New-York tribune. [volume], November 23, 1919, Page 6, Image 72

About New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924

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A Story by Poe, Done Word for Word Into a Play
Bon^Bon, host of the Cafe de BotuBo?*
The short stories of Edgar Allan Poe have been, with only slight
changea, adapted to play form, and soon will be presented from
the stage of the Prb cess Theater by Mr. William Barstow./ The
first offering is to bo "Bon-Bon," which ie herewith reproduced
in its dramatic form. The spoken lines are, without exception, the
exact conversation utritten by the author in short story form. The
description of tiie efiaractcrs and setting are oe Poe pictured them.
While the exact date has not been set, there will be performances
Sunday evening a>id matinees Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. These
otner Poe stories are to be presented later in dramatic form:
"Lenore," "The Teil Tale Heart," "The Gold. Bug" and "Lionizing."
One thinq tluit these flays are said particularly to bring out is
the fact that Edgar Allan Poe was possessed of a very distinct and
even wll developed sense of humor.
TIME-?ONE MIDNIGHT IN 1810
Caf? in Cul-de-Sac Febvre
* * SEVERE ??inter storm without,
/m A long, low-pitched room of
4 P antique coyisti-uction. In the j
cor?ier of the room $tands I
the bed of the metaphysician. An
array of curtains a la Ore que. In thj
corner, diagonally opposite, appears in
direct family communion the properties
of the kitchen and biblioth?que. A'large.
lamp suspended from ceiling on iron
chains suing* cfifvlsively. Large vol?
umes, u-ith pronounced German bindings,
are retting upon gridiron. A small bust
cf Flato is in frying pan. A spit ex?
tends in front of fireplace, upon which ,
ancient parchment is filed. Oihertoise, '<
the Cafe de Bon-Don differs very little ,'
from the usual restaurants of that
period. A large fireplace at right of
?tage. An open cupboard displays a for?
midable array of labelled bottles.
PIERRE BOX-COS. having listened
to the comrnen's of his neighbor?, tui~ne
them all out of doors and locks the door
with an oath and lakes himself to a
leather-bottomed chair, grumbling, fac?
ing fire of blazing fagots. The houee
?hakes fearfully with wind rushing
through crannies of the wall and pour?
ing down chimney, shaking curtains of
philosopher's bed, and disorganizes the
economy of his pate pans and papers.
The folio sign creaks ominously without.
After completing a scrutiny, whose
exact purpose was unintelligible to him
?elf, he draws close to himself a email
table covered with books and papers, and
soon becomes absorbed in the task of
retouching a voluminous manuscript in?
tended for publication on the morrow.
He is occupied for some moments, when
a whining voice is heard in the apart?
ment.
BON-BON?Out of the fcouset Corse
you a!!! You shall not talk about my
propensity.
(Locks the door, and, walking to the
fireplace, sits in leather-bottomed chwir
before the blazing fagots. It enow?
fiercely without and the wind shakes
the curtains of the philosopher's bed. A
kuge folio sign swings without. Bon
Bon, attempts to make a des ?ufs a la
Princesse. Unfortunately, perpetrates
an omelet a la Reine. Overturns the
stew, whistles to the dog, and settling
uneasily in chair, draws close to his
seat a small table covered with booki
and becomes absorbed in manuscript.)
HIS MAJESTY (in a whining voice)
?I am In no hurry, Bon-Bon.
BON-BON (starting to his feet anu
overturning table)?The Devil!
HIS MAJESTY?Very true.
BON-bOi^ (eyes falling upon some
thing stretched upon the bed)?Ver?
true! . . . What Is very true? . .
How came you here 7
HIS MAJESTY?I was saying . .
I waa saying that I am not at al
, pushed for time . . . that the bus!
I nesa I took the liberty of (-ailing for i
?
of no pressing Important ... In
abort, I can very wall wait until yea
have finished your exposition.
BON-BON?My ??position! Trum
now I How do you know? How ?earns
you to understand that I waa writing
an exposition? Good Godl
HIS MAJESTY (?in ?hr?l t*n*h
Hush!
(Rises quickly from bed ama motte?
singla step toward Bon-Ben, while iron
lamp swinge convulsively baek from hi?
approach,)
BON-BON (considerable embarrassed)
?Why, sir . . . why, air ... to
speak sincerely, I believe you are . ? .
npon my word . . . the d?ndert ...
j that is to say, I think ... I can imag?
! ine ... I have some faint . . . some
| very faint idea ... of the remarkable
! honor
? HIS MAJESTY?Say no more ... I
j see how it is . . ,
BON-BON (interrupting His Majesty)
j ?Oh, ah, yes . . . very welL
(His Mafvety takes off hi? green
! spectacles, wipes the glasee? carefully
> on sleeve of his coat and deposit? them
i in his pocket. Pierre Bon-Bon perceive?
' plainly that Bis Majesty hoe no eye?J
BON-BON?Ah, bum ... I peredve
' that your Majesty1? ?y? are neither
. black, as I anticipated . . . nor gray,
j as might have been Imagined . . . nor
I hazel, nor blue, nor indeed yellow . . .
J red, nor purple . . . nor whit? . . .
1 nor gTeen, nor any other color in the
! heavens above, nor the earth beneath,
j nor in the waters under the earth!
j HIS MAJESTY?Eyes! My dear Boa
l Bon . . . eye?, did you say ? . . ,
Oh! . . Ah, I perceive! Eye? are
very well in their proper place . . . thai
you would say la In the head . . . right
. . . the head of a worm. I will con?
vince you that my vision ia more pene*
j trating than your ewn . . . There is a
' cat, as you see, In the corner . . . e
pretty <iat . . . look at her . . . ob?
serve her well. Now, Bon-Bon, do yoti
behold the thoughts . ? . the reflec?
tions which are being engendered in bei
pericranium? There It is now . . . yot
do not! She is thinking we admire U?
length of her tail and the profunditj
of her mind. She has Just conclude?:
that I am ths most distinguish?^ o
ecclesiastics and that you are the mos'
? superficial of metaphysician?! Thui
j you may see 1 am not altogether blind
? Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to nso them w?sU
i My vision is the souL
I (Hit Majesty helps himself to win.
: on the table, and pouring out ?a bumpe:
for Bon-Bon, requests him to drink i
; nnd make himself perfectly at home.)
MIS MAJESTY (tapping Bon-Boi
j knowingly upon the shoulder)?A clever
! book that of yours, ?apon my honorl I
! is a work after my own heart. Yourar
I
; rangement of the matter, I think, how
j ever, might be Improved . . . and man;
', of your notions remind me of Aristotle
I That philosopher was one of my mos
I intimate acquaintances. I liked him a
j much for his terrible ill-temper as fo
? his happy knack for making a blundei
j There is only one solid truth in a!
! that he haB written, and for that I gav
j him the hint out of pure compassio
. for his absurdity. I suppose, Pierr
Bon-Bon, you very well know to wha
divine moral truth I am alluding?
BON-BON?Cannot say that I d
HIS MAJESTY?Indeed; Why, i
, was I that told Aristotle that . . . b
The Devil, unicclcome guest of Bor^Bon
sneering, men ?expelled superfluous ideas
through the proboscis I
BON-BON?Which is?/ hiccup)? un?
doubtedly tho easel
(Bon-Bon pour? out another bumper
of Mouteeaux and offer? snuffbox to
Hi? Majesty. His Majesty declines
tk? snuffbox.)
HIS MAJESTY?There was Plato,
too, for whom T hold all the affection
of a friend. You knew Plato, Bon-Bon 1
Ahl no. I beg a thousand pardons. He
met me at Athens one day in the Par?
thenon and told me he was distressed
for an Idea, I bade him write down
... He said he would do so and went
home, while 1 stopped over to the
Pyramids, but my conscience smote m?
for having uttered a truth, even to aid s
, friend, and hastening back to Athens, I
: arrived behind the philosopher's chair
! a a he ?-as inditing . . . Giving the
I lamina the fillip with my finger, I turned
it upside down, so the sentence now
rends: "and is, you perceive, the funda?
mental doctrine in his metaphysics."
BON-BON (finishes a second bottle
! of Mousseaux end dmws from closet
I Chambertin I
HIS MAJESTY?But once, Monsieur
; Bon-Bon, there was a time (as if recit?
ing passages from book) . . . There was
i a time when there occurred an anarchy
i of five years, during which the republic,
| bereft of all its officers and with no
? magistracy besides the tribunes of the
j people, and these were not legally vested
j with any degree of executive power . . .
at that time. Monsieur Bon-Bon . . .
' at that time only I was in Rome, and
11 have no earthly acquaintance, conse?
quently, with any of its philosophy.
BON-BON?What do you think of . . .
(hiccup) . . . Epicurus?
HIS MAJESTY (in astonishment)?
What do I think of whom? You surely
cannot find any fault with Epicurusl
What do I think of Epicurus? Do you
mean mo, sir, / am Epicurus? I am the
name philosopher who wrote each of
the three hundred treatises commemo?
rated by Diogenes Laertes!
BON-BON (exclaiming excitedly, for
the win? has gone to hi? head)?Thut's
a liet
HIS MAJESTY (with an air of being
very much flattered)?Very well, very
j well, sir , . . very well, indeed, sir!
BON-BON?That's a Ho . . . that's a
!. . . (hiccup) ... a lie!
HIS MAJESTY?Well, well, have it
: your own way. (Opens another bottle of
Chambertin.) Aa I was saying ... as I
was observing a little while ago, there
are some very oufre notions in that book
of yours, Monsieur Bon-Bon. What, for
j instance, do you mean about all this
1 humbug about tho bouI ?
BON-BON?The . . . (hiccup) . . .
soul is undoubtedly . . .
HIS MAJESTY?No, sir! . . ,
BON-BON?Indubitably! . . .
HIS MAJESTY?No, sir! . .
BON-BON?Evidently! , , .
HIS MAJESTY?No. sir! . . .
BON-BON?Incontrovertiblyl ? . .
HIS MAJESTY?No, sir! . . .
; BON-BON?(hvsoup)
; HIS MAJESTY?No, sir! . . .
BON-BON?And beyond all question
a . . .
HIS MAJESTY?No, sir; the soul la
no such thing!
(Philosopher look? dagger? and takes
occasion to make an end upon the ?pot
i of his third bottle of Chambertin.)
'. BON-BON?Then , . . (hiccup) . . .
! pray, what is it?
HIS MAJESTY?That is neither here
i nor there, Monsieur Bon-Bon, (Amused?
ly) ? have tasted aorno very bad souls
?... I have known so m ?s very bad souls
' and some, too, pretty pood ones. (Smackt
! his lip?.) There was the soul of Grati
I anus , . . passable! Aristophanes, racy;
Plato , . . exquisite . . . not your Plato,
i but Plato, the comic poet? Your Plato
? would have turned the stomach of Cere
?bus! Faugh! . . , Then, let me eee .
j there was Nceviua, A.ndronicus, Pia?jtuf
; and Terentius. Then there were Lucillus
j and Catullus?and Naso and Quinta;
; Placeas . . . dear ?juinty, as I called
him, when he sung a secular? for mj
j amusement, while I toasted him in pure
j good humor on a fork?but they wani
| flavor, these Romano. One fat Greet
! is worth a dozen of them, and, besides
I will keep, which cannot be said of a
! Quirite. Let us taste your Sauferne.
(Bon-Bon?conscious of a etrangt
sound like the wagging of a. tail?kick:
the dog nod- request? him to be quict.j
HIS MAJESTY?I found that Horace
j tasted very like Aristotle. You know, ]
i am fond of variety. Terentius I coulc
| not have told from Menander, Naso
to Tuy astonishment, waa Nicander Ir
i disguiso. Virgelius had a strong t?ving<
j of Theocritus. Martial put ma mucl
I in mind of Archilochua and Titui
Livius was positively Polybius and non?
I ether.
BON-BON?(Hiccup.)
HIS MAJESTY?But if I have a pen
chant, Monsieur Bon-Bon ... If I have
a penchant it is for a philosopher. Let
me tell you, it is not every dev? ... I
mean, it is not every gentleman who
knowa how to choose a philosopher.
Long ones are not good, and the test,
if not carefully shelled, are apt to be
a little rancid on account of gall.
BON-BON?Shelled?
HIS MAJESTY?I mean, taken out of
the carcass.
BON-BON?'Hiccup)?What do you
think of a physician ?
HIS MAJESTY?Don't mention them!
Ugh! Ugh! (Retches violently.) I never
tasted but one . . . that rascal Hippo?
crates . . . smelt of asafcetida . . .
Ugh! Ugh!! Ugh!!! . . . caught a cold
.', . a wretched cold, washing him in
the Styx, and after all, ho gave me the
cholera morbus.
BON-BON?The . . . (hiccup) . . .
wretch! The . . . (hiccup) . . . abortion
of a pill box . . . And the philos?
opher dropped a tear!
HIS MAJESTY?After all . . . after
ail! If a dev-... if a gentleman
wishes to live, he must have more tal?
ents than one or two, and with as a
fat face is an evidence of diplomacy.
BON-BON?How so 7
HIS MAJESTY?Why, we are some?
times exceedingly pushed for provi?
sions. You must know that in a cli?
mate so sultry aa mine it is fre?
quently impossible to keep a spirit
alive for more than two or three hours
--and after death, unless pickled im?
mediately . . ..and a pickled epirit
ia not good! . . . they will smell
. . . you understand, eh? Putrefaction
is always to be apprehended when the
souis are consigned to us in the usual
way.
BON-BON?(Hiccupj . . . Good God!
how do you manage?
(The iron lamp swings with redoubled
violence and the Devi) half started from
his seat. However, with a slight sign, ho
recovered his composure, merely saying
in a low tone.')
HIS MAJESTY?I tell you what.
Pierre Bon-Bon, we must have no swear?
ing.'
(Bon-Bon ewallous another bumper.)
HIS MAJESTY?Why, there are sev?
eral ways of managing. Most of us
starve. Some put up with the pickle.
For my part, I purchase my spirits vi
vent? corpore, in which case I und thsy
keep very well.
BON-BON?But the body , ? . ,0U?>
cup) . . , the body!
HIS MAJESTY?The body . . . the
body . . . well, what of the body ? Oh,
I perceive. Why the body is not at all
affected by the transaction. I have
made innumerable purchases of the kind
in my day and the parties never expe?
rienced any inconvenience. There were
Cain and Nirnrod, and Nero ar.d Calij.
u!a, and Dionysius and Pisistratu*
and . . . and a thousand others who
never knew what !t was to have a son.
during the latter part of their lives.
Yet these men adorned society. Why,
isn't there A- now, whom you know
os well as I do? Is he not in posset?
s'.on of all his faculties, mental and
corporeal? Who writes a keener epi
f-ram? Who reasons more vittily?
Who . . . but stay ... I have his agre??
ment in my pocket.
(Produce a a red leatiier wallet and
takes a number of papers from it. Bon*
Eov catches a glimpse of the letters.)
HIS MAJESTY?In consideration of
certain mental endowments, which it
is unnecessary to specify, and ir fur?
ther consideration of one thousand iouto*
d'or, I, being aged one year ar.d one
month, do hereby make over to the
bearer of this agreement al! my right,
title 3nd appurtenances in the shadov
called my soul . . . (Signed A--. . ..
Clever that, but, like you, Monsieur
Bon-Bon, he ?vas mistaken about thq
soul. The soul a shadow truiy. The
soul a ehadow! Ha! HA! HA! He!
HE! HE!! Hu! HU! HUIJ Only think
of a fricasseed shadow!
BON-BON?Only think of . , . of . . ?
a . . . (hiccup) . . . fricasseed shadow!
Now damme! . . . (hiccup) . . . Humph!
li I would have been such a . . (hiccup)
nincompoop. My soul, Mr.-. . . ,
Humph!
HIS MAJESTY?Your boqI, Mon?
sieur Bon-Bon . . .
BON-BON?-Yes, sir ... (hiccup) ,#<
my soul is . . .
HIS MAJESTY?What, sir?
BON-BON?No shadow, damme!
I??S MAJESTY?Did you mean t?
say? . . .
BON-BON?Yes, sir, my soul ia . . e
(hiccup . . . hiccup) . . . Humph! *Yei?
sir. . . .
HIS MAJESTY?Did you intend to aa
8ort . . .
BON-BON?My soul is . . . (hieeupj
. peculiarly qualified for . . . 'hiccup}*
HIS MAJESTY?What . . . sir?
BON-BON?Stew!
HIS MAJESTY?Ha! Ha!!
BON-BON?Souffl?!
HIS MAJESTY?Eh?
One Hundred Years Ago Yesterday?George Eliot's Birthday
ALTHOUGH her centenary,
observed yesterday, re- j
minds the present genera?
tion of a great name in Vic?
torian fiction, passionate seekers af?
ter self-expression and scorners of
everything Victorian probably re?
member George Eliot less for her
pictures of English country life
than for her unconventional union
with George II. Lewes and her mar?
riage at sixty with J. W. Cross.
Rural Life
Mary Ann Evans?she called her?
self Marian?was born on November
22, 1819, in Derbyshire, where her
father* ; a land agent for the
Newui 'amily. For twenty-one
years her ambitious nature and
strong imagination was smothered
with the details of rural life. Yet,
ail this time she was studying types
and memorizing impressions, later
?to be mirrored in her novels. "The
Mill on the Floss," for instance, is
autobiographical, while "Scenes of
Clerical Life," "Silas Marner" and
"Adam Bede" are among the most
?isdd nktnrM ?ai mancara and ?cua
toms In the Midlands now extant.
"My mind," she says, "was an as?
semblage of disjointed specimens of
beauty, ancient and modern ; scraps
of poetry picked up from Shake?
speare, Cowper, Wordsworth and
Miiton; newspaper topics; morsels
of Addison and Bacon, Latin verbs,
geometry, entomology and chemis?
try; reviews and metaphysics?all
arrested and petrified and smoth?
ered by the fast-thickening everyday
accession of actual events, relative
anxieties and household cares and
? vexations.1*
When she was twenty-one her
j father moved to Coventry, where she
j welcomed new opportunities for in?
tellectual development and made
many friends. Chief among these
were tfie Brays. Brought up in a
strictly religious family, George
| Eiot soon became a freethinker.
Emerson, whom she met at the
Brsys's, she called "the first man I
have ever seen." Offered the post
of assistant editor on "The West?
minster Review," Miss Evans went
to live in London. She filled this
laborious position for many years,
contributing articles and elaborate
reviews. |n her spare moments she
found tun* to translate Feuerbach'?
George Eliot
1 ._. i ?-.
"Essence of Christianity,w the only
book which ever appeared under her
own name.
No Regrets
Soon afterward she met George
Lewes, author of "The Biographical
History of Philosophy" and "The
Life of Goethe," who was then sepa?
rated from his wife. A year later,
although a divorce was impossible, he
and Miss Evans decided upon a
union. Neither ever regretted the
step. Writing to a friend in justi?
fication of her action. George Eliot,
who believed tolaranet to fet Urn
greatest lesson in life, said : "Light
and easily broken ties are what I
neither desire theoretically nor could
live for practically. Women who
are satisfied with such ties do not
act as I have done. That any un?
worldly, unsuperstltious person who
is sufficiently acquainted with the
realities of life can pronounce my
relation to Mr. Lewes immoral, I
can only understand by remembering
I how subtle and complex are the in
| fiuence3 that mold opinion."
j It was? then, at thirty-six, that
? George Eliot began her career as a
| novelist with "Scenes of Clerical
i Life," which attracted the attention
; of Dickens, Carlyle, Thackeray,
| Tennyson, Ruskin, Froude and other
! eminent Victorians. Lewes read her
; books with her as they were written
and. encouraged her with helpful
Drawing Room at the Priory
; criticism and praise. The 1ns;crip- :
tions on the manuscripts she gave
; him record her feelings. "To the
husband, whose perfect love has been
? the best source of her insight and
strength, this manuscript is given by
. his devoted wife, the writer," reads
the inscription on the manuscript of
! "Pvomola."
Seven editions and 16,000 copies of
"Adam Bede," her second novel, were
printed during its first year. Black
wood offered i'2,000 for 4,000 copies
of her next novel. Her financial
success was permanently assured.
Ferdinand Bruneti?re, in 1rs study
of "Le roman naturalists," declared
her the founder of Ei*gi?3h "nat
, uralism."
1 Her Salon
In November, 1863, the Leweses
settled at the Priory, 21 North Re?
gents Park, a house especially asso?
ciated with George Eliot's memory.
In his "Life of George Eliot" Mr
I Cross speaks of the Sunday after?
noon receptions held by the Leweses
which attracted a great variety of
i interesting people. It seem3 thai
? "her salon was important as a meet
Iing place for many friends whon
she cared ?greatly to see, but it wai
not ottarwia? important in her owi
life, for she was eminently not a
typical mistress of a ealon. It was
difficult for her, mentally, to move
from one person to another. Play?
ing around many disconnected sub?
jects, in talk, neither interested her
nor amused her much. She took
things too seriously, and seldom
found the effort of entertaining
compensated by the gain. Fortu?
nately Mr. Lewes supplied any quali?
ties lacking in the hostess. A bril?
liant talker, a delightful reconteur,
versatile, full of resource in the
social difficulties of amalgamating
diverse groups, and bridging over
awkward pauses, he managed to
j3cure for these gatherings most
of the social success they ob?
tained.
"When the drawing-room dooi
of the priory opened a first glance
i revealed Ceorge Eliot always in the
same low armchair on the left hanc
side of the fire. On entering the
visitor's eye was at once arrestee
by the massive head. The abundan1
hair, streaked with gray now, wai
| draped with lace, arranged man
! tilla-fashion, coming to a point a
the top of her forehead, if she wer?
[engaged in conversation her bod;
|wm oauaUy bent forward witl
eager, anxious desire to get as close
as possible to the person with whom
she talked. She had a great dis?
like to raising her voice and often
became so wholly absorbed in con
j versation that the announcement of
an incoming visitor sometimes failed
to attract her attention, but th*f
moment the eyes were lifted up and
recognizied a friend they smiled a
rare welcome ? sincere, cordial,
grave ? a welcome that was felt to
come straight from the heart, not
graduated according to social dis?
tinction."
Her Grief
George Lewes died at the priory
toward the end of 1878 and George
Eliot was prostrated by the blow.
Her grief found expression in de?
voting herself to the arrangement!
of Lewes's unfinished work and in.
the establishing of a George Henry
Lewes scholarship in physiological
research. By degrees she revived.
In 1880 she married John Walta?
Cross, a banker of New York, for
some time a member of the Lewea
circle and with whom her friendship
began when she helped him in his
studies of Dante, She died 3the fol?
lowing December, and it is to Mr.
Cross that posterity is indebted lev
?an interesting biographe .