beautiful and gifted woman. Garrick did his utmost to improve the
mechanical arts of the stage--so much so, indeed, that he paid his
scene-painter, Loutherbourg, £500 a year, a pretty considerable sum
in those days--though in Garrick's time the importance of realism in
costume was not sufficiently appreciated to prevent him from playing
Macbeth in a bagwig. To-day we are employing all our resources to
heighten the picturesque effects of the drama, and we are still told
that this is a gross error. It may be admitted that nothing is more
objectionable than certain kinds of realism, which are simply vulgar;
but harmony of color and grace of outline have a legitimate sphere in
the theatre, and the method which uses them as adjuncts may claim to
be "as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine."
For the abuse of scenic decoration, the overloading of the stage with
ornament, the subordination of the play to a pageant, I have nothing
to say. That is all foreign to the artistic purpose which should
dominate dramatic work. Nor do I think that servility to archæology on
the stage is an unmixed good. Correctness of costume is admirable
and necessary up to a certain point, but when it ceases to be "as
wholesome as sweet," it should, I think, be sacrificed. You perceive
that the nicest discretion is needed in the use of the materials
which are nowadays at the disposal of the manager. Music, painting,
architecture, the endless variations of costume, have all to be
employed with a strict regard to the production of an artistic
whole, in which no element shall be unduly obtrusive. We are open to
microscopic criticism at every point. When _Much Ado about Nothing_
was produced at the Lyceum, I received a letter complaining of the
gross violation of accuracy in a scene which was called a cedar-walk.
"Cedars!" said my correspondent,--"why, cedars were not introduced
into Messina for fifty years after the date of Shakespeare's story!"
Well, this was a tremendous indictment, but unfortunately the