Chapter 8

I do not think a Dramatic College is either practicable or necessary. You could not expect the public, or the critics, to attend a series of performances given by novices; and as constant appearances in public must outweigh all other forms of teaching, it would be more profitable to the beginner to join a provincial _répertoire_ company, and thus come into nightly encounter with his final judges, the public, thereby learning the most essential quality of the art--how to make his personality and his particular form or method the master of their feelings. Now, as the personality of every actor differs, so, I contend, must his method vary, not only in what is termed the "reading" of a part, but also in the technique of his execution. If to become a mere walking, talking machine, be the object of a beginner, by all means let him be instructed in calisthenics and elocution, and the art of first-night speech-making; but to call such a combination of classes a School of Dramatic Art is degrading; it robs the calling of its highest attribute--imagination. Innate ability must undoubtedly be developed, "which nobody can deny," but such an institution as is suggested would develop everything in the same form; and as there is no accepted standard to aim at, the result would be, so many impressions of the mind of the teacher, who might possibly be wrong. It is impossible to talk about learning to "walk the stage," dancing, fencing, etc., etc., as being of sufficient importance to demand a national institution. I have known very fine actors who neither walked well nor spoke distinctly. A school _supported by the profession_, at which it would be possible for an actor to take lessons in any of these _accessories_ from accredited masters, for a small fee, would be invaluable, but it could not by any possibility lay claim to the title "School of Dramatic Art." After a few general hints, which are not in the nature of an academical lecture, Shakespeare himself says, in that memorable address to the players, "But let your own discretion be your tutor." You cannot learn discretion, it must be the result of experience--an experience made up of hard work, many disappointments, self-analysis, and, above all, much patience.

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[Sidenote: Cecil Rayleigh does not believe in it.]

I do not believe in an Academy of Acting, because I do not believe that the art of acting can be taught. The art of the actor is merely the faculty or instinct for simulation that everybody possesses in a greater or less degree. Every savage can simulate or imitate the cries of birds and beasts. Every savage can cover himself with a skin and stalk a herd of deer so disguised. But some savages do these things better than others. Every child, when it wants to thoroughly enjoy itself, plays at being something other than it really is. The girl takes a doll and plays at being a mother. The boy puts on a paper cocked hat and plays at being a soldier. We can all act more or less. Between Mr. Irving as _King Lear_, and the beggar who shivers on your door-step and swears that his wife and six children have not tasted food for a fortnight, the difference is one of degree, not of kind. The Pharisees of Scripture pretended to be what they were not, and got roundly denounced as hypocrites for their pains. As a fact, they were only incipient actors. The talk about teaching is, to my thinking, undiluted twaddle. The inherent desire to simulate grows, or it does not grow. You cannot make it grow. If a naturally awkward man can simulate the graces of a dancing master, if a naturally graceful man can simulate the limp of a cripple or the clumsiness of a hobbledehoy, if a comparative dwarf--like Kean--can assume the majesty of a monarch, then he is an actor. You may teach him to fence, and to dance, and to elocute till he is black in the face; you will never teach him to play "Othello" unless he is an actor. That fencing, dancing, and elocution are useful to the actor I do not deny. But if he is an actor he will pick these things up for himself easily enough under existing circumstances. A high development of the faculty for simulation necessarily implies a corresponding development in the faculty of observation. The actor sees, notes, and reproduces. That is to say, he simulates. Moreover, being an artist, he only reproduces just so much as is necessary. He need not study anatomy, and walk a hospital, in order to indicate with a few graphic gestures the cripple's limp. Equally he need not be a superb swordsman in order to get through an effective stage combat. It is not absolutely essential that he should be elevated to the peerage before being permitted to play a duke. People talk about fencing, dancing, and elocution, as if actors had nothing to do but fence, dance, and spout. An actor has to simulate everything, from "shouts off" to a crowned king in the centre of the stage. As in all probability neither the unseen but angry shouters, nor the king, knew anything whatever of the acquirements alluded to, why should the actor bother about them? They do not help in the least. If he is an actor he can act. If he is not he can't. In the old days when an actor had to go before the curtain between the weary acts of an interminable tragedy and engage in a broadsword combat or dance a hornpipe, I can understand the necessity for his having to be a swordsman and a dancer. But I do not see the use of those accomplishments now. In these days a man need not, like Mr. Gilbert's "Jester," always climb an oak to say "I'm up a tree." In these days we prefer the actor who thinks to the actor who dances. The institution of an Academy of Acting would do one thing, and one thing only. It would deluge an already overcrowded profession with a flood of mediocre automatons.

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[Sidenote: Addison Bright says it depends upon the style of acting which is required.]

Whether or no a Dramatic Academy be needed appears to me to depend on the kind of acting required. Do you affect the French school? Is your aching void filled by the exquisite elaboration, the delicacy, the half-tones, the subdued light and grey shadow, in which the French delight?--then, obviously, it were best to adopt the Conservatoire system, which hitherto has ensured these things being done better in France. "The proof of the pudding," and what better proof of the value of a Dramatic Academy could be forthcoming than the brilliant work of Coquelin, Febvre, Maubant, Delaunay, Got, Worms, Laroche, Blanche Barretta, Emilie Broisat, Madeleine Brohan? Here is a group of clever men and women. There is not a genius among them. The Bernhardts, Croizettes, Jane Hadings, and Mounet-Sullys, I purposely omit, as possibly unaffected by the argument. But of this band of "merely talented," there is not one but has by some means or other--and, in the first place, presumably, the method by which they were grounded in their art--become an artist, matured, solid, unapproachable. If, therefore, this be what you want, surely the Conservatoire system is the shortest cut to it. It is likely, however, that you, being English, want nothing of the kind. Kickshaws and daintiness are your aversion. The histrionic Roast Beef of Old England is your craving. You do not ask an actor to merge or transform himself into the character he assumes, but simply to employ the author as a medium for the display of his own more or less striking individuality. In this case, schooling of any kind would, of course, be fatal. Teaching would only interfere with the development of that most precious possession, his personality. There is, indeed, only one way to help the actor of this class--a class numerous and highly popular in England and America--and that is by pointing out his faults. This, at first sight, seems a simple matter. His faults are generally multitudinous and glaring. But woe to the man who points the finger at them. He is merely qualifying for a species of martyrdom. The libel laws, reinforcing the instinct of self-preservation, forbid the critics doing it, and anybody else who tries is instantly regarded as a malignant private enemy of the criticised. Yet something in this direction ought to be done, for even actors recruited from the 'Varsities will murder the language, debase the currency of manners, mumble unchecked of "libery," and "Febuery," and "seckertery," and in many other barbarous ways betray the vulgarising influence of culture. Only one or two courses seem open to mitigate this evil--to end the harmful conspiracy of silence which fosters it. The establishment of such an academy as Miss Brough, Mr. Tree, and Mr. Alexander favour, if practicable (but where are the sufficiently eminent teachers to inspire confidence?) might do much; but better still would be an institution where not teaching, but criticism, real never-nowadays-practised criticism, was the object in view. And I think the best kind of institution for the simultaneous correction of faults and encouragement of promising talent would be a stock company, run at some big provincial theatre by a syndicate of London managers, who might there produce their London successes, turn and turn about, all the year round, and thus be brought into personal contact with the younger actors (who should be bound to them for a term of apprenticeship) impelled in their own interests to impart advice and admonition, and kept on the alert to discover genuine talent, and to snap it up when they saw it for their London houses.

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[Sidenote: J. T. Grein goes into figures.]

I have expressed my opinion on a Dramatic Academy in the _Daily Chronicle_ some time ago, and have been promptly abused for it. Consequently, I am most firmly convinced that the reasons which I brought forward are sound. Nowadays, abuse is the highest form of approbation. There are just two little points on which I wish to touch just now, not in defence, but to explain. I mean that famous £50,000. It has been repeated that I want £50,000. I want them very much indeed, privately, but for the academy--_c'est autre chose_. All that I really want is that someone (the inevitable "someone," who plays such a star-part in our theatrical world) should lend a sum of £50,000 for five years, which should be placed in a bank under trustees, and the usufruct of which should serve to maintain the establishment during its period of dentition, if I may call it so. After five years the capital would return to its owner, who would be none the poorer, while art would have been a great deal the richer for it. It is also insinuated that, because I opined that _one_ man--not an actor--should stand at the head of affairs, I had clearly indicated who should be that man. I--of course! Such accusations of self-nepotism are a sign of the times. No one can speak disinterestedly about a subject now; we all must have a motive. We are all mercenary, we are automatic advertising machines of our own selves, we are always insincere. Charming! But for my own part, I wish to state it very plainly that I never have thought, or could think, of putting my own candidature forward if ever the academy should become a fact. I have no desire to fill such a post, an Englishman born should do it: it is a national affair. One thing should not deter us from advocating the academy. I refer to the failure of the former school. All I know about it is from hearsay, but it must have been a most miserable business, and if half the tales which are in circulation about the management are true, it was fit for anything except education. The radical and principal fault of the old school was that it had too many heads and not one competent ruler. Big names alone will not accomplish the work, and large committees are the most troublesome spoke in the wheel-work of any machinery. The former draw the money and the latter spend it. When the funds had dried up the whole thing collapsed. And what had it done? Nothing, absolutely nothing of any importance, nothing which could not have been done better and cheaper. Let this precedent be a warning. Let us have patrons by all means, a legion of titles and lions, for they may prompt munificence. But let the reins be in competent hands: one director and three guardians (selected from the patrons), who should keep a watchful eye on the management of the school. As for the _raison d'être_, the working, the subject of a national Dramatic Academy, I have no more to say at this juncture. My plan will be found summed up by Miss Brough. I hold that it is practical.

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[Sidenote: Jerome wishes to educate the Playgoer.]

I think the establishment of a Dramatic Academy would be of immense benefit to the stage. Whether such an institution would be of practicable service in teaching actors and actresses the rudiments of their art--whether it is advisable that they should be taught--whether it is possible to teach them--are debatable questions that I will not here enter upon. But such an institution would achieve a much more important and lasting result. It would educate the British Playgoer. At present this individual is most lamentably ignorant concerning all things connected with the theatre. He understands neither drama nor acting. To him the play is not an art, but an entertainment. He does not yet know enough about the matter to dissociate the player from the part. He speaks not of _Hamlet_ as portrayed by Mr. H. Irving, but of Mr. Irving as _Hamlet_, which sounds the same thing, but isn't. The following conversation is not invented, but recollected. I heard it in an omnibus. Said the lady next to me to the lady opposite: "How did you like Hare?" "Oh, not at all," replied the other, "I thought him a horrid man--so nasty to his mother." "Oh, yes," said the first speaker, "you saw him in _Robin Goodfellow_, didn't you? Oh, it isn't fair to judge him by that. You go and see him in _The Spectacles_. He's a _dear_ old gentleman." No doubt the second lady will take the next opportunity of seeing Mr. Hare in _The Spectacles_, and will be delighted to notice how greatly he has improved. That this is the general attitude taken up by the public towards its stage servants is proved by the fact that no favourite actor can play an unsympathetic part with impunity. To "name" would be dangerous, but reflect for a moment upon the many plays--good plays--that have failed in recent years simply because the beloved actor-manager has been cast for the part of an objectionable person.

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[Sidenote: Thinks it can be done.]

In the interests of playwriters and play-actors, I wish to see the playgoer--our dramatic lawgiver--be educated; and I think this might be done by means of a "Royal Dramatic Academy." Our Royal Academy of Art has been the means of bringing into existence an artistic public, which, if small, is at all events growing and enthusiastic; and a man can paint a picture with the certainty that some, at all events, of the people who come to look at it will be capable of comprehending his meaning. Without our Royal Academy of Music it is probable that _Ta-ra-boom-de-ay_ would represent the high-water mark of our national taste. With the advent of a "Royal Dramatic Academy" (the "Royal" printed fairly large) people would begin to grasp the idea that acting was an art. A public would grow up able to appreciate a play as a play, and not merely as a digester or a pick-me-up; playwriting would not be the lottery it is; and the actor, no longer a mere public pet, would receive more dignified recognition as an artist. In France, in Germany, in Austria, in Holland, there are dramatic schools, and acting is regarded as an art. In England, keeping a theatre is supposed to be on all fours with keeping a shop. I should be sorry to add to the dustheap of rubbishy talk about Art, but thought and emotion, though it is legitimate to live by them, are not on all fours with other merchandise. An artist has a right to sell what he may possess of them, but he has no right to adulterate them to suit the taste of his customers. Something is needed to come between the drama and the entertainment-seeking public--something that shall, on the one hand, foster a purer taste, and, on the other, support and encourage a higher aim. I think a Dramatic Academy might accomplish this. If not, I know of nothing that would.