se I had a magic
mirror which would reflect that jar in such a way as to show me not only
its outside but also the amount of tobacco shut within it. In this latter
case, a glance at the represented image would spare me a more laborious
examination of the actual object.

Now Hamlet must have had in mind some magic mirror such as this, which, by
its manner of reflecting life, would render life more intelligible. Goethe
once remarked that the sole excuse for the existence of works of art is
that they are different from the works of nature. If the theatre showed us
only what we see in life itself, there would be no sense at all in going to
the theatre. Assuredly it must show us more than that; and it is an
interesting paradox that in order to show us more it has to show us less.
The magic mirror must refuse to reflect the irrelevant and non-essential,
and must thereby concentrate attention on the pertinent and essential
phases of nature. That mirror is the best that reflects the least which
does not matter, and, as a consequence, reflects most clearly that which
does. In actual life, truth is buried beneath a bewilderment of facts. Most
of us seek it vainly, as we might seek a needle in a haystack. In this
proverbial search we should derive no assistance from looking at a
reflection of the haystack in an ordinary mirror. But imagine a glass so
endowed with a selective magic that it would not reflect hay but would
reflect steel. Then, assuredly, there would be a valid and practical reason
for holding the mirror up to nature.

The only real triumph for an artist is not to show us a haystack, but to
make us see the needle buried in it,--not to reflect the trappings and the
suits of life, but to suggest a sense of that within which passeth show.
To praise a play for its exactitude in representing facts would be a
fallacy of criticism. The important question is not how nearly the play
reflects the look of life, but how much it helps the audience to understand
life's meaning. The sceneless stage of the Elizabethan _As You Like It_
revealed more meanings than our modern scenic forests empty of Rosalind and
Orlando. There is no virtue in reflection unless there be some magic in the
mirror. Certain enterprising modern managers permit their press agents to
pat them on the back because they have set, say, a locomotive on the stage;
but why should we pay two dollars to see a locomotive in the theatre when
we may see a dozen locomotives