think they could paint pictures, write poetry--in short, do anything,
if they only made the effort. To them what is accomplished by the
practised actor seems easy and simple. But as it needs the skill of
the musician to draw the full volume of eloquence from the written
score, so it needs the skill of the dramatic artist to develop the
subtle harmonies of the poetic play. In fact, to _do_ and not to
_dream_, is the mainspring of success in life. The actor's art is to
act, and the true acting of any character is one of the most difficult
accomplishments. I challenge the acute student to ponder over Hamlet's
renunciation of Ophelia--one of the most complex scenes in all the
drama--and say that he has learned more from his meditations than he
could be taught by players whose intelligence is equal to his own. To
present the man thinking aloud is the most difficult achievement of
our art. Here the actor who has no real grip of the character, but
simply recites the speeches with a certain grace and intelligence,
will be untrue. The more intent he is upon the words, and the less
on the ideas that dictated them, the more likely he is to lay himself
open to the charge of mechanical interpretation. It is perfectly
possible to express to an audience all the involutions of thought,
the speculation, doubt, wavering, which reveal the meditative but
irresolute mind. As the varying shades of fancy pass and repass the
mirror of the face, they may yield more material to the studious
playgoer than he is likely to get by a diligent poring over the
text. In short, as we understand the people around us much better by
personal intercourse than by all the revelations of written words--for
words, as Tennyson says, "half reveal and half conceal the soul
within," so the drama has, on the whole, infinitely more suggestions
when it is well acted than when it is interpreted by the unaided
judgment of the student. It has been said that acting is an unworthy
occupation because it represents feigned emotions, but this censure