THEATER CHRONICLE
317
and he aims to pull down the pillars and proceed, dig ever deeper.
Though he
is
mild enough in appearance, a sort of Hoosier Harold
Lloyd, he bears in his breast a relentless American spirit. He wants to
undo history, or to purify mankind of its past, and he speaks of bring–
ing in a bulldozer to scrape off the "overlay" and root out the most
ancient germs of the past. But the young American woman captures and
marries him. And young Zanelli cures and wins the ticklish acrobat and
the story ends with a reconciliation-of a kind.
The actors responded to this enchanting play as I have never yet
seen Broadway actors respond. They played it with love and carried
the audience away. There were no bored faces here; everyone looked
happy. Later, I am sure, the spectators thought about love and history,
ritual and religion, but that was in continuation of their pleasure, and
they did not have to suffer the pains of culture-anxiety or agonies of
ignorance, wondering which
sip
of the cocktail represented the eucharist.
I shall be astonished if Mr. Hivnor's play does not very soon reach
a larger audience. I ought not to be astonished. I am old enough to
know better. But the world can't be utterly unjust and perhaps some
backer will rouse himself and strike a blow at last against boredom and
bad art. Is there no hope for people with capital?
Saul Bellow
