The playwright who attempts to infuse into his drama the age-old themes of passion and superstition must have a consummate skill if he is to avoid common banality or overwrought melodrama; and when, as is with the case with Jacinto Benavente in America, he is almost unknown to his audiences, and must assume the full burden of proff, his task increases tenfold. Yet Benavente is sufficiently a master of his art to have overcome these difficulties and presented a play of unquestionable merit.

"The Passion Flower" now at the Plymouth Theatre, is a tale of strange love, jealousy, and "vengeance from the other world". It contains few highly inspired passages, but moves with a steadily-increasing impetus toward the final catastrophe. At times, it is true, the action drags, but there is nevertheless an underlying current of intensity that never fails to hold the attention. That this intensity can be successfully founded on so melodramatic a theme--the theme of a man driven to wicked love and murder by the jealous spirit of his wife's first husband--is due rather to the author's technique than to any special merit in the merit itself. It is the touches of realism and the excellent protrayal of the characters of these Castilian peasants, that sustain belief in the actuality of the story.

The play is full of contrasts and tragic ironies that grow with reflection. The struggles of Raimunda to protect her daughter and the honor of her family; the useless resistance of Esteban to the "envious, evil mind" that is controlling his life; the guilty love of Acacia for her stepfather, concealed until the last moment under a mask of hate; and the remorseless jealously of the dead, that finally confounds sweet-heart and enemy in one final ruin-these are the elements that, under Benavente's touch, take life and from upon the stage. The slow movement of the tragedy affords ample time for some excellent dialogue, and bits of Spanish philosophy, that somehow remain in the mind long after the major part of the play has been forgotten.

Except for a slightly too tragical note at the beginning of the first act, Miss Nance O'Neil, as the mother, throughly upheld her reputation on the opening night as one of the best actresses on the American stage. She was prehaps better in her dialogue scenes, and in her emotional outbursts, than elsewhere. But no part of her performance left any doubt as to her ability. Mr. Hickman carried his role of lover and murderer with very commendable restraint giving the spectator the satisfactory feeling of something held in reserve. Miss West by as the daughter, contrived to establish the necessary feeling of perplexity, and did not attempt to intrude her actions upon the audience. Miss Durand and Mr. Patton were inclined to over-acting. As a whole, the play is faithfully produced and cleverly acted. America should soon be demanding more of Benavente.