devil of culture and polite negation; the comrade, in part the master,
of Heine, and perhaps the grandson and pupil of Voltaire. On the Lyceum
stage he is the one person of distinction, the one intelligence; though
so many of his best words have been taken from him, it is with a fine
subtlety that he says the words that remain. And the figure, with its
lightness, weary grace, alert and uneasy step, solemnity, grim laughter,
remains with one, after one has come away and forgotten whether he told
us all that Goethe confided to him.




IV. THE JAPANESE PLAYERS


When I first saw the Japanese players I suddenly discovered the meaning
of Japanese art, so far as it represents human beings. You know the
scarcely human oval which represents a woman's face, with the help of a
few thin curves for eyelids and mouth. Well, that convention, as I had
always supposed it to be, that geometrical symbol of a face, turns out
to be precisely the face of the Japanese woman when she is made up. So
the monstrous entanglements of men fighting, which one sees in the
pictures, the circling of the two-handed sword, the violence of feet in
combat, are seen to be after all the natural manner of Japanese warfare.
This unrestrained energy of body comes out in the expression of every
motion. Men spit and sneeze and snuffle, without consciousness of
dignity or hardly of humanity, under the influence of fear, anger, or
astonishment. When the merchant is awaiting Shylock's knife he trembles
convulsively, continuously, from head to feet, unconscious of everything
but death. When Shylock has been thwarted, he stands puckering his face