Let me begin by confessing my regret that I cannot overhear your first
remark when you receive this sheaf of essays, many of which are devoted
to the subordinate subdivisions of the art of the stage. As it is, I can
only imagine your surprise at discovering that this book, which contains
papers dealing with certain aspects of the theater rarely considered to
be worthy of criticism, is signed by the occupant of the earliest chair
to be established in any American university specifically for the study
of dramatic literature. I fancy I can hear the expression of your wonder
that a sexagenarian professor should turn aside from his austere
analysis of the genius of Sophocles and of Shakspere, of Moliere and of
Ibsen, to discuss the minor arts of the dancer and the acrobat, to
chatter about the conjurer and the negro minstrel, to consider the
principles of pantomime and the development of scene-painting. But I am
emboldened to hope that your surprise will be only momentary, and that
you will be moved to acknowledge that perhaps there may be some
advantage to be derived from these deviations into the by-paths of stage
history.
You are rather multifarious yourself; "like Cerberus, you are three
gentlemen at once"; you have been a reporter, you have published a
novel, you have painted pictures, you have delivered addresses--and you
write plays, too. I think that you, at least, will readily understand
how a student of the stage may like to stray now and again from the main
road and to ramble away from the lofty temple of dramatic art to loiter
for a little while in one or another of its lesser chapels. And you,
again, will appreciate my conviction that these loiterings and these
strollings may be as profitable as that casual browsing about in a
library which is likely to enrich our memories with not a little
interesting information that we might never have captured had we adhered
to a rigorous and rigid course of study. You will see what I mean when I
declare my belief that I have come back from these wanderings with an
increased understanding of the theory of the theater, and with an
enlarged acquaintance with its manifold manifestations.
Perhaps I ought to explain, furthermore, that these excursions into the
purlieus of the playhouse began long, long ago. I gave a Punch and Judy
show before I was sixteen; I performed experiments in magic, I blacked
up as Tambo, I whitened myself as Clown, I played the low-comedy part in
a farce, and I attempted the flying trapeze before I was twenty; and I
was not encouraged by the result of these early experiences to repeat
any of the experiments after I came of age. I think it was as a spinner
of hats and as the underman of a "brothers' act" that I came nearest to
success; at least I infer this from the fact--may I mention it without
seeming to boast?--that with my partners in this brothers' act, I was
asked if I would care to accept an engagement with a circus for the
summer. As to the merits of the other efforts I need say nothing now;
the rest is silence. When the cynic declared that the critics were those
who had failed in literature and art, he overstated his case, as is the
custom of cynics. But it is an indisputable advantage for any critic to
have adventured himself in the practise of the art to the discussion of
which he is to devote himself; he may have failed, or at least he may
not have succeeded as he could wish; but he ought to have gained a
firmer grasp on the principles of the art than he would have had if he
had never risked himself in the vain effort.
With this brief word of personal explanation I step down from the
platform of the preface to let these various essays speak for
themselves. If they have any message of any value, I feel assured in
advance that your friendly ear will be the first to interpret it. And I
remain,
Ever yours,
BRANDER MATTHEWS.
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY,
IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK.