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128 SOPHOCLES IN LONDON<br />

One new as our new-come affliction,<br />

Or an old toil returned with the years ?<br />

Unveil thee, thou dread benediction,<br />

Hope's daughter and Fear's.<br />

This is very pretty, but is it Sophocles ? or<br />

Swinburne ? Still, grace there is, and dis-<br />

tinction, in all that Prof. Murray writes<br />

qualities that are not accentuated by the<br />

mouthings of the protagonist, Mr. Martin<br />

Harvey, the uninspired drone of the chorus,<br />

or the intermittent shrieking and bawling of<br />

the crowd. In the translation of the Professor<br />

the simple profundities of the poet become<br />

delicate verse, which in the mouth of the<br />

histrion is turned into rhythmless rhetoric.<br />

But, after all, in performances of this sort<br />

it is not the play, but the production, that is<br />

the thing though that is less true of this<br />

than of any other Reinhardt entertainment<br />

we have yet seen. Still, deeds not words :<br />

it is by theatrical effects and stage decoration,<br />

if by any means, that the message of Sophocles<br />

is to be conveyed to the people of London.<br />

That both are remarkable cannot be denied.<br />

(Edipus is a fine show. It is erudite, striking,<br />

and ingenious but it is not a work of art.<br />

;<br />

What is it, then ? To borrow an expressive,<br />

though unnecessarily insulting<br />

neighbours, it is " Le faux bon."<br />

term from our

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