Our Stage and Its Critics | Page 7

to be toads; even musical comedies ought not to be criticized with spade strokes, although in connection with them it is a pity that a spade so rarely has been called by its proper name. Moreover, one may have an entirely unreasonable prejudice against the works of the particular dramatist. We all suffer from strange aversions in literary matters. There are readers of culture who find no pleasure in Borrow, and some nearly shriek at the mere name of Peacock and so on. In fact we have dislikes founded, or rather unfounded, upon the basis of Bussy Rabutin's lines:
"Je ne vous aime point, Hylas; Je n'en saurois dire la cause. Je sais seulement une chose. C'est que je ne vous aime pas."
Next comes an even more intimate personal element--the critic's condition. The day may have been vexing. The present indecent haste of the income-tax collector may have worried him. His dinner may have been bad. Perhaps he had to rush off without his coffee; new boots are a conceivable element; a bad seat in the theatre may annoy him; many managers give better places to their friends in the profession than to the critics. Before now critics have sat out a boisterous farce when suffering from an excruciating tooth-ache.
Moreover, some of the principal players may not be to his taste. There are artists of indisputable merit who are no more palatable to some of us than an untravelled cigar or wines from across the ocean. Think, then, of the unfortunate critic honestly endeavouring to make reasonable allowances for all the matters which may have affected him when forming his judgment.
Such elements are wickedly insidious; it is difficult to believe when one is bored that one would not be bored but for some such adventitious matter. The conscientious critic makes a great effort to be just under such circumstances, and there is great danger that he may out-Brutus Brutus--in the opposite direction. It is very galling, after writing a favourable notice on what seemed to be a tedious play, to have your fellow-workers ask why on earth you treated it so favourably. Consequently, it will be seen that is it often difficult even for the qualified to form a true judgment.
Assuming that the critic has formed what he considers a true judgment, and flatters himself that he is able to find language in which to express it accurately, the question arises how far he ought to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Praise, praise, praise," said Mr Pinero; and there is a fine maxim of Vauvenargues--"C'est un grand signe de m��diocrit�� de louer toujours mod��r��ment."
However, the question whether we are or, worse still, seem mere mediocrities does not greatly trouble most of us poor "brushers of noblemen's clothes"; by-the-by the expression quoted by Bacon might serve as an argument in a certain great controversy, if it be assumed that it was applied to the dramatic critics of his day. Yet unmerited praise on the whole does more harm than undeserved blame.
On the other hand, truth is wisely kept at the bottom of a well, for the world cannot stand much of it. Perhaps it is judicious in the critic sometimes to be a little more amiable than the truth, in order to encourage the beginner and the manager who has given him a chance, and also sometimes to insist disproportionately upon defects, so as to stir up a too complacent dramatist of reputation. Moreover, whilst the point is immaterial to the audience, the critic's expression of a judgment upon a particular piece must vary with the author, since, for instance, to censure without allowances the work of the tyro for faults of inexperience is obviously unreasonable, whilst one may easily praise with excess the mere dexterities of the trained pack. Taking all these matters into account, it will be seen that it is very difficult for the critic to do his duty, and yet truth will out sometimes in a criticism.
His Stock Phrases
There are moments when the critics think that it might almost be wise to begin their notices on a new play by dealing with the acting. For the criticism of the acting is the most trying part of our work, and though, as a rule, it does not occupy more than say a fourth of the article--if so much--it often takes as long to write as the rest. Indeed, the shorter it is the longer it takes, for the difficulty of nice employment of language is in direct ratio to the brevity of matter. With half-a-column in which to move about there is no trouble in finding finely contrasted adjectives and avoiding repetition of epithets.
We all feel--and correctly--that when the play is new our greatest energy should be devoted to it. Indeed, there is a strong