attention that can be demanded of Western human beings assembled in a theatre.  Doubtless an author could express himself more fully and more subtly if he ignored these limitations; the moment he submits to them, he renounces the pretence that mere self-expression is his aim.  I know that there are haughty-souls who make no such submission, and express themselves in dramas which, so far as their proportions are concerned, might as well be epic poems or historical romances.[6] To them, I repeat, I have nothing to say.  The one and only subject of the following discussions is the best method of fitting a dramatic theme for representation before an audience assembled in a theatre.  But this, be it noted, does not necessarily mean “writing down” to the audience in question.  It is by obeying, not by ignoring, the fundamental conditions of his craft that the dramatist may hope to lead his audience upward to the highest intellectual level which he himself can attain.

These pages, in short, are addressed to students of play-writing who sincerely desire to do sound, artistic work under the conditions and limitations of the actual, living playhouse.  This does not mean, of course, that they ought always to be studying “what the public wants.”  The dramatist should give the public what he himself wants—­but in such form as to make it comprehensible and interesting in a theatre.

* * * * *

[Footnote 1:  It is against “technic” in this sense of the term that the hero of Mr. Howells’s admirable novel, The Story of a Play, protests in vigorous and memorable terms.  “They talk,” says Maxwell, “about a knowledge of the stage as if it were a difficult science, instead of a very simple piece of mechanism whose limitations and possibilities anyone may see at a glance.  All that their knowledge of it comes to is claptrap, pure and simple....  They think that their exits and entrances are great matters and that they must come on with such a speech, and go off with another; but it is not of the least importance how they come or go, if they have something interesting to say or do.”  Maxwell, it must be remembered, is speaking of technic as expounded by the star actor, who is shilly-shallying—­as star actors will—­over the production of his play.  He would not, in his calmer moments, deny that it is of little use to have something interesting to say, unless you know how to say it interestingly.  Such a denial would simply be the negation of the very idea of art.]

[Footnote 2:  A dramatist of my acquaintance adds this footnote:  “But, by the Lord!  They have to give advice.  I believe I write more plays of other people’s than I do of my own.”]

[Footnote 3:  It may be hoped, too, that even the accomplished dramatist may take some interest in considering the reasons for things which he does, or does not do, by instinct.]

[Footnote 4:  This is not a phrase of contempt.  The would-be intelligent playgoer is vastly to be preferred to the playgoer who makes a boast of his unintelligence.]