ge played any night"; and it
occurred to me as I heard him that the managers will suffer for this
foolish realism, the public will soon tire of it, for they, almost
unconsciously, want something altogether bigger and finer--let us hope
they want art.

The Japanese are not led away by this struggle to be realistic, and this
is one of the chief reasons why the stage of Japan is so far ahead of
our stage. If a horse is introduced into a scene he will be by no means
a real horse, but a very wooden one, with wooden joints, just like a
nursery rocking-horse; yet this decorative animal will be certain to
take its proper place in the composition of the picture. But when
realism has its artistic value, the Japs will use it to the full. If a
scene is to be the interior of a house, it will be an interior, complete
in every detail down to the exquisite bowl of flowers which almost
invariably forms the chief decoration of a Japanese room. But suppose
they want a garden: they do not proceed, as we do, to take one special
garden and copy it literally; that garden has to be created and thought
out to form a perfect whole; even the lines of the tiny trees and the
shape of the hills in the distance have to be considered in relation to
the figures of the actors who are to tell their story there. This is
true art. Then, when you go to a theatre in Japan, you are made to feel
that you are actually living in the atmosphere of the play: the body of
the theatre and the stage are linked together, and the spectator feels
that he is contained in the picture itself, that he is looking on at a
scene which is taking place in real life just before his very eyes. And
it is the great aim of every ambitious dramatic author to make you feel
this. To gain this end, if the scene is situated by the seashore, he
will cause the sea, which is represented by that decorative design
called the wave pattern, to be swept right round the theatre, embracing
both audience and stage and dragging you into the very heart of his
picture.

[Illustration: A GARDEN]

For this same reason, a Japanese theatre is always built with two broad
passages, called Hanamichi (or flower-paths), leading through the
audience to the stage, up which you can watch a Daimio and his
gorgeous retinue sweep on his royal way to visit perhaps another Daimio
whose house is represented on the stage. This is very dramatic, and
greatly forwards the author's scheme of bringing you into touch with th