artistic spirit is wanting in the West. We are too timid to
deal in masses for effect, and we have such a craving for realism that
we become simply technical imitators like the counterfeiters of
banknotes. Our great and all-prevailing idea is to cram as much of what
we call realism and detail into a scene as possible; the richer the
company, and the more money they have to handle, the more hopeless the
work becomes, for the degradation of it is still more forcibly
emphasised. Consequently, we always create spotty pictures; in fact, one
rarely ever sees a well-balanced scene in a Western theatre, and simply
because we do not realise the breadth and simplicity of Nature. There
are not the violent contrasts in Nature that our artists are so
continually depicting: Nature plays well within her range, and you
seldom see her going to extremes. In a sunlit garden the deepest shadow
and the brightest light come very near together, so broad and so subtle
are her harmonies. We do not realise this, and we sacrifice breadth in
the vain endeavour to gain what we propose to call strength--strength is
sharp; but breadth is quiet and full of reserve. None understands this
simple truth so well as the Japanese. It forms the very basis of
oriental philosophy, and through the true perception of it they have
attained to those ideas of balance which are so eminent a characteristic
of Japanese art.

[Illustration: THE BILL OF THE PLAY]

When you have balanced force you have reached perfection, and this is of
course the true criterion of dramatic art. But here in the West we must
be realistic, and if a manager succeeds in producing upon the stage an
exact representation of a room in Belgrave Square he is perfectly
content, and looks upon his work as a triumph. There is to be no choice:
he does not choose his room from the decorative standpoint--such a thing
would never occur to him for a moment--but simply grabs at this
particular room that he happens to know in Belgrave Square, nicknacks
and all, and plants it upon the stage. His wife, he imagines, has a
taste for dress, and she dresses the people that are to sit about in
this room, probably playing a game of "Bridge," just as you might see it
played any day in Belgrave Square. I remember once, when a play of this
nature was being acted at one of our leading theatres, hearing a
disgusted exclamation from a man at my side--"Well! if that's all," he
growled, "we might go and see a game of Brid