IN CONCLUSION

Perhaps no other calling is as fascinating as that of the stage. Are we not happiest when we are least mindful of ourselves, and does not absolute self-forgetfulness come with a complete realisation of a personality that is foreign to us? Plus this is the pleasure to be derived from the knowledge of the strength possessed which enables the swaying of multitudes by sympathy.

To the born actor his art is a delightful pastime. All his observations of art and life augment his knowledge of character and his ability to portray emotion.

The less gifted should study perpetually. The world is full of odd volumes in strange and interesting bindings. To the student of make-up the binding is of no less interest than the matter within.

Try to store vivid recollections of the distinctive types; collect caricatures and prints; they will be most suggestive and helpful.

If you possess even only a slight talent for drawing, cultivate it assiduously, for it is obvious that the actor who can draw will be able to make-up better than the one who cannot.

Visit picture galleries and turn them into museums of types. I know of no other gallery that interests me so much as the National Portrait Gallery. When I am in London I try to visit it at least once a week. There I realise what each one of a legion of distinguished men looked like.

If a play revives some period of history, try to see some of the pictures of the greatest painters of that day, or at least get reproductions of their work. Perhaps the very man that you require is standing in some dim canvas only waiting for you to make him live again.

Remember that each period of history had its distinctive types. Think of the people of Gainsborough, of Velasquez, the portraits of Holbein and of DÜrer.

If you are to present a man of an alien race, try and give him his national peculiarities without offering his country the insult of burlesquing them. I think it is a sign of decadence of our stage that we strive to heap ridicule on almost every type that is not a product of our own land.

If any of the dark races are to be presented, such as Africans, Red Indians, or Japanese, trustworthy photographs may be bought which will prove an admirable guide.

If you are to portray a well-known historical character, read everything you can about the man. Perhaps you will have the fortune to come across a detailed description by one of his intimate friends.

If the man you represent follows any particular trade or calling, try to get acquainted with some such men. Take, for example, a foundry hand. Get permission to visit a foundry; go there several times, till the significance of the work is borne home to you. You will eventually realise not only what the men look like, but the way they feel, and will be able to suggest the way in which they toil. Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief. What a drama of characterisation the line conveys; each is stamped with his trade or condition.

Go again and again to life; let your body and brain reflect it. Make your types actual.

A Parliament, a Court, a ward of a hospital, with its quiet doctor going from bed to bed. The deck of the steamer, the interior of a bus—they each become a school where valuable lessons may be learnt.

Unless you suffer from very definite physical or vocal limitations, strive not to get grooved in your work. Do not repeat yourself over and over again in each new part that you play.

Remember that the number of types in the world is infinite; that the playwright is always striving to present to the public some new character.

Ever add to your knowledge, and recollect that work is life's great recompense. Thank God your toil is endless.