of the situation. One of the greatest tests of an actor is his
capacity for listening. By-play must be unobtrusive; the student
should remember that the most minute expression attracts attention:
that nothing is lost, that by-play is as mischievous when it is
injudicious as it is effective when rightly conceived, and that while
trifles make perfection, perfection is no trifle. This lesson was
enjoined on me when I was a very young man by that remarkable actress,
Charlotte Cushman. I remember that when she played Meg Merrilies I
was cast for Henry Bertram, on the principle, seemingly, that an actor
with no singing voice is admirably fitted for a singing part. It was
my duty to give Meg Merrilies a piece of money, and I did it after the
traditional fashion by handing her a large purse full of coin of the
realm, in the shape of broken crockery, which was generally used in
financial transactions on the stage, because when the virtuous maiden
rejected with scorn the advances of the lordly libertine, and threw
his pernicious bribe upon the ground, the clatter of the broken
crockery suggested fabulous wealth. But after the play Miss Cushman,
in the course of some kindly advice, said to me: "Instead of giving me
that purse don't you think it would have been much more natural if
you had taken a number of coins from your pocket, and given me the
smallest? That is the way one gives alms to a beggar, and it would
have added to the realism of the scene." I have never forgotten that
lesson, for simple as it was, it contained many elements of dramatic
truth. It is most important that an actor should learn that he is
a figure in a picture, and that the least exaggeration destroys the
harmony of the composition. All the members of the company should
work towards a common end, with the nicest subordination of their
individuality to the general purpose. Without this method a play when
acted is at best a disjointed and incoherent piece of work, instead
of being a harmonious whole like the fine performance of an orchestral