refifib. h9 (December 22!
1926), 136-

"6Nathan, The Critic and the Drama, p. 33.

h7The Flower in Drama, p. 91.
"£"When is it a Play?" Bookman, 65 (June 1927), h23.

hgflAs t0 Revival of Plays," Bookman, 65 (July 1927)’ 539'

0
S The Theatre, p. 18.

5‘1"Belascosity," New Repub, 37 (December 19, 1923): 9&-

52"Censoring," The New Yerk Times, (February 2h, 1925), 18:

col. 7.

53"Theatre Notes," New Repub, 7h (April 12: 1933): Zhho
Sh‘"Othe1.lo," New Repub, 109 (November 1, 19h3): 621-

SSNathan, The Critic and the Drama. Do 35-

a.
‘II

ifi_‘alAa

gr... _4__'

ll—tlflaw_

 

238

56’George Jean Nathan, Comedians All, (New York, 1919), p.
117.

S7(ieorge Jean Nathan, The Intimate Notebooks, (New York,

1932). p. 153.
58"To wait and See," New Repub, 61 (January 8, 1930), 197-

59The Theatre, p. 15.

 

60"New Playwright's Theatre," New Repub, 53 (December 21:

61"The New O'Neill Play," New RQPUb, 115 (December 30, 1925):

160.

62
"glaywrights and Cases," New Repub, 5h (May 16, 1928),

63"Him," New Repub, Sh (May 2: 1928), 325'

 

6

u"Theatre Total." New Repub. 83 (May 22’ 1935)’ 50'
65

lgmortal Shadows, p. 275.

66
"Mr. Tone and Mr. Hemingway," New RQPUb9 102 (MHrCh 25’

l9h0, hoe.
67
ggrouna Eight-Thirty," New Repub, 89 (December 16, 1936).

68
Nathan, The Critic and the Drama, p. 69.

69
"Hairy Ape," New Repub, 30 (March 22, 1922), 112-

 

 

 

239

70"Theatrical Wings," The New York Times, (February 22,
1925), sec. VII, 1, coT. 2.

7J'Immortal Shadows, p. 3.
72Glamour, p. 56.
73Immortal Shadows, p. 69.

7H,.Dynamo," 1,9,, “9,33, 58 (February 27. 1929). mi.

7sThe Theatre, p. 19.
76Immortal Shadows, p. 159.

77"“, Actress and a Dramatist," New Repub, 60 (November 6,
1929). 323.

78Immortal Shadows, p. 62.

79Ibid., p. 128.

80”Miss Katherine Cornell," New Repub, 52 (October 12, 1927):
207.

alwfihy Will Be Done," New Repub, 106 (February 2, 19112),
1 7.

8211131186118 O'Neill's New Play," New Repub, 68 (November 11,
1931). 352-

83,,Joumey,s End," New Repub, 58 (April 10, 1929), 225-

 

2110

8"The word "Habima" in Hebrew means, roughly, pulpit. More
inclusively the word indicates the area in the synagogue
immediately in front of the altar. It is here that much
of the Jewish religious ritual is carried on. The Habima
Players' repertory consisted to a great extent of plays
of a semi-religious and semi-ritualistic nature. Thus

the name Habima Players.

85Immortal Shadows, p. 69.

86"Rouge et Noir," New Repub, 30 (April 12, 1922), 198.

87"Clemence Dane's New Play," New Repub, 52 (October 12,
1927) . 207-

88
"Miss Katherine Cornell," New Repub, 52 (October 12,
1927) , 207-

BgnAntigone," New Repub, 11h (March h, lgheii 317-
90"Three and One," New RePUba 109 (April 21: 19h1): 53h-

9lgfhe Wingless Victory," New Repub, 89 (February 3, 1937),

92g§§ Divine an Air," New Repub, 111 (November 13, 19th),

93"Reconsiderations," The New York Times, (April 26, 1925),
sec. VIII, 1, col. 2.

gunmnortal Shadows, p. 80.

95"Heartbreak House," New Repub, 95 (June 8, 1938): 130-

 

2H1

96nfige Kingdom of God," New Reppb, 57 (January 16, 1929):
2 .

97"In Abraham's Bosom," New Repub, 50 (March 2, 1927), N6-
98"Saint Joan," New Repub, 37 (January 15: 192")! 205'

99"Two Events," New Repub, 69 (February 3, 1932), 321-

 

100,,Dynamo’n New Repub, 58 (February 27, 1929), "+3.

101The Theatre, o. 18.

“—

102"The Geddes Production," New RQEUb, MN (November 11'

1925). 305-

1'03"King James in Chinatown," New RepUb: 72 (November 2’
1932): 330' '

lo"Immortal Shadows, p. 59.
105Ibid., p. 13.

106HN0ct13 Equi,"_New Repub, 90 (February 17, 1937), N6-

 

107Immortal Shadows, p. 219.

108"Forward and Backward," New Repub, 30 (May 10’ 1922)’

316.

109"Hamlet in Modern Dress," New RQPQH: "5 (November 25’
1925), 17-

110"Hamlet," New RBPUbs 96 (November 2, 1938): 361

EaJIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllllll-""""'--—‘

1
‘I

j

 

 

2h2
111Immortal Shadqgs, p. ’13.

112"It is the Lark," New Repgh, 33 (February 1h, 1923), 321°

113"Macbeth,"_flgw Repub, 57 (December 5, 1928): 98-

 

11""The Tempest," Ngw Repub, 112 (February 12, 19h5): 22?-

 

115Immortal_Shadows, p. 267-
l1"_Theatre_Practice, p. 95.

117Ibid., p. 101.

1161mmortal‘8hadows, p. 287-

119The Flower in Drama, p. 35.

120nDuse.s Ibsen," New agppp, 36 (November 1t, 1923). 309-

 

122Immortal Shadows, p. 35.

123"A Gentle Mrs. Stowe." New R9229: 108 (MaPCh 22: 1993),
381.

12""Mias Lord's Day." New Repub, 86 (February 26: 1936), 78‘

LZSWSO Divine an Air," New Repub, 111 (November 13, 199k):
625.

 

 

 

 

2&3

126"The Glass Menagerie." New Repub, 113' (April 16' 1%5)’

SOS.

1'27'I'he‘F‘1ower in Drama, p. hS.

128Immorta1 Shadows, p. 169.

12
9"Wild Men," New RBRUE, 52 (September 28, 1927), 11¥8°

 

l3OImmortal Shadows, p. 6?-

131"Bgston Limited," New‘Repgb, 111 (December 11, 19M),
79 .

 

l
32"gs the Weeks Pass," New Repub, Sh (February 22, 1928),
1 .

 

1
33"The Apron String in our Theatre," No Am Review, 216

(December 1922), 833.

l
3hThe w1pwer in Drama, p. 28.

”on

1
35"Loya1t21es," New Repub, 32 (Novenber 8, 1922), 277.

136"Back'to Creation," New'Repub, 30 (March 15, 1922): 80°

 

137"Macbeth," New Repub, 57 (December S: 1928): 68°

 

 

Chapter IV

 

ACTORS AND ACTING

 

 

 

. , A . . R
J.“ a: .,_ .- a. . . .‘ ~
”: .1
fl b

 

Chapter IV
ACTORS AND ACTING

Young's contribution to stage criticism is somewhat
‘xmwual in that he, among all the contemporary Broadway
critics, has taken acting most seriously and written most
searchingly about it as an art. In the opinion of many who
sum qualified to judge, Young has no peer in this depart-
ment. In fact not since the time of Hazlitt, Lamb, and
Lewes in the 19th century in England and Coquelin in France,
has any qualified critic written so profoundly of acting.
While Young was still a practising critic, it was said of
him that he "is without question the finest critic of
acting at work in America today."1 Eric Bentley, the
present critic for The New Republic, remarked that Young
"was perhaps the only one who in any distinguished way,

did write about acting and design with the skill that a
first rate literary critic lavishes on poetry."2 John
Mason Brown, admirer and fellow critic, in his book Upstage
makes the same point about Young. Brown finds that when
writing of acting, Young surpasses all contemporary critics
in making clear the problems inherent in that art.3 And
Edward Hussey in the North American Review commented about

Young: "His is a lonely if powerful voice raised in the

interest of acting as a craft based on technique, and

 

 

I .

 

2N6

mums analysis not only penetrates to the fundamentals but
also establishes the relationship of acting to music, to
the rhythm of speech, to the realities of the theatre, and
to the history and spirit of the play."l‘

It may be that Young's lively interest in, as well
as his keen insight into, the problems of acting as an art,
stemmed from his early experiences with The curtain Club.

As was mentioned earlier in this discussion, while he was

a professor of English at the University of Texas (1907-
1915) he organized a theatre group on the campus. With
this venture he became involved in acting, directing, de-
signing, staging, and all the other matters associated with
the active production of drama.

After he joined The New Republic in 1921, his con-
tributions concerned themselves most often with the ques—
tion: what is involved in acting, As he affirmed when he
reviewed The Hairy Ape in 1922, "The truth is we have not
yet decided what acting is exactly; how much it can be di-
rectly imitative, how much stylized, or how much the actual
Visual pressure of the human beings that convey it inter-
rupts and complicates this art as compared to others."5
Accordingly, he examined this subject vigorously. There
followed a steady flow of articles about the acting art
contributed not only to The New Republic but to Bookman
and Theatre Arts. And by the time this flow had culminated

 

 

21;?

hlhis five books on the theatre; The Flower in Drama,
fflmatre, Theatre Practice, Glamour and Immortal Shadows,
alperiod covering a span from 1921 to 19h8, and he had
directed several times on Broadway, Mr. Young had taken a
stand. In his books he developed a philos0phy of the act- Few,»

ing art more detailed perhaps than anything that had been

I. ‘! “‘1“..4
. x. -

offered before.

‘V‘Tfigs

These books, as has been said before, are made up of §
a compilation of the best of his theatre-drama criticisms. j
He begins to develop his theory in the first essay; ”Act-
ing," in_1he Flower in Drama and continues in Theatre
Practice with "Illusion in Acting." In the first place,
says he, in effect, one is surprised, when he examines this
subject seriously as a literary historian to find that
there has been very little written on it. The little that
has been written deals primarily with the personal dis-
tinction or magnetism of a particular actor rather than
acting as an art. Not that Young underrates the importance
of this personal magnetism; rather, he thinks that "per-
sonality implies some sort of human quality raised to the
nth. The player's vitality becomes magnetic and to a de-
gree contagious, at the same moment engaging us and creating
itself within uso"6 Much misunderstanding, however, arises

because many people confuse the personal magnetism of the

individual actor with the art that he employs. This mag-

 

2h8

netism may be one of the materials with which the artist

works, but it is only that and no more. In fact, it is

gmssible for an actor to possess these attributes of mag-
rmtism and still not be an artist if he has not mastered
the techniques of his craft. But the writers on acting Fem-

seem to forget a matter that Young feels is most important,

7 &.r1, n... mac‘-

namely, that acting deals with more than personality, for

this art, like all other arts, is a craft and has certain

IWMnA—‘mi.

fundamentals. Young admired the Lunts in Idiot's Delight
because their "conception of acting is vibrant and delicious.
They remind us that this acting art is not more personal
exhibition."7

In the second place, he contends, it is unfortunate

that criticism suffers because everyone presumes that he
can judge acting. Intelligent observers who would fear to
rush in to other arts, do not hesitate for a moment to pon-
tificate about acting. Why? Because in other arts the
layman is not very well acquainted with the medium. In
acting, however, the medium is the actor's body. Since
this is a medium within easy reach, the layman who ordin-
arily would defer to the experts in other arts, fancies
himself competent in this area. It is Young's contention
that acting is highly complex, and that it is ridiculous to

presume that the average member of an intelligent audience

is equipped to make a judgment simply because he is moved

 

2N9

tw'the actor's effect upon him. It is true that the layman
nmy react more quickly and more positively to acting than

abany other art. But this need have no particular signif-
icance. It is also true that anyone may respond to a par-

ticularly tender caress, which does not mean that he under-

stands biology.8

There are too many otherwise intelligent viewers,
he goes on, who make the mistake of thinking that all the
actor has to do is to reproduce actuality or reality. This,
thinks Young, is only a childish desire for illusion and
deception that brings us to nonsense in art. Young follows
a lhth century Japanese actoreartist named Seami who con-
tended that in imitation there should be "a tinge of the
unlike."9 Those who feel they are paying an actor the
highest compliment possible by saying he $3 the character
he plays are guilty of a "monkey's delight in front of a
mirror," and might better go to a circus. There is nothing
quite so much like a trained bear as a trained bear.

Young contends that acting, like all other arts, is
concerned with the business of translating materials from
one medium to another, adding material in translation and
coming up finally with something that was not there before.
This is a principle in aesthetics that he borrowed from
Plato, and, good classicist that he is, by which he stands.

By his definition, "acting is a business of translating

 

nr

250

into the terms of human beings their minds and bodies and
muses, certain matter taken either from life direct or

from drama of thought and action and appearance that has
been created out of life. The completeness of acting as

art depends upon the completeness of the translation it

nmkes into its own terms."10

Because of the differences of Opinion as to what
constitutes the art in acting, several schools of thought
have risen, two among which are the representational and
the presentational. The first school presumes that the
actor pays no attention to the audience; that he plays
within four walls, as it were, and the audience is allowed
to look on with one wall removed. This is the school that
was sponsored by Stanislavsky and his Moscow Art Theatre,
a school reported upon in careful detail by Young, but not

entirely approved by him.

Everyone knows that their method is the
representational, which professes the in-
tention of ignoring the presence of spec-
tators and of producing an effect of life

as life would be seen going on if the fourth
wall of a room were removed; everyone knows
by now the phrase "spiritual realism," im-
plying a selection among realistic details
that can bring out the inmost spirit of the
actual matter. And everyone knows about

the exhaustive search for right particulars,
the last perfection of illusion in make-up;
the spirit of the group working together
under Stanislavsky; the common training that
makes it possible to exchange roles among
the actors; and the sincerity of approach

to the meaning of the dramatist.1

 

 

 

251

Young can understand and perhaps applaud the industry
"the infinite pains, shadings, poignancy and color"12 in-
volved in this kind of representation. These Mbscow Art
Theatre players "can act not only one scene or one play,
but, through humility and long labor at learning the techr
rflque of their art, they are equally competent throughout
nmny'parts. They represent a group of sincere artists,
created by their art, rich by their intense living in it,
and sure of all art's importance and duration. They are
artists that have been working together thoroughly and
through many years, in an organization and under a dis-
tinguished and sympathetic leader, and for a devoted public.
And, most significant of all, they possess a racial or pop-
ular life from which they can draw their belief and idea."13
However, he does not for the most part lean toward
this kind of theory in acting. The Moscow Art Theatre's
productiontaf Tolstoy's Tsar Fyodor left him unmoved and
indifferent because he would like the
style of the acting to achieve not the
studied naturalness that we take daily 88‘
the ways of men, but the form, the magic
of distance and scope, the conscious ar-
rangement, the artifice and logic, that
would create in my mind the idea. And
with jewels and arms and clothes I can see
the merely correct history of them in
museums if I choose; what I want on the
stage is these things translated into
stage terms, restated with that lustre and
relief . . . that would make them art. . .

The effort and theory of'making the past
as natural as if it were the present seems

 

 

 

.V‘

252

:0 me onlyha deficiency in cultural per-

pective.
Mn~can Young sanction the blind following of the Russian
uwthod in an American drama. Close attention to technique
he thinks is very important but not at the expense. of
something else that is more important. Morris Carnovsky
{flaying in Paul Green's_The House of Connolly came under
this censure. "Mr. Morris Carnovsky as the uncle gave a
performance that was technically very careful and sincere,
but was neither pathetic nor aristocratic, both essential
to his drama. I can only say that the better it got the
worse it was, the more tedious, platitudinous and madden-
ingly deliberate. This reflective cud-chewing in the sup—
posed Stanislavsky method is anything but Southern . . .
For violent inner confusion it substitutes only what is
external; and it presents only what is relaxed mediocrity
where what is needed is a lyric vagueness and defeatism."15

On the otherliand, the presentational school is very
much concerned with the audience; for the actor of this
school shares with the audience his idea of the role, and
makes the audience conscious always that they are looking
at art, not nature. Young leans toward this school. Al-
though "the actor while he is on the stage, belongs to the
audience not to himself,"16 the actor must nevertheless

always remain himself. He never becomes the part that he

acts or there would be no art. He is himself in every part.

 

 

253

Ina objective is not to deceive, but to create another kind
of truth by adding to nature "that lustre and relief that
would make it art."17 The greatness of the acting will be
meportionate to the greatness of the actor's self; that
is, the greatness of the power to create in keeping with
needs of the particular case. Luster and a heightened
antiphonal radiance must have been added, so that the actor
is carried away. "Good players give pleasure by their
strong power and good sense: the great genius will always
realize the feelings of the character and be transported
beyond himself."18 1:41;!» is exemplified in the actor
Dudley Digges' portrayal of Harry in O'Neill's_The Iceman
Cometh. "His Harry was on a different plane from every
other to be seen on the stage at the Martin Beck. It was
exact, with the exactness that belongs to all fine art; and
full of the constant surprise that appears in all first
rate art whatever, as it does in whatever is alive in our
life. It was beautiful, luminous, filled with the witty
and the poetic together mingled."19 ’
Even if the actor has the volition, the emotion, the
technique, and the inspiration, he still cannot succeed as
an artist unless he has an idea for each part he approaches.
He cannot play any part directly from nature, especially

when he has no eyes with.which to see nature. The part

must be translated from its actual position in nature, to

 

 

25h»

‘nw actor's idea of its position. "Even a Mr. Tom Jones
acting himself on the stage would have to project on the
stage his own notion of himself and his relation to the
rest of the play. Even in such a case the actor cannot
rflay from nature . . . He is Mr. Jones, but the Mr. Jones

projected into his acting is another matter. . ."20 If the

actor is an artist he must translate "incredibly,” scaling
the translation in terms of the nature of the role. So
strongly does Young feel about the matter that although he
complbmented Philip Merivale as Washington in Maxwell
Anderson's Valley Forge, he noted that "washington himself

 

in the role would surely be all wrong. It would not be
his fault and not too much the play's fault. Such are the
ways of.history, life and art."21

Unfortunately, to circumvent the need for a pains-
takingly developed technique, producers in their impatience
and carelessness too often avoid requiring artistry in
their actors. Instead, they typecast. They try to make
the real-life Tom Jones, the stage Tom Jones. That is,
they place in a part an actor whose physical externals fit
the role to be played. The actor who is paralyzed, plays
the paralytic; the Negro plays the Negro, and so forth.
This sort of casting makes Young impatient. In fact, it

offends him to the core, as contrary to one of his most

profoundly believed-in theories of art. Says he, "the

 

 

255

question of the relation of art to reality is the greatest
of all questions in regard to art. It parallels . . . the
relation of the spirit to the body, or to go the other way
zmund, the relation of the passing to permanent, of the
cmsual in the moment to the flower in it."22 He wants a
theatre that exhibits something more than mere photography;
he wants acting that is more than casually external.
Realism in his scheme of’things never should consist in
cepying the outside of things. Rather, it is the responsi-
bility of the realistic actor—artist to "see more completely
what [the character he is playing] is and means and then
choose details that will reveal to us what he has seen in
his man."‘?3

When he reviewed the production of Daniel Reed's
dramatization of Julia Peterkin's novel, Scarlet Sistgg
Eggy he came to the point quickly. The Negro actors in
the play were doing the parts of Negroes. Although he
found Reed's casting of Miss Peterkin's novel into the
form of drama acceptable, he disapproved heartily of the
idea of having Negro actors in the parts. This was on the
grounds that the artistic effect was partially destroyed

by too much reliance upon type.

Often when I see Negro players on the stage
and afterward when I hear people saying
that they are great actors, I think of
Seami, who said five hundred years ago in
Japan, that children and dogs should not
be allowed on the stage, they destroy the

 

 

256

artistic effect. He was speaking for a
theatre of greater purity and abstraction
than the modern theatre . . . but what he
said was right enough in aesthetic princi-
ple . . . it is better art . . . [td] have
white players acting Negro characters than
to have a Negro playing a Negro as in The
Emperor Jones . . . This is type casting
with a vengeance, and the blindest must see

what type casting has done to the acting in
our theatre.

If it were not for the fact that Young makes it clear
the kind of theatre of abstraction about which Seami spoke
is quite different from the modern American theatre, it
would be easy enough to turn this line of reasoning into
a reductio ad absurdum, of course. Conversely, we may ask,
should white men's parts be done by Negroes, as was true
in the case of actor Mr. Canada Lee, a Negro, when he did
the role of Bosola, the white villfigp in webster's.233he§§ ”tb/
0f M81f1?25 Or should female parts be done by males, as l
was true in the plays in which Mei Len-Fang the Chinese
male actor performed, to great acclaim, the roles of
women?26
In his consideration of the matter, he deplores the

fact that, as demonstrated in the production of Pearl Buck's

The Good Earth, "our acting has arrived at a realistic

 

method . . . which amounts in most cases to the actors
acting very little but themselves or letting the play act
them."27 If the objective of the actor in The Good Earth

is to make us see the actors only as Chinese, it brings

 

257

us to nothing.

If the actor does not seem Chinese to us,

we resent it, which takes away from the

play's effect. If the actor seems Chinese,

. we are struck with the resemblance, and the

| more apt is his performance to run into
A mere impersonation. The more he resembles
3 and the more he impersonates (merely) a
Chinaman, the more he distracts us from
the play or the scene in hand. In that case
the better he is the worse he gets. If the
whole company of actors were indistinguish-
‘ able from Chinamen -- which would never hap-
pen -- the artistic plane of the event would
be very low; for we must know to a due and
artistic extent that they are actors acting
Chinamen. Thus it is, as we see at the
Guild, ghat realism can bring us to an im-
passe.2

The weakness that results from complete reliance
upon typecasting is the reduction of acting from an art to
more representation of externality, since there is no tinge
of the unlike. It was for this very reason that Young saw

the acting in Elmer Rice's Street Scene as entertaining,

 

but rubbish, as art.

For the most part the company at the Pl 1-
house is made up of people who fit the
characters ready-made. An Italian plays

an Italian, a Jewess, a Jewess, and so on.
In the hurry and pressure of things there

is little time to discover or train actors,
perhaps, and perhaps the need for actuality
in this particular piece led the casting
toward these readymade types. The result

is that in Street Scene there is a good

deal of entertainment that comes from watch-
ing these actual people as we might see them
on Ninth Avenue, but very little interest in
watching them as actors. They are mostly
neither bad nor good. Their resemblances
are better than their acting, and they them-
selves seem more convincing than what they

 

—.

 

 

258

say. As a minor by-product of the per-

plexity induced by such a situation, I

have no idea whether the player written

down as Mr. James M. Qualen, whose jani-

tor, Olsen, seems to me the best perform-

ance of the evening, is only a Nordic of

that ilk, chosgg for his type, or is a

capital actor.

The critic strikes a blow against complete photo-
graphic realism to the exclusion of all else in the acting
art, whenever the opportunity offers. "Nobody," says he,
"requires Freudian data in fairy tales. Nobody wants pores
bored in the skin of the Venus de Milo to make her better
art."30 "Which," he inquires, when he reviews The Last Mile,
"is more sophisticated and grown up; to need to see the
horse standing on the stage or merely to suggest him with
the movement of a decorative whip, and go on with the mat—
ter of the play?"31

When in 1932 The Group Theatre sent out a question-
naire to various distinguished people of the theatre asking
an opinion as to how American actors compare with those of
other countries, Young answered that we have too much type-
casting.32 However, lest there be any question about his
position, it should be made very clear again that it is the
excessive use of and the complete dependence upon this
”Short cut" that he deplores. In a letter dated December
18, 195k, he says, "Be sure when you speak of typecasting

to get it straight as far as I am concerned. I do not ob-

Ject to typecasting in itself. The whole issue hangs on

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘— mw—x—“k

 

259

the extent to which the actor relies on the type instead of
using the type as material from which to build the charac-
ter."33 For when the actor had the talent and genius to
combine the inner spark with the outer phyldcal likeness,
Young was never niggardly in his praise. Rather, he did
1mm.hesitate to pull out all the steps. He approved of one
of the Richard II performances he attended and especially

 

the work of one actor.

Mr. Augustin Duncan's John of Gaunt has all
the magnificence and reality that is best
set down as indescribable. In the death
scene with the famous lines to England . . .
Mr. Duncan created a basic effect of actu-
ality, combined with an inmost splendor of
style, that could nowhere else on our stage
be even approached. I am recording here
for, I trust, more than a momentary reading,
one of the handful of great intervals in
our theatre's long dearth: a reading and
soul so grand, so compelling and, in the
midst of our current trash, so infrequent
and so unwanted, that even to congfiy it is
mere musing in a fool's paradise.

Thus it is that the truth of an actor's performance
is dependent upon imaginative insight, not upon copying the
outside of things. His must be a conscious comment upon
himself asteell as the part that he plays. In him, through
the miracle of his genius, the flaming brilliance of his
imagination, the consummation of his technique, there must
be concentrated and gathered up, all the imaginative poten-

tial and inspiration inherent in his role. In this way the

actor evolves as an artist. The Italian actor Grasso dem-

 

 

* —~——‘-——-_—_—e— _. ._ _

260

onstrated the use of this kind of imaginative insight when
he was playing the hero in Mala Gloria. During the course
of the play he

comes home from prison and a bandit's life
to find that his wife has betrayed him for
the young son of the house where she is
employed as a maid. He kills her and de-
parts again. What Grasso did when he acted
the role was to kill the woman and then,
instead of going straight out of the room,
to turn on the young man, to turn madly,
pause, catch his hand on the boy's head,
kiss his brow suddenly, and spin him
blindly from hing; as you might treat a
child who without knowing it has ruined
your life. That was great imaginative
acting; it left us with a sense of the
entire content of the moment; it spread
through infinite reaches of human signif-
icance.3

Mr. Ybung has an eye and an ear for the inspired and
imaginative in acting. Whenever he seesit he remarks upon
it forcefully. Haidee Wright played Queen Elizabeth in

Clemence Dane's play named Will Shakespeare, and YOung was

 

quick to see the artistry of her playing.

Miss wright's qualities are, first, wit -

a happy, swift recognition of points as
they rise - and then style - an unfailing
personal distinction in the expression of
her idea. She sits there looking like a
Eportrait] of the great Queen and yet not
like it either. She rather makes herself,
her manner and her gown, a re-creation,
fresh and in terms of her own art of acting,
of Queen Elizabeth's portrait. She appears
to give us not something imitative so much
as witty inspiration. With this comes . . .
a kind of gorgeousness of mind and humor
that piques and astonishes and thrills us;
and a mingling of Renaissance pride and
caprice and intellectual audacity, and

 

_‘..-A .i a. .-

 

261

splendor of humanity, that lifts the scene
out of itself into a great era. We are
moved constantly by the breath of fine
poetry that fills now and again her lines
and always her delivery of them . . . And
through this Miss Wright leads us into a
deep pathos, at once poignant and lofty;
and gives us a sense finally of what she
is most bent on creating in the scene:

the beaugg, solitude and fatality of great

natures.

It is not alone on the plane of the intensely drama-
tic or tragic that the actor's art must shine. In the
presentation of the lighter aspects of life, the actor-
artist must also be a conscious comment on himself, on
the role he plays, and on society. He must have the power
to inject and project a sly, perhaps, ironic comment on the
character that he is building. In this way he allows the
audience to delight in the quick wit of his sparkling con-
trasts and similarities. He allows them to see the ludi-
crousness of his characterization against a background of
reality. For example, when Young reports on the sly wit of
the popular English comedienne, Beatrice Lillie, in a

musical named Oh Please! he is not sure "whether the player

 

thinks much, applies her images and absurd inventions of
movement and phrasing to philosOphic ideas or comments on
life or merely goes by a teaming instinct." But he is sure
that however this art is come by, "it can include a whole

irony out of life, as the circle on the face of a watch can

include and describe the sun."37

7

iii-3.-...—

 

262

This is why the movie comedian Charlie Chaplin is

looked upon by Young as such a great artist. His (Chaplin's)

vmrk on the screen exemplifies everything that the critic
meant when he said, "the difference between that is acting
and that is not acting . . . consists in the conscious com-
ment and projection that the actor gives to every movement
that he portrays."38 There is little doubt about Chaplin's
comment and projection, but a great deal more than doubt in

Young's mind about the usual Hollywood acting in the silent

screen days, circa 1923.

I had seen the actor led into a scene, di-
rected by the director to act for a minute,
half a minute, three minutes, told what to
do, photographed in that blinding light
pushed close up to his eyes, and then di-
rected off the scene. And presently another
bit, and so on all day, bits, oddsand ends,
scraps, patches, the whole studio lounging
with players ready to go on for their moments
and to be wound off by the camera in the
blast of light; a shipwreck here, a medieval
castle there, here an apartment with a real
clock and curtains, there a desert island
with palms, in this corner a great ballroom
built at absurd expense, in that corner a
lady in prison . . . behind a yard of bars,
waiting for the camera man, and now doing

a jig as she waits, holding on to bars.

How any effects of acting at all can come
out of this is a wonder. And it is easy

to see how any artist would degenerate
under such intervals . . . cut off from

any profound mood, half idle, half acting,
half individual, half directed; and most

of the matter to be acted, rot and more

rot and rot again, with only a touch now

or then of the divine human thing that
emerges in spite of all from the humanity
of the people themselves or from the
miracle that is glimpsed in the human

r {fix-an- r

i

4

g ,

~ 5.

:1 f-v—fi ._....r_: .F-
\

 

263

'l-ugh A

life portrayed, however fgglish the inten-
tion of the whole may be.

It is important that more attention be paid to the

 

acting art, for the fortunes of acting and drama are in-

§ separable. The kind of drama that we are likely to have
is dependent upon the kind of actor-artists who are avail-
able to act it; and conversely, the calibre of acting we
are likely to have will depend upon the grade of plays to
be had.ho To be sure, no good playwright will necessarily

— .1..- .q—mn': ___,__ .

stop writing good plays simply because there are no artists
J among the actors to perform them. But even good play-
wrights are less likely to be inspired.

And since acting is, after all, the real body of the
theatre (regardless of all the mechanical and technical '
‘ perfections of decor, lighting, sound effects, and so
‘ forth) the direction that the play itself will take depends
to a great extent upon the degree of artistry of the
artist-actor. The latter has it in his power to warp, mis-
direct, pervert or in general wreck the dramatist's essen-

tial idea, if he so desires.
This appeared to be true in the case of Pirandello's

Right YOu Are If YOu Think You Are. Young considered the

production "passable," but he could not approve of what

was wrought by the actor who had the lead.

The whole interpretation of the play, how-
ever, is thwarted by Mr. Reginald Mason .
to whom is allotted the all important

 

 

a.-

I-l
'.

26b

role in which the dramatist himself speaks.
a a a

Mr. Mason seems to have the impression that
Pirandello was writing to give archness a
chance. The most pointed remarks, remarks
most necessary to the play's idea and prog-
ress, he delivers as if he were the whimsi-
cal uncle of an English country house. His
hesitancies, sly humors and coquetries, of
theory and whim, as when, for example he
speaks Laudisi's lines to his own image or
self in the mirror, appear to make some of
the audience laugh, but they blur the sting
of the thought, shift the intellectual
basis of the play, anddta turn into a
smiling moment what is not so much comic
or personal as it is exhilarating or ideal.
Such a performance as Mr. Mason's is a de-
plorable intrusion into fife clarity and
precision of Pirandello.

In considering another Pirandello play, Henry IV,
Young thinks that Korff, the leading actor, weakens the
whole drama by his method of playing. Korff has "too little
precision and style for the part; and not enough intellec-
tual excitement and ideal poignancy. And the very last
moment of the play he loses entirely by the rise that he
‘uses in his voice and by the kind of crying tumult that he
creates. Pirandello's idea cannot appear in such terms as
Nun.IKorff's. Pirandello is concerned first and last with a
condition of life, an idea, imbodied in a magnificent per-
sonage, not with personal ills and Gothic pities."h2

"What persuades actors from doing what the dramatist

wants and definitely prescribes is one of the mysteries of

the stage art,"""3 says Young, when he accuses the otherwise

26S

impeccable Ethel Barrymore of having changed one of the
umin points in Sféra's The Kingdom of God by her playing.
On the other hand the actor-artist may carry the
essential idea far beyond what some talented author in-
tended. ”The wise author in the case of many a play, will
know that good actors may project from it and into it some
things at least that he has not imagined, things that will
carry it a long way further than it might have gone as he
himself foresaw it in the production.”uh The Italian ac-

tress Eleanora.Duse did this same kind of thing when she
played in Ibsen's Lady from the Sea. Young remarked about

her performance:

With that illumination and conception,
so outside the scope and statement of the
play, as Ibsen understood or stated it, that
Duse brings to the theme of his drama, the
whole is lifted into poetry. She has done
to it what would have happened at the hands
of a great poet. She has thrown light upon
it, dilated it, discovered in it what is
most significant and essential, and given
to the whole of it an existence of its own.
She has discovered for it a right relation
of the concrete to the ideal, of the phe-
nomenon, the accident, to the permanent,
the essential. And she has created for
thifigidea a form that is inseparable from
it.

As to the world's actors, Young places the Russian,
Yiddish, and Italian in his first rank. He feels that
they have more depth than any of the others. The English
are stiff and too loath to let themselves unfreeze. Their

performances are likely to lack sparkle and theatricality,

 

 

 

266

for they live within a society that is congenitally re-

served. Furthermore, they have a tendency to treat as the

Bible any classic that they may play. Forbes—Robertson,
Gielgud, Olivier, approach Hamlet as though it were sacred.
So much so that they are more likely than not to shift the

whole intellectual basis of the play as well as the charac—

ter. The result: good Olivier, perhaps, but no Shakespere.

The French have style, especially in light comedy5unmatched
by any nationality, while the German actors are able best
to render profoundly "the turgid soul." Our own American
actors, forwarded as they are by the same kind of publicity
used for forwarding face creams and automobiles (the "star"
system) possess a liveliness, a vitality, a certain flair
for jazziness unmatched by actors of any other country.

But unfortunately, American actors have no "school." They
depend too much upon acclaim as individual personages

rather than artists who have been trained in a particular

”school”of art. Americans, like the English, seem to die-

like the premeditated in the acting art. They strive to

make their art look artless, and presume that they have

arrived, when no outward trace of their artistry is present.
The result falls far short of the naturalism the Italians

achieve. Rather, it negates the function of acting for

which Young stands.

And in the end, when all is said, human-
ity is but a microcosm; and we merely per-

 

 

 

 

 

267

ceive little sets of relationships that we
call the universe. In this little universe
of ours we are turning always toward some
manifestation of our life in the person of
some figure in it, some fellow vehicle and
exemplar of living. The function of acting
is to express in terms of a human body some
vibrant region of this life of ours; to set
before our eyes some epitome of man's vital-
ity; to add to the character and event some
element of abstraction that goes beyond and
above them, something of that pure and sepa-
rable element that arises from every artis-
tic expression. For one of the finest ends
of acting is to weave an abstract pattern,
some pattern of idea, something approaching
pure design in its ideality. This makes a
kind of truth in itself. It can exist apart
from its immediate implication; and may re-
main with us as beautiful even when the pre-
cise moment that conveyed it fades, as the
soul might remember the noble harmony of

the lines in some forgotten scene. This is
the object of all art, to create in reality
abstraction and in abstraction reality; to
complete, in sum, our living for us. It is
this that gives to art something of the
quality of a dream, the fear for its pos-
sibility, the urgency of its desire. And

it is this in art that makes life follow 1t.h6

“u m - m- - _
J‘- ‘ p. ‘A-aa-‘A‘

It is clear then that for this critic the acting art
must be a reincarnation or an evolution. The actor makes
his essential idea grow and the consummateness of his art-
istry is commensurate only with his ability to achieve a
kind of evolution. The actor achieves the ultimate in his
art only when, as with EleanorerDuse, the body has no ex—
istence apart from the idea the artist is attempting to
:realize in this role; or when he demonstrates a "hint of

some ungovernable scope of feeling and thought and image

[which isle kind of cosmic discovery."

 

 

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER IV

 

Footnotes not prefaced by the name of the
author are to be considered as written by

Stark Young.

 

 

 

- .um—_44 #4

269

FOOTNOTES FOR CHAPTER IV

lPhyllis Hartnoll, Oxford Companion to the Theatre,
(Oxford, 1951), p. 852.

2Eric Bentley, "Tribute to Stark Young," Thea§_r_9__Arts, 31
(November 19(47), 1. ,

3John Mason Brown, Upstage, (New York, 1930), 2’45.

“ngard Hussey, "Stark Young," North American, 221 (1925),
7 3.

5"The Hairy Ape," New Repub, 30 (March 22, 1922), 112-

6"InPraise of Four," The New York Times, (June 28, 1925),
see. VIII, 1, col. 1.

7"Id10t'3 Delight," flew Repulz, 86 (April 8, 1936): 253'

8Theatre Practice, p. 3.
9The Flower in Drama, p. 138.
1()"Iicting," Theatre Arts, 6 (October 1922), 276.

11Immortal Shadows, p. 16.

12..Journeyvs End," New Repub, 58 (April 12, 1929). 225.

13Immorta2_L_Shadows, p. 19.

lthid .

270

15"The Shadow of Wings,” New RgEub, 68 (October 11;, 1931),

231;.

16The Saint, p. 114..

17The Flower in Drama, p. 13.

18Glamour, p. 135.

l
9"The Iceman Cometh," New Repub, 115 (October 12' 191)“,
517.

20"Actor," Bookman, 65 (August 1927), 628-

1 0*
2 "Valley Forge," New Repub, 61 (December 26. 193k), 196-

22"Mei Len-Fang," New Repub, (March 5, 1930), 7&-

23"Mr. Hopkins' Deluge," flaw gepub, 30 (March 8, 1922), 51'

21""Scarlet Sister," New Repub, 65 (December 10, 1930), 101-

25Immortal Shadows, p. 277.

26M“; Len-Fang," New Repub, 62 (March 5, 1930), 7k-

27"Kin James in Chinatown," New RQPUb: 72 (November '2:
1932 r 330-

28Ibid.

‘-

29"Street Scene," New Repig, 57 (January 30, 1929), 296-

 

 

 

271

0
3"Four Legs To a Horse," The New York Times,(September 1h,
l92h). sec. VIII, 1, cel._I.

 

inmghall We Have the Horse?" New Repub, 62 (March 26. 1930):
g l 3.

32”A New Group Would Like To Know," The New York Times,
(April 10, 1932), see. VIII, 3, col. I.

33Letter to R. M. Lumianski, December 18, l95h.

 

’mnw.flf I mucus-u-
a

3h"Richard 1;," New Repub, 90 (February 2h, 1937), 7h.

 

 

 

35The Flower in Dramg, p. 21.

__ .._ '

) 36Immortal Shadows, p. 23.

we. -_.—...._._
—.-_

37"Beatrice Lillie," New Repub, 50 (M3P0h 30’ 1927), 169'

) 38"Roles and Acting," New Repub, 57 (January 2, 1929), 192.

39The Flower in Drama, p. 65.

ho"Fall and Rise, Theatre Notes," New RQEQE: 59 (December
16, 1931). 135-

—. _~_—_ _
w.— M

LLlImmortal Shadows, p. 85.

hzIbid., p. h9.

LL3"'gi;tsie Kingdom of God," New Repub, 57 (January 16, 1929).
2 e

1mmrheatre Total," New Repub, 83 (May 22: 1935): 50°

 

272

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firm,“ ,__ -.
a

chapter V

CONCLUSION

 

 

 

 

Chapter V
CONCLUSION

When Millett in his_§ontemperary American Authors
complained that American theatre criticism in the 20th
century was vacuous and sank, for the most part, to the
level of mere journalese, he may well have been completely
correct -- except for the presence of Stark Young. In thus
«matting him, Millett either made a deliberate oversight or
considered Young's strength lay in novel writing rather
than theatre-drama criticism. ‘Whatever may be Millett's
attitude about the matter, it is my conclusion, reached as
a result of this study, that Young's presence among the
Broadway critical fraternity of the 20's, 30's, and hO's
raised theatrical criticism to an artistic, cultural, and
intellectual level it otherwise would not have enjoyed.

As a theatre-drama critic Young was the perfect
listener and spectator who always heard the playwright out
patiently. He looked always for what was behind the play
and was moved by that, rather than by the performance mere-
ly. Having seen and heard, he reflected and fashioned his
review with infinite pains. Because his standard of
scholarship and art and intellectual integrity were high,
and because he strove always to extract the kernel, the
result would sometimes be tortuous or obscure. But also

at thmes the clarity of the insight could strike the reader

 

 

 

275

into an admiration not untouched with awe.
Whatever else good or 111 may be said of his criti-
cal work, anyone who reads his material realizes immediate-
ly'its seriousness, its dignity, its sincerity, and its
lflgh level of quality and purpose. Young's particular con-
‘ndbutien to the theatre springs from his devoted attempt
haexplain the aesthetic principles that appear behind the
art of acting. In his five books on theatre, he exhibits
an understanding of the stage and its problems that is
poetic as well as practical. His analyses of various
actors and their performances (Duse, Bernhardt, Mei Len-Fang,
Chaplin, Chaliapin, Grasso, and others) have a capacity for
"Seeing the Point" -- to use a title that frequently appears
in his reviews -- that demonstrates a perceptive sensitiv-
ity not easily equalled. Far from reporting his own im-
pressions only of a performance, as do so many of his col-
leagues, he strove to explain the craft, the technique,
the imaginative creativity, the artistry, the poetry, and
all the other contributive matters that go into the making
of the various stage arts. His is a preciosity that is
very like that of Seami the Japanese actor whom he admired.
Right or wrong, Mr. Young always had his own point
of view; uninfluenced by other critics, actors, or im-

presarios. When he gave his opinion, there were few of

his colleagues, except perhaps George Jean Nathan, who

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

276

tmuld try to refute it. All were very much aware of the
stuff of which'Young was made and the calibre of individual
against whom they were pitting themselves. He once made
the statement that "people who give up their own land too
readily need careful weighing exactly as those who are so
with their convictions."1 This statement was made in
another connexion, of course, but as much as anything else
that he ever said, it represents his attitude toward both
art and life. His convictions are sacred to him and not
given up easily. He came from a type of society that
valued this depth of character, valued it, perhaps, above
all else. For example, when he resigned his position at
Amherst College and decided to free-lance in New York, he

did it because he had certain deeply entrenched convictions.

(After fifteen years of teaching, these convictions seemed

to be in conflict with the attitudes expressed by various

‘boards of trustees. Young did not cavil, nor did he change

his convictions; he just changed his profession when he

we a nearly forty.
Later in his career when he resigned his position

with The New Republi_c, he did so because he felt that the
magazine was violating a conviction that he held very pro-
foundly, namely, that art is one of the most important con-

siderations in life; that it is one of the most civilizing

forces in our society. When The New Republ_i_e curtailed

 

 

 

 

277

its efforts in this direction, Young, feeling that the
pmriodical was no longer either "distinguished" or doing

its part toward the cultivation of the tastes of our people,
tuthdrew. He assured me at one time in a letter that the
publisher had urged him to remain, but feeling the way he
(Young) felt, there was nothing else that he could do

rib-i _-_ .A-l’u‘uml
’

honorably, or at least so it seemed to him. i

___ I}; -

As one can easily discern by even casual reading of

if“

his works, the "way of life" from which he came had its ales-
inevitable effect upon his thinking, and finally upon his.
writing, both fictional and critical. His particular kind
of aristocratic background (the aristocracy of the mind and

the spirit) had lofty standards, high morals, noble ideals,

and strong convictions. So it followed, that his criticism

had the same.

As to his loyalty and devotion to the theatre art,
there can be no question. While he was a Broadway critic
it was constant and unswerving where benefits to the
theatre as an institution were concerned. Nor was his
‘vision ever limited or blurred by the small matters con-
tingent upon the production of this play or that. Always
iJalxis scheme of things the theatre was an institution,

deserving of her country as much of honor and consideration

as her country's literature. He was never satisfied for

the theatre to be nothing more than a diversion, er a

 

 

 

 

 

“" .— oat-._

278

luxury, or a business. What he wanted for it was that it

become "a portion of that passionate mythology that a

country's art must be."2

If it be true, as John Mason Brown reports, that
T“)

when Young wrote for fie New York Times, the reader would

\iv ‘Alh—J'

feel involuntarily like curling his little finger as one

31...... A ,
_-' P , ‘._l;‘4'

does over a fragile teacup, it is also true that in what
His reviews were

‘—
..4

he wrote he had something worth saying.

7‘
1“

-w,...

not mere chit-chat, backstage gossip about reigning per-

or attempts to call attention to the critic's
He

sonalities,
own facility with the bon met or the coup de grace.

was never flippant or trivial or cynical. Rather, his

 

reviews were opportunities offered the reader to travel

with Young "the secret path between the creator and his

work."3
It is true that Young's style seems to be so exalted
at times that even those tutored in his aesthetics may very

easily be lost. It is also true that the exalted level is

sometimes sustained too long for some of us who are more

earthbound than he. John Mason Brown has called Young's

writing emotionalized thought, and well he might. One

feels the warmth, the sensitivity, the sincerity, the

mysticism, and the idealism as he reads. Young tries so

conscientiously and so concentratedly to deliver the

spiritual and artistic core of the matter with which he

 

 

279

kmppens to be dealing, that oftentimes the result is either
too rarified or too involved.

His style, obscure as it sometimes appears to be,
gives his writings an intuitive perception and beauty that
make the result poetic in its own right. It should be read F““““‘
for its own music asrnuch as for what it says. He explores ‘ h]
the nuance in the acting art and translates from one art,
acting, to another medium, the art of words, and adds to it (
in such a way that the truth and beauty of his product fuse f,

into a new and separate creation. He is a creative critic

in the sense that he investigates the fine shadings of the
spectrum lying between black and white, and immerses him-
self in the myriad complexities and vagaries, let us way,

of the theatre art, and emerges partly through style the

poet and philosopher of the stage.

 

 

Although I cannot agree entirely with one periodi-
cal's extravagant estimate of Young, namely, that his

"theatre reviews are probably the last writing of their

 

1
I kind,"h'I must conclude that Young's theatre-drama criti-
3

cism is certainly, as John Mason Brown suggests, the "flower"

of the criticism of his period.

 

 

 

Footnotes for Conclusion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

281

Footnotes for Conclusion

11'11 Take my Stand, p. 3u5.

2"Theatre 1932, New York." Va 9, R, 9 (April 1923). 262

hams-3'}
g

3"The Book of the Month," No Am B. 217 (April 1923). 558
i

umFareWOll Appearance," Time, 52 (December 13, 19148): 69

 

 

 

 

Y
H
P
A
R
m
I
L
m
B

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

EmOKS

Alderman, E. A., ed. Library of Southern Literature.
Atlanta, I908

Bentley, Eric. The Playwright as Thinker. New York, 19h6 Femi‘
Brown, John Mason. Two On the Aisle. New Yerk, 1938 -]

Upstage. New York, 1930

 

Clark, Barrett H., and Freedley, George. A History of ;
_Medern Drama. New York, 19H? 1
If

Cohen, H. L. _Qne Act Plays. New York, 1930

Commager, Henry S. The American Mind. New Haven, Conn.,
I950

Conklin, Groff, ed. The New Republic Anthology. New
‘York,’l936

Dickinson, Thomas H. ‘Playwrights of the New American
Theatre. New York, 1925

Drewry, John E. Some Ma azines and Magazine Makers.
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Federal Writers' Project. _Mississippi. New Yerk, l9h6

 

Fish, H. R. Drama and Dramatics. New York, 1930

Hartnoll, Phyllis. Oxford Companion to the Theatre.
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Kendrick, Ben. The South Looks At Its Past. Chapel Hill,
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Kunitz, S. J. and Heycraft, H., eds. Twentieth Century
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Langner, Lawrence. The Magic Curtain. New York, 1951

Lawson, John H. ‘Theory and Technique of Playwriting.
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Lubbock, Percy. The Letters of Henry Jameg. New York, 1920

 

9a

 

‘v-

.
ID?

a“

 

 

283

imntle, Burns. ‘The Best Plays of 1922123. New York, 1923
The Best Plays of 1923-24. New York, 192k
The Best Plays of 192h-25. New York, 1925
The Best Plays of 1937e38. New Yerk, 1938

 

 

Contemporary Playwrights. New York, 1938

 

Millett, Fred B. Contemporary American Authors. New York,
19110

Morehouse, Ward. Matinee Tomorrow. New York, 19h9

Nathan, George Jean. Art of the Night. New Yerk, 1928
Comedians All. New York, 1919
The Critic and the Drama. New York, 1922

___ The Intimate Notebooks of George Jean
‘NEthan. New York, 1932

The Popular Theatre. New York, 1918

 

 

Sobel, Bernard. The Theatre Handbook. New Yerk, l9h0
Spingarn, Joel. Creative Criticism. New Yerk, 1925

Taylor, Rosser H. Ante-Bellum South. Chapel Hill, 19h2
Thompson, Holland. The New South. New Haven, 1919

Wood, James P. Magazines in the United States. New York, 19149

"Young, Stark." National Cyclopedia of American Biography.
New York, 1939

Young, Stark. AddieL Madretta and other plays. Chicago, 1912
The Blind Man at the Window. New York, 1906

Young, Stark, tr. The Cherry Orchard by Chekhov. New York,
19ho

Young, Stark. The Colonnade. New York, 19211,

Encaustics. New York, 1926

 

 

 

 

H-

«. __. W
'h'FMT

 

 

 

Young , Stark.

 

 

 

 

 

Young, Stark,

YOung, Stark.

 

 

Young, Stark,
Young, Stark,

Young, Stark.
Young,'Stark,

Young, Stark.

 

 

Young . Stark.

Young, Stark.

28h

Feliciana. New York, 1935
_The Flower in Dramg. New York, 1923
Glamour. New York, 1925

Qgenevere. New York, 1906

 

Heaven Trees. New York, 1926

I'll Take My Stand. New York, 1930

Immortal Shadows. New York, 19h8

tr. Mandragola by Maechiavelli. New York, 1927

 

The Pavilion. New York, 1951
River House. New York, 1929
The Saint. New York, 1925

 

tr. The Sea Gull by Chekhov. New Yerk, 1939

ed. Selected Poems of Sidney Lanier. New York,
19h?

So Red the Rose. New York, l93h

ed. Southern Treasury of’Life and Literature.
‘New York, 1937

The Street of the Islands. New York, 1930

Sweet Times and the_B1ue Policeman. New York,

I925
‘The Theatre. Nequork, 1927

 

Theatre Practice. New York, 1926
The Three Fountains. New York, l92h

tr. The Three Sisters by Chekhov. New Yerk,
19EO

The Torches Flare. New Yerk, 1928

 

 

285

PERIODICALS

Arthos, John, "In Honor of Stark Young," Shenandoah, 5
(Summer, 195h), 25-32

Atkinson, Brooks, "Credo of a Critic," Sat R Lit, 32
(August 6, l9hh). 136-38

Bailey, R. S., "The Theatre," Independent, 119 (October
8, 1927), 36U'67

Bailey, R. S., "Theatre Practice," Independent, 117
(October 2, 1926), 395:98

, : ' 5:3;-
!__

Bentley, Eric, "American Theatre Critic," Kenyon Review,
12 (Winter, 1950), 138-h3

"Tribute to Stark Young," Theatre Arts, azauv-
31 (November 19h7), 1-5

) "Best Seller List," Publisher's Weekly, (March 15. 1935):

"Book of the Month," No Am, 217 (April 1923), 558-60

 

 

.IWI ~ .
.- I “FW‘AAU 1‘ an...-

 

15. 1925). 21h-17

, Clark, Emily, "Stark Young's South," Va Q R, 11 (October,
1935). 626-28

‘ Canfield, Mary, "Seeing the Point," New Reppb, h3 (July

"The Colonnade," Theatre Arts, 8 (192k), 530-50

Commager, Henry S., "The South that was Swept Away,"
Scholastic, 57 (November 29, 1950),
‘I2¥187

 

Croly, Herbert, "A School of Social Research," New Repub,
15 (June 8, 1918), 171-75

WEditor's Note," Theatre Arts, 1 (November 1916), 1

 

‘E. Ga S., "The Colonnade," Boekman (London), 68 (May
1925): 1h0'h5.

Thissey, Edward, "Stark Young," No Am, 221 (1915), 763-70

Irvine, St. John, "These Critics," Lit Digest, 9h (July
23 1927)) 27-30

 

 

 

286

Isaacs, Edith, J.R., "Theatre of Stark Young," Theatre
Arts, 26 (April, 19h2), 257-55

Krutch, Joseph Wood, "Drama," The_Nation, 119 (October

Lewisohn, Ludwig, "Drama," The Nation, 118 (April 23,
192k). h86-89

"The Failures," The Nation, 117 (De-
cember 12, 1923), 692-95

"Mailbag," New Repub, 99 (July 26, 1939), 337

Matthews, Brander, "Undramatic Criticism," No Am, 21h,
(July 1921), 113-20

Meiklejohn, Alexander, "Letter," The Nation, 107 (Septem-
ber 79 1918,, 266-68

Modjeska, Helena, "Endowed Theatres and the American
Stage," Forum, 1h (November 1892), 338-

50

Moses, Montrose J., "New Forms in the Theatre," Outlook,
133 (Mhy 9, 1923), 853-60

Nathan, George J., "The Theatre," American Mercury, 2
(May 192k), 115-20

"The Theatre,"_American Mercuzx. 3

()‘Connor, William V., "A Short View of the New criticism,"
English J, 38 (November 19h9). #89-
96

 

Simpson, Lola Jean, "A Continuous Performance," Century,
11h (August 1927): h5h-6O

"Stark Young," Scholastic, 25 (January 5, 1935), 9-114

"Stark Young, Painter," Time, Lil (June 1h, 1911.3), li2

"Sweet Times and the Blue Policeman," Theatre Arts, 10
(January 1926),
70-75

"quieatre Practice," Sat R Lit, 3 (August 21, 1926), 57—58

 

287

"Theatre Practice," T L S, (September 30, 1926), 6h7-h9
"Three Fountains," The Nation, 118 (April 30, 192h),

/

Van Doren, Mark, "Films," The Ngtion, 1hl (December 18,
1935). 72h-27

Wade, John D., "Two Souths," Va Q R, 10 (October 193k),
616-25

Wyatt, E. V., "Critical Confidence,"_§§tholic World, 12
(January 1928), 526-32

 

 

 

, wYoung, Stark, "Actor," Bookman, 65 (August 1927), 628-3h

"As to Revival of Plays," Bookman, 65
(July 1927). 539-u1 "‘““"’

"When is it a Play?" Bookman, 65 (June
1927). A23-2S

; "The Garden of Psyche," Forum, h2 (1909):

 

 

175
"At the Shrine," Qplden Book, 16 (July
1932). 77-90

«These critics," Lit Digest, 9A (July 2.
192?): 27'30

"Return of the Teacher," The Nation, 107
(September 7, 1918), 251-33

 

 

"An Actress and Dramatist," New Repub, 60
(November 6, 1929), 323-2h

 

 

"After the Play," 27
(June 22, 1921), 117-18

"After the Play," 29
(December 7, 1921), h7-h8

( "Antigone," 11h
' (March A, 19h6), 317-18

w The dashes usually employed to indicate repetition of
author or source will not be repeated when entries to—
tal more than ten. Articles are listed alphabetically
by the title of the periodical and within, alphabeti-
cally by the title of the article.

 

 

 

 

288

Young Stark, "Around Eight-Thirty " New Re ub, 89
' (December 16, 1936),'2I7=IB“£“

"As the Weeks Pass," 5h
(February 22, 1928), 18-19

"Back to Creation," 30
(March 15, 1922), 90-92

"Beatrice Lillie," 50
(March 30, 1927), 169-70
"Belascosity," 37
(December 19, 1923), 9h-95

"Boston Limited," 111
(December 11, 19hb); 798-99

"Bruised Patriots," 23
(August 18, 1920), 331-32
"Characters," 97
(November 16, 1938), h5-h6

"Cherry Orchard," 110
(February 7, 19hh), 180-81

"Citizen Tom," 33
(December 27, 1922), 12h-25
"Clemence Dane's New Play " 52
(October 12, 1927). 207-06

"Color Organ and the Theatre," 29
(January 18, 1922), 225-26

"The Corn is Green," 103
(December 9, 19h0), 789-90

"Dinner at Eight," 72
(November 9, 1932), 356-57
"Dogfish," 23
(August 11, 1920), 302-03
"Dostoievsky's Idiot," 30
(April 26, 1922), 255-56

"Duse's Ibsen," 36

(November 1h, 1923), 309-10

 

 

 

Young, Stark,

289

 

"Dynamo," New Repub, 58
(February 27, 1929). hh-hS

"The Equity Play," 32
(October 25, 1922), 223-2u

"Et Dona Ferentes," 2h
(September 15, 1920), 69-70

"Eugene O'Neill's New Play," ‘ 68
(November 11, 1931): 352‘53
"Expressionistic," 86
(April, 1936), 225-26

"Fall and Rise; Theatre Notes," 69
(December 16, 1931), 135-36

"A Farewell to Arms," 6h
(October 8, 1929), 208-09

”Film Note," 72
(September 28, 1932), 177-78

"Forward and Backward," 30
(May 10, 1922), 316-17

"The Geddes Production," uh
(November 11, 1925), 305—06

"A Gentle Mrs. Stowe," 108
(March 22, l9h3), 381-82

"The Glass Menagerie," 112
(April 16. 19h5). 505-06

"The Great Doom's Image," 2h
(September 1, 1920), 19-20

"The Green Pastures," 62
(May 19, 1930). 28-29

"The Hairy Ape," 30
(March 22, 1922), 112-13

"Hamlet," 69
(November 25, 1931), hh-hS

"My Aunt Lavinia," 70

(February 17, 1932), 17-18

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

290

 

 

 

 

 

 

Young, Stark, "The New," New Repub, 31
(August 16, 1922), 333-3h
"The New O'Neill Play," h5
(December 30, 1925), 160-61
"New Playwright's Theatre," 53
(December 21, 1927), 139-h0
"Noctis Equi," 90
(February 17, 1937), h6-h7
"Orchestral Dramas," 55
(May 23, 1928). 19-20
"Oth6110," 109
(November 1, 19h3), 621-22
7 "Playwrights and Cases," 5h
(May 16, 1928), 382-83
"Prince and the Pirate," h9
(December 22, 1926), 136-37
"Pulitzer Prize Emotions," 79
9 (May 30. 193A). 76-77
3 "Purely Technical," 38
*‘ (April 9, l92h), 18h-85
"Richard II," 90
(February 2h, 1937), 7h-75
"Roles and Acting," 57
(January 2, 1929), 192-93
"Rouge et Noir," 30
(April 12, 1922), 198-99
"Sad Photograph," 32
(October 1 , 1922), 189-90
"Saint Jean," 37
(January 16, 192h), 205-06
"Saroyan Directing, Note," . 10h
(May 12: 19h1), 6 h’65
"Scarlet Sister," 65

(December 10, 1930), 101—02

 

 

 

 

“WV——

Young,

Stark,

"The Shadow of Wings,"

 

(October 1h, 1931), 23h“35

"Shall We Have the Horse?"
(March 26. 1930), 153-5h

"So Divine an Air,"
(November 13, 19hh), 625-26

"Social Science and Culture,"

(August 17, 1918), 68-69

"Stage Traffic,"
(December 8, 19h1), 762-63

"Street Scene,"
(January 30, 1929), 296-97

"Hamlet,"
(November 2, 1938), 361-62

"Hamlet in Modern Dress,"
(November 25, 1925), 17-18

"Heartbreak House,"
(June 8, 1938), 130-31

"Henry's Art Course,"
(May 31,1922), 18 19

"Him
(May 2, 1928), 525- 26

"The Iceman Cometh,"
(October 12, 19h6), 517-18

"Idiot's 8Delight,"
(Apr118 s 193 ), 253-5h

"In Abraham's Bosom,"
(March 2, 1927), h6-h7

"It is the Lark,"
(February 1h, 1923), 321-22

"Journey's End,"
(April 10,1929), 225- 26

"The Kingdom of God,"
(January 16,1929), 2&5- h6

New’Repub, 68

62

111

16

105

57

96

AS

95

31

Sh

115

86

50

33

58

S7

291

F“..- Wing

vlvA. 51.!» ltoh‘h—H‘l _
I C

”Pm? uni—inn... ‘_._
i

 

 

 

 

292

Young, Stark, "King James in Chinatown,"New Repub, 72

(November 2, 1932), 330-31

"Loyalties " 32

(November 8, 1922), 277-78

"Macbeth," 38

(April 2, 192A). 153-su

"Macbeth," 57

(December 5, 1928), 68-69

"Mad Money," 31

(July 19, 1922), 2111-15

"Mates and Sublimates," h5

(February 3, 1926), 17-18

"Mei Len-Fang," 62

(March 5. 1930). 7u-75

"Miss Katherine Cornell," 52

(October 12, 1927). 207-08

"Miss Katherine Cornell," 106

(February 2, 19h2), 1h7-h8

"Miss Lord's Day," 86

(February 26, 1936), 78-79

"Modernism in Siena," 2h

(September 1, 1920), 19-20

"The Mould of Form," 33_

(January 3, 1923), 1h9-50

"Mr. Hopkins' Deluge," 30

(March 8, 1922), 51-52

"Mr. Tone and Mr. Hemingway," 102

(March 25, 19h0), h08-09

"A Must Handbook," 111

(November 6, l9hh), 596—97

"Tale of Critics," 81

(December 5, 193k), 106-07

"The Tempest," 112

(February 12, 19h5), 227-28

 

 

 

 

.-

293

 

Young, Stark, "Texas Lights," New Repub, 31
(August 2, 1922), 280-81
"Texas Modes," 38
(April 16, 192M). 207-08
"Thalia's Behaviour," 33
(February 7, 1923), 28h-85
"Theatre Liberty," 10h
(February 2A, 19ul), 276-77
"Theatre Notes," 7h
(April 12. 1933). 2hfl'h5
"Theatre Total," 83
(May 22, 1935), 50'51
"Three and One," 10h
(April 21: 19hl), 533-3u
"To Wait and See," 61
(January 8, 1930), 197-98
"Two Events," 69
(February 3, 1932), 321-22
"Two Follies," 33
(November 29, 1922), 21-22
"Valley Forge," 81
(December 2 , 193k), 196-97
"Vista," 31
(July 5. 1922), 158-59
"Vista," 59
(July 3, 1929), 180-81
"Wild Men," 52
(September 28, 1927), 1u8-u9
"The Wingless Victor 89

9!
(February 3, 1937), fill-12

"Apron Strings in our Theatre," No Am, 216
(December 1922), 833-h2

"Campo Santo," 222
(December 1925): 555-60

1 I . 7.7;"JboH 1‘. —h,- t}... 1 -n ‘47
617,5 . . . w

 

 

 

 

29h

Young, Stark, "The Flower in Drama," No Am, 217
(April 1923). 555-60

"Leaves: an eclogue," 218
(November 1923), 6h1-h5

"Lost Stars," 215 ..
(March 1922), 3&5-50 I—_7

(
"To c_’" 205 i
(February 1917), 273 I

(

"Cousin Mica ah," Sat Eve Post, 207 (April
139 1935), 1 '30

"Beatus Rex," Scrib M, 8h ;;2
(August 1928), 18-17

 

"Land of Juan de Dios," 81
(June 1930), 886-78

"My Grandfather McGehee's Wedding," 80
(August 1926), 210-17

"Poorhouse Goes to the Circus," 86
(December 1929), 68h-89

"Song for a Child," 5h
(July 1913), 136

"To a Rose, etc." 72
(September 1922), 3h2

"To Feata," 7h
(September 192M), 272 '

"Acting," Theatre Arts, 6
(October 1922), 276-90

 

"American Theatre in Italy," 15
(October 1931), 825-35

"Billet Doux," 13
(October 1929), 735-u5

"The Critics Say," 16
(January 1932), 72-79

"Failing Plays and the Critics," 25
(November 1921), 277-90

 

 

 

 

 

 

295

Young, Stark, tr., "George Dandin," by Moliere, Theatre

Young, Stark,

NEWSPAPERS

Eaton, Walter

Ea ton, W.

P.,

Arts, 8 (September 192h), 60h- 15

"Queen of Sheba," Theatre Arts, 6

(April 1922), 152-70

 

"Rose Windows," 9

(1925). 682-700

"The Saint," 9
(December 1925) ,8h6- 50

"Seeing the Point," 8
(June 192A), 389- 98

"The World and the Theatre," 1h
(February 1930), 96-10h

"Farewell Appearance," Time, 52 (December

13, 19h8),
"New Plays," Time, h (October 20, 192k), 1h

"Chapters from a book of Memories," Va Q ,
28 (April 1988), 217-38, 558-73

"Parallels in Italy," Va Q R, 8
(January 1932), 15-25

"Theatre 1932, New Yerk," 9
(April 1933). 262-76

P., "Immortal Shadows," New York Herald-
Tribune, (November 28,19E8)16

 

"The Saint," New York Herald-Tribune,
(October h, 1925),75

 

'q?or Friends of Greece," The New York Times, (May 19,

, 2 , co .

G. 1L F2, "The Colonnade," Ill London News, 76, (April

2 , 192

Thatchens, J. K., "On an Author," New York Herald- -Tribune,

 

(September 30,1951).2

 

296

"In the Mailbag," The New York Times (November 2, 192k),
sec. VII, 2, col. 8

Jewel, Edward, "An Annual History," The New York Timpp,
(November 18, l9h5), sec. II, 7, cel.7H

"Local Shows," The New York Times, (May 23, 1983), Bee.
TI, 10’ 001‘. 3—

Nichols, Lewis, "Nine Cold Men of Broadway," The New York
Times, (November 16, 19h7), sec. IX,

"River House," The New York Times,(0ctober 13, 1929):
see. I, 6

"Stark Young, Writer, Back," The New York Times, (June
26: 1931), 21, col. 7

Young, Stark, "Censoring," The New York Times, (February
25, I925), 18, coI. 7

"Four Legs to a Horse," The New York Times,
(September In, 1928), sec. VIII, 1, col.‘I

"In Praise of Four," The New York Times,
(June 28, 1925), see. VIII,'1, col. IT

"The Miracle," The New York Times, (Novem-
ber 9, 192A), sec. VIII, 1, col. 2

"A New Group Would Like to Know," The New
York Times, (April 10, 1932), see. VIII,
3, col. 1

 

"Patience," The New York Times, (February
1, 1925), see. VII, 1, col. 2

"Reconsiderations," The New York Timeg,
(April 26, 1925), see. VIII, 1, col. 2

"Theatrical Wings," The New York Times,
(February 22, 1925), see. VII, 1, col. 2

 

:_ Set ‘3-

‘ ‘1? “a." ‘13.; {‘3'

her-
i

 

. w-n—p—a... ,.
mw ._

 

 

 

 

"' '-n.-— m

APPENDIX A

I. Published Works by Stark Young

A. Books
B. Articles
II. Materials About Stark Young

 

 

 

298

I. PUBLISHED WORKS
Poems

The Blind Man at the Windqg, New York, 1906.

"On a:DlsappOIntIng‘FerndShip," "Stanzas," "The
Alamo," Library of Southern Literature, 1908, 13,
"Garden of Psyche," Forum, A2 (August 1909), 173-176.
"Song for a Child," “ESFIbner's, 5A (July 1913), 136-7.
"To C-," No Am, 205 (February 1917), 273-78.

"To a Rose at the Window of Heaven," Scribner's, 72
(September 1922), 3h2-h3.
"To Beata," Scribner's, 7h (September 1923). 272-73.
8828;56: an Eclegue?" No Am, 218 (November 1923),
"Texas Modes," New Repub, 58 (April 16, 1928), 207.

 

 

 

 

 

Plays

Guenevere, New York, 1906.

AddioLTMadretta, and other_p1ays, New York, 1912.
1(Queen ef:ShebaI" Theatre Arts, 6 (April 1922), 152-6h.
Tpe Colonnade, New York, 192E.

Threepgne Act Plays, Cincinnati, 1925.

Sweet Times and the Blue Polceman, New York, 1925.

THE Saint,“New'York, 1925.

"Rose Windows," Theatre Arts, 9 (1925), 682-90.

"At the Shrine," gplden Book, 16 (July 1932). 72-82.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ighort Stories

 

"Lost Stars," No Am, 215 (March 1922), 3h5-52.
"Campo Santo," No Am, 222 (December 1925), 33l-h0.
"My Grandfather McGehee's Wedding," Scribner's, 80
(August 1926), 210-17.
"Beatus Rex," Scribner's, 8h (August 1928), 216-17.
"Poorhouse Goes tothe‘Circus," Scribner's, 86 (De-
cember 1929), 68h-89.
688nd80f Juan de Dios," Scribner's, 87 (June 1930),
-7 ,
"gousin Micajah," Sat Eve Post, 207 (April 13, 1935).
1 -19

 

 

 

 

 

Novels and Travel Sketches

The Three Fountains, New York, l92h.
Heaven Trees, New York, 1926.

The Torches Flare, New York, 1928.
River House, New York, 1929.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

299

Novels and Travel Sketches (concluded)

The Street of the Islands, New York, 1930.
So Red The Rose,‘New’YorE, 193k.

Books on the Theatre

The Flower in Drama, New York, 1925
Glamour, New Yofk, 1925

Theatre Practice, New York, 1926
The Theatre, New York, 1927
Immortal Shadows, New York, 19u8

Translations

Le Legataire Universal, University of Texas, 1912

George Dandin, Mhliere, Theatre Arts, 8 (September
2 y " O

Mandragpla, Machiavelli, New York, 1927

The Sea Gull, Chekhov, New York, 1939

The Thhee Sisters, Chekhov, New York, l9h1
Ehefiherry 0rchard, Chekhov, New York, 19h7

 

 

 

Essays, Vignettes, and Autobiography

Encaustics, New York, 1926
Feliciana, New York, 1935
The Pavilion, New York, 1951

 

Editor of

English Humorists of the 18th Century, New York, 1911
TexasReview, Dallas,’l9lS

Southern Treasury of Life and Literature, New Yerk,
1937

T;pasury_of Life and Literature, New York, 1937
_§glected‘Poems of Sidney_Lanier, New York, l9u7

_g9ntributor to or Represented in

Eagleton, D. P., ed., Writers and writings of Texas,
New Yerk, 1913'

gxhibition of Contemporary Textiles, New York, 1930

Greer, Hilton, ed.,_ygice of the Southwest, New York,
1923‘
New Voices of the Southwest,
‘Bhllas, l93u

Heard, John, tr., The Far Princess, Rostand, Boston,

'T935

 

 

 

300

_§entributor to or Represented in (concluded)

 

Isaacs, Edith J. R., ed., Plays of American Life and
Fantaa , New York, 1959"‘

James, Alce, ed., Mississippi Veree, Chapel Hill, 193h

Magriel, David, ed., Niiinski, New York, 19h6

Moses, Montrose J., e ., Ago her Treasury of Plays,
Boston,1926

Payne, L. w., ed., Seuthern Literary Readings,

Chicago,‘I931
Pgesent Da American Stories, New Yerk, 1929
By Thelve outherners, editors, I'll Take M Stand,
New Yerk, 1 30
Walter, Eric A., Essay Annual, Chicago, 1931

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE

"0n the Level," 11 (June 2, 1917), 135-36
"Art and Respectability," 12 (October 6, 1917), 26h-66
"Crime of Detachment," 15 (June 22, 1918), 231-32
"Social Science and Culture," 16 (August 17, 1918), 68-71
"Dogfish," 23 (August 11, 1920), 302-0u
"Bruised Patriots," 23 (August 18, 1920), 331-33
"Miserable Innocents," 23 (August 25, 1920), 361-63
"Modernism in Science," 2h (September 1, 1920), 19-20
"Et Dona Ferentes," 2h (September 15, 1920), 69—70
"Striking in Spain," 2h (November 3, 1920), 235-37
"After the Play," 25 (February 2, 1921), 291-92
"After the Play," 27 (June 8, 1921), 51-52
"After the Play," 27 (June 22, 1921), 117-18
"Sea Power in the Pacific," 28 (November 16, 1921), 38- 0
"After the Play," 29 (December 7, 1921), h7-h
"After the Play," 29 (January a, 1922), 157-58
"After the Play," 29 (January 11, 1922), 183-8u
"Color Organ & The Theatre," 29 (January 18, 1922), 225-26
"S S Tenacity," 29 (January 25, 1922), 251-52
"Beauty and the Beast," 29 (February 1, 1922), 283-8u
"Mountain man," 29 (February 8, 1922), 309-10
"Miss Doris Keane," 29 (February 15, 1922), 3hO-ul
"Chauve Souris," 30 (March 1, 1922), 20-21
"Mr. Hopkins Deluge," 30 (March 8, 1922), 51-52
"Back to Creation," 30 (March 15, 1922), 80-81
"Hairy Ape," 30 (March 22, 1922), 112-13
"Yourself and Your Critics," 30 (March 29, 1922), 13g-38
"Rouge et Noir," 30 (April 12, 1922), 19 -99
"Community Swoons," 30 (April 19, 1922), 223-2h
"Dostoievsky's Idiot," 30 (April 26, 1922), 255-56
"Forward and Backward," 30 (May 10, 1922), 316-17

 

r'a- 5V“ a_—4—.‘— LAD—1A1

II.

 

"Henry's Art Course,"
"Vista,"

"Mad Money,"

"Texas Lights,"

"The New,"

"Wilkins and the Eternal,"
"The So So and the Future,"
"Trained Audience,"

"Krazy Kat,"

"The Equity Play,"
"Bringing in the Ducks,"
"Loyal Ties,"

"Eugene O'Neill,"
"Brains,"

"Two Follies,"

"After Dinner Autobiography,"
"Notes,"

"Citizen Tom,"

"Mould of Form,"
"Passionate Pilgrim,"
"Sweet Liberty,"

"Thalia's Behavior,"
"Beef, Iron and Wine,"
"Peer Gynt,"

"Theory and the Woods,"
"Forward Equity,"
"Creative Criticism,"
"Critical Expressionism,"
"Marketing Expressionism,"
"Bernhardt,"

"Mrs. Fiske's Play,"

"Tea with Madame Tchehov,"
"Duse now,"

"Italian Notes,"

"Italian Notes,"

"Italian Notes,"

"Italian Notes,"
"Mussolini ' s Bullfight , "
"Burial Urns,"

"My Uncle's House,"
"Casanova,"

'UWiss wycherly's Pirandello,"
"Sacred and Profane Love,"
"At the Neighborhood,"
"Death of Zeus,"

"Duse,"

‘"Victoria and Cyrano,"
"Failures,"

30].

ARTICLES 1N THE NEW REPUBLlC MaGAZIhE (continued)

(May 31, 1922), 18-19

(June 5, 1922), 158-60
(August 2,9, 1922), 280-307
(August 16, 1922), 333-3u
(August 30, 1922), 18-19
(September 20, 1922), 100-01
(October 8, 1922), 1h9-50
(October 11, 1922), 175-76
(October 25, 1922), 223-2h
(November 1, 1922), 251-52
(November 8, 1922), 277-78
(November 15, 1922), 307-08
(November 22, 1922), 335-36
(November 29, 1922), 21-2h
(December 13, 1922), 69-70
(December 20, 1922), 97-98
(December 27, 1922), 123-2h
(January 3, 1923), 1h8-h9
(January 17, 1923), 202-03
(January 2h, 1923), 226-27
(February 7, 1923), 28u—86
(February 21, 1923), 3h9-50
(March 7, 1923), h6-7
(March lb, 1923), 69-70
(March 21, 1923), 100-01
(MaI'Ch 28, 1923), 135-36
(April 18, 1923). 212
(April a, 1923). 16u-65
(April-ll, 1923). 191-92
(April 25. 1923). 2h3-hh
(May 23, 1923), BHB-hh
(June 20, 1923), 100-01
(July 25. 1923). 232-33
(July 25, 1923). 259-60
(July 25, 1923). 286-87
(July 25, 1923). 330-31
(July 11, 1923). l7u-76
(July 18, 1923). 205-06
(October 3, 1923). 15%-SS
(October 10, 1923), 1 0-81
(October 17, 1923). 207-08
(October 2h, 1923), 230-31
(October 31, 1923), 257-258
(November 7, 1923), 282-83
(November 1 , 1923), 309-10
(November 2 , 1923), 18-19
(December 5, 1923), h6-u7

fin. 'v‘L. - -.‘h..- 4... .17
. .
:leJ
p?
n

,m..‘AT_ __ _
N

 

 

 

302

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Belascosity,"

"Pelleas and Melisande,"
"Saint Joan,"

"Spook Sonata,"

"Fashion"

"New Englander,"

"Beggar on Horse Back,"
"Sargent Exhibition,"
"Fats Morgana,"
"Macbeth,"

"Purely Technical,"

"Time is a Dream,"
"Vista,"

"Fratellini,"
"Direttissimo,"
"Portraits in Encaustic,"
"Portraits in Encaustic,"
"Sacred Notes,"

"Young Lady with Duccio,"
"Mid-channel,"

"Love in Idleness,"
"Along Male Lines,"
"Green Hat,"

"The vertex,"

"Butter and Eggs,"
"Schnitzler Play,"
"Craig's Wife,"

"Geddes Production,"

"At the Ritz,"

"Hamlet in Modern Dress,"
"The Eternal Don Juan,"
"Thankless Perfection,"
"Two English Plays,"
"The New O'Neill Play,"
"The Dybbuk"

"Texas Lights,"

"Mr. Walter Hampden,"
"Mates and Sublimates,"

"Maurice Sterne's Exhibition,"

"Wisdom Tooth,"

"International Theatre Expo-
sition,"

"Portraits in Encaustics,"

"Portraits in Encaustics,"

"Orphan-Theatre,"
"Bride of the Lamb,"
"Raquel Meller,"
"At Mrs. Beams,"

37
37
37

(December 19, 1923). 9h-95
(December 26, 1923), 123-2h
(January 16, 192k), 205-O6
(January 23, 192A), 231-32
(February 13, 192M), 313-1u
(February 20, 192A). 335-37
(March 5. 192A). h5-h6
(March 19, 192k), 97- 98
(March 26,192h): 128- 29
(April 2. 192A). 153- SA
(April 9, 192A). 18%

(May 7. 192A), 287 8

(July 16, 192k), 212-13
(JUly 23: 192“): 2%3:%u
(July 30 192A). 2

(August 6,1928). 302- -03
(8.118115t 13. 192H), 330 31
(August 20, 192h), 36H- 65
(September 3, l92h). 20-21
(September 2, 1925), -h5
(September 9, 1925), 9-70
(September 23, 1925), l23-2h
(September 30, 1925), 15 -55
(October 7. 1925). 177-7
(October 1 , 1925), 202-03
(October 2 , 1925), 255-56
(November A. 1925), 281-82
(November 11, 1925), 305-06
(November 18, 1925), 331-32
(November 25, 1925), 17-18
(December 2, 1925), g7-g8
(December 9, 1925), 6 7
(December 23, 1925). l33-3h
(December 20, 1925), 160-61
(January 6, 1926), 187-88
(January 6, 1926), 216-17
(January 27, 1926), 272- 73
(February 3, 1926), 29A- 95
(February 17, 1926), 355- 56
(March 3, 1926), h5- h6

(March 17, 1926), 103-0u
(March 31, 1926), 171- 72
(April lug 1926), 222‘ ‘23
(April 21,1926), 27h-75
(April 28,1926), 301- -02
(May S. 1926). 330-31

(May 12, 1926), 361-62

 

 

 

303

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Orpheus at the Provincetown," N6
"Martinez Sierra," N7

"Metropolitan Blues," N7
"Glorious Venice," N7
"Baroque and the Opera," N7
"Pilgrims of the Sky," N7
"Marine Views," N7
"Highland Memories," N8
"Silence in Italy," N8
"Women and the Housetops," N8
"Bella Napoli," N8
"Peter and Paul," N8
"Charlot in Rome," N8
"Theatre Guild Opening," N8
"Spanish Notes," N8
"Shine of Life," N8
"Gozzi and Shaw," N9
"Fine Plays," N9
"London and Maine," N9
"Prince and the Pirate," N9
"Constant Nymph," N9
"Miss Haidee Wright," N9
"Saturday's Children," N9
"Primitive Negro Sculpture," 50
"In Abraham's Bosom," 50
"Road to Rome," 50
"Pioneer Women," 50
"Beatrice Lillie," 50
"Jeanne Eagles," 50
"Clemence Danes New Play," 50
"Spread Eagle," 50
"Theatre Notes," 50
"World of Rockwell Kent," 50
"Negro Material in the Thea-
tre," 50
"Sophocles and Sierra," 50
"Sacred and Profane Love," 51
"Dry Points of Actors," 51
"Grand Street Valedictory," 51
"Virginia Reflections," 51
"Theatre Season," 51
"My Church School Cousin," 51
"Southern Radical," 52
"Dude Rance," 52
"Terrible Thing," 52
"First Ballyhoo and Dickens," 52
"Wild Men," 52
"Lovers and Enemies," 52

(May 19, 1926), NOS-06
(June 2, 1926), 59-60
(June 30, 1926), 167-68
(July 7. 1926), 199-200
(July 1N, 1926), 226-27
(July 21, 1926), ZEN-SS
(August 11, 1926), 338-39
(September 8, 1926), 69-70 I
(September 15, 1926), 9N-95 .
(September 22, 1926), 121-22 ;
(September 29, 1926), lN9-50
(October 6, 1926), 195-96
(October 13, 1926), 217-18
(October 27, 1926), 271-72
(August 18, 1926), 17-18
(November 17, 1926), 375-76
(December 1, 1926), Nl-N2
(December 8, 1926), 7N-75
(December 16, 1926), 108-09
(December 22, 1926), 136-37
(December 29, 1926), 160-61
(January 26, 1927), 275-76
(February 16, 1927), 357-58
(February 25, 1927). 17-18
(March 2, 1927), uo-N7
(March 9 1927). 70—71
March 16, 1927), 98-100
(March 30, 1927). 169-70
(April 6, 1927), 19N-95
(April 13, 1927). 223-2N
(April 20, 1927). 2N8-50
(April 27. 1927). 27A-75
(May A. 1927). 302-03

1927). 331-32
1927): 17‘18

(June 1, 1927), N5-N6

(June 8, 1927). 70-71

(June 15, 1927). 100-01
(June 22, 1927). 122-23
(August 17. 1927). 335-36
(August 2N, 1927). 18-19
(August 31. 1927). h3-h
(September 1N, 1927). 9 -99
(September 21, 1927). 123-2N
(September 28, 1927). 1N8-N9
(October 5, 1927). 175-76

Infill-Ly.

'm‘s“ 9.-
I. ~‘.-'tfn-.-. _

(May 11,
(May 18,
(May 28,

 

30h

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Miss Katherine Cornell,
"Green Bay Tree,"
"Races,"

"Good Beginnings,"
"With.Leslie Howard,"
"One Way or Another,"
"Stairs and So To Bed,"
"Epstein Exhibition,"
"Reinhardt Shakespeare,"
"Fantastic Comedies,"
"New Playwright's Theatre,"
"Another Reinhardt,"
"Danton,"

"Trees and Art,"
"Migratory Souls,"
"Dilations,"

"Quiet Browns,"
"Charlie Chaplin,"

"New O'Neill Play,"

"As the Weeks Pass,"
"Maya , fl

"Recountings,"

"Grand Guignol on Parnassus,"
"George Bellow's Lithographs,

"English Actors,"
"Spring Notes,"

"American Laboratory Theatre,"

"Theatre Guild's Volpone,"
"Him, 11

"Playwrights and Cases,"
"Orchestral Dramas,"
"Sir Edmund Gosse,"
"Grand Street Follies,"
"Beaux Strategem,"
"Diamond L11,"
"Scrap-books,"

"Black Encaustics,"
"Great Plumbing,"
"Obituaries,"

"Marys in Heaven,"
"Encaustics,"
"Copenhagen,"

"Northern Lights,"
"Fondest Hopes,"

"Joy on the Mountains,"
"Gods of the Lightning,"
"Concert Reflections,"
"Three Graces,"

53

vunxnvrwunxnvvmunxnvkun
\nvur¢flpwr¢iF1?F=P¢?Ffln

207-08
236-37
261-62

(October 12, 1927),
(October 19, 1927),
(October 26, 1927).
(November 2, 1927). 285-86
(November 9, 1927), 311-12
(November 16, 1927), 336-37
(November 23, 1927). 17-18
(November 30, 1927), N5-N7
(December 7, 1927). 71-72
(December 1N, 1927), 96-97
(December 21, 1927). 139-N0
(December 28, 1927), 16N-65
(January N, 1928), 19N-95
(January 11, 1928). 218-19
(January 18, 1928), 2N6-N7
(January 25, 1928), 272-73
(February 1, 1928), 297-99
(February 8, 1928), 313-1N
(February 15, 1928), 3 9-50
(February 22, 1928). l -19
(March 7, 1928), 97-98
(March IN, 1928), 123-2
(March 21, 1928), 155-5
(March 28, 1928), 193-9A
(April u, 1928), 217-18
(April 11, 1928), 2N3-NN
(April 18, 1928), 272-7
(April 25, 1928), 295-9
(May 2, 1928). 325-26

(May 16, 1928), 382-83

(May 23, 1928), 19-20

(June 6, 1928), 70-72

(June 13, 1928), 95-96
(June 20, 1928), 122-23
(June 27, 1928), 1N5-N6
(Jilly (4-! 1928), 173“7S
(August 22, 1928), 18-19
(August 29, 1928), N5-N6
(September 19, 1928), 125
(September 26, 1928), 153-5N
(October 3, 1928), 175-76
(October 10, 1928), 207-08
(October 17, 1928), 2N7-N8
(October 2N, 1928), 273-7N
(October 31, 1928), 299'300
(November 7, 1928), 326-27
(November 1N, 1928), 350-51
(November 21, 1928), 15-16

II.

 

"Isadora Duncan,"

"Macbeth,"

"Two New Pieces,"

"New Kunst Gallery,"

"Wings Over Europe,"

"Roles and Acting,"

"Chick,"

"Kingdom of God,"

"New Viennese Play,"

"Street Scene,"

"Bat and the Bluebird,"

"We Need Such Things,"

"Splendid Squalor,"

"Dynamo,"

"01d Rialto,"

"H-'s Predicament,"

"Duse Memorial,"

"Purest Ray Serene,"

"Journey's End,"

"Mrs. Fiske and a Revival,"

"Mr. Henry Travers,"

"More Keats and Shakespeare,"

"Passion'Play,"

"Follies,"

"Chester A,"

"Comforting Portraits,"

"Concerning Comedy,"

"Shoat,"

"Vista,"

"Sic Semper,"

"Texas Lights,"

"Harp Player,"

"Lady Byron,"

"Two Special Openings,"

"Quinteros and Rice,"

"German and American Plays,"

"Actresses and a Dramatist,"

"Little Dream,"

"Berkeley Square,"

"Sean O'Casey and Victor
Chenkin, "

"Last of November,"

"New Monument,"

"Christmas by a Stream,"

"Wicked Great Lord,"

"To Wait and See,"

"Mostly the Actors,"

"Death Takes a Holiday,"

57

UIUIUIUIUIUIUIWU‘LUIUIUAWU‘LUIUIUIUIUI
\O\O\O\0\O\O (DODCDODCDOJODCOODCDCDN-xl

 

305

ARTICLES IN THE IEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

11““ 1..-

(November 28,1928),%3M
(December 5, 1928), 6 70
(December 12,1928), 96- 97

(December 19, 1928), 139- -%0

(December 26, 1928), 163- N

(January 2,1929), 191- 92

(January 9, 1929), 216- 17

(January 16,1929), 2N5- N6 !
(January 23, 1929), 272- -73 :
(January 30, 1929),2 296- 98 4
(February 6, 1929), 321-22 1
(February 13, 1929). 3N6- -%7

(February 20,1929). 16-1

(February 27, 1929) N3- NN

(March.12, 1929), 96-97

(March 20, 1929). 128-29

(March 27. 1929). 173-75

(April 3, 1929), 198- 99

(April 10,1929),225 26

(April 17. 1929) 252- 53

(May 1,1929). 308- 09

(May 8, 1929). 33h‘35

(May is. 1929). 360 61

(June 12, 1929). 99-100

(June 19,1929), 127- 28

(June 26,1929). lufl- A1

(July 3: 1929), 180- 81

(July 2N, 1929), 260- 61

(August 21, 1929) 15-16

(August 28,1929): #5 N6

(October 2, 1929), 17N- 76

(October 9, 1929). 205- 06

(October 16,1929).223 85

(October 23, 1929), 2 9-70

(November 6, 1929), 323-25

(NOVGMbGP 13: 1929). 353-5h

(November 20, 1929). 37N-7S

(November 27, 1929), 17-19

(December 11, 1929), 67-68

(December 25, 1929), lN2-N3

(January 1,1930), 171- 72

(December 18,1929). 99- 101

(January 8,1930), 196- 97

(January 22, 1930), 250- 51

(January 29, 1930), 275- 76

306

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Josef Suss,"

"Three Plays,"

"Mrs. Fiske and Three Plays,"
"Mei Lan-Fang,"

"Neighborhood and the Guild,"
"The Green Pastures,"

"Shall We Have the Horse,"
"Turgenev and Richard III,"
"Reviewers Pleasure,"

"Hotel Universe,"
"Philadelphia Lysistrata,"
"Vikings,"

"Biography of Comfort,"

"Aunt Becky and Mr. Bowers,"
"Aristophanes' Babyhood,"
"Admonition to the Pocahon-

tases,"

"History of the Immortals,"
"With H. C. ,"
"Paul Robeson, Negro,"

"Alaric at the Walls of Rome,"

"Thanks to a Pig,"
"Younger Mask,"

"Fergusons and Democracy,"
"Romance and Romance,"
"Serious Start,"

"In Two Flats,"

"Farewell to Dramatizations,"
"Solid South,"

"Mexican EXposition,"
"Roar China,"

"Elizabeth,"

"Curtain Call,"
"Seasonable Notes,"
"Scarlet Sister,"

"Madame Povla Frijsh,"
"Revue and Revolution,"
"Mac and the Theatre,"
"Background with Figures,"
"No Culture but the Opera,"
"Schools for Artists,"
"Philip Goes Forth,"
"Fellow Passengers,"
"Little Asides,"

"Acting by the'Yard,"

"Pulitzer Prize Awards, 1931,"

"Tragic Mask at Capua,"
"Indicative Portraits,"

(February 5, 1930), 301
(February 19, 1930), 21-21
(February 26, 1930), u7-h8
(MarCh S, 1930): 78-75
(March 12, 1930), 99-100
(March 19, 1930), 128-29
(March 26, 1930), 152-53
(April 6, 1930), ans—A7
(April 30, 1930). 299-300
(May 7, 1930). 326-28

EMEJ 1 9 1930), 352-53
May 2 9 1930), h2’u3
(June a, 1930), 70-71
(June 11, 1930), 97-99
(June 18, 1930), 127

(July 16, 1930), 23 ~35
(July 16, 1930), 26 -70
(August 6, 1930), 3h5-h6
(August 13. 1930). 369-70
(August 30, 1930), 16—17
(September 3, 1930), 71-72
(September 10, 1930), 93-9h
(September 17, 1930), 127-28
(September 2h, 1930), 152-53
(October 1, 1930), 178-80
(October 8, 1930), 208-09
(October 29, 1930), 298-300
(November 5, 1930), 321-22
(November 12, 1930), 3h9-50
(November 19, 1930), 17-19
(November 26, 1930), A7-u8
(December 3, 1930), 72-73
(December 10, 1930), 101-02
(December 17, 1930), 138-39
(December 2M, 1930), 165-67
(December 31, 1930), 192-93
(January 17, 1931), 219-20
(January 1h, 1931), 2h6-u7
(January 21, 1931), 273-7h
(January 28, 1931), 301-02
(April 22, 1931), 275-76
(March A, 1931), 78-75

(May 6, 1931), 329-30

(May 20, 1931), 2-h

(May 20, 1931), 17-19

(May 27, 1931). hh-hb

307

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Indicative Portraits,"
"Belasco,"

"Fascism and Glories,"
"Notes on Fascism in Italy,"
"Mees Macy,"

"Who is Sylvia,"

"Nose Bleed,"

"What Dotage will not Vanity

Maintain?"

"Quick and the Dead,"
"French and English,"
"Shadow of Wings,"

"Mr. Rice and Mr. Laughton,"
"By the Waters of Babylon,"

"Ellen Terry and Bernard Shawq

"MOurning Becomes Electra,"
"Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,"
"Hamlet,"

"Three More Plays,"

"Town Melange,"

"Spring and Winter,"
"Christmas Slave,"

"Mycenae and Connecticut,"
"Two Events,"

"Frank Harris on Mr. Shaw,"
"My Aunt Lavinia and the

Faculty,"

"History and Mystery,"
"Mrs. Fiske,"

"Town Notes,"
"Strictly Honorable,"
"Return and Exhibition,"
"Hot-cha and Taos,"

"De Sanctis' History,"
"Little Flowers,"

"Hope and Miss Sands,"
"Another Language,"
"Jones in Radio City,"
"Tonight We Improvise,"
"Cheery-oh,"

"Miss Cowl,"

"Have at thee, Hector,"
"Centers of Levity,"
"Deep South Notes,"
"Madame's A,"

"Note: Moving Picture Acting,"

"Film Note: Greta Garbo,"
"Child Labor in the Jungle,"

(May 27. 1931). uu-ub
(June 17, 1931), 123-2
(JU1Y 15: 1931): 235-3
(July 22, 1931), 258-60
(August 12, 1931), Bul-hB
(August 19, 1931), 20-21
(September 9, 1931), 97-99

(September 16, 1931), 127-28
(September 23, 1931), 15h-56
(October 7, 1931), 207-09
(October in, 1931), 231-P36
(October 21, 1931), 263-6u
(October 28, 1931), 300-02
(November A, 1931), 327-29
(November 11, 1931), 352
(November 18, 1931), 19-20
(November 25, 1931), hh‘hS
(December 2, 1931), 69-71
(December 23, 1931), 162-6h
(December 30, 1931), 189-91
(January 20, 1932), 271-72
(January 27, 1932), 293-9h
(February 3, 1932), 319-21
(February 10, 1932), 3h3-h5

17, 1932), 17-19
2h, 1932): hé'h7
1932), 71-72
1932): 97'98

16, 1932), 127

23, 1932), lSB-SM

30, 1932), 181-82

13, 1932). 235-37
(April 20, 1932), 271-73
(April 27. 1932), 299-301
(May 11, 1932), 351-52

(May 18, 1932), 17-19

(May 25, 1932). hh-hé

(June 1, 1932), 70-72

(June 8, 1932), 100-01

(June 22, 1932). 157-58
(July 26, 1932), 206-07
(August 3, 1932), 315-16
(September IA, 1932), 12u-26
(September 21, 1932), 150-51
(September 28, 1932), 176-78
(October 5, 1932), 206-08

(February
(February
(March 2,
(March 9,
(March
(March
(March
(April

308

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

72
72
72
72

"Screen version,"

"Success Story,"

"Ellen Terry Again,"

"King James in Chinatown,"

"Dinner at Eight," 72
"Title to be Announced," 73
"American Don Quixote," 73
"Dear Jane," 73
"Largely Mr. Lederer," 73

"Miss Graham and Mademoiselle,"73

"Mr. Lewis' Uncle Billy," 73
"Without Embarrassment," 73
"Dames aux Camelias," 73

73
73

"Sorrows Sharp Sustaining,"

"Good Hope Notes,"

"On ne Badine Pas Avec
L'amour,"

"We the People; Evensong,"

"Loin du Bal,"

"Retrospective Exhibition,"

"Moments of Miracle,"

"Blessed Be,"

"Invisible and Visible," 7h
"Theatre Note," 7h
"Gabriel's Horn," 7h
"Ten Years Theatre," 7h

"Mr. Beckhard's Fourth,"
"Little 01' Boy,"

"Sur 1e Lac,"

"Prefaces to Distinction," 7
"Missed Connections," 7
"Summer Niceties," 7
"Age Cannot Quite Wither," 7
"Punk in the Avenue Gabriel," 7
"Grandis, Elegans, Venusta," 7

"For Master Rion," 76
"Sphinx Without a Secret," 76
-"Tufted Trees," 76
"Angels Bowed to Gaze," 76
"Uncle Tom's Measure," 76
"First Fruits," 76

"Variegated Hits,"
"Causeries,"

"Poetry of Defense,"
"Moliere Kindergarten,"
"Cort Laurels,"

"Joos and Lifar,"
"Angels and Ministers,"

(October 19, 1932),
(October 12, 1932),
(October 26, 1932),
(November 2, 1932), 330-31
(November 9, 1932), 355-57
(November 16, 1932), 16-17
(November 23, 1932), u6-u7
(November 30, 1932), 72-73
(December 7, 1932), 99-100
(December 1h, 1932), 127-29
(December 21, 1932), 160-62
(December 28, 1932), 188-89
(January 8, 1933), 21 -16
(January 18, 1933), 2 8-69
(January 25, 1933), 29h-96 ' "

(February 1, 1933), 323- 25
(February 15, 1933), 18- 20
(February 22, l933), 85- M7
(March 1, 1933). 67-70
(March 1, 1933), 71-73
(March 22, 1933). 159-60
(March 8,1933). 101-03

259-61

233-35
287-89

"I

-(

y.
w

 

' \ u“. f' " ‘Azul—nr‘.

I

(April 12,1933). 2 "-85
(April 19, 1933) , 2 0
(May 3, 1933) 335- 37

(May 10, 1933): 365-66

(May 17, 1933), 18-19

(May 28. 1933), Aé-A7

(June 7, 1933), 101-02

(June 1 , 1933), 126-27
(June 2 ,1933) 182-83
(July 12, 1933), 235- -36
(August 2, 1933) 316- 18
(August 30: 1933), 72- 7h
(September 6, 1933), 100-01
(September 13, 1933), 128-29
(September 20, 1933). 155-57
(September 27, 1933), 185-86
(October 8, 1933), 212- -13
(October 11,1933), 2h1-%2
(October 11, 1933), 279- 0
(October 25, 1933) 307- 08
(November 1, 1933)::‘3 3:34- 36
(November 8,1933), u 66
(November 15, 1933), 17- 19
(November 22, 1933), 86- MB
(November 299 1933): 73’ ’75

 

309

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Orta Oiunu, Meddah, Karagbz," 77 (October 6, 1933): 101-02
"Shadow's Shadows," 77 (December 13, 1933), 130-32
"Road," 77 (December 20, 1933), 168-69

"Lady Blessington,"

"Miss Katherine Hepburn,"
"Days Without End,"
"Venture by Mr. Chappell,"
"Joyous Season,"
"Transatlantic Minority,"
"Faith and Tosh,"

"One Mement Alit,"

"Three Serious Plays,"
"Might It Be Mountains,"
"Moor Born,"

"Nijinsky and Madame,"
"Stevedore,"

"Pulitzer Awards,"

"Texas Lights,"

"Two Slavery Books,"
"Pulitzer Prize Emotions,"
"Texas Lights,"

"Distaff Sides,"
"Sleeping Guild,"

"Hands Down at Sides,"
"Theatre Gates,"

"Canal Americana,"

"Two Roles,"

"Tale of Critics,"
"Seasonal Notes,"

"Two New Plays,"

"Valley Forge,"
"Congratulations,"
"Katherine Cornell's Juliet,"
"It Dr0ppeth as,"

"Merry England,"

"Serious Coward Play,"
"Particular and General,"
"Mother Broadway,"
"Spanish Plays,"

"Mr. Fresnay,"

"01d Maid,"

"Awake and Whistle,"
"Virgilian Ladies,"

"As Panics Go,"

"Lefty and Nazi,"

"Of Blackest Midnight Born,"
"If Only,"

"Du Maurier Theatre,"

 

77

(January 10, 193E), 252-53
(January 17, l93u), 281-82
(January 28, 1938). 312-13
(February 7, 1938), 368-69
(February 1h, 193E), 21-22
(February 21, 193E), 50-51
(February 28, 1938), 78-79
(March 7, 193A). 105-106
(March 18, 1938), 13 -35
(April 11, 1938). 2A -h7
(April 18. 1938). 275-76
(May 2, 1938). 3 1-82

(May 9. 193A). 3 7-68

(May 16, 1938). 79-80
(June 27, 1938). 183-8u
(May 23. 193U). 88-50

(May 30. 1938). 76-77

(September 19, 193k), 160-61

(October 17. 1938). 273-78
(October 2h, 193A), 3lu-15
(October 31, 193k), 3hl-h2
(November 7, 1938). 269-70
(November 1 , 1938), 21-22
(November 2 , 1938), 78-80
(December 5, 193A). 106-07

(December 12, 1938), 131-32
(December 19, 193k). 169-70
(December 26, 1938), 196-97

(January 2, 1935). 223-2h
(January 9, 1935). 252-53
(January 23, 1935). 308-09
(January 30, 1935). 336“37
(February 6, 1935). 363-6h
(February 13, 1935), 21-22
(February 20, 1935). h9-SO
(February 27, 1935). 78-79
(March 6, 1935). 105-06
(March 20, 1935). 162-63

_ (March 13, 1935), 188-35

(March 27, 1935). 7-88
(April 3, 1935). 217-18
(April 10, 1935). 2 7-u8
(April 17, 1935). 2 9-90
(April 2h, 1935). 316-17
(May 19 1935): 3118-115

 

 

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC

 

"Kindness, Flying, and Flowers "
"Theatre Total," 83

"New Talent," 83
"Mountain's Mouse," 83
"Mountain People," 83
"Kind Hearts are More," 83
"White Chimneys," 8N
"James Lane Allen," 88
"Brussels Carpet," 88
"Convertible TOp," Bu
"Wayward Glamour," 88
"Soft Speech," 88
"No More War, Yes?" 8h
"Opera Blues," 8h
"Poetic Chances," 88
"Dead End," 85

"Historical Dramatical,"
"Pride and Pomp,"

"Workers in General," 85
"Quite Worth Your Thought," 85
"New Ibsen," 85
"Preface to Medium," 85

"Regina Humana," 85
"Miss Lord's Day," 86
"End of Summer," 86
"Mr. Collins and JOhnny," 86
"McClintics' Shaw," .86
"Government and Guild," 86

"Great Doom's Image,"
"Important Variety,"

"Marginal Notes," 8
"We Didn't Get to Pick, etc.,"8

"Ballads in Mississippi," 88
"Reflected Glory," 88
"Literates," 88
"Hamlet," 88
"Booth Adelphi," 89
"Sweet River," 89

"Hamlets," 89
"To Madame Frijsh," 89
"Around Eight-thirty," 89
"Moral Fountain," 89

"Social Drama," 89
"Preparing Actors," 89
"Othello,' 89
"High Tor," 89
"Eternal Reinhardt," 9O
"Noctis Equi," 9O

 

310

MAGAZINE (continued)

(May 89 1935), 370’71

(May 22, 1935), 50-51

(May 29. 1935), 78-79

(June 5, 1935), 106-107
(July 31, 1935), 338-39
(August 7. 1935). 36h-6S
(August 18, 1935). 22-23
(August 28, 1935), 78-79
(September 18, 1935), 162-63
(September 25, 1935). 190-91
(October 16, 1935). 27h-75
(October 9, 1935), 2&7-h8
(October 23, 1935), 302-03
(OCtOber 30: 1935), 338-39
(November 6, 1935), 365-66
(November 13, 1935), 21-89
(November 27, 1935), 77-78
(December 11, 1935); 13h-35
(December 18, 1935). 175-76
(December 25, 1935), 202-03
(January 1, 1936), 230-31
(January 8, 1936), 357-58
(January 15 1936), 286-87
(February 26, 1936), 78-79
(March 11, 1936), 1hl-h2
(December 9, 1936), 179-80
(March 25, 1936), 198-99
(April 8. 1936), 253-5h
(May 13, 1936), 21-22

(June 17, 1936), 180-81
(July 8, 1936), 272-73
(September 16, 1936), 160-61
(September 23, 1936), 186-87
(October 7, 1936), 257-58
(October 21, 1936), 318-15
(October 28, 1936), 355-56
(November A, 1936), 50-51
(November 18, 1936), 78-79
(November 26, 1936), 116-17
(December 2, 1936), 11164;?
(December 16, 1936), 217-18
(December 2h, 1936), 2h5-h6
(December 30, 1936), 273-78
(January 20, 1937), 359-60
(January 27, 1937), 385-86
(February 3, 1937), 811-12
(February 10, 1937). 19-20
(February 17, 1937), 86-87

I-vv- all-A...

 

311

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (Continued)

 

"Richard II," 90 (February 2h, 1937), 78-75
"Fourth Theatre Guild," 90 (March 3, 1937), 111-12
"Near the Water," 90 (March 10, 1937). 139- 0
"Left, Right and Wrong," 90 (March 17, 1937). 166- 7
"Pleasant Passage," 90 (March 2h, 1937). 210-11
"When He Said Euripedes," 90 (March 31, 1937). 239-h0
"Not a Review," 90 (April 7, 1937), 263-6h
"Best American Play," 90 (April It. 1937). 295-96
"Candida, Candida, Candida!" 90 (April 21, 1937). 322-23
"Les Neiges d'antan," 90 (April 28, 1937) 358-59
"That's Latitude," 90 (May 5, 1937), 3é5-86
"Museum of Costume Art," 91 (May 12, 1937). 17-18

"Massa's in Cold, Cold,
Ground," 91 (May 19, 1937). h6-u7

"Perhaps Another Year," 91 (May 26, 1937). 7h-75
"Censorship," 91 (June 2, 1937), 101-02
"Dear Mr. Wilson," 91 (June 9, 1937), 130-31

"Formal Master, Fundamental
Sources," 91 (June 16, 1937). 158-59

"First Convention," - 91 (June 23, 1937). 189-90
"Divided we Stand," 91 (July 7, 1937). 251-52
"Burlesque Needs," 91 (August A 1937), 363-6
"Definitive Webster," 92 (August 18, 1937), h7-h
"Commentary Pleasures," 92 (August 25, 1937). 76-77
"Vista," 92 (September 15, 1937), 157-59
"Bandits in a Landscrape," 92 (September 22-29. 1937)
186-215
"Hr. Fonda and Importations,"92 (October 13, 1937). 270-71
"Star Hitched," 92 (October 20, 1937). 302-03
"Guito and Susan," 92 (October 27, 1937). 3h2-h3

"Coming to Carry Me Home," 92 (November 3, 1937), 372-73
"Two Critics and a Journal," 93 (November 10, 1937), l6-l7
"Gods, Golden Lads and

Girls," 93 (November 17, 1937), hh-MS

"Egypt and Arden," 93 (November 2A, 1937), 75-76
"Three Stage Versions," 93 (December 1, 1937), 101-02
"Slightly Ghosts," 93 (December 8, 1937). 131-32
"Two From the Novel," 93 (December 15, 1937), 170-71
"Winter Garden and Siege," 93 (December 22, 1937), 198-99
"Bache Collection," 93 (January 5, 1938), 255-56
"New Year's Craw," 93 (January 12, 1938), 283-8h
"Mercury and London," 93 (January 19, 1938), 310-11
"New Doll's House," 93 (January 26, 1938), 338-39
"Dreams from Rome," 93 (February 2, 1938), 366-67
"Things Hoped For," 9h (February 16, 1938), h5-h6
"Place and Time," 9h (February 23, 1938), 78-75

"Mr. Miller's Importations," 9h (March 2, 1938), 101-02

312

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

 

"Theatre Guild Fore and Aft," 98 (March 9. 1938). 132’33

"Surprising Confirmations,"
"To Keep the Wind Away,"
"His Art in Life,"

"Plays and Problems,"

"Sea Gull,"

98
98
9A
9A
9

"Drama Critics Circle Awards,"98

"Heartbreak Houses,"
"Impass on Parnassus,"
"Season Opens,"
"Photographies,"
"Biography and Theatre,"
"Whole Tragical Historie,"
"Lincoln and Huston,"
"Characters,"

"Stage and Book,"
"Hearken Ye Mortals,"
"Rockets Old and New,"
"Ars Longa,"

"Wreathed Horn,"

"Phaidon Press El Greco,"
"Ring Around the Roses,"
"Love Among the Ruins,"
"Masterpieces,"

"New and 01d,"

"Chekhov Theatre's First,"
"New Abundance,"

"Full of the Moon,"

"Two New Failures,"

100
100
100
100
101
101
101
102

"Mr. Tone and Mr. Hemingway,"102

"New Lilion,"
"Presentations,"
"Imagine,"

"Starry Night,"
"Upsy-daisy,"

"Vissi d'Amore,"

"Save Solor,"

"Broadway in Revue,"
"First Century Problems,"
"Our America,"

"Or What You Will,"
"Day Must Come,"

"Three Flights,"
"Enjoyment of Murder,"
"For the Greek Relief,"
"At the Two Theatres,"
"Theatre Liberty,"
"America's Lost Plays,"

102
102
102
102
102
102
103
103
103
103
103
103
108
108
108
108
108
108

(March 16,
(March 23,
(March 30,
(April 13,

1938), 168-65
1938): 198-95
1938), 222-23
1938): 305’06

8 (April 20. 1938). 332-33

(May a: 1938): 396'97

(June 8, 1938), 130-31
(September 28, 1938), 218-15
(October 12, 1938), 271-72
(October 19, 1938). 306-07
(October 26, 1938), 338-35
(November 2, 1938), 361-62
(November 9, 1938), 18-19
(November 16, 1938), 85-86
(November 30, 1938), 100-01
(December 7, 1938), 129-30
(December 1 , 1938), 173-78
(December 2 , 1938), 230-31
(January 251 1939): 382-83
(March 15, 1939), 166-67
(September 20, 1939), 189-90
(September 27, 1939), 215-16
(October 26, 1939). 380-21
(November 1, 1939). 368- 9
(November 15, 1939), 118-15
(November 29, 1939), 169-70
(December 13, 1939), 230-31
(March 18, 1980), 377-78
(April 8. 1980). 873-78
(April 8. 1980). 873-78
(April 20. 1980). 576-77
(May 6, 1980), 611-12

(May 13, 1980), 6%1-22

(June 39 1980). 7 ‘ 1
(June 10. 1980). 793-98
(August 26, 1980), 277-78
(October 18, 1980), 526-23
(October 21, 1980), 557-5
(November 11, 1980), 661-62
(December 2, 1980). 755-56
(December 9, 1980), $89-90
(January 20, 1981), 8-85
(January 27, 1981), 116-17
(February 3, 1981), 187-88
(February 10, 1981), 179-80
(February 28, 1981), 276-77
(March 3. 1981). 306-07

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC

 

"Motley to the View," 108
"Doctor in Spite of Himself,"108

"Book Basis," 108
"Watch on the Rhine," 108
"Three and One," 108
"Critics in a Circle," 108
"Saroyan Directing, Note," 108

"Their Heart Belongs to
. Dada," 105
"Village Green and Town Red,"105

"War Winnings," 105
"Theatre Song," 105
"Palace Stairs Overstuffed," 105
"Regrettable," 105
"Bird Thou Never Wert," 105
"Stage Traffic," 105
"Not in Our Stars," 105
"Guild Presents," 106
"Three Plays," 106
"Ibsen Translation Note," 106
"For Barbara O'Neil," 106
"Old Wine," 106
"Priorities at That," 106
"Serious Images," 106
"Distinction and Theatre," 107
"Saroyan Theatre," 107
"Bosh Bombs," 107
"Hello Out There," 107
"War Theatre," 107
"Good Company," 107
"Metamorphoses," 107
"Barry-Barrie," 107
"Whimisical Comedies," 107
"Theatre Guild Anniversary,” 107
"Two New Productions," 107
"Three Sisters," 10

"American Patriots," 10

"Fair Enough," 108
"Fresh Matters," 108
"Gentle Mrs. Stowe," 108
"Brief Candle," 108
"Oklahoma With Details," 108
"Good Anti-Nazi Theatre," 108
"Jus Divinum," 108
"John Anderson," 109
"Sea of Troubles," 109
"This is the Air," 109
"Saroyan and Smith," 109

 

 

313

MAGAZINE (continued)

(March 10, 1981). 380-81
(March 28, 1981), Eon-05
(April 7, 1981), 8 8-69
(April 18, 1981). 898-99
(April 21. 1981). 832-33
(May S. 1981). 632-33
(May 12, 1981), 668-65

(September 15, 1981), 339-80
(September 22. 1981). 373-78
(September 29, 1981), 808-05
(October 13. 1981). 877-78
(October 20, 1981), 507-08
(November 10, 1981). 621-22
(November 28, 1981), 701-02
(December 8, 1981), 762-63
(December 15, 1981), 828-29
(January 26, 1982), 116-17
(February 9. 1982), 208-05
(February 16, 1982). 238-39
(March 9. 1982). 332-33
(March 23, 1982). 398-99
(March 30. 1982). 30-31
(May 11, 1982), 63 -39
(August 28, 1982). 227-28
(August 31, 1982). 257-58
(September 28, 1982), 381-82
(October 12, 1982). 866-6;
(October 26, 1982), 585-8
9, 19u2)9 609-10
16. 1982). 680-%1
8’ (33.22% $3393?
1 9 4-"
7, 1982). 785-86
1%. 1982). 792-93
2 9 198?). 857'58
15, 1983). 211-12
(February 22. 1983). 258-55
(March 1, 1983), 283-8
(March 22, 1983), 381- 2
(April 12. 1983). 876-77
(April 19, 1983), 508-09
(May 10. 1983). 637-38
(May 17. 1983). 669-70
(August 2, 1983). 180- 1
(November 15, 1983), 6 6-87
(December 6, 1983), 808-09
(December 13, 1983), 851-52

.‘r.- a. (fi.....-_*. .__

(November
(November
(November
(November
(December
(December
(December
(February

318

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC MAGAZINE (continued)

"Sing, Little Chillun,"
"Civilized Nuance,"
"Soldiers' Plays,"

"Ham Hangs High,"
"Brood of Glory,"
"Beautiful Apologia,"
"Othello,"

"Diggesand Anderson,"
"Cherry Orchard,"

"Tact and Causes,"

"Mr. Fowler's Bad Boy,"
"Flesh, Fish, Fowl,"
"Enter Madame Pitoeff,"
"Assorted Flavors,"
"Behind the Beyond,"
"Trojan House,"

"Anna Lucasta,"

"Little Women,"

"Must Handbook,"

"So Divine An Air,"
"New Fanciful Pieces,"
"Boston Limited,"

"I Remember Mama,"
"Tin Tinnabulations,"
"New Year Start,"
"Barrie's Children,"
"Tempest,"

"Life is a Dream,"
"Fancy Romp,"
"Varieties of Legend,"
"Marvelous Task,"
"Glass Menagerie,"
"Robert E. Jones,"
"Oklahoma's Little Sister,"
"Martha Graham,"
"Another War Play,"
"Nazi Privacies,"
"Stingless Death,"

"At the Booth,"
"Serious Efforts,"
"Assorted Murders,"
"Broadway,"

"Doris Keane,"

"Mid Season,"

"Miss Graham: The Lunts,"
"Majestic: Royals,"
"Far and Wide,"

109
109
109
109
109
109
109
110
110

110
110
110
110
110
110
110
111
111
111
111
111
111
111
111
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
112
113
113
113
113
113
113
118
118
118
118

(December 20, 1983), 885-86
(December 27, 1983), 915-16
(August 16. 1983). 228-25
(September 27, 1983), 826-27
(October 8. 1983). 857-58
(October 25, 1983), 588-91
(November 1, 1983),.621-22
(January 31, 1988), 188-89
(February 18, 198%), 180-
1, 211
(February 21, 1988). 282-83
(February 21, 1988), 288-89
(March 27, 1988). 807-09
(April 3. 1988). 870-71
(April 17. 1988), 532-33
(May 1, 19,-Lu), 6011‘s
(May 8, 1988). 629-30
(September 18, 1988), 339-80
(October 23, 1988), 521-22
(November 6, 1988), 595-96
(November 13, 1988), 625-26
(November 20, 1988), 661-62
(December 1988), 798-99
(December 18, 1988), 836-37
(December 25, 1988), 867-68
(January 15, 1985), 85-86
(January 22, 1985). 118-19
(February 12, 1985). 227-28
(February 26, 1985), 295-96
(March 2 , 1985), 821-22
(April 29 1914-5): 8147-11-8
(April 9. 1985). 877-78
(April 16, 1985). 505-06
(April 23. 1985). 556-57
(May 7. 191(5). 688-85
(June 8. 1985). 790-91
(June 11, 1985), 815-16
(June 25, 1985). 871-72
(JUly 99 19h5)9 88'89
(October 8, 1985). 869-70
(October 15, 1985). 899-500
(October 29, 1985). 573-78
(November 12, 1985), 639-80
(December 10, 1985), 798-99
(June 28, 1986), 125-26
(February 8, 1986), 158-59
(February 11, 1986), 189-90
(February 18, 1986), 258-55

 

 

 

 

 

II. ARTICLES IN THE NEW REPUBLIC

 

"Miss Cornell's Antigone,"
"Coupe de Grace,"

"Current Slapping,"
"Thinking Playwrights,"
"O'Neill and Rostand,"
"Revivals,"

"American Repertory Theatre,"115

"EXperimental Ground,"
"Notes on Exhibitions,"
"Art and the Moral Life,"
"Book on Diego Rivera,"
"Notes on the Havemeyer

Paintings."

"Ambassador in Art,"
"Mostly About Drawing,"
"Problem of Art Criticimnfl'
"Problem of Art Criticism,"
"Toward a Theatre Art,"
"International EXhibition,"
"Italian Painting, Two

Centuries,"

"Expressionistic,"
"Talcott Drawing,"
"Art and Decision,"
"Narcissi and Titian,"

116
58
S9
61

63
70
71
78
7h
77
77

79
86
88

91
92

315

MAGAZINE (concluded)

(March 8, 1986), 317-18
(March 11, 19 6), 389-50
(April 8. 198 ). 879-80
(June 28, 1986), 908-05
(October 12, 1986), 517-18

5 (October 28, 1986). 556-57

(November 25, 1986). 698-95
(May S: 1987). 83-8%

(April 28, 1929). 2 0—81
(July 17, 1929). 228-30
(January 15, 1930), 223-28

(May 21 1930), 18-19
(April 6, 1932), 206-08
(June 29, 1932), 181-82
(March 29, 1933), 186-88
(April 5. 1933). 215-17
(January 3, 1938), 228-26
(January 31, 1938). 339-80

(August 8, 1928). 387- 8
(April 1. 193 ). 225-2
(September 9, 1936). 133-38
(July 21, 1937). 307-08
(October 6, 1937). 288-85

III. ARTICLES IN THE NEW YORK TIMES

"Letter to Eleanor Duse," (October 28, 1923), VIII, 8, col.1

"Best People,"
"All Good Chillun Got

(August 20,

1928), 8, col. 1

Wings," (August 2 , 1928), VII, 1, col.1
"Werewolf," (August 2 , 1928), 6, col.1
"Easy Mark," (August 27, 1928). 18, col.2
"Werewolf," (August 31, 1928). VII 1, col.1
"Havoc, and Nerves," (September 2, 1928). 22, col.2
"Chocolate Dandies, Pigs,"(September 2, 1928). 22, col.2,5
"Haunted House," (September 3, 1928). 12, col.1
"The Tantrum," (September 5, 1928). 20, col.2
"What Price Glory," (September 6, 1928), 18, col.3
"Havoc and Nerves," (September 7, 1928), VII, 1, col.1

"Thoroughbreds,"
"High Stakes,"
"Mash and the Face,
"Conscience,"

(September
(September
(September
(September
"Realism in the Theatre," (September

1928). 12, col.1
10, 1928). 21, col.3
11, 1928). 27, col.3
12, 1928), 19, col.3
18. 1928). VIII. 1.
col.1

 

 

 

316

III. ARTICLES IN THE NEW YORK TIMES (continued)

"Schemers," (September
"Greenwich Village
Follies," (September
(September
"What Price Glory," (September
"Hassan, Lazybones," (September
"Grounds for Divorce," (September
"Minick," (SeptemberZ
"Little Angel," (September
"That Awful Mrs.
Eaton," (September

I! My son , fl

"Bewitched," (October 2
"Stage Settings," (October 5
"Acting," (October
"Bewitched," (October 5
"Little Angel," (October
"Great Music," (October 6

(October 7
(October 8
(October 1

"Fake , '1

"Red Falcon,"

"Crime, etc.,"

"In His Arms,"

"Guardsman,"

"Firebrand,"

"Letter from Gilbert
Miller," (October 1

(October 1
(October 1

"Eldridge," (October 1
"Comment," (October 1
"Theatre Guild," (October 1
"L'Aiglon," (October 2
"Tiger Cats," (October 2
"Reply to Letter," (October 2
"Theatre," (November
"Naked," (November
”Madame Same-Gene," (November

"Second Mrs. Tanqueray,"(November
"Miracle," (November
"Cherry Lane Players,
etc.," (November

"Homme Qui Assassins," (November
"Procrureur Hallers," (November
"L'Homme et ses

Fantones," (November

"Odeon Theatre," (November
"War of the World," (November
"Odeon Theatre," (November
"Peter Pan," (November

"Produced in Washing-
ton," (November

16, 1928), 27, col.1

17, 1928). 16, col.1

18, 1928), 18, col.2

21, 1928). VII, 1, col.1

23, 1928). 23, col.1

2151-, 19214)»), 20, 001.1
1928). 20, col.1

29, 1928), 10, col.3

30,1928) 2?, col.1
, 1928).2 26, col.3
, 1928). VIII, 1, col.1

5, 1928), VIII, 1, col.1

, 1928), VIlI, 1, 001.1

5, 1928), VIII, 1, col.1

, 1928), 2%, col. 1
D 1928):2 y 901 3
, 1928). 22, col. 1
0, 1928). 22, col.2

(October 18, 1928). 23, col.1

A. 1928). 23. col.1
6, 1928), 33, col.1

8, 1928). 18. co1.6

9, 1928), VIII, 1, col.2
9, 1928). VIII, 1, col.1
9, 1928). VIII, 1, col.1
l, 1928). 21, col.1
2, 1928), 19, col.1
6, 1928). VII, 1, col. 2
2, 1928), VII, 2, col. 8
2, 1928), VII, 1, col. 1
8, 1928), 30, col.1

9, 1928). VIII, 1, col.1
9, 1928), VIII, 1, col.1

9, 1928), VIII, 1, col.2
11, 1928). 20, col.1
13, 1928), 18, col.1

IA. 1928). 16, col.1
16, 1928), VIII, 1, col.1
23, 192A). VIII, 1, col.1
23, 1928). VIII, 1, col.1
7, 1928). 16, col.2

30, 1928), VIII, 1, col.1

 

 

-‘

317

III. ARTICLES IN THE NEW YORK TIMES (continued)

"They Knew What They

Wanted,"
"Close Harmony,"
"Harem,"
"Badges,"

"Little Clay Cart,"
"Little Clay Cart,"
"Candida,"
"Y0ungest,"
"Yushny's Seeniaya

Ptitza,"

"Old English,"
"Habitual Husband,"
"Bully ’ 1!

"Lady Be Good, etc.,"
"Carnival,"
"Carnival,"

"Jack in the Pulpit,"
"Loss 0 Laughter,"
"Processional,"
"Isabel,"

"Othello,"

"Beyond,"

"Depths,"

"Patience,"

"Is Zat So,"

"Show Off,"

"Exiles,"

"The Dove, Art Ex-

plaining, etc.,"

"Anadre,"

"Censoring,"
"Wild Duck,"
"Wild Duck,"
"Starlight,"

 

(November
(December
(December
(December
(December
(December
(December
(December

(December
(December
(December
(December
(December
(December
(January
(January
(January
(January
(January
(January

(February
(February
(February
(February

(February
(February
(February
(February
(March 1,
(March 8,

30. 1928).

VIII, 1, 001.2

2, 1928). 23, col.1
3, 1928). 28, col.1
h. 1928). 25. col-1
6, 1928). 13, col.3

18. 1928).
21, 1928),
23, 1928).

29. 1928).
28, 1928).
25, 1928).
26. 1928).
28, 1928).
30, 1928),

VIII, 3, col.1
VII, 1, col.1
17, col.1

11, col.1
ll, col.2
27, col.3
18, col.1
VII, 1, 001.1
15, col.1

8, 1925), VII, 1, col.1

7, 1925)) 33: 00101

9. 1925). 13. col-2

13, 1925), 17, col.1

1%, 1925), 19, col.1

1 , 1925), VII, 1, 001.1
January 8, 1925), VII, 1, 001.1

(January 28, 1925), 15, col.3

1, 1925), VII, 1, 001.2
1, 1925), VII, 1, 001.1

15. 1925).
20. 1925).

22. 1925).
28. 1925).
2A. 1925).
25. 1925).

VII, 1, 001.1
20, col.2

VII, 1, col.1
17, col.1
18, 001.7
16, 001.8

1925), VII, 1, col.1

1925). 17.

col.2

"Pierrot the Prodigal," (March 7, 1925), 8, col.1
(March 8, 1925), VII, 1, col.1
(March 10, 1925), 19, col.1

"Art and the Theatre," (March 15, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1
(March 17, 1925), 19, 001.8
(April 1, 1925). 21, col.2
(April 8, 1925), 20, col.2

"Starlight,"
"Puppets,"

"Devil Within,"
"Love for Love,"
"Dunce Boy,"

"Pelles and Melisande," (April 5,
(April 16,

"Saphire Ring,"
"Theatre Guild's New

Theatre,etc.," (April 19,
(April 26,
(April 27 9

"Candida,"
"Kai Khosru,"

1925), IX, 1, 001.1
1925), 25, 001.2

1925), IX, 1, col.1
1925), VIII, 1, 001.1
1925). 18, col. 2

 

 

 

‘1‘
'_
i

.i

d

I

_;__,

318

III. ARTICLES IN THE new YORK TIMES (concluded)

 

"Politics and Dramatist," (May, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1
"Realistic School of
Acting," (May 10, 1925), VIII, 1, 001.1
"Mature Actresses," (May 28, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1
"Historical Theatrical
Data," (May 31, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1
"Weber and Fields," (June 7, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1 F
"Menaechmi," (June 9, 1925), 16, 001.2 3
"Princess Charlotte
Elizabeth of Batavia," (June 18, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1 '
"Censorship," (June 21, 1925). VIII, 1, col.1 )
"Templeton, etc.," (June 28, 1925), VIII, 1, col.1 (
"Group Theatre
Questionnaire," (April 10, 1932), VIII, 3, col.3
"Feature Article on the
South," (January 17, 1937). VIII, 8, col.1
"Tribute to MrS.-Chan1et,"(July 2, 1986), 28, 7, col.1

)r‘LAI—T“ -

IV. ARTICLES IN ibiGAZINES OTHER THAN THE NEW REPUBLIC

 

"Textiles," Am. Mag. of Art, 22, (January, 1931). 3l~33
"Paintings atIRehn Galleries," Art Di est, 20 (November 15,

 

: “ 3
"New Poems in Paint," Art Digest, 88 (Ngvegber 15, 1985).
2 -2
"Werd Pictures," Art Diges , 82 (June, 1983), 38-80
"When is it a Play. Bookman, 65 (June, 1927). 823-25
"As to Revivals of Plays," Bookman, 65 (July 1927), 539-81
"Actor," Bookman, 65 (August, 1927), 628-30
"ConversatIons with Duse," Centur , 110 (May 1925), 101-05
"Cities and Sea Coasts and IsIands," Dial, 66 (March 22,
1919) 9 296‘97
"Beautiful and the Free," Bar or, 186 (January 1923), 255-58
"Nocturne on Education," Independent, 112 (April 26, 1928),

 

 

 

228-32
"Return of the Teacher," Nation, 107 (September, 1918;, 5

2 1- 3
"Return of the Teacher," Nation, 118 (1928). 511-15
"Portrait," Sat. Eve. Post, 207 (April 6, 1935). 120-25
"Messages," —No Am, 207 (May, 1918), 758-63
"Vitality in Art," 213 (February, 1921), 203-08
"Good Friday," 213 (April, 1918), 518-23
"Providence in Florence," 213 (May, 1921), 656-62
"Mental Goodness," 218 (July, 1921), 76-82
"Culture at Dinner," 218 (October, 1921), 587-53
"Country Gods," 215 (January, 1922), 56-63

319

IV. ARTICLES IN MAGAZINES OTHER THAN THE_NEW REPUBLIC

"Critical Architecture," No Am, 215

"Moliere: Comedian of

Society,"

"Dionysos' Garland,"
"Consciences,"
"Apron String in our

Theatre,"

"Civilization and the

French Theatre,"

"Many Gods,"

"Flower in Drama,"
"Two Walks,"

"Country Matters,"
"Duse,"

"Sophocles' Guest,"
"Garland of Dioysos,"

1923-1928

"Ora Pro Nobis,"

"Sunday Races,"

215
215
216

216

217
217
217
217
218
218
219

219
220
221
223

"Culture at Dinner," Scholastic, 25

 

"Notes on the

Spanish Theatre," Theatre Arts,

 

"England in
Vincensa,"
"Voice in the
Theatre,"
"Giovanni Grasso,"
"Acting,"
"Sources in Art,"
"Ideas in Art,"
"Illusion in Acting,"
"Promptbook,"
"Seeing the Point,"
"Art of Directing,"

"On Wearing Costumes,"
"Footnotes on Acting,"
"New Wine in the
Theatre,"
"Billets Doux,"

"Shakespeare and the
Venetians,"
"Mei Len-Fang,"

8

<h0CDGHD~PQCFO“fi. U1

FHA
cwo

p:
p;

18

 

(continued)
(January, 1922), 805-12

(February, 1922), 281-88
(May, 1922), 683-91
(November, 1922) , 673-80

(December, 1922), 833-82

(January, 1923), 56-68
(March, 1923). 383-52
(April, 1923). 555-60
(June, 1923). 799-807
(September, 1923), 369-75
(December, 1923), 776-88
(February, 1928). 219-29

(June, 1928), 878-82
(December, 1928). 310-18
(1925), 763‘65
(September, 1926), 521-30
(January 5. 1935)

(April, 1920), 156-59
(April, 1921), 157-61

(July, 1921), 188-90
(January, 1922), 1-2
(October, 1922), 276-90
(April, 1923). 185-52
(October, 1923), 275-83
(February, 1928). 98-102
(March, 1928), 159-65
(June, 1928). 389-98
(April, 1925), 227-88
(1925).'817-19
(February, 1926), 88-98
(October, 1926), 667-73

(March, 1927). 185-93
(October, 1929). 735-85
(May, 1930), 809-18
(MBY. 1931): 385'92
(April, 1932), 307-15

(January. 1930). 38-88

18 (April. 1930). 295-308

320

IV. ARTICLES IN MAGAZINES OTHER THAN THE NEW REPUBLIC
(concluded)

 

"American Theatre
in Italy," Theatre Arts, 15 (October, 1931), 825-35
"Billets Doux

 

(Con.)," 16 (October, 1932), 816-26
"Sacred and Pro- PM
fans Love," 16 (November, 1932), 895-908 g ”8
"Note on Salome of f 3
the Metropolitan," 18 (March, 1938), 206-11 3 '
"Reading Lesson," 18 (May, 1938), 358-57
"Gulls and Chekhov," 22 (October, 1938), 736-82
"Sluse about Duse," 23 (April, 1939). 279-88 1
"Failing Plays and 5 ‘
the Critics," 25 (November, 1981), 777-79 A ,
"Painting and the t 9
Theatre," 31 (September, 1987), 20-28

"Theatre 1932 New York," v g , 9 (April, 1933), 262-76
"Encaustics for South-

erners," 11 (April, 1935), 268-80
"Encaustics for South-
erners," 13 (January, 1937). 35-88
"Chapters from a Book
of Memories," 28 (April, 1988), 217-38
"Chapters from a Book
of Memories," 28 (October, 1988), 558-73
"Chapters from a Book
of Memories," 26 (April, 1950), 261-67

"Realism in the Theatre," Yale R, 16 (October, 1926), 112-28

V. MATERIALS ABOUT STARK YOUNG

 

Anderson, Maxwell, Off Broadway, New York, 1987
"Art Exhibit," New York Times, (May 19, 1983), 28, 001.7,
(May 23, 19 3), II, 10, 001.3
"Art Exhibit," New York Times, (November 1 , 1985), II, E,
001.
Atkinson, Brooks, "Credo of a Critic," SRL, 32 (August 5,
Bailey, R. S., "The Theatre's Art," Inde endent, 119,
(Octofier 8, 1927), 368
Barr, Stringfellow, "The Dandridges and the Goats," _Q§,
6 (April, 1930), 319-23

Bentley, Eric, "American Theatre Critic," KQnyon Review, 12

(Winter, 1950), 128-87
Bentley, Eric, In Search of Theatre, New York, 1953

‘-.—-

Bentley, Eric, fifi}"§l§jfirigbt”aa‘Tfiinker, New York, 1986

 

 

 

 

 

12'. (it

321

V. MATERIALS ABOUT STARK YOUNG (continued)

 

Bentley, Eric, "Tribute to Stark Young " Theatre Arts, 31,
(November, 1987). 1-5
"Book of the Month," No Am, 217 (April, 1923), 556-58
"Book Review," New York TImes, (October 13, 1929). 6, 001.1
"Book Review," New York—Times, (August 5, 1938), 1, col.2
Brown, John Mason, "The Flower in Criticism," Theatrg Arts,
9 (June. 1925): hl7'18
Brown, John Mason, Letters From the Green Room Ghost,
New‘York,—I938
Brown, John Mason, Two on_§he_Aisle, New York, 1938
Brown, John Mason, Upstage, New York, 1930
Canfield, Mary 0., Seeing the Point," New Re ub, 83
(July 15, 192 , 218-15
Capers, Charlotte, "In the Mail," New York Times Book Review, , ~
TNevember’7, 1988), 85 “— (M,J
Clark, Barrett H., European Theories of Drama, New York, 1918
Clark, Barrett H., and FreedIey, George, A‘Hfstggy of Modern
Drama, New York, 1987
Clark, Emily, "Stark Young's South," V g R, 11 (gcgobgr 1935)
- 2 -2
Clurman, Harold, "A Critic," No Am, 118 (June 28, 1988), 26
Cohen, H. L., One Act Plays by Modern Authors, New York, 1921
Commager, H. 8., American MIKE, New Haven, 1950
Commager, Henry S., "Tfie $6555 That Was Swept Away,"
Scholastic, 57 (November 29, 1950), 12
Conklin, Graff, ed., TEE;E§E_Eepublic Anthology, New yorg,
193
Dickinson, Thomas H., Playerghts of the_New American
'THeatre,7New'Ybrk, 19257
Drewry, John B., Some MagagInes and Magazine Makers, BosEon,
192
"Drama League Reply," New York Timeg, (April 10, 1923), 28,
001.1
Eaton, W. P., "Immortal Shadows," New York Herald Tribune
Book Review,(Novembe—r 28,“1'9II8)","I‘6'“‘T, co .3“
Eaton, W. P., "The SaInt," New York Herald Tribune Book
Review, (OctoBer 8, 1925),—5, 001:3
"Farewell Appearance," Time, 52 (December 13, 1988), 69
Federal Works Project, MIssissi 1, New Yerk, 1986
Gassner, John, Masters 0? the Drama, New York, 1980

 

 

 

 

‘- . '0-.. AH.._. .
. '~ ' e v ‘2 Ju n"! *7
'- J

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gilder, Rosamond, "Theitre‘PractIce," Theatrg_Arts, 10
(September, 1926), 687-88

Halline, Allan G., "American Dramatic Theory Comes of Age,"
Bucknell University Studies, I (Junei11989).

Hawkins, Wm., "Immortal Shadows," Theatre Artg, 36 (January

1989). 79

 

322

V. MATERIALS ABOUT STARK YOUNG (continued)

Hutchens, J. K., "On an Author," New York Herald Tribune
Book Review, (September 30, 1951), 2
"In the Mailbag,"_New‘YorE:Times, (November 2, 1928), VIII,

 

 

 

2, 001.8
"New Books in Brief Review," Independent, 117 (October 2,
1926). 396

Isaacs, Edith J. R., "The Theatre of Stark Young," Theatre
Arts, 26 (April, 1982), 257
Jewett, Ida A., "Literature, Regional," Americana, (1951),
[(9 877-878
Jones, Robert E., "Filled and Pervaded," New Repub, 108,

(June 21, 1983), 829-30

Krutch, Joseph W., "Drama," The Nation, 119 (October 29,
1928): 878-78
Langner, Lawrence,_The Magic Curtain, New Yerk, 1951
Lawson, John Howard, Theory and TeChnigue of Playwriting,
“New York, I935
"Mailbag,"_New Repub, 99 (July 26, 1939). 337-38
Manly, John Mathews and Richert, Edith, Contemporar
American Literature, New York, 922
Mantle, Burns, Contemporary_American Playwrights,
New York, 1938
Martin, Abbott, "Stark Young and the Ransomists," Sewangg
Review, (January-March, 1930), 118-I5
Millett, Fred B., ConEemporagZAmerican Authorg,
_' ‘New York, 1989‘
Morehouse, Ward, Matinee Tomorrow, New York, 1989
Moses, M. J., and Brown, J. M., eds., American Theatre as

Seen B Its Critics, 1938
Nathan, George Jean,"TEe Tfieatre," American Mercu , 3

TfiEcember, 19 . 500
"New Republic Shift Noted,"New York Timeg, (December 20,
1986), 21, 001.1
O'Connor, William Van, An Age 9f Criticism, Chicago, 1952
Payne, Leonidas W., Jr., "A New Soutfiern Poet, Stark Young
of Mississippi," SAg, (October, 1909), 316-27
Payne, L.W., C0mpiler, "American First Editions," Publisher's

t “‘51
..4
r1, \ I;

4"

 

2.1:un...“ ;_,....___.,_
a . .(_- t t’nfl 1

(a
Ha_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Weekl , (March 16, 1935), 1 -
Pritchett, V.A., S ectator, I53 (December 28, 1938), 1005
"Returns from Lecture Tour in Italy," New York Times, (June
20, I931), 21, 001.7
Sobel, Bernard, ed., The Theatre Handbook, New York, 1980
"The Saint," Theatre Arts.V9—IDecember,71925), 886-89
"So Red the Rose,"_EgBlIsher's Weekly, (March 16, 1935),

1187-89
"Stark Young," SRL, 3 (August 21, 1926). 57-59 *
"Stark Young," Safiolastic, 25 (January 5, 1935), 59-62
"Stark Young, PaInter,"Time, 81 (June 18, 1983), 82-83

 

 

 

 

323

V. MATERIALS ABOUT STARK YOUNG (concluded)

"Stark Young," Theatre Arts, 10 (January, 1926), 70
"Theatre Arts Book SHeII," Theatre Arts, 9 (June, 1935). 817
Taylor, Joseph R., The Stor of the Drama, Boston, 1930
Van Doren, Mark, "FIIms," NatIon, 181583 (December 18, 1935).
72
Wade, John D., "Two Souths," v g R, (October, 1938), 616-19
Walton, E. H., "Feliciana," Forum, 98 (September, 1935), vi
West, Ray B., ed., gmsays in Modern Literary Criticism,
‘New York,71952
Zabel, Morton D., Literary Opinion in America,
New York, 1937

 

 

 

 

VI. PORTRAITS

.321 (March 10, 1935), v; 11, 001.1
(Julg 28, 1935). VI, 6, 001.3
§§;. h (192 ). 986

7 (September 27, 1930). 157
12 (May 11. 1935). 13
12 (July 27. 1935). 13
26 (January 23, 1983). 6
25 (February, 1981). 158
26 (July 29, 1935). 56
(4-1 (June 1’4: 19(43): (4'2

 

 

APPENDIX B

Pulitzer Prize Plays
New York Drama Critics' Award Plays
Eugene O'Neill Plays

Miscellaneous Performances

325

I
PULITZER PRIZE PLAYS

Theatre and Date of first

MAlso Circle Award Winners

Award production in
Play Author for New Yerk
They Knew What Sidney
They Wanted Howard 1925 Garrick Nov. 28, 1928
Craig's Wife George Kelly 1926 Morosco Oct. 12, 1925
In Abraham's Province-
Bosom Paul Green 1927 town Dec. 30, 1926
Strange Inter- Eugene
lude O'Neill 1928 Guild Jan. 31, 1928
Street Scene Elmer Rice 1929 Playhouse Jan. 10, 1929
The Green Pas-
tures M.Connelly 1930 Mansfield Feb. 26, 1930
Men in White S.Kingsley 1938 Broadhurst Sept. 6, 1933
eThe Old Maid Zoe Akins 1935 Empire Jan. 7, 1935
Idiot's Delight R.Sherwood 1936 Shubert Mar. 28, 1936
You Can't Take Kauffman
It With You and Hart 1937 Booth Dec. 18, 1936
Our Town T.Wilder 1938 Miller Feb. 8, 1938
Abe Lincoln in
Illinois R.Sherwood 1939 Plymouth Oct. 15, 1938
*The Time of
Your Life Wm.Saroyan 1980 Booth Oct. 25, 1939
There Shall Be
N0 Night R.Sherw00d 1981 Alvin Apr. 29, 1980
The Skin of
Our Teeth T.Wilder 1983 Plymouth Nov. 18, 1982
Harvey Mary Chase 1985 88th St. Nov. 1, 1988
State of the Grouse and
Union Lindsay 1986 Hudson Nov. 18, 1985

F:‘
.r..-

Mn'>.'.flm It . u .1.-

) [7*- ‘y—.'
l
‘-

 

NEW YORK DRAMA CRITICS'

Play
Winterset
High Tor

Shadow and
substance

The Corn is
Green

The Watch on
the Rhine

The Patriots

The Glass
Menagerie

Play

The Hairy Ape
The Fountain

Author

M.Anderson

M.Anderson

Paul

Carroll

Emlyn

‘Willimms

L.He11man

S.Kingsley

T.Williams

II

Award

for
1936
1937

1938

1981

1981
1983

1985

III

CIRCLE AWARDS

326

Theatre and Date of first
production in
New York

Martin Beck Sept. 25, 1935

Martin Beck Jan.

Golden Jan.

National Nov.

Martin Beck Apr.

National Jan.

Playhouse Mar.

EUGENE O'NEILL PLAYS

The Great God Brown

Marco Millions

Strange Interlude

Dynamo

Mourning Becomes Electra

Ah Wilderness

Provincetown

Greenwich.Village
Greenwich'Village
Guild
Golden

Martin Beck
Guild
Guild

9. 1937
26. 1938
26, 1980

l, 1981
29. 1983

31. 1985

Theatre and Date of first pro-

duction in New York

Mar.
Dec.
Feb.
Jan.
Jan.
Feb.
Oct.
Oct.

9. 1922
10, 1925
10, 1926
9, 1928
30, 1928
11, 1929
26, 1931
2, 1933

327

III
EUGENE O'NEILL PLAYS (concluded)

Play Theatre and Date of first pro-
duction in New York
Days Without End Miller Jan. 8, 1938
The Iceman Cometh Martin Beck Oct. 9, 1986
IV

MISCELLANEOUS PLAYS

Play Author Theatre and Date of first
production in
New York
The Verge S.Glaspe11 Provincetown Nov. 18, 1921

The Little Clay Cart Hindu Drama Neighborhood Dec. 5, 1928
Mei Lan-Fang Chinese Actor 59th Street Feb. 17, 1930
House of Connolly Paul Green Martin Beck: Oct. 11, 1931

APPENDIX C

CHRONOLOGY

 

 

 

 

 

329
CHRONOLOGY

Born in Como, Mississippi . . . . . . . . .October 11, 1881
Attended public school until age of . . . . . . . . . . .15
Entered University of Mississippi as Quasi-Freshman . .1896
Awarded A.B. at Mississippi . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1901
Awarded M.A. in English at Columbia University. . . . .1902
Began publiahing poetry, essays, etc. . . . . . . . . .1906
English Professor, University of Mississippi. . . 1908-1907
English Professor, University of Texas. . . . . . 1907-1915
Founded The Texas Review. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .1915
English Professor, Amherst College. . . . . . . . 1915-1920

Editorial Staff of The New Republic 1921-1928

0
O
O
0

Editorial Staff of_1heatre Arts . . . . . . . . . 1921-1980

 

Drama Critic, The New York Times. . . . July 1928-July 1925
Drama Critic, The New Republic. . . . . . . . . . 1925-1987

 

Lecturer, New School for Social Research. . . . . 1925-1928
Westinghouse Lecturer in Italy. . . . . . . . . . . . .1931
Resigned fr0m_The New Rgpublic. . . . . . . . . . July 1987