Our Stage and Its Critics | Page 6

is an earl and
the hero a commoner, such as a barrister or a doctor, the mere statement
of these facts is useful matter for your story. If the dramatist writes
about the kind of earl who belongs to that inner set of the aristocracy,
in the existence of which some of us innocently believe, how does he
set about his task?
Even when the ordinary playwright handles the ruck-and-run of the
"nobs," his acquaintance with them can hardly justify him in regarding
his studies as founded upon observation. To see people in the stalls and
meet them at public "functions," or the large entertainments of a
semi-private character which it is easy to penetrate, gives poor
opportunity for close scrutiny. Is there amongst the dramatists--and
novelists too--something akin to the system of the islanders who earned
a living by taking in one another's washing? Is there a vicious circle, in
which each and all accept as true what others have written? Do they
merely help themselves out of the common fund of ignorance?
Possibly this is based upon a delusion. The whole aristocracy may have
become so democratic that it is quite easy to study the most exclusive
at first hand, if you happen to be a successful dramatist, but very few of
the dramatic critics are successful dramatists.

The opportunities for the critic are limited except when a peeress
happens to have written a play, and even then a candid critic does not
get very far. Perhaps, too, if some inner circle exists there is no need to
study it; for a knowledge of the titled folk floating in the great
three-quarter world that is taking the place of Society may suffice, and
to have met a countess at a musical reception, of five hundred or so,
given by some millionaire amateur, or to have been on the board of a
catchpenny company with a baron, or to have suffered long at a charity
ball and obtained introductions from a ducal steward, or to have bought
a cup of bad tea at an Albert Hall bazaar from a marchioness whose
manners would shock a cook, is a sufficient acquaintance with the
customs, thoughts and ideals of all the inhabitants of Debrett, and
entitles one to present or to criticize the shyest member of the august
House that is now beginning to wonder what is going to happen next.
His Duty and Difficulties
The title is the Duty--not the duties--of a dramatic critic--the latter
would be too large a subject. Obviously his duty is to tell the truth.
How easy it sounds! How difficult it is to tell even the relative truth;
the absolute is out of the question. Suppose that the critic has come to
the conclusion that he knows the truth about a play, with what is he to
tell it? With language, of course--an appallingly bad piece of machinery,
which grows worse and worse every day. When a number of critics
have formed the same opinion about a piece, and all wish to say that it
is good--a very bad term to employ--one will call it good, another very
good; a third, exceedingly good; a fourth, great; a fifth, splendid, a
sixth, superb; and so on till some reckless language-monger uses the
state-occasion term--a "work of genius." How is the reader to guess that
they all mean the same thing? Moreover, if they were to use identical
words every reader would put a somewhat different meaning upon
them.
"One of my greatest difficulties," a famous physician once said, "lies in
the fact that to a great extent I have to rely upon a patient's description
of the nature and quantity of pain he or she has suffered from. One will
speak of pain where another employs the word agony; the third

complains of intense torture; a fourth describes it as intolerable anguish;
and a fifth says it hurts a little. Yet they all refer to the same thing. No
wonder we are often at sea."
The difficulty increases. Many new words are coined, but old ones are
rarely demonetised; they remain in circulation, defaced and worn, till
the precise image and superscription are barely recognizable. We
multiply negatives in order to get fine shades. If, then, the critic knows
the truth he is aware that he has no means of conveying it to the reader.
Wherefore some make little effort and indulge merely in fine writing.
Hence, too, some excuse for the common incivility of our friends when
they say to us, "Well, old man, I read your notice on the ----; tell me, is
it worth going to see?"
The difficulty of expressing an opinion is hardly less than that of
forming it; assume that the critic possesses all the qualifications, so far
as knowledge and the