ON THE ART OFTHE THEATRE

EDWARD GORDON CRAIGA recent portrait photograph by Allan Chappelow,

taken at Vence.

ON THE ART OFTHE THEATEEBY EDWARD GOEDON CRAIG

HEINEMANNLONDON MELBOURNE TORONTO

First published in 1911

by William Heinemann Ltd

Great Russell Street, London, W.C.I

Fifth impression

with new illustrations, 1957

Printed in Great Britain by

Butler and Tanner Ltd

Frome and London

TO THE EVER LIVING GENIUS

OF THE GREATEST OF ENGLISH ARTISTS

WILLIAM BLAKE

AND TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS MEMORY

OF HIS WIFE

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED

PREFACETO THE FIRST IMPRESSION, 1911

WHATshould be said as Preface ? Should one

ask for forgiveness from those one unwit-tingly offends ? Should one admit that words areall nonsense, and that theories, even after one haspractised that about which one theorizes, are reallyof little account ? Or should one stand on thethreshold and receive one's guests and hope thatthey will enjoy themselves ? I think I shall do thelatter.

Well, in this case, my guests are made up of athousand invited friends, and those half-dozen onedid not invite and never would invite, because oftheir very evil or foolish intentions towards ourart. For instance, I willingly throw open the doorsof this book to my very dear friends, the artists,whether they be painters, sculptors, musicians,poets or architects. These, of course, will standaside for a moment to allow first of all the beautifulladies to pass. Then there are the scholars. Well,as I have only schooled myself in one particularbranch of knowledge, I feel very shy about meetingsuch guests.Coming after them is that group of kindly people,

men and women, who, without knowing much aboutart, are fond of it and encourage its grc vth. These,I am happy to believe, will feel at home here.Then there are other surprises, those engineers,

those directors of journals, those managers of stores,vi

PREFA CEthose sea captains, men who startle one by sud-denly putting in an appearance and expressing asincere and hearty desire to join in the festivities.

Last of all, there is what is known as the theatri-cal profession. How many of these will accept myinvitation ? A rare few, perhaps, but certainly thebest. So when the rest of us have all assembled,we shall welcome Hevesi, from Budapest ; Appia,from Switzerland ; l Stanislawski, Sulergitski,Mosquin, and Katchalof, who come froni Moscow ;Meyerkhold, who comes from St. Petersburg ; DeVos, from Amsterdam ; Starke, from Frankfurt ;Fuchs, from Munich ; Antoine, Paul Fort, andMadame Guilbert, from Paris ; and our great poetwho has won over the stage, Yeats, from Ireland ;and after these the shades of Vallentin, from Berlin ;and Wyspiansky, from Krakow.

Least of all are the uninvited guests, with theircheap cynicism and witty remarks which are calcu-lated to put a blight upon every pleasant moment,upon every achievement, who will attempt to robour happy gathering of all enjoyment, if they canpossibly do so.

Well, let us hope for the best, that these peoplewill stay away. To the others I present what is

1Appia, the foremost stage-decorator of Europe, is not dead.

I was told that he was no more with us, so, in the first editionof this book, I included him among the shades. I first sawthree examples of his work in 1908, and I wrote to a friendasking,

" Where is Appia, and how can we meet ?" My friend

replied," Poor Appia died some years ago." This winter (1912)

I saw some of Appia's designs in a portfolio belonging to PrinceWolkonsky. They were divine ; and I was told that the designerwas still living.

vii

PREFA CEwithin the house and beg that they will foreverhold towards it and myself good thoughts.Being in my own house, I let myself go. I am

not careful to be cautious among my friends. IfI were to do so, they would think that I suspectedthem of being spies.

It is a great honour for me to feel that among myfriends are the names of the first artists in Europe.And I think we can all feel happy on the progresswhich our movement has made, a movement whichis destined ultimately to restore the Art of theTheatre into its ancient position among the FineArts.

E. G. C.London, 1911.

Vlll

PREFACEbook, written between 1904 and 1910, was

I published in 1911. Some of it was previouslypublished in The Mask, 1908-9, and one of theDialogues appeared as a booklet in 1905.

It is not a text book ... no one will expect tofind in it rules for producing plays, building theatres,or judging the merits of actors.So it must be taken for what it is, not for what

it is not.

My friends and the friends of any theatre wantingto develop will, I hope, welcome this new editionof my book. It is the best I can do in the wayof putting down in words some of the thoughtswhich have been born as I worked towards a newtheatre.

It is the dream put into words, is it not? Noone will be likely to ask it to be other than that.They will know that I no more want to see the

living actors replaced by things of wood than thegreat Italian actress of our day wants all the actorsto die.

Is it not true that when we cry**

Oh, go tothe Devil ! " we never really want that to happen ?What we mean is, " get a little of his fire and comeback cured."And that is what I wanted the actors to do some

actors the bad ones, when I said that they mustgo and the Uber-marionette replace them." And what, pray, is this monster the tJber-

marionette ? " cry a few terrified ones.The t)ber-marionette is the actor plus fire, minus

ix

PREFACE

egoism : the fire of the gods and demons, withoutthe smoke and steam of mortality.The literal ones took me to mean pieces of wood

one foot in height; that infuriated them; theytalked of it for ten years as a mad, a wrong, aninsulting idea.The point was gained by them, and I think I owe

them here a word of thanks. 1I remember the same thing happened when some-

one put into my mouth the statement that I wantedto abolish the footlights. Up blazed their indig-nation, then as more recently, to illuminate thedarkness and its actors.What I had said was "some footlights'' : what

I had done was to remove all the footlights . . . andthen put some back again. It is quite likely Ishould put back all the footlights were I atwork in my own theatre and remove certain otherlights.

it's hideous, I know, this audacity of doing asone likes in one's own house, but there it is. Wecannot create anything worth seeing or hearing if,like a tame crat, we must first ask others what theythink is the best thing to do, and the safest.Our work is like a sport in that. No cricketer

that I know of asks the bowler and the field howhe is to play the oncoming ball, or if he is ex-pected to look the other way so as to be prettilystumped.

I think you know that I have, in my time, done alittle drawing, some wood engraving and etching,and written some books.

I was encouraged by draughtsmen, engravers and

1 [See The Mask, vol. ix, p. 32.]X

PREFACEmen of letters to do as I liked when doing theseworks, and I see no sound reason why anyonebelonging to the theatre, just because the theatreis so exceptional a place, should lay down the lawthat a nimble inventiveness, a firm independenceand a style of one's own are undesirable and wrong.

I only wish I were more inventive, more indepen-dant and had a finer style to bring to my work.Another point on which I hope you can agree with

me is this :Having damned all my notions for a new theatreshall we call it a different theatre a few offended

ones of the stage and their satellites outside it,forbid me to carry them out." We consider your ideas are worthless, but should

we later on find them of value we intend to carrythem out for ourselves. Hands off ! "And sure enough before long they did begin to

tinker with these notions themselves therebyimperilling their immortal souls one would fancy,since the things were damned.

These brave " pioneers" having produced quitea little effect with these ideas, others took uppioneering. It went on famously for a while.They demanded of me why I flatly refused to showthem other ideas by which they might profit.Quite a howl went up when I refused to do this,having the ordinary British desire in me to profita little too.

Never was such a pack of inconsistent demandsand counter demands let loose as * * the pooled intelli-gence" of these indignant ones has let loose atme for the last fifteen years.

I mustn't do this now I must do it I'm not todream, I'm to do now I'm not to dream of

xi

PREF A CE

doing alone I must come here no, don't comehere go there all this in our England and all

for what? What do you, who are my friends,think it was all for? I believe it was all solelyto ingratiate themselves with the man in the sidestreet.

But I was told it was so as to prevent me at allcosts from getting a theatre of my own.

I cannot believe that . . . but if that is all ... ifthat be the whole fell purpose behind all the pro-paganda and misrepresentation, then it is merelyrather ridiculous. For what harm could I possiblydo to the great Dramatic Art of England if I hadone poor theatre of my own, and my competitorshad the other 502 theatres ?Have they done such very great harm with the

full count of the 503 theatres of our Isles ? wellthen, what could I do with one ?

Supposing I were to do all the things I write ofin this book. To begin with I couldn't, but suppos-ing I could achieve a fair proportion of them, whatwould that lead to?At the worst it could only arouse a little more

competition. Would that do good or harm, Iwonder ? What would you say ?

In brief, this book is the dream, is it not ?Why such an ado then, to prevent someone taking

the next step to realize something of his dream ?

E. G. C.Rapallo,

19*4.

Xll

TO THE READERA WORD IN 1955

JUSTa word before you begin to read this book

of mine of 1905-1911.I wanted to revise it. I would have cut or added

to its pages but Heinemann's won't have it ; theyknow what it is they want and they insist that Imake no alteration at all : I am not to blot a line :the book today is to remain as it was in 1911, inspite of my wishing to make it just a little better."

NO," say Heinemann's,"

you are not to makeour book better : you can't make it better."What can I say to that ? It was Heinemann's

who first printed it, so it delights me to do just asthey want. It's not the ideas that I would havechanged it is only the way of writing them downthat I would have tried to better.Anyhow, I am far too happy to know that it is

my old publishers who will be responsible and thatit is in their safe hands. " Yes, just keep still,"say Heinemann's : does this mean that they fearI am as terrible an enfant now as I was then in1911 ? If so, let me pretend to be that let meglare and grumble and rage let me be an actorto the end.

E. G. C.

xiu

CONTENTSPAGE

PREFACES . ...... vi

INTRODUCTION ...... xvii

GOD SAVE THE KING .... xix

THE ARTISTS OF THE THEATRE OF THEFUTURE ...... 1

THE ACTOR AND THE OBER-MARIONETTE . 54

SOME EVIL TENDENCIES OF THE MODERNTHEATRE ...... 95

PLAYS AND PLAYWRIGHTS . . .112THE THEATRE IN RUSSIA, GERMANY, AND

ENGLAND . . . . . .125THE ART OF THE THEATRE (!ST DIALOGUE) 137

THE ART OF THE THEATRE (2ND DIALOGUE) 182

THE GHOSTS IN THE TRAGEDIES OFSHAKESPEARE ..... 264

SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS .... 281

REALISM AND THE ACTOR.... 286

OPEN-AIR THEATRES. .... 289

SYMBOLISM ...... 298

THE EXQUISITE AND THE PRECIOUS . . 295xv

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONSBY EDWARD GORDON CRAIG

DESIGNS FOR STAGE SCENES AND COSTUMES

1 KING LEAR . . . facing page 8

2 OLD GOBBO 40

3 JULIUS CAESAR ..... 88

4 SUZANNA ...... 136

5 HAMLET : DRAMA .... 184

6 YORICK 232

7 ELECTRA 280

xvi

INTRODUCTIONI

THINK Mr. Craig is the truest revolutionist Ihave ever known, because he demands a return

to the most ancient traditions of which we candream. Revolution and revelation are not far eachfrom the other, and he gives us both. His torch,destined to set on fire our pseudo-Theatres, our mon-strous and barbarous play-houses, has been kindledat the sacred fires of the most ancient arts. He dis-covered for us that in a rope-dancer there may bemore theatrical art than in an up-to-date actorreciting from his memory and depending on hisprompter. I am sure all who are working on thestage throughout Europe, creative minds, or stage-managers priding themselves on their being creativeminds, cannot be but most grateful to Mr. Craig,and must regard all that is and shall be done in hishonour to be done in the vital interest of the veryArt of the Theatre.For more than a hundred years there have been

two men working on the stage, spoiling almostall that is to be called Theatrical Art. These twomen are the Realist and the Machinist. TheRealist offers imitation for life, and the Machinisttricks in place of marvels. So we have lost thetruth and the marvel of life that is, we have lostthe main thing possessed by the art. The Art ofthe Theatre as pure imitation is nothing but analarming demonstration of the abundance of lifeand the narrowness of Art.

It is like the ancient example of the child who wastrying to empty the sea with a shell, and, as for thewonderful tricks of the machinist, they may bemarvellous, but they can never be a marvel. Aflying machine is marvellous, but a bird is a marvel.

xvii

INTRODUCTIONTo the true Artist common life is a marvel and Artmore abundant, more intense and more living thanlife itself. True Art is always discovering themarvel in all that does not seem to be marvellousat all, because Art is not imitation, but vision.That is the great discovery of Mr. Craig on the

stage. He found the forgotten wonderland withthe sleeping beauty, the land of our dreams andwishes, and has fought for it with the gestures ofan artist, with the soul of a child, with the know-ledge of a student, and with the constancy of alover. He has done the greatest service to the Artin which we are so profoundly interested, and it isa great happiness for us all that he comes off withflying colours.He has his admirers and followers in our little

Hungary, the whole of the new generation beingunder his influence, and, without any disparage-ment to the great merit and good luck of Prof.Reinhardt, we Hungarians, as close neighbours andgood observers, dare say that almost all that hasbeen done in Berlin and Dusseldorf, in Munich orin Manheim for the last ten years is to be calledthe success of Mr. Craig.

I am very sorry that I am not able to expressall that I feel in a better style. But I am writingin a language which is not mine, and, living in acountry cottage, far even from my English dic-tionaries, I am obliged to write it as I can, and notas I would.

July 10, 1911.

DR. ALEXANDER HEVESI,Drmnaturg-Regisseur of the

.State Theatre, Budapest.

xviii

GOD SAVE THE KING"

It is meritorious to insist on forms. Religion and all elsenaturally clothes itself in forms. All substances clothe them-selves in forms; but there are suitable true forms, and thenthere are untrue unsuitable. As the briefest definition onemight say, Forms which GROW round a substance, if we rightlyunderstand that, will correspond to the real Nature and purportof it, will be true, good ; forms which are consciously put rounda substance, bad. I invite you to reflect on this. It distinguishestrue from false in Ceremonial Form, earnest solemnity fromempty pageant, in all human things." CARLYLE.

ISPEAK here as the Artist, and though all artistslabour and most are poor, all are loyal, all are

the worshippers of Royalty.If there is a thing in the world that I love it is a

symbol. If there is a symbol of heaven that I canbend my knee to it is the sky, if there is a symbol ofGod, the Sun. As for the smaller things which Ican touch I am not content to believe in them, as

though they could ever be the thing. This I mustalways keep as something precious. All I ask is thatI may be allowed to see it, and what I see must besuperb. Therefore God save the King !

"All Architecture is what you do to it when

SDUlook upon it."

l So do we artists feel aboutoyalty, and see it more splendid and more noble

than any others can ever see it. And if my Kingwanted to chop off my head I think I would submitcheerfully and dance to the block for the sake ofpreserving my ideal of Kingship.Kings have given us everything, and we in times

gone by have in return made up the splendid pro-cession which follows in their wake. Kings havenot stopped giving us everything, but we, alas, have

1 Whitman.

xix

o GOD SAV E THE KIN G ! o

lately given up forming the splendid processions.We have lost the trick of it because we are losingthe old power of our eyes and our other senses.Our senses those wonderful servants of ours overwhom we reign as king our senses have rebelled.So that it comes to this : that we on our part havelost our royalty. Our senses have had the vanityand the impertinence to revolt. This is infinitelydisgusting. Our senses, if you please, are permit-ting themselves the luxury of becoming tired.They want another ruler than the Soul, and expectJupiter to send them a better. We have pamperedour intellect so much of late, have searched thearchives of knowledge at so great an expense,that we have bargained our senses away to ourunimaginative reason.

It costs all this to become practical to-day ; ourimagination is the price we pay, a pretty pennyindeed. It seems that in the Garden of Paradise,the world, there are as many trees of knowledgeas there are men, so that it will no longer doto put our continual yearly

"fall

" down towoman, and we had surely better try to supporther bitter laughter than that harsher scorn of thegods.And the gods are laughing ! My God, so entirely

peerless, laughs only with his eyes. He laughs onall the day, and I hear the echo of his laughter allthe night. But I know how nobly all has beenarranged in this Garden, for my God's laughter isas the song of Paradise in my ears, and its paleecho soothes me to sleep through She night.And as surely as this bounteous laughter pours

down on me by day and flows away from me bynight, so will I find some way of giving thanks for

xx

o GOD S AVE THE KING! oit all : thanksgiving to the joyous laughter and theRoyal comfort that it brings.But to many ears this laughter of the Gods is

like the shrieking of a storm, and these people raisetheir eyebrows, grumble, and pray that it willpass.But will it pass ? Will it not shriek in their ears

until they be dead, until they have lost the sense ofhearing ?

Better would it be for these beings to value oncemore their most noble servants the senses, andattempt to perceive by their means the full meaningof the voice and of the face of God. And when theyhave understood that they will see the full meaningof the King.While I worship the sun I cannot listen to the

talk which twaddles on about the tyranny of kings.The Sun is for me the greatest of tyrants ; that, infact, is part of my reason for loving the Sun.

All truth, the truth of tyranny no less than thetruth of slavery, is illumined by the Sun. Fromthe marble columns of Mount Carrara to the wrinkleon the face of my nurse, all is laid bare for me andillumined by his light ; nothing escapes the eye ofGod. He is a terrible God to those who fear tobe burnt by him. From these he will

" breedmaggots."The Beautiful and the Terrible. Which is which

will never be put into words. But I am free to tellmyself; and, let me but preserve the senses myeyes, my ears, my touch, and all shall be well allshall seem far more beautiful than terrible.For not only do these servants of our Royalty

help to idealize all things for us, but they alsohelp to fix a limit to our vanity. By their help

xxi

*> GOD SAVE THE KING! oI recognize my God as he rises like the spirit ofImagination from the East and sails across the bluestraits of heaven.

If I had lost the sense of sight I should be unableto see this glory, and, not seeing it, I should demandother miracles from it than Happiness may expect.I should look for it to work some practical dailymiracle in vain. Whereas, seeing this daily glory,this Sun, I know that the miracle comes and goes,that the miracle is just the passage of this symbol ofthe Divine, this seeming motion of the Sun fromeast to west.And that seeming motion of this God is enough

for man to know. Mystic voices seem to cry," Seek to know no more " : and we answer rebel -liously,

"I will be satisfied; deny me this and an

eternal curse fall on ye."

"Show his eyes and grieve his heart,Come like shadows, so depart."

This seeking to know more this desire of thebrain threatens to rob our senses of their vitality ;our eyes may become dim till we shall no longerrecognize the God before us, nor the King as hepasses along our way. Our ears seem to be deaf;we begin not to hear the song of Paradise, we failto pick up the chorus which follows in the wake ofRoyalty. Our touch, too, is growing coarse. Thehem of the robes' brocade was once pleasant toour fingers' touch ; to touch the silken glove withour lips was once a privilege and a luxury. Now wehave become the mob; ambition's aim, oh nobleconsummation ! Afraid any longer to serve likenoblemen, we must slave like thieves, having robbedourselves of our greatest possession, our fine senses.

xxii

GOD SAVE THE KINO! oWe are becoming veritable slaves chained togetherby circumstances, refusing daily to be released byour imagination, that only power which achievestrue Freedom.But for me, I am a free man, by the grace of

Royalty. Long live the King 1E. G. C.

Florence, 1911.

XX111

THE ARTISTS OF THETHEATRE OF THE FUTUREDEDICATED TO THE YOUNG RACE OFATHLETIC WORKERS IN ALL THE THEATRES.SECOND THOUGHTS. I DEDICATE THIS TOTHE SINGLE COURAGEOUS INDIVIDUALITYIN THE WORLD OF THE THEATRE WHOWILL SOME DAY MASTER AND REMOULD IT.

rriHEY say that second thoughts are best. TheyJL also say it is good to make the best of a bad job,and it is merely making the best of a bad job thatI am forced to alter my first and more optimisticdedication to my second. Therefore the secondthoughts are best. What a pity and what a painto me that we should be obliged to admit it ! Nosuch race of athletic workers in the Theatre of to-

day exists ; degeneration, both physical and mental,is round us. How could it be otherwise ? Per-haps no surer sign of it can be pointed to than thatall those whose work lies in the Theatre are to be

continually heard announcing that all is well andthat the Theatre is to-day at its highest point of

development.But if all were well, no desire for a change would

spring up instinctively and continually as it everdoes in those who visit or ponder on the modernTheatre. It is because the Theatre is in this

DEDI C A TIONwretched state that it becomes necessary thatsome one shall speak as I do; and then I lookaround me for those to whom I can speak and forthose who will listen and, listening, understand;and I see nothing but backs turned towards me,the backs of a race of unathletic workers. Stillthe individual, the boy or man of personal courage,faces me. Him I see, and in him I see the forcewhich shall create the race to come. Therefore tohim I speak, and I am content that he alone shallunderstand me. It is the man who will, as Blakesays,

" leave father, mother, houses and lands ifthey stand in the way of his art

"

;

1 it is the manwho will give up personal ambition and the tem-porary success of the moment, he who will cease todesire an agreeable wealth of smooth guineas, butwho shall demand as his reward nothing less thanthe restoration of his home, its liberty, its health,its power. It is to him I speak.

YOU are a young man ; you have already been afew years in a theatre, or you have been bornof theatrical parents ; or you have been a painter fora while but have felt the longing towards move-ment ; or you have been a manufacturer. Perhapsyou quarrelled with your parents when you wereeighteen, because you wished to &:> on the stage,

1 " Chang Fa-Shou, the liberal founder of this Temple, WuSheng Ssti, was able, under the manifold net of a fivefold covering,to cut lite bonds of family affection and worldly carest etc."Engraved upon a stele A.I). 535 (China), now in the SouthKensington Museum.

2

WANT TO FLY 9and they would not let you. They perhaps askedwhy you wanted to go on the stage, and you couldgive no reasonable answer because you wanted todo that which no reasonable answer could explain ;in other words, you wanted to fly. And had yousaid to your parents,

"I want to fly," I think that

you would have probably got further than had youalarmed them with the terrible words, " I want togo on the stage."

Millions of such men have had the same desire,this desire for movement, this desire to fly, thisdesire to be merged in some other creature's being,and not knowing that it was the desire to live inthe imagination, some have answered their parents,"

I want to be an actor; I want to go on the

stage."It is not that which they want ; and the tragedy

begins. I think when walking, disturbed withthis newly awakened feeling, a young man will say,"

perhaps I want to be an actor"

; and it is onlywhen in the presence of the irate parents that inhis desperation he turns the

"

perhaps" into the

definite " I want."This is probably your case. You want to fly;

you want to exist in some other state, to be in-toxicated with the air, and to create this state inothers.

Try and get out of your head now that you reallywant "to go on the stage." If, unfortunately, youare upon the stage, try and get out of your headthen that you want to be an actor and that it is the

3

OBEDIENCE TO YOUR MASTERend of all your desires. Let us say that you arealready an actor ; you have been so for four or five

years, and already some strange doubt has creptupon you. You will not admit it to any one ; yourparents would apparently seem to have been right ;you will not admit it to yourself, for you havenothing else but this one thing to cheer yourselfwith. But I'm going to give you all sorts of thingsto cheer yourself with, and you may with courageand complete good spirits throw what you will tothe winds and yet lose nothing of that which youstood up for in the beginning. You may remain on,yet be above the stage.

I shall give you the value of my experience forwhat it is worth, and may be it will be of some useto you. I shall try to sift what is important for usfrom what is unimportant ; and if while I am tellingyou all this you want any doubts cleared or anymore exact explanations or details, you have onlyto ask me for them and I am ready to serve you.To begin with, you have accepted an engagement

from the manager of the Theatre. You must servehim faithfully, not because he is paying you a salary,but because you are working under him. And withthis obedience to your manager comes the first andthe greatest temptation which you will encounter inyour whole work.

Because you must not merely obey his wordsbut his wishes ; and yet you must not lose yourself.I do not mean to say you must not lose your person-ality, because it is probable your personality has

^OBEDIENCE TO N AT U RE onot come to its complete form. But you must notlose sight of that which you are in quest of, youmust not lose the first feeling which possessed youwhen you seemed to yourself to be in movementwith a sense of swinging upwards.While serving your apprenticeship under your

first manager listen to all he has to say and all hecan show you about the theatre, about acting, andgo further for yourself and search out that whichhe does not show you. Go where they are paintingthe scenes ; go where they are twisting the electricwires for the lamps ; go beneath the stage and lookat the elaborate constructions ; go up over thestage and ask for information about the ropes andthe wheels ; but while you are learning all this aboutthe Theatre and about acting be very careful toremember that outside the world of the Theatreyou will find greater inspiration than inside it : Imean in nature. The other sources of inspirationare music and architecture.

I tell you to do this because you will not have ittold you by your manager. In the Theatre theystudy from the Theatre. They take the Theatreas their source of inspiration, and if at times someactors go to nature for assistance, it is to one part ofnature only, to that which manifests itself in thehuman being.

This was not so with Henry Irving, but I cannotstop here to tell you of him, for it would mean bookupon book to put the thing clearly before you. Butyou can remember that as actor he was unfailingly

5

HENRY IRVINGright, and that he studied all nature in order tofind symbols for the expression of his thoughts.You will be probably told that this man, whom I

hold up to you as a peerless actor, did such and sucha thing in such and such a way ; and you will doubtmy counsel; but with all respect to your presentmanager you must be very careful how muchcredence you give to what he says and to what heshows, for it is upon such tradition that the Theatrehas existed and has degenerated.What Henry Irving did is one thing; what they

tell you he did is another. I have had someexperience of this. I played in the same Theatreas Irving in Macbeth, and later on I had the oppor-tunity of playing Macbeth myself in a theatre inthe north or the south of England. I was curiousto know how much would strike a capable andreliable actor of the usual fifteen years' experience,

especially one who was an enthusiastic admirer ofHenry Irving. I therefore asked him to be goodenough to show me how Irving had treated this orthat passage ; what he had done and what impres-sion he had created, because it had slipped mymemory. The competent actor thereupon revealedto my amazed intelligence something so banal, soclumsy, and so lacking in distinction, that I beganto understand how much value was in tradition;and I have had several such experiences.

I have been shown by a competent and worthyactress how Mrs. Siddons played Lady Macbeth.

6

^INCORRECT TRADITION oShe would move to the centre of the stage and wouldbegin to make certain movements and certainexclamations which she believed to be a repro-duction of what Mrs. Siddons had done, I presumeshe had received these from some one who had seenMrs. Siddons. The things which she showed mewere utterly worthless in so far as they had nounity, although one action here, another action

there, would have some kind of reflected value;and so I began to see the uselessness of this kind oftuition; and it being my nature to rebel againstthose who would force upon me something whichseemed to me unintelligent, I would have nothingto do with such teaching.

I do not recommend you to do the same, althoughyou will disregard what I say and do as I did ifyou have much of the volcano in you ; but you willdo better to listen, accept and adapt that whichthey tell you, remembering that this your apprentice-ship as actor is but the very beginning of an exceed-

ingly long apprenticeship as craftsman in all thecrafts which go to make up the art.When you have studied these thoroughly you will

find some which are of value, and you will certainlyfind that the experience as actor has been necessary.The pioneer seldom finds an easy road, and as yourway does not end in becoming a celebrated actorbut is a much longer and an untrodden way leadingto a very different end, you will have all the advan-tages and the disadvantages of pioneering ; but

7

THE END IN VIEW o

keep in mind what I have told you : that your aimis not to become a celebrated actor, it is not to be-come the manager of a so-called successful theatre ;it is not to become the producer of elaborate andmuch-talked-of plays ; it is to become an artist ofthe Theatre ; and as a base to all this you must, as1 have said, serve your term of apprenticeship asactor faithfully and well. If at the end of five yearsas actor you are convinced that you know whatyour future will be ; if, in fact, you are succeeding,you may give yourself up for lost. Short cuts leadnowhere in this world. Did you think when thelonging came upon you and when you told yourfamily that you must go upon the stage that sucha great longing was to be so soon satisfied ? Is satis-faction so small a thing ? Is desire a thing of nothing,that a five years' quest can make a parody of it ?But of course not. Your whole life is not too long,and then only at the very end will some small atomof what you have desired come to you. And so youwill be still young when you are full of years.

o ON THE ACTOR o

As a man he ranks high, possesses generosity,and the truest sense of comradeship, I call to mindone actor whom I know and who shall stand as thetype. A genial companion, and spreading a senseof companionship in the theatre; generous ingiving assistance to younger and less accomplished

8

PLATE 1

King Lear"

the storm. Woodcut, 1920.

WHAT THE ACTOR KNOWSactors, continually speaking about the work,picturesque in his manner, able to hold his ownwhen standing at the side of the stage instead ofin the centre ; with a voice which commands myattention when I hear it, and, finally, with about asmuch knowledge of the art as a cuckoo has of any-thing which is at all constructive. Anything tobe made according to plan or design is foreign tohis nature. But his good nature tells him thatothers are on the stage besides himself, and thatthere must be a certain feeling of unity betweentheir thoughts and his, yet this arrives by a kind ofgood-natured instinct and not through knowledge,and produces nothing positive. Instinct and expe-rience have taught him a few things (I am notgoing to call them tricks), which he continuallyrepeats. For instance, he has learned that thesudden drop in the voice from forte to piano hasthe power of accentuating and thrilling the audienceas much as the crescendo from the piano into theforte. He also knows that laughter is capable ofvery many sounds, and not merely Ha, Ha, Ha. Heknows that geniality is a rare thing on the stageand that the bubbling personality is always wel-comed. But what he does not know is this, thatthis same bubbling personality and all this sameinstinctive knowledge doubles or even trebles its

power when guided by scientific knowledge, thatis to say, by art. If he should hear me say this nowhe would be lost in amazement and would consider

9

THE CREATIVE POWER ^that I was saying something which was finicking,dry, and not at all for the consideration of an artist.He is one who thinks that emotion creates emotion,and hates anything to do with calculation. It isnot necessary for me to point out that all art hasto do with calculation, and that the man who dis-regards this can only be but half an actor. Naturewill not alone supply all which goes to create awork of art, and it is not the privilege of trees, moun-tains and brooks to create works of art, or every-thing which they touch would be given a definiteand beautiful form. It is the particular powerwhich belongs to man alone, and to him throughhis intelligence and his will. My friend probablythinks that Shakespeare wrote Othello in a passionof jealousy and that all he had to do was to writethe first words which came into his mouth; but1 am of the opinion, and I think others hold thesame opinion, that the words had to pass throughour author's head, and that it was just through thisprocess and through the quality of his imaginationand the strength and calmness of his brain that therichness of his nature was able to be entirely andclearly expressed, and by no other process couldhe have arrived at this.

Therefore it follows that the actor who wishes toperform Othello, let us say, must have not only therich nature from which to draw his wealth, but mustalso have the imagination to know what to bringforth, and the brain to know how to put it before

10

o T HE IDE AL ACTOR ous. Therefore the ideal actor will be the man whopossesses both a rich nature and a powerful brain.Of his nature we need not speak. It will contain

everything. Of his brain we can say that the finerthe quality the less liberty will it allow itself, re-

membering how much depends upon its co-worker,the Emotion, and also the less liberty will it allowits fellow-worker, knowing how valuable to it is itssternest control. Finally, the intellect would bringboth itself and the emotions to so fine a sense ofreason that the work would never boil to thebubbling point with its restless exhibition of

activity, but would create that perfect moderateheat which it would know how t^ keep temperate.The perfect actor would be he whose brain couldconceive and could show us the perfect symbols ofall which his nature contains. He jvould not rampand rage up and down in Othello, rolling his eyesand clenching his hands in order to give us an im-pression of jealousy; he would tell his brain toinquire into the depths, to learn all that lies there,and then to remove itself to another sphere, thesphere of the imagination, and there fashion certainsymbols which, without exhibiting the bare passions,would none the less tell us clearly about them.And the perfect actor who should do this would

in time find out that the symbols are to be mademainly from material which lies outside his person.But I will speak to you fully about this when I getto the end of our talk. For then I shall show you

11

THE FACE OF HENRY IRVINGthat the actor as he is to-day must ultimatelydisappear and be merged in something else if worksof art are to be seen in our kingdom of the Theatre. 1

Meantime do not forget that the very nearestapproach that has ever been to the ideal actor, withhis brain commanding his nature, has been HenryIrving. There are many books which tell youabout him, and the best of all the books is his face.Procure all the pictures, photographs, drawings,you can of him, and try to read what is there. Tobegin with you will find a mask, and the signifi-cance of this is most important. I think you willfind it difficult to say when you look on the face,that it betrays the weaknesses which may havebeen in the nature. Try and conceive for yourselfthat face in movement movement which was everunder the powerful control of the mind. Can younot see the mouth being made to move by the brain,and that same movement which is called expressioncreating a thought as definite as the line of a

draughtsman does on a piece of paper or as a chorddoes in music ? Cannot you see the slow turningof those eyes and the enlargement of them ? Thesetwo movements alone contained so great a lessonfor the future of the art of the theatre, pointed outso clearly the right use of expression as opposed tothe wrong use, that it is amazing to me that manypeople have not seen more clearly what the futuremust be, I should say that the face of Irving was

1 See The Actor and the tlber-Marionette, p. 54.12

THE MASK AS THE MEDIUMthe connecting link between that spasmodic andridiculous expression of the human face as used bythe theatres of the last few centuries, and the maskswhich will be used in place of the human face in thenear future.

Try and think of all this when losing hope thatyou will ever bring your nature as exhibited in yourface and your person under sufficient command.Know for a truth that there is something otherthan your face and your person which you mayuse and which is easier to control. Know this,but make no attempt yet awhile to close with it.Continue to be an actor, continue to learn all thathas to be learned, as to how they set about con-trolling the face, and then you will learn finallythat it is not to be entirely controlled.

I give you this hope so that when this momentarrives you will not do as the other actors havedone. They have been met by this difficulty andhave shirked it, have compromised, and have notdared to arrive at the conclusion which an artistmust arrive at if faithful to himself. That is to say,that the mask is the only right medium of portray-ing the expressions of the soul as shown through theexpressions of the face.

o ON THE STAGE-MANAGER ^>

After you have been an actor you must become astage-manager. Rather a misleading title this,

18

MASTER OF THE THEATREfor you will not be permitted to manage the stage.It is a peculiar position, and you can but benefitby the experience, though the experience will notbring either great delights to you or great results tothe theatre in which you work. How well it sounds,this title, Stage-manager ! it indicates

" Master of

the science of the stage."Every theatre has a stage-manager, yet I fear

there are no masters of the stage science. Perhapsalready you are an under stage-manager. You willtherefore remember the proud joy you felt whenyou were sent for, and, with some solemn wordsinformed that your manager had decided to advanceyou to the position of stage-manager, and begged toremind you of the importance of the post, and ofthe additional one or two pennies that go with thesituation. I suppose that you thought that the

great and last wonderful day of your dream hadarrived, and you held your head a little higher fora week, and looked down on the vast land whichseemed to stretch out before you.But after then, what was it ? Am I not right

in saying that it meant an early attendance at thetheatre to see after the carpenters, and whetherthe nails had been ordered, and whether the cardswere fixed to the doors of the dressing-rooms ?Am I not right in saying that you had to descendagain to the stage and stand around waiting to seeif things were done to time ? whether the scenerywas brought in and hung up to time ? Did not

14

GENERAL UTILITY MAN TO-DAYthe costumiere come tearfully to you saying thatsome one had taken a dress from its box and sub-stituted another ? Did you not request thecostumiere to bring the offending party before

you ? and did you not have to manage these twoin some tactful way so as to offend neither of them,and yet so as to get at the truth of the matter ?And did you ever get at the truth of the matter ?And did these two go away nursing anything but aloathed hate towards you ? Put the best case, oneof them liked you, and the other began to intrigueagainst you the next hour. Did you find yourselfstill on the stage at about half-past ten, and didnot the actors arrive at that hour apparently intotal ignorance that you had been there alreadyfour hours, and with their superb conviction thatthe doors of the theatre had just that moment beenopened because they had arrived ? And did not atleast six of these actors in the next quarter of anhour come up to you and with an

"I say, old chap,"

or" Look here, old fellow," start asking you to

arrange something for them on the stage so as tomake their task a little easier ? And were not thethings which they asked all so opposed one to theother, that to assist any one actor would have beento offend the other five ? Having told them thatyou would do your best, were you not relieved bythe sudden appearance of the director of thetheatre, generally the chief actor ? And'did younot instantly go to him with the different requests

15

THE REHEARSALwhich had been made to you, hoping that he, asmaster, would take the responsibility of arrangingall these difficult matters ? And did he not replyto you,

" Don't bother me with these details ;please do what you think best," and did not youthen instantly know in your heart that the wholething was a farce the title, the position, andall?

And then the rehearsal commenced. The firstwords are spoken ; the first difficulty arrives. Theplay opens with a conversation between two gentle-men seated at a table. Having gone on for aboutfive minutes, the director interrupts with a gentlequestion. He asks if he is not correct in sayingthat at yesterday's rehearsal Mr. Brown rose at thisor that line, twisting his chair back with a suddenmovement ? The actor, a trifle distressed that hehas been the cause of the first delay in the day'sproceedings, and yet not wishing to take any faultto himself, asks with equal courtesy,

" Are these thechairs which we are supposed to use on the night ?

"

The director turns to the stage-manager, and askshim,

" Are these the chairs we use upon the night ?"

"

No, sir," replies the stage-manager. A momen-tary look of disapproval, ever so slight, passes fromthe director, and is reflected upon the faces of thetwo actors, and a little restless wind passes roundthe theatre. It is the first little hitch. " I thinkit would be best to use at rehearsal the chairs weare going to use on the night."

"

Certainly, sir !"

16

THE REHEARSALThe stage-manager claps his hands.

"

Isherwood,"he cries. A thin, sad-looking little man, with amask which is impenetrable on account of itsextreme sadness, comes on to the stage and standsbefore the judgment seat. He hesitates, " Weshall use the chairs at rehearsal which have beenordered for this scene." " No chairs, sir, have beenordered for this scene." The wind rises. A sharpflash of lightning shows itself on the face of thedirector, and a sudden frown of thunder hangs uponthe brows of the actors. The stage-manager asksto see the property list, that is to say, the list of

things used in the scene. Isherwood casts his eyespathetically across the desert of the stage in search

of the leading lady. Being the wife of the director,she has seen no reason for arriving in time. Whenshe arrives she will have the look upon her face of

having been concerned with more important busi-ness elsewhere. Isherwood replies,

"I had orders,

sir, to put these two chairs in Scene II, as they arechairs with pink and red brocade." Great momentfor the director. Thunder-clap.

" Who gave youthese orders ?

" " Miss Jones." [Miss Jones isthe daughter of the leading lady, who is the wife ofthe director. Her position is not defined in the

theatre, but she may be said to"

assist her

mother."] Hence the absence of the chairs.Hence the irritation of the entire company. Hencethe waste of time in so many theatres, and hencethe loss of the art.

17

WHY A GOOD EXPERIENCEThis is but one and the first trial of the stage-

manager, who rather plays the part of the tyre thanthe axle of the wheel of the stage. The rehearsalcontinues. The stage-manager has to be there allthe time with but little control and permitted tohold few opinions, and yet all responsible for theerrors ; and after it is over, while the actors mayretire to their luncheon, he must retire to the

property room, the scene-painting room, the carpen-ters' room must hear all their grievances, must see

everything being delayed ; and when the companyreturns to the theatre fresh after a pause of an houror so he is expected to be as fresh and as good-humoured without a break of a minute. This wouldbe an easy and pleasant matter if he had theauthority of his title; that is to say, if in hiscontract lay the words

"

entire and absolute controlof the stage and all that is on the stage."But it is none the less a good if a strange expe-

rience. It teaches the man who assumes theseterrible responsibilities how great a need there isfor him to study the science of the stage, so thatwhen it comes to his turn to be the director of theTheatre, he may dispense with the services of aso-oalled

"

stage-manager"

by being the veritablestage-manager himself.You will do well, after having remained an actor

for five years to assume these difficult responsi-bilities of stage-manager for a year or two, and neverforget that it is a position capable of development.

18

THE IDEAL S T A G E -M A N A G E RAbout the ideal stage-manager I have written inmy book, The Art of the Theatre, 1 and I have shownthere that the nature of his position should makehim the most important figure in the whole worldof the Theatre. It should therefore be your aimto become such a man, one who is able to take aplay and produce it himself, rehearsing the actorsand conveying to them the requirements of eachmovement, each situation; designing the sceneryand the costumes and explaining to those who areto make them the requirements of these scenes andcostumes; and working with the manipulators ofthe artificial light, and conveying to them clearlywhat is required.Now, if I had nothing better to bring to you than

these suggestions, if I had no further ideal, nofurther truth, to reveal to you about the Stage andabout your future than this that I have told you of,I should consider that I had nothing to give youwhatever and I should urge you to think no moreof the Theatre. But I told you at the beginning of

my letter that I was going to give you all sortsof things to cheer yourself with, so that you shouldhave absolute faith in the greatness of the taskwhich you set out to achieve; and here I remindyou of this again lest you should think that thisideal manager of whom I speak is the ultimate

1 This little book I have been able to rescue from a dungeoninto which it had been thrown, and it is now free once more toroam the world under the protection of Mr. Heinemann. Youwill find it on p. 187 of this volume.

19

AND BE YON Dachievement possible for you. It is not. Readwhat I have written about him in The Art ofthe Theatre, and let that suffice you for the time

being; but rest perfectly sure that I have more,much more to follow, and that your hope shall beso high, that no other hope, not even that of the

poets or the priests, shall be higher.To return to the duties of the stage-manager. I

take it that I have already explained to you, orthat you have already experienced, these ordinarydifficulties, and that you have learned that greattact is required and no great talent. You have onlyto take care that in exercising this tact you do notbecome a little diplomatist, for a little diplomatistis a dangerous thing. Keep fresh your desire to

emerge from that position, and your best way todo this is to study how to master the differentmaterials which, later on, you will have to work inwhen your position is that of the ideal stage-manager. You will then possess your own Theatre,and what you place upon your stage will all be thework of your brain, much of it the work of yourhands, and you must waste no time so as to beready.

ON SCENE AND MOVEMENTIt is now time to tell you how I believe you

may best become a designer of stage scenery andcostumes, and how you may learn something about

20

THE STUDY OF THE PLAYthe uses of artificial light ; how you may bring theactors who work with you to work in harmony witheach other, with the scene, and, most of all, withthe ideas of the author. You have been studying,and will go on studying, the works which you wishto present. Let us here limit them to the fourgreat tragedies by Shakespeare. You will knowthese so well by the time you begin to prepare themfor the stage, and the preparation will take you ayear or two for each play ; you will have no moredoubts as to what impression you want to create;your exercise will be to see how best you can createthat impression.

Let me tell you at the commencement that itis the large and sweeping impression produced bymeans of scene and the movement of the figures,which is undoubtedly the most valuable means at

your disposal. I say this only after very manydoubts and after much experience ; and you mustalways bear in mind that it is from my experiencethat I speak, and that the best I can do is but tooffer you that experience. Although you know thatI have parted company with the popular belief thatthe written play is of any deep and lasting value tothe Art of the Theatre, we are not going so far asto dispense with it here. We are to accept it thatthe play still retains some value for us, and we arenot going to waste that ; our aim is to increase it.Therefore it is, as I say, the production of generaland broad effects appealing to the eye which will

21

'MACBETHadd a value to that which has already been madevaluable by the great poet.

First and foremost comes the scene. It is idle totalk about the distraction of scenery, because thequestion here is not how to create some distractingscenery, but rather how to create a place whichharmonizes with the thoughts of the poet.Come now, we take Macbeth. We know the

play well. In what kind of place is that play laid THow does it look, first of all to our mind's eye,secondly to our eye ?

I see two things. I see a lofty and steep rock,and I see the moist cloud which envelops the headof this rock. That is to say, a place for fierce andwarlike men to inhabit, a place for phantoms tonest in. Ultimately this moisture will destroy therock ; ultimately these spirits will destroy the men.Now then, you are quick in your question as towhat actually to create for the eye. I answer asswiftly place there a rock ! Let it mount uphigh. Swiftly I tell you, convey the idea of a mistwhich hugs the head of this rock. Now, have Ideparted at all for one eighth of an inch from thevision which I saw in the mind's eye ?But you ask me what form this rock shall take

and what colour ? What are the lines which arethe lofty lines, and which are to be seen in anylofty cliff ? Go to them, glance but a moment atthem ; now quickly set them down on your paper ;the lines and their direction, never mind the cliff.

22

THE COLO V RDo not be afraid to let them go high; they cannotgo high enough ; and remember that on a sheet ofpaper which is but two inches square you can makea line which seems to tower miles in the air, and youcan do the same on your stage, for it is all a matterof proportion and nothing to do with actuality.You ask about the colours ? What are the

colours that Shakespeare has indicated for us ? Donot first look at Nature, but look in the play ofthe poet. Two ; one for the rock, the man ; onefor the mist, the spirit. Now, quickly, take andaccept this statement from me. Touch not asingle other colour, but only these two colours

through your whole progress of designing yourscene and your costumes, yet forget not that eachcolour contains many variations. If you are timidfor a moment and mistrust yourself or what I tell,when the scene is finished you will not see with youreye the effect you have seen with your mind's eye,when looking at the picture which Shakespeare hasindicated.

It is this lack of courage, lack of faith in the valuewhich lies in limitation and in proportion which isthe undoing of all the good ideas which are bornin the minds of the scene designers. They wishto make twenty statements at once. They wish totell us not only of the lofty crag and the mist whichclings to it ; they wish to tell you of the moss of the

Highlands and of the particular rain which descendsin the month of August. They cannot resist

23

PRACTISE AND LOSE NO TIME

showing that they know the form of the ferns ofScotland, and that their archaeological research hasbeen thorough in all matters relating to the castlesof Glamis and Cawdor. And so in their attempt totell us these many facts, they tell us nothing; allis confusion :

A TECHNICAL EXPLANATIONhis corporal eye, shall be convinced that the two

things are separate things. I will tell you how todo this. Line and proportion having suggested thematerial rock-like substance, tone and colour (onecolour) will have given the ethereal to the mist-likevacuum. Now then, you bring this tone andcolour downwards until it reaches nearly to thelevel of the floor ; but you must be careful to bringthis colour and this tone down in some place whichis removed from the material rock-like substance.You ask me to explain technically what I mean.

Let your rock possess but half the width of thestage, let it be the side of a cliff round which manypaths twist, and let these paths mingle in one flatspace taking up half or perhaps three quarters ofthe stage. You have room enough there for allyour men and women. Now then, open your stageand all other parts. Let there be a void below aswell as above, and in this void let your mist fall andfade; and from that bring the figures which youhave fashioned and which are to stand for thespirits. I know you are yet not quite comfortablein your mind about this rock and this mist ; I knowthat you have got in the back of your head therecollection that a little later on in the play comeseveral " interiors " as they are called. But, bless

your heart, don't bother about that ! Call to mindthat the interior of a castle is made from the stuffwhich is taken from the quarries. Is it notprecisely the same colour to begin with ? and do

25

A TECHNICAL EXPLANATIONnot the blows of the axes which hew out the greatstones give a texture to each stone which resemblesthe texture given it by natural means, as rain,lightning, frost ? So you will not have to changeyour mind or change your impression as youproceed. You will have but to give variations ofthe same theme, the rock the brown ; the mistthe grey ; and by these means you will, wonder ofwonders, actually have preserved unity. Yoursuccess will depend upon your capacity to makevariations upon these two themes ; but remembernever to let go of the main theme of the playwhen searching for variations in the scene.By means of your scene you will be able to mould

the movements of the actors, and you must be ableto increase the impression of your numbers withoutactually adding another man to your forty or fifty.You must not, therefore, waste a single man, norplace him in such a position that an inch of him islost. Therefore the place on which he walks mustbe the most carefully studied parts of the wholescene. But in telling you not to waste an inch ofhim I do not therefore mean to convey that youmust show every inch of him. It is needless to saymore on this point. By means of suggestion youmay bring on the stage a sense of all things therain, the sun, the wind, the snow, the hail, theintense heat but you will never bring them thereby attempting to wrestle and close with Nature, inorder so that you may seize some of her treasure

26

A TECHNICAL EXPLANATIONand lay it before the eyes of the multitude. Bymeans of suggestion in movement you may trans-late all the passions and the thoughts of vastnumbers of people, or by means of the same youcan assist your actor to convey the thoughts andthe emotions of the particular character he im-

personates. Actuality, accuracy of detail, is useless

upon the stage.Do you want further directions as to how to

become a designer of scenes and how to make thembeautiful, and, let us add for the sake of the cause,practical and inexpensive ? I am afraid that if Iwere to commit my method to writing I shouldwrite something down which would prove not somuch useless as bad. For it might be very danger-ous for many people to imitate my method. Itwould be a different thing if you could study withme, practising what we speak about for a few years.Your nature would in time learn to reject thatwhich was unsuited to it, and, by a daily and a muchslower initiation, only the more important andvaluable parts of my teaching would last. But Ican give you now some more general ideas of thingswhich you might do with advantage and thingswhich you may leave undone. For instance, tobegin with, don't worry particularly don't worryyour brain, and for Heaven's sake don't think it is

important that you have got to do something,especially something clever.

I call to mind the amount of trouble I had when27

MY EARLY EXPERIENCEI was a boy of twenty-one over the struggle tosomehow produce designs traditional in characterwithout feeling at all in sympathy with the tradi-tion; and I count it as so much wasted time. Ido not hold with others that it was of any valuewhatever. I remember making designs for scenesfor Henry IV. I was working under an actor-

manager at the time. I was working in a theatrewhere the chairs and the tables and other mattersof detail played over-important and photographicparts, and, not knowing any better, I had to takeall this as a good example. The play of Henry IV,therefore, consisted to my mind of one excellentpart, Prince Hal, and thirty or forty other charactersthat trotted round this part. There was the usualtable with the chairs round it on the right side.There at the back was the usual door, and I thoughtit rather unique and daring at the time to place thisdoor a little bit off the straight. There was thewindow with the latches and the bolts and thecurtains ruffled up to look as if they had been usedfor some time, and outside the glimpses of Englishlandscape. There were the great flagons; and,of course, on the curtain rising there was to be a

great cluster and fluster of"

scurvy knaves," whoran in and out, and a noise of jovial drinkers in thenext room. There was the little piece of jovialmusic to take up the curtain, that swinging jigtune which we have all grown so familiar with,there were the three girls who pass at the back of

28

^ WOULD-BE IMITATORS othe window, laughing. One pops her head in at thewindow with a laugh arid a word to the potman.Then there is the dwindling of the laughter and thesinking to piano of the orchestra as the first speakingcharacter enters, and so on.My whole work of that time was based on these

stupid restless details which I had been led tosuppose a production could be made from ; and itwas only when I banished the whole of this frommy thoughts, and no longer permitted myself to seewith the eyes of the producers of the period ofCharles Kean, that I began to find anything freshwhich might be of value to the play. And so forme to tell you how to make your scenes is well-nighimpossible. It would lead you into terrible blun-ders. I have seen some of the scenery which issupposed to be produced according to my teaching,and it is utter rubbish.

I let my scenes grow out of not merely the play,but from broad sweeps of thought which the playhas conjured up in me, or even other plays by thesame author have conjured up. For instance, therelation of Hamlet to Macbeth is quite close, andthe one play may influence the other. I have beenasked so many times, by people eager to make alittle swift success or a little money, to explain tothem carefully how I make my scenes; because,said they, with sweet simplicity,

" then I could makesome too." You will hardly believe it, but thestrangest of people have said this to me, and if I

29

o WOULD-BE IMITATORS ^>could be of service to them without being treacher-ous to myself as an artist, and to the art, I wouldalways do so. But you see how vain that would be !To tell them in five minutes or in five hours or evenin a day how to do a thing which it has taken mea lifetime to begin to do would be utterly impossible.And yet when I have been unable to bring myself totear my knowledge up into little shreds and give itto these people they have been most indignant, attimes malignant.And so you see it is not that I am unwilling to

explain to you the size and shape of my back-cloths,the colour which is put upon them, the pieces ofwood that are not to be attached to them, the waythey are to be handled, the lights that are to bethrown upon them, and how and why I do every-thing else; it is only that if I were to tell you,though it might be of some service to you for thenext two or three years, and you could produceseveral plays with enough

*'

effects" therein to

satisfy the curiosity of quite a number of people,though you would benefit to this extent you wouldlose to a far greater extent, and the art would havein me its most treacherous minister. We are not con-cerned with short cuts. We are not concerned withwhat is to be" effective" and what is to pay. Weare concerned with the heart of this thing, and withloving and understanding it. Therefore approachit from all sides, surround it, and do not let yourselfbe attracted away by the idea of scene as an end

30

THE PREPARATION OF A PLAYin itself, of costume as an end in itself, or of stagemanagement or any of these things, and never losehold of your determination to win through to thesecret the secret which lies in the creation ofanother beauty, and then all will be well.

In preparing a play, while your mind is thinkingof scene, let it instantly leap round and considerthe acting, movement and voice. Decide nothingyet, instantly leap back to another thought aboutanother part of this unit. Consider the movementrobbed of all scene, all costume, merely as move-ment. Somehow mix the movement of the personwith the movement which you see in your mind'seye in the scene. Now pour all your colour uponthis. Now wash away all the colour. Now beginover again. Consider only the words. Windthem in and out of some vast and impossiblepicture, and now make that picture possiblethrough the words. Do you see at all what I mean?Look at the thing from every standpoint andthrough every medium, and do not hasten to beginyour work until one medium force you to com-mence. You can far sooner trust other influencesto move your will and even your hand than you cantrust your own little human brain. This may notbe the methodical teachings of the school. Theresults they achieve are on record, and the recordis nothing to boast about. Hard, matter-of-fact,mechanical teaching may be very good for a class,but it is not much good for the individual; and

31

o THE COSTUME BOOKS owhen I come to teach a class I shall not teach themso much by words as by practical demonstration.By the way, I may tell you one or two things

that you will find good not to do. For instance, donot trouble about the costume books. When in agreat difficulty refer to one in order to see howlittle it will help you out of your difficulty, but

your best plan is never to let yourself become com-plicated with these things. Remain clear and fresh-If you study how to draw a figure, how to put on ita jacket, coverings for the legs, covering for thehead, and try to vary these coverings in all kindsof interesting, amusing, or beautiful ways, you will

get much further than if you feast your eyes andconfound your brain with Racinet, Planchet,Hottenroth and the others. The coloured costumesare the worst, and you must take great care withthese and be utterly independent when you cometo think about what you have been looking at.Doubt and mistrust them thoroughly. If you findafterwards that they contain many good thingsyou will not be so far wrong; but if you acceptthem straight away your whole thought and sensefor designing a costume will be lost; you will beable to design a Racinet costume or a Planchetcostume, and you will lean far too much on thesehistorically accurate men who are at the same timehistorically untrue.

Better than these that I have mentioned isViollet le Due. He has much love for the little

32

VIOLLET LE DUGtruths which underlie costume, and is very faithfulin his attitude ; but even his is more a book for thehistorical novelist, and one has yet to be writtenabout imaginative costume. Keep continuallydesigning such imaginative costumes. For ex-

ample, make a barbaric costume; and a barbariccostume for a sly man which has nothing about itwhich can be said to be historical and yet is bothsly and barbaric. Now make another design foranother barbaric costume, for a man who is boldand tender. Now make a third for one who is uglyand vindictive. It will be an exercise. You willprobably make blunders at first, for it is no easything to do, but I promise you if you persevere longenough you will be able to do it. Then go further ;attempt to design the clothing for a divine figureand for a demonic figure : these of course will bestudies in individual costumes, but the mainstrength of this branch of the work lies in thecostume as mass. It is the mistake of all theatrical

producers that they consider the costumes of themass individually.

It is the same when they come to consider move-ments, the movements of masses on the stage. Youmust be careful not to follow the custom. Weoften hear it said that each member of the MeiningenCompany composing the great crowd in JuliusCaesar was acting a special part of his own. This

may be very exciting as a curiosity, and attractiveto a rather foolish audience, who would naturally

33

THE MOVEMENTS OF MASSESsay :

"

Oh, how interesting to go and look at oneparticular man in a corner who is acting a little partof his own ! How wonderful ! It is exactly likelife !

" And if that is the standard and if that isour aim, well and good.But we know that it is not. Masses must be

treated as masses, as Rembrandt treats a mass, asBach and Beethoven treat a mass, and detail hasnothing to do with the mass. Detail is very wellin itself and in its place. You do not make animpression of mass by crowding a quantity ofdetails together. Detail is made to form mass onlyby those people who love the elaborate, and it is amuch easier thing to crowd a quantity of detailstogether than it is to create a mass which shall

possess beauty and interest. On the stage theyinstantly turn to the natural when they wish tocreate this elaborate structure. A hundred mento compose a crowd, or, let us say, all Rome, as inJulius Caesar ; a hundred men, and each is told toact his little part, i_,ach acts himself, giving ventto his own cries ; each a different cry, though manyof them copy the most effective ones, so that by theend of the first twenty nights they are all giving outthe same cry. And each of them has his own action,which after the first twenty nights is exchanged forthe most effective and popular action ; and by thismeans a fairly decent crowd of men with wavingarms and shouting voices may be composed, andmay give some people the impression of a vast

34

THE 'NATURALISTIC' IN MOVEMENT

crowd. To others it gives the impression of acrush at a railway station.Avoid all this sort of thing. Avoid the so-called

"

naturalistic " in movement as well as in sceneand costume. The naturalistic stepped in on theStage because the artificial had grown finicking,insipid ; but do not forget that there is such a thingas noble artificiality.Some one writing about natural movement and

gesture says :"

Wagner had long put in practice thesystem of natural stage action tried of late yearsat the Theatre Libre in Paris by a French comedian ;a system which, most happily, tends more and moreto be generally adopted." It is to prevent such

things being written that you exist.This tendency towards the natural has nothing

to do with art, and is abhorrent when it shows inart, even as artificiality is abhorrent when we meetit in everyday life. We must understand that thetwo things are divided, and we must keep eachthing in its place ; we cannot expect to rid ourselvesin a moment of this tendency to be

"

natural " ; tomake " natural " scenes, and speak in a

"

natural "

voice, but we can fight against it best by studyingthe other arts.

Therefore we have to put the idea of natural orunnatural action out of our heads altogether, andin place of it we have to consider necessary or

unnecessary action. The necessary action at acertain moment may be said to be the natural

35

NATURAL ACTION NOT ALWAYS RIGHT

action for that moment; and if that is what ismeant by

"

natural," well and good. In so faras it is right it is natural, but we must not getinto our heads that every haphazard naturalaction is right. In fact, there is hardly any actionwhich is right, there is hardly any which is natural.Action is a way of spoiling something, saycRimbaud.And to train a company of actors to show upon

the stage the actions which are seen in everydrawing-room, club, public-house or garret mustseem to every one nothing less than tomfoolery.That companies are so trained is well known, butit remains almost incredible in its childishness.Just as I told you to invent costume which was

significant, so must you invent a series of significantactions, still keeping in mind the great divisionwhich exists between action in the mass and actionin the individual, and remembering that no actionis better than little action.

I have told you to make designs for threecostumes of a barbaric period, each particularizedby some special character. Give action to thesefigures which you have made. Create for themsignificant actions, limiting yourself to those threetexts that I have given you, the sly, the bold tender-ness, the ugly and vindictive. Make studies forthese, carry your little book or pieces of paper withyou and continually be inventing with your pencillittle hints of forms and faces stamped with these

36

THE WORD 'BEAUTIFUL* ANDthree impressions ; and when you have collecteddozens of them select the most beautiful.And now for a word on this. I particularly did

not say the most"

effective," although I used theword " beautiful " as the artists use it, not as thoseof the stage use it.

I cannot be expected to explain to you all thatthe artist means by the word beautiful ; but to himit is something which has the most balance about it,the justest thing, that which rings a complete andperfect bell note. Not the pretty, not the smooth,not the superb always, and not always therich, seldom the

"effective " as we know it in

the Theatre, although at times that, too, is thebeautiful. But Beauty is so vast a thing, andcontains nearly all other things contains even

ugliness, which sometimes ceases to be what isheld as ugliness, and contains harsh things, butnever incomplete things.Once let the meaning of this word Beauty

begin to be thoroughly felt once more in theTheatre, and we may say that the awakening dayof the Theatre is near. Once let the word effec-tive be wiped off our lips, and they will be readyto speak this word Beauty. When we speak aboutthe effective, we in the Theatre mean somethingwhich will reach across the foot lights. The oldactor tells the young actor to raise his voice, to"

Spit it out" "

Spit it out, laddie ; fling it at the

back of the gallery." Not bad advice either ; but37

THE WORD 'EFFECTIVE*to think that this has not been learnt in the lastfive or six hundred years, and that we have not

got further ; that is what is so distressing about thewhole business. Obviously all stage actions andall stage words must first of all be clearly seen,must be clearly heard. Naturally all pointedactions and all pointed speeches must have a clea.and distinct form so that they may be clearlyunderstood. We grant all this. It is the same inall art, and as with the other arts it goes without

saying; but it is not the one and only essentialthing which the elders must be continually drum-ming into the ears of the younger generation whenit steps upon the stage. It teaches the young actorsoon to become a master of tricks. He takes theshort cut instinctively to these tricks, and thisplaying of tricks has been the cause of the inventionof a word " Theatrical," and I can put my fingeron the reason why the young actor labours underthis disadvantage the moment he begins his stageexperience. It is because previous to his experiencehe has passed no time as student or as apprentice.

I do not know that I am such a great believeriu the schools. I believe very much indeed in thegeneral school which the world has to offer us, butthere is this great difference between the

"world "

schooling of the actor and the"world " schooling

of the other artists who do not go to the academieseither. A young painter, or a young musician, ayoung poet, or a young architect, or a young

88

THE FIRE OF CRITICISMsculptor may never enter an academy during hislife, and may have ten years' knocking about in theworld learning here, learning there, experimentingand labouring unseen and his experiments un-noticed. The young actor may not enter anacademy either, and he may also knock about inthe world, and he too may experiment just the sameas the others, but and here is the vast differenceall his experiments he must make in front of a public.Every little atom of his work from the first day ofhis commencing until the last day of his apprentice-ship must be seen, and must come under the fireof criticism. I shall ever be beholden to the highercriticism, and for a man of ten years' experience atany work to come under the fire of criticism willbenefit him and his work a thousandfold. He hasprepared himself ; he has strength ; he knows whathe is going to face. But for every boy and girlto be subjected to this the first year that they timidlyattempt this enormous task is not only unfair on thembut is disastrous to the art of the stage.

Let us picture ourselves as totally new to thiswork. We are on fire with the desire to begin ourwork. Willingly and with an enormous couragewe accept some small part. It is eight lines, and weappear for ten minutes. We are delighted, althoughalmost in a panic. Say it is twenty lines. Do youthink we say no ? We are to appear six times, doyou think we shall run away ? We may not beangels, but we are certainly not fools for stepping

39

o AND THE RESULT oin. It appears to us heaven. On we go. Nextmorning :

"It is a pity that the manager elected

an incompetent young man to fill so important a

part."I am not blaming the critic for writing this ; I

am not saying that it will kill a great artist or thatit will break our heart ; I only say that this seemsso unfair that it is only natural that we retaliate

by taking an unfair advantage of the very art whichwe have commenced to love, by becoming effective atall costs. We have received this criticism; wehave done our best ; the others have received goodcriticism; we can stand it no longer; we do as

they do, we become effective. It takes most youngactors but five years' acute suffering to becomeeffective, to become theatrical. Too early criticismbreaks the young actor who would be an artist asfar as possible, and causes him to be a traitor to theart which he loves. Beware of this and rather beineffective. Receive your bad criticism with a goodgrace and with the knowledge that with patienceand with pride you can outlive and out-distance allaround you. It is right that the critic should saythat you were ineffective at a certain moment, orthat you played your part badly, if you have beenbut three, four or five years on the stage, and if youare but still feeling your way slowly, instead ofrushing to tricks for support. It is quite right ofthem to say that, for they are speaking the entiretruth you should be glad of this; but uncon-

40

PLATE 2Old Gobbo, " Merchant of Venice " series. Woodcut, 1909.

THE CRITIC'S ATTITUDEsciously they disclose a still greater truth. It isthis that the better the artist the worse the actor.So take entire courage. Continue, as I have said

at the beginning, to remain an actor until you canstand it no longer, until you feel you are on the

point of giving way; then leap nimbly aside intothe position of stage-manager. And here, as I havepointed out, you will be in a better position, if nota much better position, for are you approaching thepoint at which stands (slumbering, it is true) themuse of the theatre. Your most effective scenes,productions, costumes and the rest, will of coursebe the most theatrical ones. But here traditionis not so strong, and it is here that you will findsomething that you can rely on.The critic is not more lenient towards the pro-

ducer of plays, but somehow or other he is lessinclined to use the word " effective." He seems tohave a wider knowledge of the beauty or the uglinessof these things. It may be that the tradition ofhis art permits him this ; for

"

production," as it isunderstood nowadays, is but a more modern de-velopment of the Theatre, and the critic has moreliberty to say what he wishes. At any rate, whenyou become stage-manager, you will no longer haveto appear each evening upon the stage in person,and therefore anything which is written about yourwork you cannot take as a personal criticism.

I thought to tell you here something about theuses of artificial light ; but apply what I have said

41

THE LAST ADVICE OF ALLof scene and costume to this other branch as well.Some of it may apply. To tell you of the instru-ments which they use, how they use them so as toproduce beautiful results, is not quite practical.If you have the wit to invent the scenes and thecostumes that I have spoken about, you will soonhave the wit to find your own way of using theartificial light we are given in the Theatre.

Finally, before we pass out of the Theatre on toother more serious matters, let me give you the lastadvice of all. When in doubt listen to the adviceof a man in a theatre, even if he is only a dresser,rather than pay any attention to the amateur.A few painters, a few writers, and a few musicians,have used our Theatre as a kind of after-thought.Take care to pay no attention to what they say

or what they do. An ordinary stage hand knowsmore about our art than these amateurs. Thepainter has lately been making quite a pretty littleraid upon the outskirts of the stage. He is veryoften a man of much intellectual ability and full ofvery many excellent theories, the old and beautifultheory of art which each in his own piece of soilknows how to cultivate best; and these theorieshe has exemplified in his own particular branch ofart so well. In the Theatre they become sheeraffectation. It is reasonable to suppose that a manwho has spent fifteen to twenty years of his lifepainting in oils on a flat surface, etching on copper,or engraving on wood will produce something which

DON'T LISTEN TO AMATEURSis pictorial and has the qualities of the pictorial butnothing else. And so with the musician ; he willproduce something which is musical. So with thepoet ; he will produce something which is literary.It will all be very picturesque and pretty, but it willunfortunately be nothing to do with the Art of theTheatre. Beware of such men ; you can do withoutthem. If you have anything to do with them youwill end by being an amateur yourself. If oneof these should wish to talk with you about theTheatre be careful to ask him how long he hasactually worked in a Theatre before you waste anymore time listening to his unpractical theories.And as the last but one word was about these men,

so the last word of all shall be about their work.Their work is so fine, they have found such goodlaws and have followed these laws so well, have givenup all their worldly hopes in this one great searchafter beauty, that when Nature seems to be toodifficult to understand, go straight to these fellows,I mean to their work, and it will help you out ofall the difficulties, for their works are the best andthe wisest works in the world.

o THE FUTURE. A HOPE *>And now I intend to carry you on beyond this

stage management about which I have spoken,and unveil to you some greater possibilities whichI think are in store for you.

43

^> AND NOW 'BEYOND* &I have come to the end of talking with you about

matters as they are, and I hope you will pass throughthose years as actor, manager, designer and pro-ducer without any very great disturbances. To dothis successfully, although in your apprenticeshipyou must hold your own opinion, you must hold it

very closely to yourself ; and above all things re-member that I do not expect you to holdmy opinionor to stand up for it publicly. To do that would beto weaken your position and to weaken the value ofthis preparation time. It is of no value to me that

people should be convinced of your belief in thetruth of my statements, theories or practices : itis of great value to me that you should be so con-vinced. And so as to let nothing stand in the wayof that I would have you run no risks, but keep ourconvictions to ourselves. Try to win no supportfor me. Run no risk of being faced with thedismissal from your post with the option of thedenial of our mutual beliefs. Besides, there is noneed for either of these two alternatives. I havetaken so large a share of the rebuffs by loudlyproclaiming my beliefs in the cause of the truth ofthis work, and am always prepared to take more ifyou will but leap forwards and secure the advan-tages, using me as the stalking-horse. I shall

appreciate the fun, for there is a spice of fun in it

all, and that will be my reward. Remember weare attacking a monster; a very powerful andsubtle enemy; and when you signal to me let

44

& AND NOW 'BEYOND' oit be by that more secret means even thanwireless telegraphy. I shall understand the com-munication.When you have finished your apprenticeship,

six to ten years, there will be no need to use furtherconcealment : you will then be fitted to step outand, in your turn, unfurl your banner, for you willbe upon the frontier of your kingdom, and aboutthis kingdom I will speak now.

I use the word " Kingdom"

instinctively in

speaking of the land of the Theatre. It explainsbest what I mean. Maybe in the next three orfour thousand years the word Kingdom will havedisappeared Kingdom, Kingship, King but Idoubt it ; and if it does go something else equallyfine will take its place. It will be the same thingin a different dress. You can't invent anythingfiner than Kingship, the idea of the King. It is

merely another word for the Individual, the calm,shrewd personality; and so long as this worldexists the calmest and the shrewdest personalitywill always be the King. In some rare instances heis called the President, or he is called the Pope, orsometimes the General ; it all comes to the same

thing, and it is no good denying it : He is the King.To the artist the thought is very dear. There isthe sense of the perfect balancer. The king (to theartist) is that superb part of the scales, which theold workmen made in gold and sometimes deckedwith precious stones ; the delicately worked handle

45

THE BALANCES. OUR DEVICEwithout which the scales could not exist, and

upon which the eye of the measurer must be fixed.Therefore I have taken these scales as the deviceof our new art, for our art is based upon the ideaof perfect balance, the result of movement.Here then is the thing which I promised at the

beginning to bring to you. Having passed throughyour apprenticeship without having been mergedin the trade, you are fitted to receive this. Without

having done so you would not even be able to see it.I have no fear that what I throw to you now will be

caught by other hands, because it is visible andtangible only to those who have passed throughsuch an apprenticeship. In the beginning with youit was Impersonation; you passed on to Repre-sentation, and now you advance into Revelation.When impersonating and representing you madeuse of those materials which had always been madeuse of ; that is to say, the human figure as exempli-fied in the actor, speech as exemplified in the poetthrough the actor, the visible world as shown bymeans of Scene. You now will reveal by meansof movement the invisible things, those seen

through the eye and not with the eye, by thewonderful and divine power of Movement.There is a thing which man has not yet learned

to master, a