A Wodehouse Miscellany | Page 9

and who shall say what will be the outcome?
Until Mr. Masters came on the scene there was just one thing which, like a salient fortress
in the midst of an enemy's advancing army, acted as a barrier to the youth of the country.
When one's son came to one and said, "Father, I shall not be able to fulfill your dearest
wish and start work in the fertilizer department. I have decided to become a poet,"
although one could no longer frighten him from his purpose by talking of garrets and
starvation, there was still one weapon left. "What about the rhymes, Willie?" you replied,
and the eager light died out of the boy's face, as he perceived the catch in what he had
taken for a good thing. You pressed your advantage. "Think of having to spend your life
making one line rhyme with another! Think of the bleak future, when you have used up
'moon' and 'June,' 'love' and 'dove,' 'May' and 'gay'! Think of the moment when you have
ended the last line but one of your poem with 'windows' or 'warmth' and have to buckle to,
trying to make the thing couple up in accordance with the rules! What then, Willie?"
Next day a new hand had signed on in the fertilizer department.
But now all that has changed. Not only are rhymes no longer necessary, but editors
positively prefer them left out. If Longfellow had been writing today he would have had
to revise "The Village Blacksmith" if he wanted to pull in that dollar a line. No editor
would print stuff like:
Under the spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands. The smith a brawny man is
he With large and sinewy hands.
If Longfellow were living in these hyphenated, free and versy days, he would find

himself compelled to take his pen in hand and dictate as follows:
In life I was the village smith, I worked all day But I retained the delicacy of my
complexion Because I worked in the shade of the chestnut tree Instead of in the sun Like
Nicholas Blodgett, the expressman. I was large and strong Because I went in for physical
culture And deep breathing And all those stunts. I had the biggest biceps in Spoon River.
Who can say where this thing will end? Vers libre is within the reach of all. A sleeping
nation has wakened to the realization that there is money to be made out of chopping its
prose into bits. Something must be done shortly if the nation is to be saved from this
menace. But what? It is no good shooting Edgar Lee Masters, for the mischief has been
done, and even making an example of him could not undo it. Probably the only hope lies
in the fact that poets never buy other poets' stuff. When once we have all become poets,
the sale of verse will cease or be limited to the few copies which individual poets will
buy to give to their friends.

MY LIFE AS A DRAMATIC CRITIC
I had always wanted to be a dramatic critic. A taste for sitting back and watching other
people work, so essential to the make-up of this sub-species of humanity, has always
been one of the leading traits in my character.
I have seldom missed a first night. No sooner has one periodical got rid of me than
another has had the misfortune to engage me, with the result that I am now the foremost
critic of the day, read assiduously by millions, fawned upon by managers, courted by
stagehands. My lightest word can make or mar a new production. If I say a piece is bad, it
dies. It may not die instantly. Generally it takes forty weeks in New York and a couple of
seasons on the road to do it, but it cannot escape its fate. Sooner or later it perishes. That
is the sort of man I am.
Whatever else may be charged against me, I have never deviated from the standard which
I set myself at the beginning of my career. If I am called upon to review a play produced
by a manager who is considering one of my own works, I do not hesitate. I praise that
play.
If an actor has given me a lunch, I refuse to bite the hand that has fed me. I praise that
actor's performance. I can only recall one instance of my departing from my principles.
That was when the champagne was corked, and the man refused to buy me another bottle.
As is only natural, I have met many interesting people since I embarked on my career. I
remember once lunching with rare Ben Jonson at the Mermaid Tavern--this would be
back in