annot be a branch of drama. But I think the drama is one of
the arts all the same."

"Please do not be in a hurry," said the French gentleman. "Any two of
these arts cover some ground in common where they can meet, unite and
give birth to another distinct art related to both as a child is related
to its parents, and inheriting qualities from both. It is to these happy
marriages that we owe drama--the offspring of literature and painting;
song--the offspring of literature and music; and dance--the offspring of
music and painting. This gives us altogether six creative arts.

"And now observe what follows. In the first place, these six arts exist
for the purpose of expressing ideas. In the next place, painting is
without movement, its descendants, drama and dance, inherit movement, the
one from literature, and the other from music. Again, inasmuch as a
painter must paint his own pictures, painting does not tolerate the
intervention of a third person to interpret between the creator and the
public. The painter is his own executive artist; when his creative work
is done, nothing more is wanted than a frame and a good light.
Literature permits such intervention, for a book can be read aloud.
Music and song demand performance, and will continue to do so until the
public can read musical notation, and probably afterwards, for even
Mozart said that it does make a difference when you hear the music
performed; while in the case of the drama and the dance the performers
are so much part of the material of the work of art that it can hardly be
said to exist without them. Is not this a striking way of pointing the
essential difference between the creative artist and the executive?"

"Very," I replied. "I am afraid, however, that you have not a high
opinion of the executive artist."

"I will confess that he sometimes reminds me of the proverb, 'God sends
the tune and the devil sends the singer.'"

I laughed and said, "We have not exactly that proverb in English, though
I have heard something like it. It can, however, only apply to the
performer at his worst, whereas you are inclined to look upon him, even
at his best, as nothing more than a picture frame."

"And a good light," he added. "Don't forget the good light. Frame or no
frame, a picture presented in a bad light or in the dark is no more than
a sonata performed badly or not at all."

"Well, let us leave the performer for the present and return to your
second