A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic Part 11

Ha! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you.--My dear, here's Mr. Sneer.

_Mrs. Dang_. Good-morning to you, sir.

_Dang_. Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting ourselves with the papers. Pray, Sneer, won't you go to Drury Lane Theatre the first night of Puff's tragedy?

_Sneer_. Yes; but I suppose one shan't be able to get in, for on the first night of a new piece they always fill the house with orders to support it. But here, Dangle, I have brought you two pieces, one of which you must exert yourself to make the managers accept, I can tell you that; for'tis written by a person of consequence.

_Dang_. So! now my plagues are beginning.

_Sneer_. Ay, I am glad of it, for now you'll be happy. Why, my dear Dangle, it is a pleasure to see how you enjoy your volunteer fatigue, and your solicited solicitations.

_Dang_. It's a great trouble--yet, egad, it's pleasant too.

--Why, sometimes of a morning I have a dozen people call on me at breakfast-time, whose faces I never saw before, nor ever desire to see again.

_Sneer_. That must be very pleasant indeed!

_Dang_. And not a week but I receive fifty letters, and not a line in them about any business of my own.

_Sneer_. An amusing correspondence!

_Dang_. [_Reading_.] _Bursts into tears and exit_.--What, is this a tragedy?

_Sneer_. No, that's a genteel comedy, not a translation-- only taken from the French: it is written in a style which they have lately tried to run down; the true sentimental, and nothing ridiculous in it from the beginning to the end.

_Mrs. Dang_. Well, if they had kept to that, I should not have been such an enemy to the stage; there was some edification to be got from those pieces, Mr. Sneer!

_Sneer_. I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle: the theatre, in proper hands, might certainly be made the school of morality; but now, I am sorry to say it, people seem to go there princ.i.p.ally for their entertainment!

_Mrs. Dang_. It would have been more to the credit of the managers to have kept it in the other line.

_Sneer_. Undoubtedly, madam; and hereafter perhaps to have had it recorded, that in the midst of a luxurious and dissipated age, they preserved two houses in the capital, where the conversation was always moral at least, if not entertaining!

_Dang_. Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in the nicety of the audience!--No _double-entendre_, no smart innuendo admitted; even Vanbrugh and Congreve obliged to undergo a bungling reformation!

_Sneer_. Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just on a par with the artificial bashfulness of a courtesan, who increases the blush upon her cheek in an exact proportion to the diminution of her modesty.

_Dang_. Sneer can't even give the public a good word! But what have we here?--This seems a very odd-- _Sneer_. Oh, that's a comedy on a very new plan; replete with wit and mirth, yet of a most serious moral! You see it is called _The Reformed House-breaker_; where, by the mere force of humour, house-breaking is put in so ridiculous a light, that if the piece has its proper run, I have no doubt but that bolts and bars will be entirely useless by the end of the season.

_Dang_. Egad, this is new indeed!

_Sneer_. Yes; it is written by a particular friend of mine, who has discovered that the follies and foibles of society are subjects unworthy the notice of the comic muse, who should be taught to stoop only to the greater vices and blacker crimes of humanity--gibbeting capital offences in five acts, and pillorying petty larcenies in two.--In short, his idea is to dramatize the penal laws, and make the stage a court of ease to the Old Bailey.

_Dang_. It is truly moral.

_Re-enter_ SERVANT.

_Ser_. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir.

_Dang_. Beg him to walk up.--[_Exit_ SERVANT.] Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful Plagiary is an author to your own taste.

_Mrs. Dang_. I confess he is a favourite of mine, because everybody else abuses him.

_Sneer_. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judgment.

_Dang_. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, that's the truth on't--though he's my friend.

_Sneer_. Never.--He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six and thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works, can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations.

_Dang_. Very true, egad--though he's my friend.

_Sneer_. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though, at the same time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism: yet he is so covetous of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all.

_Dang_. There's no denying it--though he is my friend.

_Sneer_. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven't you?

_Dang_. Oh, yes; he sent it to me yesterday.

_Sneer_. Well, and you think it execrable, don't you?

_Dang_. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own--though he is my friend--that it is one of the most--He's here-- [_Aside_.]--finished and most admirable perform-- _Sir Fret. [Without_.] Mr. Sneer with him did you say?

_Enter_ SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.

_Dang_. Ah, my dear friend!--Egad, we were just speaking of your tragedy.--Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable!

_Sneer_. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful-- never in your life.

_Sir Fret_. You make me extremely happy; for without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn't a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours and Mr. Dangle's.

_Mrs. Dang_. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful; for it was but just now that-- _Dang_. Mrs. Dangle!--Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs.

Dangle.--My friend Sneer was rallying just now:--he knows how she admires you, and-- _Sir Fret_. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity than to--[_Aside_.] A d.a.m.ned double-faced fellow!

_Dang_. Yes, yes--Sneer will jest--but a better humoured-- _Sir Fret_. Oh, I know-- _Dang_. He has a ready turn for ridicule--his wit costs him nothing.

_Sir Fret_. No, egad--or I should wonder how he came by it.

[_Aside_.]

_Mrs. Dang_. Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend. [_Aside_.]

_Dang_. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers yet?--or can I be of any service to you?

_Sir Fret_. No, no, I thank you: I believe the piece had sufficient recommendation with it.--I thank you though.--I sent it to the manager of Covent Garden Theatre this morning.

_Sneer_. I should have thought now, that it might have been cast (as the actors call it) better at Drury Lane.

_Sir Fret_. O Lud! no--never send a play there while I live--hark'ee!

[_Whispers_ SNEER.]

_Sneer_. Writes himself!--I know he does.

_Sir Fret_. I say nothing--I take away from no man's merit--am hurt at no man's good fortune--I say nothing.--But this I will say--through all my knowledge of life, I have observed--that there is not a pa.s.sion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy.

_Sneer_. I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed.

_Sir Fret_. Besides--I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a play in the hands of those who write themselves.

_Sneer_. What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Plagiary?

_Sir Fret_. Steal!--to be sure they may; and, egad, serve your best thoughts as gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make 'em pa.s.s for their own.

_Sneer_. But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, and he, you know, never-- _Sir Fret_. That's no security: a dexterous plagiarist may do anything. Why, sir, for aught I know, he might take out some of the best things in my tragedy, and put them into his own comedy.

_Sneer_. That might be done, I dare be sworn.

_Sir Fret_. And then, if such a person gives you the least hint or a.s.sistance, he is devilish apt to take the merit of the whole-- _Dang_. If it succeeds.

_Sir Fret_. Ay, but with regard to this piece, I think I can hit that gentleman, for I can safely swear he never read it.

_Sneer_. I'll tell you how you may hurt him more.

_Sir Fret_. How?

_Sneer_. Swear he wrote it.

_Sir Fret_. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall take it ill!--I believe you want to take away my character as an author.

_Sneer_. Then I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to me.

_Sir Fret_. Hey!--sir!-- _Dang_. Oh, you know, he never means what he says.

_Sir Fret_. Sincerely then--do you like the piece?

_Sneer_. Wonderfully!

_Sir Fret_. But come, now, there must be something that you think might be mended, hey?--Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you?

_Dang_. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing for the most part, to-- _Sir Fret_. With most authors it is just so, indeed; they are in general strangely tenacious! But, for my part, I am never so well pleased as when a judicious critic points out any defect to me; for what is the purpose of showing a work to a friend, if you don't mean to profit by his opinion?

_Sneer_. Very true.--Why, then, though I seriously admire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objection; which, if you'll give me leave, I'll mention.

_Sir Fret_. Sir, you can't oblige me more.

_Sneer_. I think it wants incident.

_Sir Fret_. Good G.o.d! you surprise me!--wants incident!

_Sneer_. Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few.

_Sir Fret_. Good G.o.d! Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment I have a more implicit deference. But I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded.--My dear Dangle, how does it strike you?

_Dang_. Really I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient; and the four first acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If, I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest rather falls off in the fifth.

_Sir Fret_. Rises, I believe you mean, sir.

_Dang_. No, I don't, upon my word.

_Sir Fret_. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul!--it certainly don't fall off, I a.s.sure you.--No, no; it don't fall off.

_Dang_. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in the same light?

_Mrs. Dang_. No, indeed, I did not.--I did not see a fault in any part of the play, from the beginning to the end.

_Sir Fret_. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges after all!

_Mrs. Dang_. Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing in the piece; but that I was afraid it was on the whole, a little too long.

_Sir Fret_. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration of time; or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out?

_Mrs. Dang_. O Lud! no.--I speak only with reference to the usual length of acting plays.

_Sir Fret_. Then I am very happy--very happy indeed-- because the play is a short play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady on a point of taste; but on these occasions, the watch, you know, is the critic.

_Mrs. Dang_. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. Dangle's drawling manner of reading it to me.

_Sir Fret_. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's quite another affair!--But I a.s.sure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you can spare me three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read you the whole, from beginning to end, with the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the music between the acts.

_Mrs. Dang_. I hope to see it on the stage next.

_Dang_. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours.

_Sir Fret_. The newspapers! Sir, they are the most villainous--licentious--abominable--infernal.--Not that I ever read them--no--I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper.

_Dang_. You are quite right; for it certainly must hurt an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take.

_Sir Fret_. No, quite the contrary! their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric--I like it of all things. An author's reputation is only in danger from their support.

_Sneer_. Why, that's true--and that attack, now, on you the other day-- _Sir Fret_. What? where?

_Dang_. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday: it was completely ill-natured, to be sure.

_Sir Fret_. Oh so much the better.--Ha! Ha! Ha! I wouldn't have it otherwise.

_Dang_. Certainly it is only to be laughed at; for-- _Sir Fret_. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you?