Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/572

It would be easy enough to be indelicate about the rather embarrassing theme of Mr. Knoblauch's play; for (in crude terms) we have here the tale of a little nunnery-novice who accepts at sight the advances of the first alien enemy that comes her way, and bears him a "war-baby." But the author disarms criticism by his transparent idealisation of innocence. For you are to understand that this novice has been brought up in cloistered ignorance of sexual facts; that she has never even set eyes upon a man on the right side of senility; that she is left alone in her convent, the sisterhood having fled at the enemy's approach; and that the first soldier who breaks in upon her solitude is himself virginal, and bears so strong a likeness (thanks in part to a brown-red wig which did not go very happily with Mr. Basil Gill's head) to St. Michael in the nunnery fresco that she at once identifies him with that archangel. So well is her innocence sustained that it serenely survives the relations into which they enter; nor could I even find that the "miracle" of her child's birth was ever associated in her mind with those relations. This of course means that we are asked to believe a good deal, though not perhaps an absolute breach of natural laws.

Mr. Knoblauch may have been influenced by memories of Reinhardt's Miracle or Davidson's Ballad of a Nun, but he has gone his own way. He has not taken the obvious course of approving the revolt of natural instinct against the hot-house atmosphere of the convent; he simply shows us a type so childlike that it is incapable of taint.

Perhaps any lover, not too boisterous, might have served the author's purpose passably well; but he makes sure of his ground. His soldier, though he loves and rides away (to the grave disappointment of some of the audience he failed to return and "make an honest woman" of the novice—having died, I hope, in action), is no common corporal of Dragoons, but goes far, by his attitude, to justify the child's error in mistaking him for St. Michael. My only complaint is that, having arranged these conditions, quite arbitrarily exceptional, the author should have taken occasion to pronounce, through the medium of the only enlightened nun in the establishment, a tirade against the stuffy secretiveness of the conventual system. To assign this sort of blame is to suggest (which he never intended to do) that the innocence which he has all along been glorifying was largely a mere matter of ignorance.

Miss Marie Löhr, a charming figure in her novice's dress, was the best possible choice for this virginal type. In the Second Act, when she treats the intruding soldiers like a lot of nice large dogs, she was delightful in her naïve simplicity. But the last Act dragged heavily, and I grew very tired of Sister St. Marie-Odile's enthusiasm over her "little one" in the cradle (an enthusiasm which I was not in a position to endorse, as the infant was concealed from me) and her reiterated protest that she "could not yet understand" the very natural indignation of the Mother Superior. Mr. Knoblauch might have made more of this lady if he had allowed her a touch of humanity, but here he went the way of least resistance, and Miss Helen Haye followed him with a great and cat-like fidelity. Mr. Basil Gill had a difficult task in combining the personalities of St. Michael and a seducer of innocence, but he achieved it with such discretion as the case permitted. Mr. O. B. Clarence as Peter, the sole male attached to the convent, made a lovable dotard. Mr. Hubert Carter, most robust and swarthy, showed a rough good-nature very admirable in the leader of a licentious soldiery. Among the inarticulate characters the convent pigeons did well, including St. Francis, the brown one, who was condemned to death for the Mother Superior's dinner, and never knew how large a part he played in the issue of the drama.

When I have added that the scene was too pleasant for any need of change I hope I have done my duty by a play that is not likely, for all its good qualities and still better intentions, to repeat with us in London the success it won in America at a time when they could still treat the subject of War in a spirit of detachment.

Sir George Langworthy, stockbroker, had a holy horror of gambling in every form—his own business, which he described as "legitimate speculation," of course excepted. That being so, it was unfortunate that he should have selected as step-mother to his grown-up son and daughter a young lady with a congenital passion for play. For a time the new Lady Langworthy managed to conceal her proclivity under the guise of an absorption in music, and ascribed to concerts the time she spent at the bridge-table. But a run of bad luck proved her undoing. She dared not tell her husband what she owed and why she owed it. Her brother, Harold Tempest, had the same fitful fever running through his veins and was already deeply in debt to one Amos, a money-lender. In despair, and on the off-chance that her luck would change, she went off to a fashionable gambling hell, kept by Major and Mrs. Stocks (admirably played by Mr. Lyston Lyle and Miss Frances Wetherall). Here she met John Leighton, a mysterious financial acquaintance of her husband, who vainly endeavoured to dissuade her from playing and offered to lend her the money; and here, too, came Sir George to fetch his wife from the "musical evening" which he supposed to be in progress. He had barely discovered his mistake when in marched the police and arrested the whole party, himself included.

The Third Act takes place at the Langworthys' on Christmas Day. In spite of her pleading Sir George refuses to forgive his errant spouse, and goes off to church in a most un-Christian state of mind. Harold appears to reveal the fact that to get money from old Amos to pay his sister's debts he has put Leighton's name on the back of a bill, and that the forgery cannot be concealed, as he has since learned—what the experienced playgoer has guessed for some time—that Leighton and Amos are one and the same. And no sooner has he gone than in walks Leighton himself to make hot love to the forlorn little gambler and to urge her to fly