Our Stage and Its Critics | Page 9

in being forced into a conspiracy of silence about
the figure or face of a lady who would catch cold at kiss-in-the-ring, yet
is supposed at first sight to set Romeo's pulses throbbing madly, and
when the dear creatures whom we loved a quarter of a century ago
appear to us unsuitable for ingenue parts we feel that it is a terrible
breach of duty not to say so, yet it is painful to be candid.
Now and again the matter becomes ridiculous, and we venture to make
oblique suggestions; but even this is a poor accomplishment of our task.
Yet it seems appallingly rude and direct to say that Miss X. showed
intelligence and technical skill, but is too old or too fat or too ugly for
her part; and managers rely upon our reticence and upon pictures in
which the sun helps photographers in a game of deception--perhaps that
unfortunate victim of the November fogs may resent the suggestion of
conspiracy, and complain of fraudulent tricks with negatives--and so
the public is deceived. Also, undated photographs are

used--fraudulently. This is a very irksome matter, for our friends are
candid about our backwardness, and ask indignantly why we fail to
mention that Miss ---- is ugly enough to stop a clock, or that it is a long
day's walk round the jeune premier at the Footlights Theatre.
Something at least might be done by the managers to help us. They
ought to cut the references to the heroine's beauty when it is obvious
that she has none. It may be suggested that is this hard upon the plain
women who possess the mysterious gift of charm. The answer is that
no charming woman is ever plain, even if someone--Voltaire,
perhaps--spoke of "les laides charmeuses."
The list of difficult points is not exhausted. For the question arises
whether one ought to mention at all any acting that is not
extraordinarily good or bad. As a rule, mediocrity has to pass unnoticed
in this world; in most professions the person whose worth is not above
or below the average is rarely mentioned. Why should an exception be
made in case of a player? If we know that the performance of Miss X.
is no better or worse than would have been that of the average actress,
why should we torture our brains to find adjectives concerning her?
Perhaps in dealing with this, attention ought to be drawn to the fact that
the point really relates almost exclusively to criticisms of new plays.
When Hamlet is given, or any other classic drama, by a queer twist one
finds in fact that from a journalistic point of view the performance is of
more importance than the piece. We are not expected to add to the
intolerable mass of matter already written about the Prince; nobody
cares twopence what we write concerning the play, since we have
nothing to say that has not been said already, and by more important
people; and the curiosity of the public in this case relates only to the
acting and the setting.
The Circumstances under which he Writes
A little while ago the critic of an evening paper received a letter partly
in the following words:--"I am deeply grateful to you, but for you, I
should not have known that Réjane made a speech at the end of La
Souris. Such morning papers as I saw said nothing about it. Things

have changed sadly, you see. I write slowly, and I hate last acts; they
always spoil a play. I noticed that a little while ago you suggested that
it might be a good idea to begin a play with the last act; the idea is a
mere _hysteron-proteron_, absolutely preposterous, prae-post-erous."
This sounds as if the writer were the ghost of De Quincey.
"In the past I got my morning paper early enough to be able to send
down to the office a correction of any error in my conjectural notice of
the last act, and reception of the play, or even a report of the speech at
the end; and if the theatre had been burnt down, or the leading player
had fallen in a fit, I would have sent an account of it, so as not to lose
my berth for apparent inattention to business. There are editors who
think that they can get critics strong enough to sit out the whole of a
play. Now, alas! the morning papers do not help me."
Certainly there was a curious and pathetic humour about his position,
for one of the features of the modern journal is that the more
"up-to-date" the paper the staler the news. Once upon a time the
ordinary daily went to press at about half-past one; but now the printer's
devil is at rest