I
will relate a little conversation which took place, shortly after the
publication of "First Plays," between myself and a very much more
eminent dramatist.
EMINENT DRAMATIST (kindly) Your book seems to have been well reviewed.
MYSELF (ungratefully). Not bad--by those who reviewed it. But I doubt
if it was noticed by more than three regular dramatic critics. And
considering that two of the plays in it had never been produced--
EMINENT DRAMATIST (amused by my innocence). My dear fellow, _you_
needn't complain. I published an unproduced play a little while ago,
and it didn't get a single notice from anybody.
Now I hope that, however slightly the conversations in the plays which
follow may move the dramatic critic, he will at least be disturbed by
this little dialogue. All of us who are interested in the theatre are
accustomed to read, and sometimes to make, ridiculous accusations
against the Theatrical Manager. We condemn the mercenary fellow
because he will not risk a loss of two or three thousand pounds on the
intellectual masterpiece of a promising young dramatist, preferring to
put on some contemptible but popular rubbish which is certain to fill
his theatre. But now we see that the dramatic critic, that stern
upholder of the best interests of the British Drama, will not himself
risk six shillings (and perhaps two or three hours of his time) in
order to read the intellectual masterpiece of the promising young
dramatist, and so to be able to tell us with authority whether the
Manager really _is_ refusing masterpieces or no.
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