, however, is the power of
make-believe in the audience that if the dramatist and his company can
engage the sympathy of the spectators, a fairy tale in rhymed lines, a
tragedy in unrhymed verse, a melodrama with flatulent phrases, and a
comedy seeking the most exact reproduction of modern life permissible
may seem equally plausible, credible, natural.

It is to be noted, too, that the form of artificiality of truth varies
not only with the type and quality of the drama but with the nature of
the audience. Speaking of our times, one may say that a little greater
vigour of contrast is desirable in the provinces than in town, and in
the "B" towns than the "A," in the "C" than the "B," and goodness knows
what violence is not needed in the "fit-up" shows. There are reasons for
believing that our ancestors demanded a more full-blooded style of
acting than is relished by their anaemic descendants, and it is possible
that such a performance as convinced the eighteenth century of the
genius of some of its players might cause laughter nowadays, though
neither audience nor actors would deserve censure.

Within the time of even our younger critics there have been at least
two tragedians who enjoyed an immense reputation save in town, but
failed to win success in the West End of the Metropolis, though outside
they held their own against the greatest favourites; and the London
critics levelled at them the dreadful charge of "barn-storming"--a
charge which some of us no doubt would make against several of the
greatest tragedians in our proud records were they to appear to-day and
act as in their own times.

It is a feature of the actor's art that its excellence is never
absolute. An audience is entitled to say, "What care I how good he be if
he seem not good to me?" A performance that does not move the spectators
is not only a failure but to some extent a culpable failure, since the
actor's art is more utterly ephemeral than any other--possibly by aid of
gramophone, biograph, and the like some fairly effective records will be
made in the future--but, this consideration apart, he may not even take
heed for the morrow. At the moment his mission is to move the particular
collection of people before him, and though they may be culpable for not
being moved he will not be wholly blameless.

Possibly this is putting the matter a little too harshly, and the
observations should be considered as applicable only to a particular
"run" and no