The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 9, 1904, Page 11

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. ze Moore, EY has a new bee in her Not content with em- t turn fairly and delve into ages same delving has s b take a back, t period « with much flight > return 10Wn to %~ un- , what do you from appearances, 1 to a complicated s are the recr 3 * she a picture s ar to keep Long d more co ouch of realism otherwise.” s of Miss cess. She wise adheres fonal ideas in the Homeric cos- nd she gi them every tou that the substitutes wear the c even born under the sunny skies About me, piled high on all were costumes of every color and description. Vivid backgrounds lined and brought into suc braids of silver and gold, but with all the gay tones there was not even =a much as a suggestion of anything gaudy. or tawdry. “You furnish all the costume esked, picking up a deep red, trimmed with a buff border. “Yes, evers z. And I want to make one point clear In your Yy one of these,” waving a hand to e stack feet high, “has been select- o & pid bed @\»rmw SO0LL0055 Tucker with the accent of one who kno 113 1 MIGHT swim for it,” suggested vs the impracticability hat he suggests. “You might fly for it,” retorted Nan r all the good it would do. should ¥ fou forg ve tied the boat.” aded, “that I only and have not yet had came last nigl opportur to become familiar with the tide here. How was I to know that you had a regular Bay of Fundy tide here?” “If you knew as much about geogra- phy as you do about some things,” she hinted darkly, “you would know that this is/the Bay of Fundy tide. It doesn’t come iif as a tidal wave, but it rises as high.” He glanced ruefully at the canoe fast disappearing on the tide, and scanned the shore to see if it offered any hope. Apparently they were as thoroughly lost as though they were on an island in the Pacific instead of three miles from a summer resort. It was Tucker’s first experience with a land where they built steamship docks two stories high 8 By George Winthrop \ S I I (i ed the first place, if to look, the n with greatest care. In the a1 will take the pains rial is not cheap and not to be, for I paid ome of it. The, 1 made ppliqued detest cheap imi- as not what tossing a gay of somber colors, Do you see any heavy C lutely tations. However, I intended to buff toward a he: . with that pil “One is brighter than the others,” I yuchsaf That,” with a contented smile, “is just it. The important character in each scene is dressed with the view of making him d out clearly defined and more conspicuous than his fellc men, while the chorus is garbed in neu- tral tints, so it will not project itself too prominently by reascn of its dress. While it is in evidence during the greater part of the play, it is, well— just the chorus.” 5 “Big or little?” I asked. “Evidently judging from the looks of this Full one hundred and 7 the way, that reminds an Athenian au- that is one of the in this case ‘the is to be carried out. The ritheater is divided into two sec- first one, in reality a part of to be filled with students in costume and their picturesque dress will lend a touch of realism that will be most effecti Of course you know b d, and I haven't yet ided in my own mind whether that was just a subtle feeler or merely an afterthought, “Of course” I did, after a fashion, but if the erage person possesses as limited a knowledge of the “Ajax of Sophocles” as I, it won't do any great harm to dilate upon it for a minute or In the first place Ajax is modern in one sense of the word, because its | MRS, CRUSOE’'S WOES § O SO S NSO NS00 because of the fall of the tide from the Bay of Fundy, and he had supposed that when he had drawn the canoe well up on the shelving bank the long rope in the bow could not possibly be needed. He threw himself down beside her. ‘Nan, dear,” he cried. “Don’t take it £0 to heart. It will come out all right if I have to swim over to.the main- land and steal a -boat.” £he rose in all her five feet five of injured dignity. *“I do not see, Mr. Tucker,” she said coldly, “that the situation should permit the levity you assume. It may be all right for you, but a woman's fair name—" Her sobbing broke forth affesh at the thought of what might be said. “What's the use of taking on so?” he demanded. “You told me last win- ter that at the end of the season you thought—" “Do you suppose I thought then that I'd think what I think now?” she cried hysterically. “Do you suppose that I imagined that you would abduct me to a desert island to force me to marry you? Never.” - For want of a better occupation he i M . O B W zecrre, LA S e 7 777, 77 e searched along the shore for clams, finding a few, but deciding after one taste that it would be better to look for berries. It was too late for berries apparently, and there was another maker was the first master dramatist to introduce more than two actors and to make use of painted scenery. More than this, he ignored the ancient tra- dition that death must be hidden from the audience, and in a clear, concise fashion shows the sudden madness, the pathetic remorse and the calm suicide of the great warrior. Briefly then the story is this: When Odysseus is carefully studying foot- prints in the sand, the voice of Athena is heard telling him that Ajax, whom he is evidently in search of, has slain the cattle and their keepers in a fit of madness, which she herself had cast upon him, that he might slay the cat- tie instead of the Greek chiefs—Odyss- eus, Agamemnon and Menelaus, as he had hoped to do. To prove her state- ments true she calls Ajax from the tent with a blood stained scourge in his hands and boastful triumphs on his lips. When the followers of Ajax hear of his frenzy they rush to his tent, calling on him to come forth and clear his good name, assuring him that they be- lieve it all base glander and even going so far as to say “’'Tis on the powerful that envy creeps.” All this, however, has no effect upon Ajax, for after the madness passes he is cast into deepest melancholy and prays his friends to mercifully slay him, for in his eyes this shame has blotted out all his glorious deeds. Tecmessa, his wife, does all that lles in her power to rouse him, but his sole reply is to bid her bring their boy, srder that he may bid him farewell. This pe, he gives minute instru i to his burial and silently seeks counsel. Just about this time a messenger arrives from the enemy’s camp telling how the Greeks have planned the death of Ajax and s brother Teucer. Cal- chas, the seer. predicted to Teucer that if Ajax can be kept in his tent this day only the anger of Athena would be averted. The followers, accompanied by the messenger, seek Ajax and are filied with sudden dismay to learn that he has already left his tent, going no one knows Whither. Tecmessa, fearing the worst, arouses the men to ac and in a twinkling has sent them searching one way while she goes an entirely different direction. When they find him it is on the sea- shore after he has commended his spirit to the gods and fallen on his sword. In the midst of the wails Menelaus appears and roughly tells Teucer that the body of Ajax must lie where it fell, unburied; that Ajax was worse than a Trojan foe because he had plotted the death of his fellow comrades. An angry dispute follows and the two men go their various ways, one to summon Agamemnon and thes other to find a suitable burying place for his broth- er. When the warrlors meet again they continue their quarrel until Odysseus comes forth and champions the cause of the mighty foe, saying: “When a brave n is dead 'tis not right to do him scatheno, not even if thou hate him.” Still doing as he deems right, he cifers to help Teucer in the last rites, but hic kindly assistance is re- pause and reflection. He had just de- cided that it was as well that Nan Carroll would not marry him, when that changeable young woman plump- ed herself down upon the moss beside him. “Why don’t you talk?” ghe asked cheertully. “It's awfully lonesoms around here.” . Tucker gasped, but for a moment he did not dare speak. When he found words it was of casual affairs he spoke, not of himself nor of their predicament, and presently they were chatting as merrily as though there had been none of the stormy scenes of the afternoon. They' were still talking when of a sudden they heard footsteps hehind them and they sprang to their feet. Just behind them was a tall, cleri- cal man in blue overalls and checked calico jumper. “I hope I don't intrude,” quizzically, “Are you Man Friday?” demanded Nan. “You see we are Mr. and Mrs. Robinson Crusoe, and our boat is ‘wrecked—or at least I hope it is,” she amended viciously. “I am sorry, Mrs. Crusoce,” he said, falling in with her humor. “I am the he sald TEC NESSX T WiZ, ° Jected lest 1t should displease the dead. Slowly and sadly the body of Ajax is carried out that it may be lald in the grave at Cape Rhoetum, on the Helles- pont, the grave which was to be “ever memorable among men,” and his de- voted followers chant: “Many things shall mortals learn by seging, . but, before he sees, no man may read the future or his face.” So endeth Ajax and all his woes, but Harry Dewing, who portrays the mighty arrior, is about the busiest and the popular man in all Berke- ley and w until after the thirteenth of the month, and then, in all proba- bility, he will suddenly discover such an avalanche of La math and heav- en only knows what not, that he will think the troubles of Ajax small In comparison with his own. But then the university does not produce Greek plays every day, though it is turning over a new leaf and promising to do better in the future. “Plctures exclaimed Miss Barrows, as she looked at me and then at the rain. “I haven't a thing local, but that's the least of our troubles, for I'll get them. Let me see (whipping out a poc¢ket pad): Maynard McFle is Aga- memnon; Mr. Lyman, Menelaus; Gladys Wickson, Athen Mr. Cleg- horn, leader of the chorus: Mr. Brown, the messenger, and myself, Tecmessa. v. Il round them all That’s not mar up in ten minutes. And as I ran for the train T heard her call “Hello, is this Ajax? This is Tecmessa. Come over and have a cup of chocolate 12 to-morrow, won't you? and incidentally have your picture ‘took.” ™ GROSIGLDO000000000005000500050005000) Rev. Philip Hardman of Bos- ton, summering on this island with my family.” Nan gasped. “Why didn’t you think of looking to see if there was any one living there?” she demanded of Dave. “You told me it was deserted,” he said defensively, “and I supposed you knew. I only came last night” he added in explanation to the clergy- man. “Mrs. Crusoe forgot to tell me about the tide and the boat floated “Come over and have tea,” suggest- ed the clergyman hospitably, “and I have a boat that will take you over to the hotel.” He strode off, leading the way, and Nan and Dave followed. Once or twice she hummed softly to herself, and Dave could have sworn it was the wedding music from “Lohengrin.” At last, as he was helping her over & rock h barred her path, she held his hand in hers as she lightly drepped beside him. “Dave,” she whispered, “didn’t he say he was a clergyman?” Dave nodded. “The Hardman,” he affirmed. “We could fool that gossiping crowd, pretending we did it on pur- pose.” More than ever Dave marveled at the ways of woman, but they wers married before supper, for Dave ex- plained to the clergyman that he was afraid she might change her mird again Rev. Philip