sequence. There must be no leap from naked
branches to the perfect fruit.

Most actors depend on climax--they save themselves for the supreme
explosion. The scene opens with a slow match and ends when the
spark reaches the dynamite. So, most authors fill the first act
with contradictions and the last with explanations. Plots and
counter-plots, violence and vehemence, perfect saints and perfect
villains--that is to say, monsters, impelled by improbable motives,
meet upon the stage, where they are pushed and pulled for the sake
of the situation, and where everything is so managed that the fire
reaches the powder and the explosion is the climax.

There is neither time, nor climate, nor soil, in which the emotions
and intentions may grow. No land is plowed, no seed is sowed, no
rain falls, no light glows--the events are all orphans.

No one would enjoy a sudden sunset--we want the clouds of gold that
float in the azure sea. No one would enjoy a sudden sunrise--we
are in love with the morning star, with the dawn that modestly
heralds the day and draws aside, with timid hands, the curtains of
the night. In other words, we want sequence, proportion, logic,
beauty.

There are several actors in this country who are in perfect accord
with nature--who appear to make no effort--whose acting seems to
give them joy and rest. We do well what we do easily. It is a
great mistake to exhaust yourself, instead of the subject. All
great actors "fill the stage" because they hold the situation.
You see them and nothing else.

_Question_. Speaking of American actors, Colonel, I believe you
are greatly interested in the playing of Miss Marlowe, and have
given your opinion of her as Parthenia; what do you think of her
Julia and Viola?

_Answer_. A little while ago I saw Miss Marlowe as Julia, in "The
Hunchback." We must remember the limitations of the play. Nothing
can excel the simplicity, the joyous content of the first scene.
Nothing could be more natural than the excitement produced by the
idea of leaving what you feel to be simple and yet good, for what
you think is magnificent, brilliant and intoxicating. It is only
in youth that we are willing to make this exchange. One does not
see so clearly in the morning of life when the sun shines in his
eyes. In the afternoon, when the sun is behind him, he sees better
--he is no longer dazzled. In old age we are not only willing,
but anxious, to exchange wealth and fame