commodities, which only become marketable when they are reinforced by
the independent arts of music and painting. Shakespeare's words must
be spoken to musical accompaniments specially prepared for the
occasion. Pictorial tableaux, even though they suggest topics without
relevance to the development of the plot, have at times to be
interpolated in order to keep the attention of the audience
sufficiently alive.

One deduction to be drawn from this position of affairs is
irrefutable. Spectacular embellishments are so costly that, according
to the system now in vogue, the performance of a play of Shakespeare
involves heavy financial risks. It is equally plain that, unless the
views of theatrical managers undergo revolution, these risks are
likely to become greater rather than smaller. The natural result is
that in London, the city which sets the example to most
English-speaking communities, Shakespearean revivals are comparatively
rare; they take place at uncertain intervals, and only those plays are
viewed with favour by the London manager which lend themselves in his
opinion to more or less ostentatious spectacle, and to the
interpolation of music and dancing.

It is ungrateful to criticise adversely any work the production of
which entails the expenditure of much thought and money. More
especially is it distasteful when the immediate outcome is, as in the
case of many Shakespearean revivals at the great West-end theatres of
London, the giving of pleasure to large sections of the community.
That is in itself a worthy object. But it is open to doubt whether,
from the sensible literary point of view, the managerial activity be
well conceived or to the public advantage. It is hard to ignore a
fundamental flaw in the manager's central position. The pleasure which