such cinematograph-play, as they would probably call it; but we shall
see cause, as we go on, to distrust definitions, especially when they
seek to clothe themselves with the authority of laws. Tableau-plays of
the type here in question may even claim classical precedent. What else
is Ben Jonson's _Bartholomew Fair_? What else is Schiller's
_Wallensteins Lager_? Amongst more recent plays, Hauptmann's _Die Weber_
and Gorky's _Nachtasyl_ are perhaps the best examples of the type. The
drawback of such themes is, not that they do not conform to this or that
canon of art, but that it needs an exceptional amount of knowledge and
dramaturgic skill to handle them successfully. It is far easier to tell
a story on the stage than to paint a picture, and few playwrights can
resist the temptation to foist a story upon their picture, thus marring
it by an inharmonious intrusion of melodrama or farce. This has often
been done upon deliberate theory, in the belief that no play can exist,
or can attract playgoers, without a definite and more or less exciting
plot. Thus the late James A. Herne inserted into a charming idyllic
picture of rural life, entitled _Shore Acres_, a melodramatic scene in a
lighthouse, which was hopelessly out of key with the rest of the play.
The dramatist who knows any particular phase of life so thoroughly as to
be able to transfer its characteristic incidents to the stage, may be
advised to defy both critical and managerial prejudice, and give his
tableau-play just so much of story as may naturally and inevitably fall
within its limits.

One of the most admirable and enthralling scenes I ever saw on any stage
was that of the Trafalgar Square suffrage meeting in Miss Elizabeth
Robins's _Votes for Women_. Throughout a whole act it held us
spellbound, while the story of the play stood still, and we forgot its
existence. It was only within a few minutes of the end, when the story
was dragged in neck and crop, that the reality of the thing vanished,