“The ‘Marie-Odile’ of Edward Knoblauch, which was presented for the first time in the Belasco Theatre last evening, is in many respects a remarkable play, which would have been still more noteworthy if it did not slip now and then below the highest level of its ideal. For the most part, it is sweet, idyllic romance, with an undercurrent of satirical symbolism and a tincture of somewhat perilous philosophy, and it is told with delicacy and imagination, except for occasional touches of rougher realism, which are unnecessary and inartistic, and have a harsh and jarring effect in a rarefied and sentimental atmosphere. The object of them—one of contrast—is obvious and legitimate, but it might have been attained by less violent methods.

“On the surface, at first, the tale is one for the nursery, but beneath is deep and earnest purpose, the enforcement of the distinction between the essential goodness of loving and unselfish innocence, delighting in service, and the hard and cruel Pharisaism of a narrow, egoistic bigotry. Presently the parable illustrates the savagery which perfect innocence may experience at the hands of arrogant and sophisticated virtue. But a brief outline will most clearly show the motive of Mr. Knoblauch’s story. The scene is laid in a convent in France, during the Franco-German conflict of 1870. Marie-Odile, the embodiment of childish innocence, is virtually the servant of the sisterhood. As an infant she had been found on the door-step. Now she is serving her novitiate and doing the domestic work, until ready for the final vows. She is a bright, affectionate, devout, and indefatigable little creature, who has never been outside the convent walls, has never seen a man—except an old priest and a decrepit, half-witted gardener—and is absolutely ignorant of the world and the ways of life. She has been taught that babies are the rewards which kindly angels bring from heaven to deserving mothers. By the Mother Superior, a martinet and zealot, she is persistently bullied. Even her tenderness for her pet pigeon is accounted a mortal sin, and, by way of spiritual discipline, she is ordered to tell the gardener to kill it for the Mother Superior’s table. At this she revolts. Sooner than obey she hides herself, and is not to be found when the terrible news arrives that the French have been hopelessly beaten, and that the Uhlans are at the convent door. The priests and the nuns flee and Marie-Odile and the old gardener are left behind alone. Soon the first German, a handsome young corporal, arrives, and Marie-Odile, who has never seen a male figure of such splendor before, concludes that he is Saint Michael—the convent’s patron saint—and kneels to him in rapturous worship. Other soldiers come in, led by a rough sergeant, and are disposed to take liberties, but are promptly disarmed by her fearlessness, her simplicity, and her transparent innocence. They even affect to respect the laws of the Mother Superior, which she quotes as paramount. She feeds them, presides at their table, and holds them in subjection—all but one or two—by magic of the ignorance that knows no wrong. The corporal champions her against the advances of his more brutal fellows, and to him she appeals with the confidence of a child. When the troops depart the sergeant, learning that the corporal has never had a love affair of any kind, purposely leaves him behind, bidding him take advantage of his manifest opportunity.

The Corporal, who is not vicious, is so moved by Marie-Odile’s unsuspecting confidence that he resolves not to molest her, but she begs him so earnestly to remain, and so willingly lets him kiss her, that he yields to temptation, and the curtain falls upon the second act as she reposes happily in his arms. The scene is natural and charming, and the sentiment that of pure, youthful romance. In the third and last act, after the lapse of a year, the convent has another tenant. Marie-Odile and the old gardener are no longer alone. There is an infant, which Marie-Odile accounts for as a miraculous gift from Heaven. She is conscious of no ill, has followed unhesitatingly the promptings of nature, and rejoices in her new possession with boundless exultation. But now the war is over and the nuns are returning. Sister Louise, the personification of true Christian charity, is the first to enter, and sorely afflicted is she as she listens to Marie-Odile’s grateful pÆans, and thinks of what the Mother Superior will say. That austere judge is inflexible from the first. Straightway she orders the amazed but unrepentant young mother from the sacred precincts, in spite of the protests of Sister Louise, who declares that the true responsibility lay with the sisterhood which had failed to instruct or guard innocence.

“Simple as the play is in external form, it deals with more than one difficult and complex problem. Concerning the particular instance of the heroine—who becomes in Mr. Knoblauch’s sketch a fresh and delightful ideal of ignorant and untainted innocence—there need be no question. Like HaidÉe, she flew to her love like a young bird. She was guiltless, and her story—with the exceptions hinted at—is told very prettily, with an unaffected naturalism which is rare, and with many charming little poetic interludes. Her love episode is handled with notable tact and fancy, and is an eloquent plea for the sanctity of nature’s own laws. But obviously it is less ingenuous than Marie-Odile in its wilful disregard of certain awkward and wholly incontrovertible facts. The Pharisaism of the Mother Superior is, of course, utterly indefensible upon any count, but may be set down partly to the credit of poetic license. Unfortunately, the innocence of love is not, in the present state of this imperfect world, sufficient to exempt it from the material penalties of unrestricted freedom. And the instruction of ignorance is not altogether so simple a matter as some of our younger social philosophers seem to suppose.

“But in ‘Marie-Odile’ Mr. Knoblauch has produced a work of superior calibre, and has acquitted himself of a difficult task with ingenuity and tact. His first act is too much overladen with (dramatically) trifling details, but the piece acquires strength and impetus as it proceeds. Marie-Odile is one of the most credible examples of complete unsophistication that has been put upon the stage for a long time, and she is admirably impersonated by Miss Frances Starr. The part does not, it is true, present many difficulties, but most actresses would have betrayed in it a self-consciousness of the superfine quality of the innocence which they were portraying, and this Miss Starr did not do. She did really suggest the purity of a completely isolated maidenhood. Her completely natural maternal exultation in the possession of a baby was really excellent acting. Harriet Otis Dellenbaugh showed warm womanly feeling as the kindly Sister Louise, Jerome Patrick did very well as the Corporal, and Frank Reicher furnished a clever character bit as the senile old gardener. The setting in the convent was perfect—a notable specimen of Mr. Belasco’s handiwork.”