The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1909-09-23
SOME PARIS STAGE HORRORS.
Healism at the Grand GuignoI Thea
ter That Is Uncanny.


Realism at the Grand GuignoI Thea
ter That Is Uncanny.
The Grand Guignol, the temple of
melodrama in Paris. has been continu-
ing its choice line of thrillers Of late,
a writer in a London newspaper says.
One of the plays recently produced
there was lie Delegue de la Troisteine
Section, really choice little horror.
Here was apparently a gathering of
Russian revolutionists of the middle
class assembled for a little academic
discussion at the house of one of the
members-a quiet bourgeois parlor,
with a simple lamp burning ON the
table. the light from which was just
sufficient TO keep the room in semi
darkness. The members greet each
other. as they enter the room, with
simple formality-pleased to see each
other again. and all that kind of thing
They sit down, and there is a dra.
matte pause. Then, quite unexpected
ly, one of the members, sitting quiet
ly back in his chair. says they must
be careful what they discuss as there
is a traitor in their midst In a
moment the delegates are on their feet
No noise, no raised voices-merely a
quiet demand that the accuser shall
substantiate his charge, and the &C.
cuser points out his man.
The accused ridicules the idea at
first. but proof after proof is quietly
laid before the meeting, and, at a
signal from the chairman, the traitor
bound. 1t is all done so quickly, and
yet so quietly, that the horror of the
thing becomes very impressive. For
the need of the traitor is-death. And
he is given five minutes in which to
prepare himself-there in that quiet
parlor, In the house of a member
whose wife is in the adjoining kitchen
calmly preparing supper for the dele
gates as soon as their business shall
be ended. The traitor then says he
has an accomplice. He will give the
name on condition that his life is
spared. The reply comes that his life
is forfeit If he will not give the
other name of his own accord-well,
like the gay English monarch, he will
be an unconscionable time dying. They
twist black kerchief around his neck
and half-throttle him; but still he
will say nothing. Then one of the
delegates stands over him with a
knife, and says that, If he will not
speak, his cheeks shall be sliced off,
one after the other. This is really
quite nice bit of sensation. Just
as the knife has got through the frtt
cheek however, the victim has the
bad taste to spoil all the fun. He
rolls out of the chair with a beautiful
gurgle, and the delegates gather round
him with the astonished remark,
"Crist! II est mort" Only fancy!
In the second act the delegates are
busy inquiring among themselves as
to the identity of the other traitor,
and suspicion falls on their host, who
should know by this time what treat
ment TO expect Suddenly his wife.
who has been listening at the door,
burst into the room and says it Is
she who is the traitor-she sold the
other delegates to save her husband
real love, and all that kind of thing.
The loving husbands reply is to throw
his wife into the arms of his fellow
delegates and to tell them they may
treat her as they think fit. He has
another engagement. And, picking up
a revolver from the table, blows out
his brains and falls on the hearth
rug, while his wife obliges with a
scream that you could hear the whole
length of Regent street. That is all.
But the quiet, deliberate manner in
which the death penalty was inflicted
in that semidarkened room where the
voices were most of the time hushed
for fear of eavesdroppers was wildly
uncanny. The dialogue had all the
commonplace style of intense realism
and the acting was remarkable After
seeing play of that kind you want
to look under your bed on retiring
to make sure that nobody with a black
kerchief is hiding there in wait for
you.