Rapid Reviews

Maoriland Worker, Volume 2, Issue 64, 31 May 1912, Page 7

Rapid Reviews

By R. S. ROSS

A Great Industrial Play.

" The Weavers " and " Strife " Contrasted.

With the c\ciitful mass strikes in -England not. tar behind us, and strikes everywhere, _\ew ZeaL.nd included, with us, what worker can fail to be interested in industrial literature? Never before have the problems connoHcd with the lot of tbe jteoplo in ■their relationship with the production and distribution of wealth been so fully and freely treated in literature as to-day. This, in it self, is a sign and a. herald - a sign of the break-up of an old order and a herald of a New Time ■Certainly, th:. accumulative attention given to working-class conditions in the printer's ink of the. day is not the least '•potential purtc.iit of the period * * * I give my opinion with due diffidence and for what it is worth when I say that. "The Weavers" is probably the greatest industrial play yet written. It is a Gorman play, and, at the same time, a universal one. It is a drama of international application, depicting, with instructional realism, the workings ef the iron heel of Capitalism and the writhing of the Tilings under the he'd. Wherever there is Capitalism, what "The Weavers'' translates is the 'torment ot the workers in sill lauds ..from ('(dorado to Barcelona, or from any industrial pole to its antipodes. The play is the Tragedy of Toil, the Cinematograph of the Class Stru.iglc. It is also a brilliant piece of literature, passionate in its wells and powerful in its insight. r'.'o Rnglish playwright has ■d'vno near the justice fo the thooe as heroin is done. Its gp-atnoss and its strong!h lie in its characterisation of conditions through the- victims and voices of the condition". What, then, is "The Weavers"? ■] shall perhaps make this clearer, and as Weil tin- gih-ni nee between it: and other p'-ns. il I contrast it and "Strife." "Ti'ie Weavers."' by tlie way, is by Gelbart I latuit intinii, and tho copy before un- is p. an slated from the Gorman by .Mary .Morison. "Strife" is by John Galsworthy. Both "The Weavers" and "Strife"' are productions of weight and artistic beauty, and add to these qualities an intellectual force of superb attractiveness. GrauliHg tins, Mill ''Strife" is not in essonee a, proletariat! drama. It has Icon wonderfully boomed, and many talented critiques have b.-: it noticed in'oii its moti*-'. When i say, the-efoie, that it isn't a proletiiie.n drama, 1 mean it- doesn't, interpret the heart of the strife it handles. If is itu acute study in the egoism of leadership, but mc. a study in the egoism behind tilt 1 egoism of h adersbip. Actually it. is basically unsympathetic to strikes ami strikers. Written around and of a strike, if resolves itself into a dissection of certain manifestations of the strike. It is skilfully and scintilla.ingly analytic, but only of a superstructure. Tliop is much more in a strike than the play of personality, and though this aspect is mightily portrayed in "Strife," it can tie no more said to be proletarian than George Gissing's allegedly Socialist novel, "Demos," masterly as this is. For myself, 1 should he, disposed to add this novel and this play to Meredith's "Egoist," and recommend the throe to ail who sought to skin men ami women to see to their core. Bui I shouldn't accept either of the first two as correct and true comprehension of working-class thought and spirit, any more than I'd accept Meredith's study as infallible. _■ » * However, a proletarian drama is necessarily part of proletarian philosophy, and proletarian philosophy is I he seeing and understanding of workingclass lav. r . Down in the depths of work-ing-class turmoil and suffering, aspirations and tendencies, are to be found causes as inexorable and inevitable as the sun and its satellites. lit; who would write groat drama concerning industrial problems must know these. iliUiplmann knows. * * * This, then, is the dill'eroneo between "The Weavers" and ''Strife." Ilaiipfmann's play is real portraiture, and suggests neither the cynical mo- ult< runin respect fo strikes. Strikes _ have deeper roots than human perversity or ambition. I faupt manns treuti.H tit is sympathetic, because, it is i-e..-rcct._ Galsworthy's domain is that of manifestations,'as I have said, undo llueptmaniris domain is thai of causes of manifestations. I cannot recall a sentence of Galsworthy's which indicates a knowledge of the psychology or inwardness of the under-world upon which "Strife" is ended. Hanpt-

niann's whole business >s at foundations. _ • • "The Weavers" is a drama of tbe forties, and the action passes at Peterswaldan. The acts are live. They unfold revolution-in-the-making and revolution. The play may well lv accepted as ;i presentation in miniature of U ese forces, notwithstanding that the suites are local and the outbreak restricted in area. Again let mc indicate a difference from "Strife." "Strife" may bo allowed as a delineator of revolution: it is "The Weavers" which explains the revolution. Before the revolution is the making of it. Why revolution? Wouldst know? Then, read "The Weavers." Why strikes everywhere? "The Weavers" will tell you. "Strife" might enlighten yon upon the factors and influences now at. work or at play, but from "The Weavers" alone would you get the reasons for and the origin of those influences at tl factors. One is a bit interested in making those distinctions because of the vogue of "Strife" and its forthcoming stage production in Australasia. "Strife" made a hit ami won much ritieal criticism, and in book form is .oiling splendidly. Nono of the dramatic critics and reviewers, in their eulogy and their claims, appear to havo known of tho existence of "The Weavers," which, I repcat_, exceeds "Strife," considered purely as industrialist drama ami probably equals it as art. « • • In the first act of "The Weavers" we are introduced to Droissigcr, fustian manufacturer, to his manager and his cashier, and to a number of weavers and the weavers' wives. The introductory note concerning the act is almost as striking as the dialogue it-self. This is true of all the notes. Take this as a picture of a scene whilst waiting for pay : "It is a sultry day towards the end of .May. The clock is on the stroke l of l'_. Most of the waiting work people have the air of standing before the bar of justice, in torturing expectation of a decision that means life or death to them. They are marked, too, by the anxious timidity characteristic of the receiver of charity, who has suffered many humiliations, and, conscious that be is barely tolerated, has acquired the habit of folf-C'iFnoesncnt. Add to this an expression on eery face that tells of constant, fruitless brooding. There is ;i general resemblance amongst the men. They have something about them of the dwarf, something of the schoolmaster. The majority are flatbreasted, short-winded, sallow and poor-looking creatures of the loom, their knees bent with much sitting. At a first glance the women show fewer typical traits. They look overdriven, reckless, whereas the miH) still make show of a pitiful self-re-spect; and their clothes aro ragged. while the men's art 1 patched am! mended. Some of the young girls are not without a certain charm, consisting of a wax-like pallor, a slander figure, and large, projecting, melancholy eyes." This is "good stuff," as the Americans term exceptional writing- A little imagination and Ihe picture lives. The act deals with the payment and the beating-down of the weavers' rates by the manager. Some of tho driven and ill-treated puoplo try to gain the ear of the manufacturer, but ho evades them. Dreissiger poses as a humanitarian. During the act a boy drops in a faint with hunger and tiredness, whereupon thus the boss: "Tbe child's so weak that a puff of wind would blow him over. How people, how any parents, enn be so thoughtless, is what passes my comprehension. Loading him with two heavy pieces of fustian to carry six miles! . . . Who gets the blatro for it? Why, ef course, the manufacturer." And so on, regardless of the impelling cause of child labor. 'Hie act ends in a reduction of rates and the retirement of the nmnnuring weavers. « -» » The second act takes place in the overcrowded homo of a weaver, and is a, revelation of the workers' conditions, and a dreadfully serious presentation. Mrs. Meinrich is crying and screaming: "My children's starving I'm at my wits' end. Let mc work till I fall down—Fin more dead than alive—it's nil no use. Am I able to fill nine hungry mouths? We got: a bit of bread last night, but it was not oihHudi, even for the two smallest ones. Who was 1 to give it to, eh? They all cried: Mo, mo, mother! Give it to mc! . . . An' if it's like litis while I'm still on my feet, what'll it be when I've to take to bed? Our few taters are washed away. We haven't a thing to put in our mouths." The act terminates with despair, suffering, rage, haired, thirst for revenge all finding utterance in the snug of Jaegar, once a weaver, now a discharged soldier:

"The justice to our weavers dealt Is bloody, cruel, and hateful; Our life's one torture long drawn out: For lynch law we'd be grateful. Stretched on the rack day after day, Hearts sick and bodies aching, Our heavy sighs their witness bear To spirit slowly breaking." There aro other stanzas equally crude, but this song is destined to be the weavers' "Marseillaise." * * * Act 111. takes place in the principal public-house, and the dialogue is a further exposition of weavers' grievances, regarded from varying standpoints. 'Inwards the close, weavers are heard marching and singing, and one customer expresses the fear of all in saying, "It'll not surprise mc if this ends badly." * * The fourth act is tbrillingly strong. It takes place in the private room of the manufacturer. We note the usual idle talk of society, and then the growing fear of the chatterers as riot becomes imminent outside. Manufacturer, minister, police superintendent, and others, with their wives, arc present, and they talk of the weavers' ads with all the superiority and cant of people considering themselves eternally ordained and secure. Meanwhile, the disturbance in tho street grows in seriousness, and even the- police are resisted. The craven manager can only moan, "It's serious now—serious!" Mrs. Dreissiger throws her arms about her coachman's neck, as John appears to urge the family to escape by Iho back door. "John, John, dear, good John!'" she cries; "save ns, John, save my beys! Oh, what is to become of us'r" They tire going to get away, when a perfect panic of fear seizes Pfcifer, the manager, and he weeps, whimpers, writhes, all tit the same moment, overwhelming Dreissiger with childish caresses and kisses, like a drowning man, clasping him and preventing him moving. Says he: "Dear, good, kind Mr. Dreissiger. don't leave mo behind. I've always served you faithfully. I've always treated the people well. 1 couldn't. give the.in more wages than the fixed rate. Don't leave mc here —they'll do for nic! If they find mc they'll kill mc. 0 God! 0 God! My wife, my children!" Then the weavers appear. They invade the d.rawingrooni, a yelling, laughing mob. The revolution has been made. '" •_■ # * The fifth act transpiies in old weaver Hilse's workroom. Not so nrncii on account of what develops in the workroom as on account of the information it gives of what is eventuating elsewhere, is this act pregnant. It is infinite pathos and dark terror. The emotional analysis of a husband .and a wife's piompiings in this hour of peril—the light for ;i man's soul on tint part of parent ami bride —is memorably transcribed. The revolution i« now in full force, and how it is taken we have as many indie.-it ions as there are temperaments ami qualities of characters. One wdio lias joined the rebels says to another: "I say Becker's right: oven if it ends it) ropes and chains—we'll b- 1 better elf in prison than at home. You're cared for there,, an' you don't need to starve. I wouldn't have joined them, Gustav, if I could have letit be; but once in a lifetime a man's got to show what he feels." This act- recounts a bout with tbe soldiers, and is as ruthless in its exposure of domestic interplay as in its terribly human versatility of sayings and ui'ort*. One of the young women laughingly tells about the fight: "Gran'father, gran'iallicr. they've shot with their guns. Two or three's been knocked down, an' one ot them's turuiu' round and round like a top. and one's twistin' himself _ like a sparrow when its head's b-uu' pulled off. An' oh. if you saw all the blood that came pourin'—!" (Disappears.) Some are actors and some are onlookers, and the gnu-mme or foolish observation,-: of the latter let us into the secret of- how much people are like themselves in the. cri-es euua.Py with the normal. We learn of what hanpt-ns ehieilv per the spectators. In tie l finish, the shouting dies: away. Uu.-.hos a, child into the room, to which a stray shot had nie. rod and si ruck dead tinsturdy old weaver who wouldn't unlit in his piety and trust, in the Lord---rushes in a child crying: "Gran'father. grati'lather. tbev'idrivim: the soldiers <:ut ol the village : ' they've got into D'tiricb's bouse, an''they're doitr v ha! t Ivy did at Dri issgg-.'s. Gran'LV Imr!" The child grows frightened, not if. s that somi thing has happened, puis her (inger into her mouth, and goes: up cautiously to the dead man. "Gran'father!" "Come now, father, won I you .-;>.' something You're trigiUcnin' mc. -' says .Mother Ililse. » « The play is over.