It simply appeared to be an opportune moment for pointing out the singular situation created by the progress of modern ideas, and to indicate the dangers involved in it.

We do not wish to exaggerate these dangers, and have ourselves pointed out that modern civilisation also includes their correctives, and that they do not imply the end of all things, nor that another flood of Deucalion is needed to renovate the human race from its very beginnings.

But precisely because European civilisation is so elaborate and complex, it would be an error to suppose that catastrophic causes are needed in order seriously to affect the conditions of our comparative civility. Feudal and tyrannical wars took place in barren lands, amid rude castles and squalid villages; those which are national and social must be fought out amidst gardens and the monuments of art and manufacture. The last wars recorded by history had Lombardy and Champagne as their theatre, or were fought in the streets of Paris. Any of the tendencies indicated by us in the foregoing considerations which should terminate in a conflict would take place under analogous conditions and in the same degree of civilisation which, while it might mitigate the modes of warfare, must make its effects more grievous. And the same ambition to possess distant countries which are more or less civilised may also be equally full of danger to commerce, international relations, the peace of Europe, and the interests of civilisation.

The privileged rules of the policy of the old world imposed upon themselves a limit to excessive power, and used the saying, Noblesse oblige. A new motto might be proposed to the builders and destroyers of Governments in our day, which would be equally noble and might be more fertile of results-Progrès oblige.

F. NOBILI-VITELLESCHI.

THE ACTOR'S CALLING.

A REPLY.

Is the fact that several persons known to fame have recently come forward to ventilate their opinions on the actor's calling, regarded morally, socially, and artistically, likely to be conducive to the welfare of the stage or not? Mrs. Kendal, in her much-criticised oration at Birmingham, touched upon one side of the theme. Mr. Burnand, in a paper which roused the susceptibilities of many, expatiated upon another. Mr. Hollingshead, Mr. Toole, and sundry anonymous writers have spoken their minds; the former with commendable candour. To apply the caustic of public opinion to cancerous evils, hitherto hidden from, though perhaps surmised by, the world at large, is surely brave, and should prove beneficial. It is well to know the truth. Forewarned is forearmed. But then the other side of the truth should be stated fairly. Audi alteram partem. A great deal that is foolish, a great deal that is not worth the consideration of serious thinkers, has been imported into this discussion; but I venture to think that something remains to be said to readjust the balance of public opinion.

The reply to the question I have propounded in the first sentence of this paper I believe to be, that if the actor's or actress's calling in England at the present time be impartially considered, the result, both as encouragement and as deterrent, can only be beneficial to the true interests of the Drama.

The author of an essay on Actors,' in a volume entitled Obiter Dicta, which attracted some attention lately, brings every fact from ancient and modern history which can strengthen his argument, to prove that the stage is an unworthy career for any man of high endowment and lofty aspiration. The Greeks cannot be brought into court, for the estimation in which they held the stage is too well known. But the Roman's contempt for the calling of actor; Cæsar's degrading an illustrious citizen by obliging him to appear on the theatre; obsolete English enactments against vagabond players; Shakespeare's reiterated lament in his Sonnets that he is constrained to be an actor (whereby we may feel sure that he was a poor one): all this, and much more is urged in support of the author's views. And to what does it all amount? What does it signify to us in 1885 in what light the stage was regarded a thousand years since, or a hundred, or even fifty? Our outlook over human affairs is enlarged;

our prejudices, our sympathies, our necessities from day to day are undergoing a vital change. The author beats the air when he advances what under a wholly different condition of things has been thought and said of the profession. Apply the test to any other, and see if it holds good. Think of the parson at the beginning of the last century, as he is held up to ridicule and contempt in the pages of contemporary literature, and compare him with the clergy of the present day. And the Church has hardly undergone a more radical change than the Stage. To the only facts of importance to us this author resolutely shuts his eyes. The number of our theatres has more than doubled in the last five-and-twenty years; consequently it is clear that the taste for dramatic performances in this country is on the increase. Great and good men recognise more and more that the theatre may be fully as potent a factor for morality as the pulpit. Certain men and women are born into this world with a capacity for representation, and (possibly) with no other. Why is that talent to be folded in a napkin and buried? Is the conception, the ability to move to laughter or to tears, to be condemned as unworthy'? Are not 'mobility of feature and compass of voice,' which the author treats with contempt, as valuable in the actor's profession as accuracy of eye and dexterity of hand in the painter's? But acting is an evanescent art, we are reminded, which leaves no record, no trace beyond one generation. The same, in one sense, may be said of oratory; for the speech that has stirred a multitude often seems but poor stuff when the heat of conflict is past, and we read it coldly and critically. At all events, as we do not endow ourselves, it is idle to inquire the relative value of these gifts. My contention is that most human beings have a more pronounced ability in one direction than in any other. When that direction is towards acting, it cannot be unworthy' to pursue the path that Nature indicates-if the feet be active, and the ambition be not ignoble.

6

Is the power of

With curious infelicity the author of this essay illustrates, as he conceives, the unworthiness' of the actor's art, by citing the prescription of a doctor that his dyspeptic patient should go to the theatre and laugh heartily. If dyspepsia is to be cured by imbibing draughts of merriment from the fountain of Mr. Toole's genial humour, he can only be regarded as a great public benefactor.

Again, wishing to prove that the greatest actors are often deficient in critical judgment and literary taste, an unfortunate theory of Salvini's is quoted. That distinguished tragedian, in a paper upon Macbeth, has expressed his opinion that the sleep-walking scene was meant to be given to the guilty thane, and not to his wife; and that the influence of the leading actress of the theatre probably caused this substitution to be made! This instance of obtuseness of perception in a great artist, combined with entire ignorance of the conditions of the stage in Shakespeare's time could be matched by many others; notably in the case of Rachel. But what does it

prove? Only, as I have said above, that one supreme gift may be, and probably will be, unaccompanied by others.

I see no reason to regret that Mr. Burnand has warned a number of foolish young persons, bitten by the Tarantula which impels to a mad and hopeless dance upon the stage, that by so doing they will suffer, primâ facie, in the world's estimation. The young man with 'a taste for theatricals,' who is too idle to have passed any examination, and who thinks that to repeat half a dozen words nightly is an easy method of earning a guinea or two a week, should be discouraged from pursuing this pathway to ignoble sloth.

Mr. Burnand's statement that the Stage is not regarded generally as a profession, in the same light as the Bar, the Army, the Navy, or the Church, is so self-evident that it would hardly seem to have required such elaborate exposition. As the French express it, c'est prêcher un converti. We all of us know perfectly well that a player of no repute, coming into an ordinary country neighbourhood-with the usual admixture of ingredients in its composition-would not be visited at first as a member of either of the afore-named professions would probably be. But let me ask whether there are no other honourable callings against which class-prejudices have long existed— prejudices, which though happily mitigated, and doomed ere long to disappear entirely, still obtain in sufficient force to impede the ready admission of their followers into most small societies? Does it not demand signal merit, or individual attraction in some form, to relax the unwritten law which excludes the village surgeon or the country attorney from the circle of the opulent soap-boiler in the neighbouring park?

We cannot all be opulent soap-boilers: let us possess our souls in patience, and use such brains as we have in that state of life whereunto we are called. And here we get to the gist of the matter, as it appears to me. Without an absolute conviction that this is the one thing to which nature meant him to devote his energies and capacities-that he can do this, and nothing else with the same enthusiasm and self-approval-let no man run counter to the wishes. of his friends, by embracing a profession which, Mr. Burnand assures us, all classes regard with similar mistrust. If his qualifications are only 'a Grecian nose, a well-cut mouth, a nicely-curled moustache, a pair of soft eyes, small hands and feet, hair carefully brushed '—and the possession of 'five feet eight, and an unexceptionable tailor,' which satisfy Mr. Hollingshead's requirements, and render brains of no consequence,' in his estimation-then he had better follow any honest calling which will not minister to his vanity, rather than degrade that of an actor. No more harmful industry for a human being already contemptible by his negative qualities can be conceived. And that the stage, even in its highest walks, is open to this danger, is shown in such a journal as Macready's, where we see the struggles and the shortcomings of a high-minded man in a career

which subsists from night to night on the stimulant of personal applause.

To one who desires to be an actor in anything beyond the name, a strong head to resist the noxious fumes that rise from the footlights, and that strenuous endeavour to do the very best, which often stands in lieu of higher artistic faculty, are essential if he is to accomplish any worthy work, and create a name for himself in a field which only commands respect when the labourers are arduous and conscientious. And this applies equally to every class from which actors may be recruited: to the young patrician from Eton or Oxford, and to him who has been born and brought up, so to speak, upon the boards. In my opinion, for man or woman to go upon the stage without other qualification than that of good looks is dangerous and degrading to the possessor; and in proportion as we desire to raise the tone of the stage shall we condemn such an ignoble career.

But when some measure of ability is combined with strength of character and ambition of the best kind, why should not the stage be as laudable as it is a lucrative means of employment to the youth of both sexes? I take the young man or woman in the upper or upper-middle class of life desirous of earning an independence. I leave out of consideration the 'genius' whom Mr. Burnand excepts from his general condemnation of those who step out of their own sphere to adopt a course of life in which he can see nothing but danger to all who are not to the manner born.' Genius is so rare in every art that if none but its inspired children became musicians, or painters, or architects, how would our orchestras be filled, our dwellings and our churches built, and many a home made glad by decoration which is purely imitative? A great deal of excellent and useful work throughout the world is the result of a limited capacity, a careful training, and infinite pains. Can we not point to a large number of actors who have earned an honourable position for themselves, not to speak of more solid profit, without a spark of that fire which we term 'genius? Their inclination and a certain power of imitation, it may be, led to their adopting the profession for which they were best fitted, and the result has justified their decision. If their lives are beyond reproach, and their names are familiar to the public as filling recognised positions, they will be received in any liberal society desirous of sweeping away the prejudice by which a whole class has been made to suffer for the sins of some of its members. That such liberality is more general than formerly; that a sharper distinction is drawn, in thinking of the stage, between those who help to support and those who degrade and deform it, no candid person will refuse to admit.

Nor do I see how it could be otherwise with the breaking down of so many social barriers and the problem of ever-increasing difficulty: How are the youth of both sexes in England to earn a living? Admitting that most parents are reluctant to see their children a lopt