he dark of night, and seeing only
two people who come to call upon him. One of these, a young girl, sometimes
plays for him on the piano while he paces moodily up and down the gallery.
These facts are expounded to the audience in a dialogue between Mrs.
Borkman and her sister that takes place in a lower room below Borkman's
quarters; and all the while, in the pauses of the conversation, the hero is
heard walking overhead, pacing incessantly up and down. As the act
advances, the audience expects at any moment that the hero will appear. The
front door is thrown open; two minor characters enter; and still Borkman is
heard walking up and down. There is more talk about him on the stage; the
act is far advanced, and soon it seems that he must show himself. From the
upper room is heard the music of the Dance of Death that his young girl
friend is playing for him. Now to the dismal measures of the dance the
dialogue on the stage swells to a climax. Borkman is still heard pacing in
the gallery. And the curtain falls. Ten minutes later the raising of the
curtain discloses John Gabriel Borkman standing with his hands behind his
back, looking at the girl who has been playing for him. The moment is
trebly emphatic,--by position at the opening of an act, by surprise, and
most of all by suspense. When the hero is at last discovered, the audience
looks at him.

Of course there are many minor means of emphasis in the theatre, but most
of these are artificial and mechanical. The proverbial lime-light is one of
the most effective. The intensity of the dream scene in Sir Henry Irving's
performance of _The Bells_ was due largely to the way in which the single
figure of Mathias was silhouetted by a ray of light against a shadowy and
inscrutable background ominous with voices.

In this materialistic age, actors even resort to blandishments of costume
to give their parts a special emphasis. Our leading ladies are more richly
clad than the minor members of their companies. Even the great Mansfield
resorted in his performance of Brutus to the indefensible expedient of
changing his costume act by act and dressing always in exquisite and subtle
colors, while the other Romans, Cassius included, wore the same togas of
unaffected white throughout the play. This was a fault in emphasis.

A novel and interesting device of emphasis in stage-direction was
introduced by Mr. Forbes-Robertson in his production of _The Passing of the
Third Floor Back_. This