'The version of _Faust_ which Mr. Stephen Phillips is contemplating will, it is interesting to learn from the author, be a "compact drama," of which the spectacular embellishment will form no part. In Mr. Phillips's view the story is in itself so strong and so rich in all the elements that make for dramatic effectiveness that to treat the subject as one for elaborate scenic display would be to diminish the direct appeal of a great tragedy. "First let me say," said Mr. Stephen Phillips, "how gladly I approach a task which will bring me again into a.s.sociation with Mr. George Alexander, whose admirable treatment of _Paolo and Francesco_, you will no doubt remember. In the version of _Faust_ which I am going to prepare there will be nothing spectacular, nothing to overshadow or intrude upon an immortal theme. As to how I shall treat the story, and as to the form in which it will be written, I am not yet sure--it may be a play in blank verse, or in prose with lyrics . . ." Mr. Phillips added that he had also in view a play on the subject of _Harold_."--_The Tribune_.

_Scene: The British Museum_.

SIDNEY COLVIN. Ah! my dear Stephen, when they told me Phillips Was waiting in my study, I imagined That it was Claude, whom I have been expecting.

I have arranged that you shall have this room All to yourself and friends. Now I must leave you.

I have to go and speak to Campbell Dodgson About some prints we've recently acquired.

STEPHEN PHILLIPS. How can I ever thank you? Love to Binyon!

[COLVIN _goes out_.

_Enter_ Mr. GEORGE ALEXANDER, GOETHE, MARLOWE, GOUNOD.

ALEXANDER (_from force of habit_). I always told you he was reasonable.

GOETHE. Well, I consent. Mein Gott! how colossal You English are! 'Tis nigh impossible For poets to refuse you anything, And German thought beneath some English shade-- _Unter den Linden_, as we say at home-- Sounds really quite as well on British soil.

Our good friend Marlowe hardly seems so pleased.

MARLOWE. Oh, Goethe! cease these frivolous remarks.

Think you that I, who knew Elizabeth, And tasted all the joys of literature And played the dawn to Shakespeare's larger day, And heralded a mighty line of verse With half-a-dozen mighty lines my own, Am feeling well?

GOUNOD (_brightening_). Ah! Monsieur Wells, Auteur d'une histoire fine et romanesque Traduit par Davray; il a des idees C'est une chose rare la-bas . . .

STEPHEN PHILLIPS. He does not speak of Huysmans; 'tis myself.

I thank you, gentlemen, with all my heart; I thank you, gentlemen, with all my soul; I thank you, sirs, with all my soul and strength.

So for your leave much thanks. You know my weakness: I love to be at peace with all the past.

The present and the future I can manage; The stirrup of posterity may dangle Against the heaving flanks of Pegasus.

I feel my spurs against the saucy mare And Alexander turned Bucephalus.

MARLOWE. Neigh! Neigh! though you have told us what you are, And we have witnessed Nero several times, You do not tell us of this wretched Faustus, Who must be d.a.m.ned in any case, I fear.

S. P. Of course, I treat you as material On which to work; but then I simplify And purify the story for our stage.

The English stage is nothing if not pure.

For instance, we will not allow _Salome_.

So in Act II. of _Faust_ I represent The marriage feast of beauteous Margaret; Act I. I get from Goethe, III. from Marlowe, And Gounod's music fills the gaps in mine.

Margaret, of course, will never come to grief.

She only gets a separation order.

By the advice of Plowden magistrate, She undertakes to wean Euphorion, Who in his bounding habit symbolises The future glories of the English empire.

As the production must not cost too much, Harker, Hawes Craven, Hann are relegated To a back place. It is a compact drama, Of which spectacular embellishment Will form no part. The story is so strong, So rich in all the elements that make A drama suitable for Alexander, That scenery, if necessary to Tree, Shall not intrude on this immortal theme.

GOETHE. Pyramidal! My friend, but you are splendid.

Now, have you shown the ma.n.u.script to Colvin?

MARLOWE. He is a scholar, and a ripe and good one, And far too tolerant of modern poets.

ALEXANDER. One of your lines strike my familiar spirit.

Surely, that does not come from Stephen Phillips.

MARLOWE. No matter; I may quote from whom I will.

Shakespeare himself was not immaculate, And borrowed freely from a barren past.

GOETHE. What thinks Herr Sidney Colvin of your work?

S. P. That he will tell you when he sees it played.

ACT I.

_Scene: Faust's Studio_.

SERVANT. Well, if you have no further use for me, I will go make our preparation.

FAUST. If anybody calls, say I am out; I must have time to see how I will act.

As to the form in which I shall be written, I must decide whether in prose or verse.

My thoughts I'll bend. Give me at once the _Times_: Walkley I always find inspiriting-- And really I learn much about the drama (Even the German drama) from his pen, More curious than that of Paracelsus.

(_Reads_) 'Sic vos non vobis, Bernard Shaw might say, Dieu et mon droit. Ich dien. Et taceat Femina in ecclesia. Ellen Terry, La plus belle femme de toutes les femmes Du monde.' Archer, I have observed, Writes no more for the World, but for himself.

Then I forgot; he's writing for the _Leader_, That highly independent Liberal paper.

[FAUST _muses_. _Bell heard_.

The Elixir of Life, is it a play Which runs a thousand nights? Is it a dream Precipitated into some alembic Or gla.s.s retort by Ex-ray Lankester?

_Enter_ SERVANT.

SERVANT. A gentleman has called.

FAUST. Say I am out.

SERVANT. He will take no denial.

FAUST. Show him in.

Most probably 'tis Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Who long has planned a play of Doctor Faustus.

_Enter_ MEPHISTOPHELES.

MEPHISTOPHELES. Ah! my dear Doctor, here we are again!

Micawber-like, I never will desert you.

How do you feel? Your house I see myself In perfect order. Ah! how much has past Since those Lyceum days when you and I Climbed up the Brocken on Walpurgis night.

That times have changed I realise myself; No longer through the chimney I descend; I enter like a super from the side.

Widowers' Houses dramas have become; Morals and sentiment and Clement Scott No more seem adjuncts of the English stage.

FAUST. Oh, Mephistopheles, you come in time To save the English drama from a deadlock!

Like Mahmud's coffin hung 'twixt Heaven and Earth, It falters up to verse and down to prose.

Tell us, then, how to act, how consummate The aspirations of our Stephen Phillips!

MEPHISTO. Ah, Alexander Faustus! young as ever, Still unabashed by Paolo and Francesca, You long for plays with literary motives, Plots oft attempted both in prose and rhyme.