This
is only in part true. They will appreciate the best juggler, the
cleverest trained dog, the most appealing ballad singer such as
Chevalier or Harry Lauder. But they will no more appreciate those
subtleties of dramatic art which must have free play in the
serious development of the one-act play than the readers of a
"popular" magazine in America (or England either) would
appreciate Kipling's "They," or George Moore's "The Wild Goose,"
or de Maupassant's "La Ficelle." To expect them to is silly; and
to expect that because the supreme, vivid example of any form is
comprehensible to all classes and all mixtures of classes,
therefore the supreme example is going to be developed out of the
commonplace stuff such mixed audiences daily enjoy, is equally to
misunderstand the evolution of an art product in our complex
modern world. But, indeed, the matter scarce calls for argument.
Vaudeville itself furnishes the answer. Where are its one-act
plays which can be called dramatic literature? It is a hopeful
sign, perhaps, that certain of the plays in this volume have
percolated into the varieties! But they were not cradled there.
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