which exempted them. By 1632 their number was so great that not enough money was taken at the door to defray the expenses of the company. As a result of the attempts of so many to enter free, brawls and stabbings at the theatre doors were matters of frequent occurrence. In a song sung on the Madrid stage in 1632, we are told that the deadheads “stood around at the doors of the theatres in the rain, drenched through, waiting for a chance to slip in without paying." This evil was prevalent throughout Spain.

This leads to a few words about the audiences. As may be inferred from what has already been said, they were of a turbulent, boisterous character; of their ruffianly behavior within the theatre there is ample evidence. They showed their disapproval of a play or of an actor in no uncertain manner, by shouting, whistling or pelting the actors with other things besides roses. Cervantes tells us of some of his plays that they were favorably received, without any cucumbers being thrown at the players. On the other hand these audiences were equally demonstrative and noisy in their approval of a play, which they showed by applauding, and by shouts of Victor!

Concerning the various companies of players in Spain, they may be divided into two classes: companias reales or de titule, i.e., those licensed by royal decree, and companias de la legua, as the companies were called, which, acting without the king's license, overran the whole peninsula. The first class, or royal companies were of two kinds: those in which the players worked for a salary paid them by the autor or manager, and those in which the players worked on shares. The latter were called companias de parte.

In 1603 Agustin de Rojas, an actor, published a book at Madrid called "The Entertaining Journey," which is the most interesting work we possess concerning the early Spanish stage. According to Rojas there were eight kinds of companies. He begins his enumeration with the strolling player, who travels alone and afoot, and recites while the village curate passes around the hat, and so, through various gradations, till he

reaches the companies. These, he says, "know something of the seamy side, and also of good manners; there are very clever people among them: men much esteemed and persons well born, and even very respectable women (for where there are many, there must be of all kinds). They take with them fifty comedias, three hundred quarters of luggage, sixteen persons who act, thirty who eat, and one who takes the money at the door (and God knows what he steals). Some want mules, others coaches; some litters, others palfreys; and none there are who are satisfied with a cart, because they say that they have weak stomachs. Besides, there are many vexations. Their labor is excessive because of the great amount of study and the continuous rehearsals". We have already alluded to the hardships of the actor's life as described by Rojas. Cervanttes, who certainly knew them well, says: "in the sweat of their brows they earn their bread by insupportable toil, learning constantly by heart, leading a gipsy life from place to place, and from inn to tavern" . . . Yet all the trials and hardships of the profession never deterred others from joining their ranks, which were ever full, such a powerful attraction has the mimic life of the stage ever exercised upon those who came under its spell. And no one has in such masterly fashion epitomized the fascinating vocation of the actor as one of their fellows and the greatest of all poets, in those memorable lines in which he likens life to the ephemeral career of the stage player:

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more."

And yet these players have exercised no inconsiderable influence on the drama of their time, for many plays were written for certain players, and especially many for particular actresses, who, in the plaudits of the crowd, enjoyed that transient glory which is the coveted reward of the highest as well as the humblest of their class.

THE ARCHITECTURE OF JAPAN

BY WARREN P. LAIRD

Professor of Architecture.

In the field of paincing and the minor arts Japan is freely accorded high rank among the nations of the earth but for some reason we virtually deny that she has an architecture. This is reflected not only in the opinion of the tourist but also in the extended literature with which the world shows its interest in the history and culture of this remarkable people, for with one exception there is hardly a book that betrays any appreciation of the quality and value of this phase of the art of Japan. And this exception is so remarkable for its insight and understanding that, having used it as guide and revealer in a tour of Japan I shall here employ it freely, even at the risk of making my lecture largely an exposition of its content. This book, entitled "Impressions of Japanese Architecture and the Allied Arts," is the work of the distinguished American architect, Dr. Ralph Adams Cram.

Let me, however, introduce the subject by a presentation of contrasting views, citing first the more general, as voiced by Professor Chamberlain of the Imperial University at Tokyo, a man of long residence and wide observation in Japan. Professor Chamberlain observes in his entertaining and invaluable notes entitled "Things Japanese" that;

"The Japanese genius touches perfection in small things. No other nation ever understood half as well how to make a cup, a tray, even a kettle-a thing of beauty, how to transform a little knob of ivory into a microcism of quaint humour, how to express a fugitive thought in half-a-dozen dashes of the pencil. The massive, the spacious, the grand, is less congenial to their mental attitude. Hence they achieve less success in architecture than in the other arts. The prospect of a Japanese

city from a height is monotonous. Not a tower, not a dome, not a minaret, nothing aspiring heavenward, save in rare cases a painted pagoda half-hidden amidst the trees which it barely tops-nothing but long low lines of thatch and tiles, even the Buddhist temple roofs being but moderately raised above the rest, and even their curves only quaint and graceful, nowise imposing. It was a true instinct that led Professor Morse to give his charming monograph on Japanese architecture the title of "Japanese Homes," the interest of Japanese buildings lying less in the buildings themselves than in the neat domestic ways of their denizens, and in the delightful little bits of ornamentation that meet one at every turn ***

In contrast with this opinion is that of Dr. Cram, who observes that the architecture of this people, "when once it is known, becomes a thing of extreme beauty, dignity and nobility, immensely significant, profoundly indicative of the fundamental laws that underlie all great architecture."

Now, if the first view is correct, Japan, with its high civilization, its mastery of the major and minor arts and its world leadership in certain of them, Japan the artistic, has utterly failed in Architecture, that Mother of the Arts! In this respect then the Japanese must have remained primitive; æsthetically stagnant; the one race whose ethnic development has broken the universal rule which makes the architecture of any people the surest proof of their culture.

But the first view is not correct, either as to Japan or the nature of architecture. Its error lies in the assumption that the latter cannot exist without buildings of great magnitude or striking height; whereas, whether in Europe or the Orient, many of the best examples of the art are modest in dimension. It is not surprising therefore that a conception based upon the quantitative rather than the qualitative standard should have diverted this author, as it doubtless has many others, from the architecture of the country to the construction of its buildings in their most familiar form-the domestic house.

No, and emphatically, Japan, the land of consummate art, has an architecture of the truest character, worthy to be placed