possible.]

But it is not only a simplification of scenic appliances that is
needed. Other external incidents of production require revision.
Spectacular methods of production entail the employment of armies of
silent supernumeraries to whom are allotted functions wholly
ornamental and mostly impertinent. Here, too, reduction is desirable
in the interest of the true significance of drama. No valid reason can
be adduced why persons should appear on the stage who are not
precisely indicated by the text of the play or by the authentic stage
directions. When Cæsar is buried, it is essential to produce in the
audience the illusion that a crowd of Roman citizens is taking part in
the ceremony. But quality comes here before quantity. The fewer the
number of supernumeraries by whom the needful illusion is effected,
the greater the merit of the performance, the more convincing the
testimony borne to the skill of the stage-manager. Again, no
processions of psalm-singing priests and monks contribute to the
essential illusion in the historical plays. Nor does the text of _The
Merchant of Venice_ demand any assembly of Venetian townsfolk,
however picturesquely attired, sporting or chaffering with one another
on the Rialto, when Shylock enters to ponder Antonio's request for a
loan. An interpolated tableau is indefensible, and "though it make the
unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve." In _Antony and
Cleopatra_ the pageant of Cleopatra's voyage up the river Cydnus to
meet her lover Antony should have no existence outside the gorgeous
description given of it by Enobarbus.


III