The most intelligent and cultured audience that
has assembled in the [Lansing Theatre](n00066) this year last night gathered to do homage
to the great genius of [
Clara Morris
](n00055). Conspicuous and decidedly pleasing to the eye were the
boxes, in which [
Dr. Giffin
](n00068) and [
wife
](n01554) entertained the [
governor
](n00069) and staff and
their wives. The gentlemen were all [in full uniform](n01555) and the ladies in elegant
evening costumes.
To commend, even to speak of the great work done
on the Lansing stage last night seems almost presumption. Better work has never
been done by any actress in any country. Nothing can be more natural than
nature, more lifelike than life. There are heights beyond which even art cannot
rise. Comment upon the wonderful power of Clara Morris' voice, upon the
technical perfection of her acting are utterly unnecessary. One may comment
upon excellencies of average acting, but when we find a perfect individual
creation, we accept it as unquestioning as we accept nature's work, and upon it
we build a whole philosophy of art. To criticize the way in which Clara Morris
dies in [
"Camille"
](n00070) would be as impertinent as to criticize any real death. One can
only say of perfection that it is perfect; we have no adjectives that go any
higher; we can only try to see what the great artist does with this creation of
hers, and perhaps how she attains her perfection.
Clara Morris' acting certainly cannot be placed
in the same class or viewed in the same light as that of [
Modjeska
](n00071) and [
Julia
Marlowe
](n00072) in Shakesperian productions. One is the high appreciation and complete
sympathy with the great works of the great master, the other is a medley of
passions and emotions so great, so boundless that even the most [emotional plays](n00073)
of the most emotional age can scarcely give them room to vent themselves. Clara
Morris acts by feeling alone. One can see her gestures and poses have [never
been practiced before a mirror](n00074). Sometimes they are almost grotesque in their
violence, and her body writhes as though it were being literally torn asunder
to let out the great soul within her.
"Camille" is an [awful](n00075) play. Clara Morris plays
only awful plays. Her realism is terrible and relentless. It is her art and
mission to see all that is terrible and painful and unexplained in life. It is
a dark and gloomy work that has been laid upon more geniuses than one.
But after all is said there is so little said
where so much is felt, so much reverenced. There is the terrible scene with
[
Monsieur Duval
](n00076), the last kiss upon [
Armand's
](n00077) forehead which was pure as a
wife's, holy as a mother's, and the last embrace which was restrained, which
are beyond all words, which we can only remember and shudder and suffer at the
memory. Men cannot say where art gets its beauty, where power gets its
strength. The greatest perfection a work of art can ever attain is when it
ceases to be a work of art and becomes a living fact. Art and science may make
a creation perfect in symmetry and form, but it is only the genius which
forever evades analysis that can breathe into it a living soul and make it
great.
"Oh, What a Night."
To remember the many laughs caused by the
mishaps of [Pottgeiser](n01550) and others who figure in the dramatic story is to break
into a broad smile. [Loder](n01552) is quietly natural and excessively droll, every
look, gesture, raise of the eyebrows, etc., indicating something to laugh at.
In [
"Oh, What a Night"
](n01551) there are a thousand laughs for the audience that will
assemble at the Lansing theatre tonight.