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really original. In a fit of daring he abandoned scenery and relied, for the indoor scenes at least, on curtains of different hues, harmonizing with the costumes of the actors, and toned, one might think, to the mood of the act. Leontes' palace was represented by a stage almost bare of furniture, with a background of immensely long plush curtains of a neutral shade-a gray tone, as far as I remember--which, when parted for the entry of an actor, afforded a glimpse of green trees and a blue sea. The outdoor scene, with the shepherds' revels, was rigorously simple, green hills and bosky slopes, with a yellow church steeple on the horizon. The acting was careful and generally satisfactory, and the whole production was so eminently artistic as to reconcile the mind to the departure from Shakespearean tradition. The interest aroused by Mr. Tree's production of "Hamlet" without scenery here a few months later showed what a sympathetic impression the Deutsches Theater experiment had made.

Yet in his next production, "Twelfth Night," Max Reinhardt went back to the old groove. The Deutsches Theater had already exposed itself to all the charges which are brought against the Shakespeare of our English stage, but, as if to eclipse its other achievements, it staged Shakespeare's masque in a way which simply challenged criticism. The whimsicality of the comedy fired the director's imagination; he saw his chance, and, as the saying goes, seized it with both hands. The Schlegel and Tieck text was no longer good enough for this modernist; he had his own version prepared by an unknown author, got Engelbert Humperdinck, the composer of "Hänsel und Gretel," to write some of his dainty incidental music, and finally, as an indication of his mental attitude towards the play, Herr Reinhardt at

tached to the customary German title of "Was Ihr Wollt" the sub-title of "Fastnacht"-Carnival.

As far as the staging was concerned, the whole production was strongly under the influence of the version given by His Majesty's Theatre during Mr. Tree's visit here. The Elizabethan garden scene, for instance, with its terraces of box and yew, was directly copied, as was the Kitchen scene, where the revellers sing their merry catch. But it was just this similarity which emphasized the inartisticness of so much of our English Shakespeare. Like Mr. Tree, Herr Reinhardt took as his theme the opening line of the play: "If music be the food of love, play on," and ran a strain of lilting melody though the play. But, recognizing the crass inappropriateness of having "incidental music" blared out by an orchestra in boiled shirt-fronts before the footlights, he put his musicians in costumes on the stage for those scenes in which Shakespeare prescribes music to be played. In an angle of the apartment of the duke's palace, where the play opens, stood the love-sick prince's musicians, in sober Puritanlike costumes with broad linen collars. With backs to the audience they occupied a corner, a picturesque group from some old picture, and when Sebastian called for "that strain again" the plaintive melody went forth in modulated tones. The clown did not sing his philosophic ditties to the accompaniment of an orchestra, nor advance to the footlights, hat in hand, to acknowledge applause and to give his encore. This Feste, а worldweary, melancholy fellow-an original reading of the part, by the way, which, to my mind, is altogether misleading-crooned his songs to his own accompaniment on the lute, and, had his German hearers been misguided enough to interrupt the action of the

play for an encore, would certainly not have been allowed by the management to concede it.

Although the German critics had no words strong enough to denounce Mr. Tree for the interpolation of scenes into Shakespeare, they applauded this enfant terrible of the Deutsches Theater for an idea far more daring than has probably ever been seen in Shakespeare on the English stage. For, following out his interpretation of the play as a carnival jest, Max Reinhardt, with the aid of his trusty ally, the "Drehbühne," made the comedy a long, mad, whirling, uninterrupted whole. As the last words of the scene were spoken the stage was darkened, a screen of gauze was let down over the proscenium opening, and a silvery rattle of bells, such as a jester carries, was heard. The actors, in the dim gloom, were discerned leaving the stage, which moved round, so that one could see them following out the course of the play. We saw the streets of Illyria with a merry throng of revellers, a passing glimpse of yellow houses and red roofs, of bobbing lights and whirling dancers. We saw Malvolio in his bed-chamber, preening himself before a mirror in all the glory of his yellow stockings and cross garters; and we saw Sebastian and his Viola, united at last, locked in a lovers' embrace. There was only one pause between the acts-the theatre's The Contemporary Review.

acknowledgment of the needs of the German playgoer to fortfy himself with beer and Brödchen in the foyerbut otherwise the play went with a swirl and a swish from start to finish, and to me and to the thousands of Germans who subsequently crowded to the Deutsches Theater to see this great Shakespearean success it was an evening of undiluted artistic enjoyment.

Whether they clothe their Shakespeare with a maximum or minimum of scenery, the Germans always contrive to devote to his plays a maximum of art. The English stage has capable actors and actresses enough to standardize the stage representation of Shakespeare and make the home of the poet the centre to which all the world will come to see its greatest dramatist finding expression in the tongue in which he wrote. As the conditions of the English stage now stand, there would seem to be little prospect of a change other than through the medium of an endowed theatre. Those who have seen the German Shakespeare cannot be in any doubt as to the fitness of perpetuating the memory of our great poet on the three-hundredth anniversary of his death by the establishment of a National Theatre, which, by raising the level of English dramatic taste, would bring our Shakespeare into his own again.

Eulenspiegel.

A DAY IN A GAME RESERVE.

The rising sun is gleaming golden through the dark-green foliage of the wild fig-trees down by the water, as, our matutinal coffee partaken of, and the first, and best, pipe of the day in full progress, we stroll out beyond the huts of Malahana's little village.

Half a mile away, where the bush

bordered spruit admits here and there or easy access to its shady pools, may be seen the long lines of game slowly filing from the drinking-places, ever and anon pausing to crop the grass, as they make their leisurely way towards their favorite day quarters. Blue wildebeeste for the most part, their

great heads and shaggy forequarters lending to them an appearance of rugged ferocity quite undeserved. Only a little way beyond, though barely distinguishable 'mid the closely growing tree trunks, a small party of stately giraffes-creatures but too seldom seen in these latter days-is evidently on its way back towards more familiar haunts, where the "kameel dorn" grows thickly under the distant Lebombo Hills.

I confess to a weakness for Malahana's. Of all the numberless animal paradises hidden away 'mid the bushclad plains of the North-Eastern Transvaal, I think this tiny hamlet, snugly tucked between two little sister streams, or rather chains of pools, affords the student of nature and lover of wild creatures the most pure enjoyment. All around, the country is but slightly undulating, and, while sufficiently well timbered to offer concealment to the observer, is nowhere so obstructed by bush as to thwart the eye in its efforts to absorb such details of forest life, or little episodes thereof, as may be taking place within a reasonable distance. Each morning the empty "forms" of wildebeeste and of water-buck, of sable and of zebra, not to speak of reedbuck, duiker, and steenbuck, are to be seen but lately vacated, within a hundred yards of the huts, for the game laws are respected. and the animals come close up after dark, having discovered that they are safer here than elsewhere from the prowling beasts of the night, which for their part, stimulated perhaps by unpleasant memories associated with the vicinity of human beings, give the place a wide berth.

Just now it is the Low Country winter: that delightful time of year. alas! but too brief, when to each day is given a glory of bright blue sky, with never a cloud to sully its purity, and a sun, dazzling perhaps in its gen

erous ardor, but at no time oppressive. The nights, too, have just that slight suggestion of frost which makes the blankets a pleasant refuge after the day's hard work; while the morning air is impregnated with a crisp freshness, invigorating, conducive to brisk action, in fact altogether delightful.

Pleasant as it is to stand here watching the march past of troop upon troop of animals, it is nevertheless time to mount and be off on the morning patrol, before the sun's rays shall have gained strength and the herds have sought shelter in the cool shade of the thicker coverts, wherein later they will stand motionless, only betrayed by an occasional flicker of tail or tossing of head.

While we ponder as to the most suitable direction to take, we become conscious of a human figure coming up the path to the village. A typical young native of these parts, clad in shirt and waistcloth, airily swinging a couple of sticks as he walks along with springy gait, his bare feet making no sound on the dust-covered path. It is, in fact, M'ndosa the son of Iduma, who lives some six or eight miles away, and must have been afoot early this morning. Having saluted the white man, and greeted his various acquaintances with a limp handshake, the newcomer squats down, and little bits of local news are exchanged. Nothing is too small to be omitted; nothing is forgotten; it is, in fact, through the medium of these casual kraal-to-kraal visitors that intelligence of current events spreads over length and breadth of a country with a rapidity often puzzling and disconcerting to the European. . . Yes, his father's second wife is recovered of the pains in her head, but on the other hand Nzipo's youngest child is suffering from a strange malady, and Nzipo has therefore borrowed £2 wherewith to pay a noted doctor in

the

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Portuguese territory, whom he proposes to consult as to the identity of the author of the sickness, which obviously is the result of witchcraft. so on, and so forth. The voices drone away in an indistinguishable monotone. Then just as we are turning to give orders to saddle up, we are confronted by Jafuta with the new arrival in tow. "Inkosi, this lad says as he was coming along the road he noticed vultures hovering about, a little way on the right,—he did not go to the place to look."

Of course this little bit of information has been kept until the very endpossibly, indeed, but for the presence of our own people it might never have been imparted to us at all, and after our departure a little band would have sallied forth to seek the inevitable carcass, which, if found to have the smallest picking of flesh left upon it, would have been triumphantly borne homewards, to be consigned to the cooking-pots without delay.

The sight of vultures hovering over a place, or perched on trees around one particular spot, always conjures up possibilities. It is, first, obviously indicative of the fact that there is a kill in the vicinity, and secondly, shows that the birds are afraid to go down to it on account of the presence of the animal responsible for the deed; so that if an approach is made with all due caution and consideration for the wind, there is quite a sporting chance of getting well up to a pair of cheetahs or three or four lions slumbering peacefully after a heavy meal. The leopard, most cunning of all the great cats, is not to be caught thus easily; lucky indeed is the hunter who can surprise him at a kill and get a shot at him into the bargain.

In the present case hope runs high. Lions were heard last night somewhere in the indicated direction, albeit far away; the wind, moreover, is

just right for us, travelling as we shall be.

And so we mount our trusty old "salted" pony, and move off at leisurely pace along the narrow track: there is no need for violent hurry; whichever species of the tribe feline our carnivore belongs to, where he lies now there he will remain till dusk. As we ride along a watchful eye is kept for fresh spoor, that we may know what predatory lovers of darkness have been abroad since last the sun set. Here of course has passed the ubiquitous hyæna on his accustomed beat, the same, no doubt, whose melancholy and long-drawn howl insinuated itself upon our slumbers during the still watches of the past night. Here a couple of jackals have lightly trodden, while there on the right of the path the feathers of a bushpheasant indicate that a genet has been at work. The dry dust of the footpath shows up recent impressions quite distinctly; that is to say, where our friend M'ndosa-who, did he wear such things, would take about size twelve in boots, one would imaginehas not obliterated them as he came along an hour ago. Bird life is still busy seeking the proverbial worm, and the pony shies slightly as a covey of Shelley francolin rise almost under his feet.

On our left the ground falls away a little to a bush-clad donga some hundred yards distant; while on the right it rises gently to a nearly bare ridge a quarter of a mile away. Something is going on. The donga aforesaid forms, it would seem, the boundary-line betwixt the grazing grounds of two separate herds of wildebeeste, and a little play is in progress, apparently now at the second act. The herd which by all the rules of tradition and custom should have remained upon the farther side of the donga must have, in pursuit of some more than usually tempt

ing herbage, been wrongfully and unlawfuly trespassing upon their neighbors' land. The latter, some twenty in number, appear outlined in full view on the crest of the rise, interestedly watching proceedings, the while their champion, a fine old bull, descends to protect their rights. The intruders, however, evidently conscious that their case is a bad one, are in no mood to join battle, nor does any warrior step from their ranks snorting answering defiance. In fact, as the challenger approaches at ever increasing pace, with boldly flourished tail and many a provocative caper and leap, the whole ignominiously turn and make best pace for their own territory. Just for a moment, indeed, one bull takes heart of grace, and looks like showing fight, but, the enemy within ten paces, evidently assumes discretion to be the better part of valor, and comes tearing after his fellows. For our own part, so soon as we took in the situation we drew rein behind a convenient bush, which offered adequate concealment while allowing of an uninterrupted view of the proceedings. The animals, too much taken up with their own affairs to be suspicious, thunder across our path some fifty yards ahead in a medley of swishing tails and tossing manes; two or three of last season's calves, full of the impetuosity of youth, anon dashing in front of their elders in sheer exuberance of spirits, obviously permeated with the idea that the stampede has been arranged for their express amusement and benefit. Close behind the last fugitive comes the defender of vested interests. menacing and dour, his head lowered, his eyes flashing with the fire of resentment and righteous wrath. Another moment and all have disappeared from sight in the donga. A minute or two of quiet ensues, and we are just preparing to move on our

way when from out of the dip slowly emerges our friend the old bull, now, the trespassers duly warned off, if not chastised, leisurely strolling back. Engrossed in his own thoughts, and no doubt full of self-congratulation, he never so much as glances in our direction, but tranquilly makes his way up the hill to the spot where his friends await him, and soon the whole are lost to view over the brow.

Topping the next rise, M'ndosa points to our left front, where, far off, a mere speck in the blue, a vulture can be seen slowly wheeling. Gradually he sinks to a point rather less than a mile away where, in the hollow, we know that there runs a small spruit, the same in fact by which lower down the village stands. Undoubtedly that must be our goal; and accordingly we leave the path and strike away across country right into the eye of the light north-westerly breeze. The grass hereabouts has been recently burned, and in places the black and gray ash still lies upon the surface of the ground, rising in choking clouds of fine dust as our passage stirs it up. Here and there a patch of rank herbage has resisted the attentions of the flames, and thereto may be seen scurrying for shelter the wary bush pheasants, marvellous runners relying so much upon swiftness of foot that it is only as a last resort they take to the wing, and are anathema for that reason to the sportsman. These grassy refuges 'mid the sea of burnt and blackened veld are by day the hiding-places of many creatures whose business abroad is by night. Beat them out, and from the larger ones you will very likely disturb a duiker, perhaps a pair. A serval cat, or a caracal, may be droning the daylight hours in fancied security, but you will almost certainly require the assistance of dogs if you desire to bag either of the latter, for

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