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heroic, costume type generally, it is possible to be a little more dogmatic. Those "heroic parts, human though many of them are, are human in a magnified form. Their emotions are thrown into high relief; they are exaggerated according to the art-conventions of the time. With them we must project our emotions on a larger scale. Our gestures, corresponding with the emotions expressed, should be freer and, in a sense, more formal in that we are guided, not by real life, but by the artistic canons of the time in which the plays were written. In plays of the old type the arms should as a rule be moved from the shoulder, I should say; while in modern plays we work more from the elbow. Today we suggest more than we actually do on the stage. We do just enough to register the emotion, to inoculate the audience with the right germ-and we stop there. But in the past they were not content with that; they strove, perhaps we may say, to visualize the tempests of emotion which in reality took place in the soul of the character.

An actor can afford to be very careful what he lets his audience see him do, and he should strive never to let them see too much. It is always surprising to find how quick an audience are with their eye, how very little is missed. Even when the attention is riveted on an exciting scene, the sight of a white handkerchief unexpectedly taken from the pocket of an actor is enough to switch the thought, for the moment, away from the center of interest. Unless there is a definite reason we should never move on another's speech. We should move on our own; and the movement should come at the end of the sense, at a natural break in the thought, not in the middle of it. If we find it necessary to cough, we should try to cough during our own speech, when the audience are paying attention to us, rather than during the other man's speech when they are giving their attention to him.

So, after all, repose is what we should aim for. With gesturing, as with almost everything else, the less one does of it the better.

Too many gestures are worse than too few. We should never make a big gesture where a little one will suffice; and we should never use one at all unless it has a definite function, and unless we take care to register it properly on the audience. Thought should always precede our gestures, they should always grow from something inside.

These, I realize, are simple truisms of the actor's craft. But it is the simple truths, that everyone knows, that are apt to be taken for granted and forgotten. Let me repeat here that as we learn more and more about the intricacies of our craft, we are more and more in danger of forgetting the fundamentals upon which our knowledge is based. The great task is to remain direct and simple as we master the complexities and subtleties of our craft.

CHAPTER VI

THE ART OF DOING NOTHING

One Actor Cannot Stand Alone-Supplementing the Speeches of Others-Sweet Nell of Old Drury and The Lady of Lyons-Team-work Will Cover a Multitude of Sins-Pinero's Advice-Coaxing the Audience to Listen-Listening Through Long Speeches -Know What You Are Going to Do When SilentVarying Our Reading—Miming Must Grow from the Character-Retaining the Illusion of the First Time -The Point, Thrust, and Lunge-Thinking LinesGiving the Audience a Rest-Little Things All Count.

HE art of doing nothing and the art

TH

of listening on the stage are about as important and about as difficult as anything an actor has to do; for as long as he is on the stage, he is contributing to or detracting from the effect the play is making on the audience, whether he is speaking or not. As long as the curtain is up, somebody is always speaking or something is always happening; and whatever is done, or

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not done, in silence, is sure to have a good or bad effect on the play. We never have nothing to do on the stage. It is always our business to make what the other fellow is doing or saying as effective as we can. The effect a play makes on an audience is a composite thing. One actor cannot stand alone, he cannot get along without the others, and the others cannot get along without him. Half of our work is to make our own speeches effective, half of it is to make effective the speeches of our associates in the piece. If someone insults us on the stage that insult will not carry much force with the audience unless we show them that we have been insulted. In real life we would try to give no sign of our chagrin, but on the stage we rob the play of an effect if we conceal our hurt feelings. We appear perhaps to take the insult as we should on the street, but the audience must see by some subtle movement of the body or some flash in our eye, that we have been hurt.

It may seem incredible, but I have known