one really understands it, neither those who have grown old on the boards, nor the most ancient of managers—not even the dramatic critics themselves.
Good Heavens, if only the reader of plays could know beforehand whether a play will be a success or not! If only the manager could count the box-office receipts in advance! If only the actor could be given a sign that his part will be a success! Why, yes, then the production of a play might run as smoothly and calmly as cabinet-making, or the manufacture of soap.
But the production of a play is an art like that of warfare, and luck plays as great a part in it as in roulette, for no one knows beforehand just how things will turn out. It is a sheer miracle that the play gets played at all, not only on the first night, but on every succeeding night, and if it is played, that it gets played through to the end. For a play is not produced “according to plan,” but through the constant conquest of insurmountable obstacles. Every lathe in the scenery
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