Sem Benelli, Author of "The Jest"

How, in Three of His Successful Historical Dramas, He Developes the Same Racial Theory

NORVAL RICHARDSON

NOW that Sem Benelli has at last been heard by Americans in the English tongue, in Mr. Hopkins' production of "The Jest," the question naturally arises: Will they understand the very subtle race question involved in his dramas? Will they see the tradition and history that go to make up the characters in his plays?

Will they grasp the fact that he is showing, not alone in words, but in actions, the effect of ten centuries of Teuton contact with the Italian?

One is inclined to believe that Benelli will be as difficult of complete understanding to the average American as the question of Italy's insistence upon Fiume has been to the Peace Congress—for he is one of the most subtle authors in his insistence upon racial characteristics and the influences which have built and created and molded those characteristics until they have become what is, to-day, modem Italy. Benelli is one of that small group of young Italians that may best be described as Italianissimi.

BENELLI'S origin in a way recalls that of St. Francis. He was the son of a draper, a cloth merchant, living near Florence. But he had a good college education, showed his genius early, and, before thirty, produced a play which made him at once the rival of d'Annunzio—"La Maschera di Bruto." Then followed, a few years later, "La Cena delle Beffe" ("The Jest") with its premiere at Rome, and a success which has been acknowledged all over Europe. After this came "L'Amore dei Tre Rei," and, last of all, "LaNozze dei Centauri."

In reading, or seeing, these four dramas one cannot but feel Benelli's obsession—the influence, forced and tyrannical, of the Teuton upon the. Latin; one sees also the Latin's resistance to the invading power of the Teuton; a strange, crafty, hopeless and yet hopeful resistance, which brings into play all the intellectual development that Roman imperial days left upon Italians, and which becomes a bulwark against the advances of the savage hordes of the north.

Brute force conquers the body, but it cannot win victory over the mind; yet the mind, chained in the body, develops in a new direction. If physical force is lacking, craft and cunning must take its place; intellect must seek a way to free itself. Here, in three words, is the story not only of "L'Amore dei Tre Rei" but of Benelli's other plays, "La Nozze dei Centauri" and of "The Jest" as well.

In the first two the woman combats the barbarian, Fiora deceives Manfredo; and Stefania conquers—spiritually—Otto; while, in "The Jest" Gianetto drives Neri mad.

And in none of these plays are the Teuton and the Latin so contrastingly drawn as in "The Jest"; for Neri is frankly a perfected type from the Teuton, to the north, Gianetto a perfected type from the Latin, to the south.

It is a combat between body, or physical strength without mind, and mind, without physical strength—and mind conquers body. Yet, Benelli never forgets that mere physical strength invariably creates in the weaker man a curious mixture of hate and adoration.

MADAME BERNHARDT seized this last suggestion in her interpretation of the role of Gianetto, the role now played in English by John Barrymore, and formerly played here, in Italian, by that noble actress,—almost as great in her way as the wonderinspiring Bernhardt, — Mimi Aguglia. Bernhardt, indeed, even accentuated the suggestion. She stressed the lines describing Neri's strength; her enthusiasm became voluptuousness. When, as a man, she leaned against the pillar to which Neri had been bound, she thrilled with the warmth which had been left there from his body. Her interpretation gave one the haunting suggestion that perhaps Benelli had meant something else in the relations between Gianetto and Neri than a superficial reading of the lines would convey.

WE have a slight feeling of resentment against the American producer, for his deliberate over-accenting of the great crises of the play. The effect of the culminating tragedy is utterly lost by trying to explain to the audience what has happened. Surely any audience would know— after Neri had been told that he has killed his brother, and returns from the room where he has looked at him—that his already tortured brain would snap under the strain. Why drag out the scene with strange mutterings from Neri and elaborate explanations from Gianetto? In Italy the scene takes barely one minute. Neri enters from the death chamber, laughing hysterically, unmistakably a madman, crosses before Gianetto and goes out. That is all—and it is quite enough. In the American version, the scene is stretched beyond the limit of endurance.