When we sit in a real theater and see the stage with its depth and watch
the actors moving and turn our attention hither and thither, we feel
that those impressions from behind the footlights have objective
character, while the action of our attention is subjective. Those men
and things come from without but the play of the attention starts from
within. Yet our attention, as we have seen, does not really add anything
to the impressions of the stage. It makes some more vivid and clear
while others become vague or fade away, but through the attention alone
no content enters our consciousness. Wherever our attention may wander
on the stage, whatever we experience comes to us through the channels of
our senses. The spectator in the audience, however, does experience more
than merely the light and sound sensations which fall on the eye and
ear at that moment. He may be entirely fascinated by the actions on the
stage and yet his mind may be overflooded with other ideas. Only one of
their sources, but not the least important one, is the memory.

Indeed the action of the memory brings to the mind of the audience ever
so much which gives fuller meaning and ampler setting to every
scene--yes, to every word and movement on the stage. To think of the
most trivial case, at every point of the drama we must remember what
happened in the previous scenes. The first act is no longer on the stage
when we see the second. The second alone is now our sense impression.
Yet this second act is in itself meaningless if it is not supported by
the first. Hence the first must somehow be in our consciousness. At
least in every important scene we must remember those situations of the
preceding act which can throw light on the new developments. We see the
young missionary in his adventures on his perilous journey and we
remember how in the preceding act we saw him in his peaceful cottage