Arthur Symons opens his essay on acting with a pointed contrast between French and English theatrical traditions. He argues that French actors excel at knowing 'when and how not to do things,' achieving dramatic effect through stillness and natural speech. Symons illustrates this with a scene from a play featuring Guitry and Brasseur, who stood face to face for minutes, each with a single fixed expression that summed up their character's temperament. He claims no English stage-manager would have allowed such restraint, instead demanding movement and 'business.'

The Art of Stillness

Symons devotes considerable attention to the power of stillness on stage. He describes Coquelin in Tartuffe: when the hypocrite is exposed, Coquelin simply turns his back to the audience, stands with head down, then walks off with only a momentary glimpse of a convulsed face. Symons contrasts this with the hypothetical approach of an English actor like Mr. Tree, who would have taken five minutes to exit, multiplying gestures and trying on different expressions. For Symons, the French approach is both more effective and more real. He generalizes that a great part of French acting lies in restraint, in realizing 'the art there is in being quite still.'

English Restlessness as National Character

Symons attributes the English preference for constant motion to national temperament. He calls the English 'a nation of travellers, of sailors, of business people' who must keep moving. He points to vigorous dances, music-hall clowning involving kicking and leaping, and melodramas constructed on movable planes with collapses and collisions. The habit of 'crossing stage to right' is, he suggests, ingrained rather than merely a matter of training. This reflection makes him doubt that a reform in stage-management alone will lead to quieter acting. Yet he still poses the question: might some stage-manager try telling actors to stand still?

Drama versus Theatricality

Symons distinguishes between what is dramatic and what is merely theatrical. Drama, he insists, is made to be acted, and a literary play that fails to interest on stage has missed its essential aim. But the finer part of drama is implicit in words and development, not in separate small details of literal action. He imagines two people sitting quietly in a room, never leaving their chairs, yet holding the audience breathless. Given a good play, French actors can achieve this; English actors are not allowed to try. Symons's critique extends beyond acting to stage-management and the very conception of what makes theatre compelling.

Symons's observations remain provocative for anyone interested in the craft of acting and the cultural assumptions that shape performance. His specific examples—Coquelin's exit, Guitry and Brasseur's silent confrontation—offer concrete evidence for his argument. Readers may wish to consider how these principles apply to contemporary theatre and film, where stillness can be as powerful as action.