the Lyceum would have been a sort of second-rate booth, as some of
the popular theatres in London are at present. Whether they
understand it or not the fact however remains, that taste and
temperament have, to a certain extent been created in the public,
and that the public is capable of developing these qualities. The
problem then is, why do not the public become more civilised? They
have the capacity. What stops them?

The thing that stops them, it must be said again, is their desire
to exercise authority over the artist and over works of art. To
certain theatres, such as the Lyceum and the Haymarket, the public
seem to come in a proper mood. In both of these theatres there
have been individual artists, who have succeeded in creating in
their audiences--and every theatre in London has its own audience--
the temperament to which Art appeals. And what is that
temperament? It is the temperament of receptivity. That is all.

If a man approaches a work of art with any desire to exercise
authority over it and the artist, he approaches it in such a spirit
that he cannot receive any artistic impression from it at all. The
work of art is to dominate the spectator: the spectator is not to
dominate the work of art. The spectator is to be receptive. He is
to be the violin on which the master is to play. And the more
completely he can suppress his own silly views, his own foolish
prejudices, his own absurd ideas of what Art should be, or should
not be, the more likely he is to understand and appreciate the work
of art in question. This is, of course, quite obvious in the case
of the vulgar theatre-going public of English men and women. But
it is equally true of what are called educated people. For an
educated person's ideas of Art are drawn naturally from what Art