ACT I.
SCENE I.—A Room in DANGLE’s House. Mr. and MRS. DANGLE discovered at breakfast, and reading newspapers.
DANGLE.
[Reading.] Brutus to Lord North.—Letter the second on the State of
the Army—Psha! To the first L dash D of the A dash Y.—Genuine
extract of a Letter from St. Kitt’s.—Coxheath
Intelligence.—It is now confidently asserted that Sir Charles
Hardy—Psha! nothing but about the fleet and the nation!—and I
hate all politics but theatrical politics.—Where’s the Morning
Chronicle?
MRS. DANGLE.
Yes, that’s your Gazette.
DANGLE.
So, here we have it.—[Reads.] Theatrical intelligence
extraordinary.—We hear there is a new tragedy in rehearsal at Drury Lane
Theatre, called the Spanish Armada, said to be written by Mr. Puff, a gentleman
well-known in the theatrical world. If we may allow ourselves to give credit to
the report of the performers, who, truth to say, are in general but indifferent
judges, this piece abounds with the most striking and received beauties of
modern composition.—So! I am very glad my friend Puff’s tragedy is
in such forwardness.—Mrs. Dangle, my dear, you will be very glad to hear
that Puff’s tragedy—
MRS. DANGLE.
Lord, Mr. Dangle, why will you plague me about such nonsense?—Now the
plays are begun I shall have no peace.—Isn’t it sufficient to make
yourself ridiculous by your passion for the theatre, without continually
teasing me to join you? Why can’t you ride your hobby-horse without
desiring to place me on a pillion behind you, Mr. Dangle?
DANGLE.
Nay, my dear, I was only going to read—
MRS. DANGLE.
No, no; you will never read anything that’s worth listening to. You hate
to hear about your country; there are letters every day with Roman signatures,
demonstrating the certainty of an invasion, and proving that the nation is
utterly undone. But you never will read anything to entertain one.
DANGLE.
What has a woman to do with politics, Mrs. Dangle?
MRS. DANGLE.
And what have you to do with the theatre, Mr. Dangle? Why should you affect the
character of a critic? I have no patience with you!—haven’t you
made yourself the jest of all your acquaintance by your interference in matters
where you have no business? Are you not called a theatrical Quidnunc, and a
mock Maecenas to second-hand authors?
DANGLE.
True; my power with the managers is pretty notorious. But is it no credit to
have applications from all quarters for my interest—from lords to
recommend fiddlers, from ladies to get boxes, from authors to get answers, and
from actors to get engagements?
MRS. DANGLE.
Yes, truly; you have contrived to get a share in all the plague and trouble of
theatrical property, without the profit, or even the credit of the abuse that
attends it.
DANGLE.
I am sure, Mrs. Dangle, you are no loser by it, however; you have all the
advantages of it. Mightn’t you, last winter, have had the reading of the
new pantomime a fortnight previous to its performance? And doesn’t Mr.
Fosbrook let you take places for a play before it is advertised, and set you
down for a box for every new piece through the season? And didn’t my
friend, Mr. Smatter, dedicate his last farce to you at my particular request,
Mrs. Dangle?
MRS. DANGLE.
Yes; but wasn’t the farce damned, Mr. Dangle? And to be sure it is
extremely pleasant to have one’s house made the motley rendezvous of all
the lackeys of literature; the very high ’Change of trading authors and
jobbing critics!—Yes, my drawing-room is an absolute register-office for
candidate actors, and poets without character.—Then to be continually
alarmed with misses and ma’ams piping hysteric changes on Juliets and
Dorindas, Pollys and Ophelias; and the very furniture trembling at the
probationary starts and unprovoked rants of would-be Richards and
Hamlets!—And what is worse than all, now that the manager has monopolized
the Opera House, haven’t we the signors and signoras calling here,
sliding their smooth semibreves, and gargling glib divisions in their
outlandish throats—with foreign emissaries and French spies, for aught I
know, disguised like fiddlers and figure dancers?
DANGLE.
Mercy! Mrs. Dangle!
MRS. DANGLE.
And to employ yourself so idly at such an alarming crisis as this
too—when, if you had the least spirit, you would have been at the head of
one of the Westminster associations—or trailing a volunteer pike in the
Artillery Ground! But you—o’ my conscience, I believe, if the
French were landed tomorrow, your first inquiry would be, whether they had
brought a theatrical troop with them.
DANGLE.
Mrs. Dangle, it does not signify—I say the stage is ‘the mirror of
nature’, and the actors are ‘the Abstract and brief Chronicles of
the Time’: and pray what can a man of sense study better?—Besides,
you will not easily persuade me that there is no credit or importance in being
at the head of a band of critics, who take upon them to decide for the whole
town, whose opinion and patronage all writers solicit, and whose recommendation
no manager dares refuse.
MRS. DANGLE.
Ridiculous!—Both managers and authors of the least merit laugh at your
pretensions.—The public is their critic—without whose fair
approbation they know no play can rest on the stage, and with whose applause
they welcome such attacks as yours, and laugh at the malice of them, where they
can’t at the wit.
DANGLE.
Very well, madam—very well!
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Mr. Sneer, sir, to wait on you.
DANGLE.
Oh, show Mr. Sneer up.—[Exit SERVANT.]—Plague on’t,
now we must appear loving and affectionate, or Sneer will hitch us into a
story.
MRS. DANGLE.
With all my heart; you can’t be more ridiculous than you are.
DANGLE.
You are enough to provoke—
Enter SNEER. Ha! my dear Sneer, I am vastly glad to see you.—My dear, here’s Mr. Sneer.
MRS. DANGLE.
Good-morning to you, sir.
DANGLE.
Mrs. Dangle and I have been diverting ourselves with the papers. Pray, Sneer,
won’t you go to Drury Lane Theatre the first night of Puff’s
tragedy?
SNEER.
Yes; but I suppose one shan’t be able to get in, for on the first night
of a new piece they always fill the house with orders to support it. But here,
Dangle, I have brought you two pieces, one of which you must exert yourself to
make the managers accept, I can tell you that; for’tis written by a
person of consequence.
DANGLE.
So! now my plagues are beginning.
SNEER.
Ay, I am glad of it, for now you’ll be happy. Why, my dear Dangle, it is
a pleasure to see how you enjoy your volunteer fatigue, and your solicited
solicitations.
DANGLE.
It’s a great trouble—yet, egad, it’s pleasant too.—Why,
sometimes of a morning I have a dozen people call on me at breakfast-time,
whose faces I never saw before, nor ever desire to see again.
SNEER.
That must be very pleasant indeed!
DANGLE.
And not a week but I receive fifty letters, and not a line in them about any
business of my own.
SNEER.
An amusing correspondence!
DANGLE.
[Reading.] Bursts into tears and exit.—What, is this a
tragedy?
SNEER.
No, that’s a genteel comedy, not a translation—only taken from the
French: it is written in a style which they have lately tried to run down; the
true sentimental, and nothing ridiculous in it from the beginning to the end.
MRS. DANGLE.
Well, if they had kept to that, I should not have been such an enemy to the
stage; there was some edification to be got from those pieces, Mr. Sneer!
SNEER.
I am quite of your opinion, Mrs. Dangle: the theatre, in proper hands, might
certainly be made the school of morality; but now, I am sorry to say it, people
seem to go there principally for their entertainment!
MRS. DANGLE.
It would have been more to the credit of the managers to have kept it in the
other line.
SNEER.
Undoubtedly, madam; and hereafter perhaps to have had it recorded, that in the
midst of a luxurious and dissipated age, they preserved two houses in the
capital, where the conversation was always moral at least, if not entertaining!
DANGLE.
Now, egad, I think the worst alteration is in the nicety of the
audience!—No double-entendre, no smart innuendo admitted; even
Vanbrugh and Congreve obliged to undergo a bungling reformation!
SNEER.
Yes, and our prudery in this respect is just on a par with the artificial
bashfulness of a courtesan, who increases the blush upon her cheek in an exact
proportion to the diminution of her modesty.
DANGLE.
Sneer can’t even give the public a good word! But what have we
here?—This seems a very odd—
SNEER.
Oh, that’s a comedy on a very new plan; replete with wit and mirth, yet
of a most serious moral! You see it is called The Reformed
House-breaker; where, by the mere force of humour, house-breaking is put in
so ridiculous a light, that if the piece has its proper run, I have no doubt
but that bolts and bars will be entirely useless by the end of the season.
DANGLE.
Egad, this is new indeed!
SNEER.
Yes; it is written by a particular friend of mine, who has discovered that the
follies and foibles of society are subjects unworthy the notice of the comic
muse, who should be taught to stoop only to the greater vices and blacker
crimes of humanity—gibbeting capital offences in five acts, and
pillorying petty larcenies in two.—In short, his idea is to dramatize the
penal laws, and make the stage a court of ease to the Old Bailey.
DANGLE.
It is truly moral.
Re-enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir.
DANGLE.
Beg him to walk up.—[Exit SERVANT.] Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful
Plagiary is an author to your own taste.
MRS. DANGLE.
I confess he is a favourite of mine, because everybody else abuses him.
SNEER.
Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judgment.
DANGLE.
But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, that’s the truth
on’t—though he’s my friend.
SNEER.
Never.—He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six
and thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a
free opinion on any of his works, can be exceeded only by the petulant
arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations.
DANGLE.
Very true, egad—though he’s my friend.
SNEER.
Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though, at the same
time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the
fiery ordeal of true criticism: yet he is so covetous of popularity, that he
had rather be abused than not mentioned at all.
DANGLE.
There’s no denying it—though he is my friend.
SNEER.
You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven’t you?
DANGLE.
Oh, yes; he sent it to me yesterday.
SNEER.
Well, and you think it execrable, don’t you?
DANGLE.
Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own—though he is my
friend—that it is one of the most—He’s
here—[Aside.]—finished and most admirable perform—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
[Without.] Mr. Sneer with him did you say?
Enter SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
DANGLE.
Ah, my dear friend!—Egad, we were just speaking of your
tragedy.—Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable!
SNEER.
You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful—never in your life.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
You make me extremely happy; for without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there
isn’t a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours and Mr.
Dangle’s.
MRS. DANGLE.
They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful; for it was but just now that—
DANGLE.
Mrs. Dangle!—Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dangle.—My friend Sneer
was rallying just now:—he knows how she admires you, and—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity than
to—[Aside.] A damned double-faced fellow!
DANGLE.
Yes, yes—Sneer will jest—but a better humoured—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Oh, I know—
DANGLE.
He has a ready turn for ridicule—his wit costs him nothing.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
No, egad—or I should wonder how he came by it. [Aside.]
MRS. DANGLE.
Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend. [Aside.]
DANGLE.
But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your play to the managers yet?—or can I
be of any service to you?
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
No, no, I thank you: I believe the piece had sufficient recommendation with
it.—I thank you though.—I sent it to the manager of Covent Garden
Theatre this morning.
SNEER.
I should have thought now, that it might have been cast (as the actors call it)
better at Drury Lane.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
O Lud! no—never send a play there while I live—hark’ee!
[Whispers SNEER.]
SNEER.
Writes himself!—I know he does.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
I say nothing—I take away from no man’s merit—am hurt at no
man’s good fortune—I say nothing.—But this I will
say—through all my knowledge of life, I have observed—that there is
not a passion so strongly rooted in the human heart as envy.
SNEER.
I believe you have reason for what you say, indeed.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Besides—I can tell you it is not always so safe to leave a play in the
hands of those who write themselves.
SNEER.
What, they may steal from them, hey, my dear Plagiary?
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Steal!—to be sure they may; and, egad, serve your best thoughts as
gypsies do stolen children, disfigure them to make ’em pass for their
own.
SNEER.
But your present work is a sacrifice to Melpomene, and he, you know,
never—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
That’s no security: a dexterous plagiarist may do anything. Why, sir, for
aught I know, he might take out some of the best things in my tragedy, and put
them into his own comedy.
SNEER.
That might be done, I dare be sworn.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
And then, if such a person gives you the least hint or assistance, he is
devilish apt to take the merit of the whole—
DANGLE.
If it succeeds.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ay, but with regard to this piece, I think I can hit that gentleman, for I can
safely swear he never read it.
SNEER.
I’ll tell you how you may hurt him more.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
How?
SNEER.
Swear he wrote it.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Plague on’t now, Sneer, I shall take it ill!—I believe you want to
take away my character as an author.
SNEER.
Then I am sure you ought to be very much obliged to me.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Hey!—sir!—
DANGLE.
Oh, you know, he never means what he says.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Sincerely then—do you like the piece?
SNEER.
Wonderfully!
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
But come, now, there must be something that you think might be mended,
hey?—Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you?
DANGLE.
Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing for the most part, to—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
With most authors it is just so, indeed; they are in general strangely
tenacious! But, for my part, I am never so well pleased as when a judicious
critic points out any defect to me; for what is the purpose of showing a work
to a friend, if you don’t mean to profit by his opinion?
SNEER.
Very true.—Why, then, though I seriously admire the piece upon the whole,
yet there is one small objection; which, if you’ll give me leave,
I’ll mention.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Sir, you can’t oblige me more.
SNEER.
I think it wants incident.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Good God! you surprise me!—wants incident!
SNEER.
Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Good God! Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment I have a
more implicit deference. But I protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only
apprehensive that the incidents are too crowded.—My dear Dangle, how does
it strike you?
DANGLE.
Really I can’t agree with my friend Sneer. I think the plot quite
sufficient; and the four first acts by many degrees the best I ever read or saw
in my life. If, I might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest
rather falls off in the fifth.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Rises, I believe you mean, sir.
DANGLE.
No, I don’t, upon my word.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul!—it certainly don’t fall off, I
assure you.—No, no; it don’t fall off.
DANGLE.
Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn’t you say it struck you in the same light?
MRS. DANGLE.
No, indeed, I did not.—I did not see a fault in any part of the play,
from the beginning to the end.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Upon my soul, the women are the best judges after all!
MRS. DANGLE.
Or, if I made any objection, I am sure it was to nothing in the piece; but that
I was afraid it was on the whole, a little too long.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration of time; or do you mean that the story
is tediously spun out?
MRS. DANGLE.
O Lud! no.—I speak only with reference to the usual length of acting
plays.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Then I am very happy—very happy indeed—because the play is a short
play, a remarkably short play. I should not venture to differ with a lady on a
point of taste; but on these occasions, the watch, you know, is the critic.
MRS. DANGLE.
Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. Dangle’s drawling manner of
reading it to me.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that’s quite another affair!—But I
assure you, Mrs. Dangle, the first evening you can spare me three hours and a
half, I’ll undertake to read you the whole, from beginning to end, with
the prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the music between the acts.
MRS. DANGLE.
I hope to see it on the stage next.
DANGLE.
Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid as easily of the newspaper
criticisms as you do of ours.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
The newspapers! Sir, they are the most
villainous—licentious—abominable—infernal.—Not that I
ever read them—no—I make it a rule never to look into a newspaper.
DANGLE.
You are quite right; for it certainly must hurt an author of delicate feelings
to see the liberties they take.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
No, quite the contrary! their abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric—I
like it of all things. An author’s reputation is only in danger from
their support.
SNEER.
Why, that’s true—and that attack, now, on you the other day—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
What? where?
DANGLE.
Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday: it was completely ill-natured, to be sure.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Oh so much the better.—Ha! Ha! Ha! I wouldn’t have it otherwise.
DANGLE.
Certainly it is only to be laughed at; for—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
You don’t happen to recollect what the fellow said, do you?
SNEER.
Pray, Dangle—Sir Fretful seems a little anxious—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
O Lud, no!—anxious!—not I—not the least.—I—but
one may as well hear, you know.
DANGLE.
Sneer, do you recollect?—[Aside to SNEER.] Make out something.
SNEER.
[Aside to DANGLE.] I will.—[Aloud.] Yes, yes, I remember
perfectly.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Well, and pray now—not that it signifies—what might the gentleman
say?
SNEER.
Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the slightest invention or original
genius whatever; though you are the greatest traducer of all other authors
living.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ha! ha! ha!—very good!
SNEER.
That as to comedy, you have not one idea of your own, he believes, even in your
commonplace-book—where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with
as much method as the ledger of the lost and stolen office.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ha! ha! ha!—very pleasant!
SNEER.
Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the skill even to steal with
taste:—but that you glean from the refuse of obscure volumes, where more
judicious plagiarists have been before you; so that the body of your work is a
composition of dregs and sentiments—like a bad tavern’s worst wine.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ha! ha!
SNEER.
In your more serious efforts, he says, your bombast would be less intolerable,
if the thoughts were ever suited to the expression; but the homeliness of the
sentiment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine language, like a
clown in one of the new uniforms!
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ha! ha!
SNEER.
That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the general coarseness of your
style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey; while your
imitations of Shakspeare resemble the mimicry of Falstaff’s page, and are
about as near the standard as the original.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Ha!
SNEER.
In short, that even the finest passages you steal are of no service to you; for
the poverty of your own language prevents their assimilating; so that they lie
on the surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering what it is not
in their power to fertilize!
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
[After great agitation.] Now, another person would be vexed at this!
SNEER.
Oh! but I wouldn’t have told you—only to divert you.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
I know it—I am diverted.—Ha! ha! ha!—not the least
invention!—Ha! ha! ha!—very good!—very good!
SNEER.
Yes—no genius! ha! ha! ha!
DANGLE.
A severe rogue! ha! ha! ha! But you are quite right, Sir Fretful, never to read
such nonsense.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
To be sure—for if there is anything to one’s praise, it is a
foolish vanity to be gratified at it; and, if it is abuse—why one is
always sure to hear of it from one damned good-natured friend or other!
Enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Sir, there is an Italian gentleman, with a French interpreter, and three young
ladies, and a dozen musicians, who say they are sent by Lady Rondeau and Mrs.
Fugue.
DANGLE.
Gadso! they come by appointment!—Dear Mrs. Dangle, do let them know
I’ll see them directly.
MRS. DANGLE.
You know, Mr. Dangle, I shan’t understand a word they say.
DANGLE.
But you hear there’s an interpreter.
MRS. DANGLE.
Well, I’ll try to endure their complaisance till you come. [Exit.]
SERVANT.
And Mr. Puff, sir, has sent word that the last rehearsal is to be this morning,
and that he’ll call on you presently.
DANGLE.
That’s true—I shall certainly be at home.—[Exit
SERVANT.]—now, Sir Fretful, if you have a mind to have justice done you
in the way of answer, egad, Mr. Puff’s your man.
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Psha! sir, why should I wish to have it answered, when I tell you I am pleased
at it?
DANGLE.
True, I had forgot that. But I hope you are not fretted at what Mr.
Sneer—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Zounds! no, Mr. Dangle; don’t I tell you these things never fret me in
the least?
DANGLE.
Nay, I only thought—
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, ’tis damned affronting in you to suppose
that I am hurt when I tell you I am not.
SNEER.
But why so warm, Sir Fretful?
SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY.
Gad’s life! Mr. Sneer, you are as absurd as Dangle: how often must I
repeat it to you, that nothing can vex me but your supposing it possible for me
to mind the damned nonsense you have been repeating to me!—let me tell
you, if you continue to believe this, you must mean to insult me,
gentlemen—and, then, your disrespect will affect me no more than the
newspaper criticisms—and I shall treat it with exactly the same calm
indifference and philosophic contempt—and so your servant. [Exit.]
Sneer.
Ha! ha! ha! poor Sir Fretful! Now will he go and vent his philosophy in
anonymous abuse of all modern critics and authors.—But, Dangle, you must
get your friend Puff to take me to the rehearsal of his tragedy.
DANGLE.
I’ll answer for’t, he’ll thank you for desiring it. But come
and help me to judge of this musical family: they are recommended by people of
consequence, I assure you.
SNEER.
I am at your disposal the whole morning!—but I thought you had been a
decided critic in music as well as in literature.
DANGLE.
So I am—but I have a bad ear. I’faith, Sneer, though, I am afraid
we were a little too severe on Sir Fretful—though he is my friend.
SNEER.
Why, ’tis certain, that unnecessarily to mortify the vanity of any writer
is a cruelty which mere dulness never can deserve; but where a base and
personal malignity usurps the place of literary emulation, the aggressor
deserves neither quarter nor pity.
DANGLE.
That’s true, egad!—though he’s my friend!
SCENE II.—A drawing-room in DANGLE’S House. MRS. DANGLE, SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO, SIGNORE PASTICCIO RITORNELLO, INTERPRETER, and MUSICIANS discovered.
INTERPRETER.
Je dis, madame, j’ai l’honneur to introduce et de vous demander
votre protection pour le Signor Pasticcio Ritornello et pour sa charmante
famille.
SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Ah! vosignoria, not vi preghiamo di favoritevi colla vostra protezione.
FIRST SIGNORA PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Vosignoria fatevi questi grazie.
SECOND SIGNORA PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Si, signora.
INTERPRETER.
Madame—me interpret.—C’est à dire—in
English—qu’ils vous prient de leur faire l’honneur—
MRS. DANGLE.
I say again, gentlemen, I don’t understand a word you say.
SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Questo signore spiegheró—
INTERPRETER.
Oui—me interpret.—Nous avons les lettres de recommendation pour
Monsieur Dangle de—
MRS. DANGLE.
Upon my word, sir, I don’t understand you.
SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
La Contessa Rondeau è nostra padrona.
THIRD SIGNORA PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Si, padre, et Miladi Fugue.
INTERPRETER.
O!—me interpret.—Madame, ils disent—in
English—Qu’ils ont l’honneur d’être protégés de ces
dames.—You understand?
MRS. DANGLE.
No, sir,—no understand!
Enter DANGLE and SNEER.
INTERPRETER.
Ah, voici, Monsieur Dangle!
ALL ITALIANS.
Ah! Signor Dangle!
MRS. DANGLE.
Mr. Dangle, here are two very civil gentlemen trying to make themselves
understood, and I don’t know which is the interpreter.
DANGLE.
Eh, bien! [The INTERPRETER and SIGNOR PASTICCIO here speak at
the same time.]
INTERPRETER.
Monsieur Dangle, le grand bruit de vos talens pour la critique, et de votre
intérêt avec messieurs les directeurs à tous les théâtres—
SIGNOR PASTICCIO RITORNELLO.
Vosignoria siete si famoso par la vostra conoscenza, e vostra interessa colla
le direttore da—
DANGLE.
Egad, I think the interpreter is the hardest to be understood of the two!
SNEER.
Why, I thought, Dangle, you had been an admirable linguist!
DANGLE.
So I am, if they would not talk so damned fast.
SNEER.
Well, I’ll explain that—the less time we lose in bearing them the
better—for that, I suppose, is what they are brought here for. [Speaks
to SIGNOR PASTICCIO— they sing trios, &c., DANGLE
beating out of time.] Enter SERVANT and whispers DANGLE.
DANGLE.
Show him up.—[Exit SERVANT.] Bravo! admirable! bravissimo!
admirablissimo!—Ah! Sneer! where will you find voices such as these in
England?
SNEER.
Not easily.
DANGLE.
But Puff is coming.—Signor and little signoras obligatissimo!—Sposa
Signora Danglena—Mrs. Dangle, shall I beg you to offer them some
refreshments, and take their address in the next room. [Exit MRS. DANGLE
with SIGNOR PASTICCIO, SIGNORE PASTICCIO, MUSICIANS, and
INTERPRETER, ceremoniously.]
Re-enter SERVANT.
SERVANT.
Mr. Puff, sir. [Exit.]
Enter PUFF.
DANGLE.
My dear Puff!
PUFF.
My dear Dangle, how is it with you?
DANGLE.
Mr. Sneer, give me leave to introduce Mr. Puff to you.
PUFF.
Mr. Sneer is this?—Sir, he is a gentleman whom I have long panted for the
honour of knowing—a gentleman whose critical talents and transcendent
judgment—
SNEER.
Dear Sir—
DANGLE.
Nay, don’t be modest, Sneer; my friend Puff only talks to you in the
style of his profession.
SNEER.
His profession.
PUFF.
Yes, sir; I make no secret of the trade I follow: among friends and brother
authors, Dangle knows I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise
myself viva voce.—I am, sir, a practitioner in panegyric, or, to
speak more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing, at your service—or
anybody else’s.
SNEER.
Sir, you are very obliging!—I believe, Mr. Puff, I have often admired
your talents in the daily prints.
PUFF.
Yes, sir, I flatter myself I do as much business in that way as any six of the
fraternity in town.—Devilish hard work all the summer, friend
Dangle,—never worked harder! But, hark’ee,—the winter
managers were a little sore, I believe.
DANGLE.
No; I believe they took it all in good part.
PUFF.
Ay! then that must have been affectation in them: for, egad, there were some of
the attacks which there was no laughing at!
SNEER.
Ay, the humorous ones.—But I should think, Mr. Puff, that authors would
in general be able to do this sort of work for themselves.
PUFF.
Why, yes—but in a clumsy way. Besides, we look on that as an
encroachment, and so take the opposite side. I dare say, now, you conceive half
the very civil paragraphs and advertisements you see to be written by the
parties concerned, or their friends? No such thing: nine out of ten
manufactured by me in the way of business.
SNEER.
Indeed!
PUFF.
Even the auctioneers now—the auctioneers, I say—though the rogues
have lately got some credit for their language—not an article of the
merit theirs: take them out of their pulpits, and they are as dull as
catalogues!—No, sir; ’twas I first enriched their
style—’twas I first taught them to crowd their advertisements with
panegyrical superlatives, each epithet rising above the other, like the bidders
in their own auction rooms! From me they learned to inlay their phraseology
with variegated chips of exotic metaphor: by me too their inventive faculties
were called forth:—yes, sir, by me they were instructed to clothe ideal
walls with gratuitous fruits—to insinuate obsequious rivulets into
visionary groves—to teach courteous shrubs to nod their approbation of
the grateful soil; or on emergencies to raise upstart oaks, where there never
had been an acorn; to create a delightful vicinage without the assistance of a
neighbour; or fix the temple of Hygeia in the fens of Lincolnshire!
DANGLE.
I am sure you have done them infinite service; for now, when a gentleman is
ruined, he parts with his house with some credit.
SNEER.
Service! if they had any gratitude, they would erect a statue to him; they
would figure him as a presiding Mercury, the god of traffic and fiction, with a
hammer in his hand instead of a caduceus.—But pray, Mr. Puff, what first
put you on exercising your talents in this way?
PUFF.
Egad, sir, sheer necessity!—the proper parent of an art so nearly allied
to invention. You must know, Mr. Sneer, that from the first time I tried my
hand at an advertisement, my success was such, that for some time after I led a
most extraordinary life indeed!
SNEER.
How, pray?
PUFF.
Sir, I supported myself two years entirely by my misfortunes.
SNEER.
By your misfortunes!
PUFF.
Yes, sir, assisted by long sickness, and other occasional disorders: and a very
comfortable living I had of it.
SNEER.
From sickness and misfortunes! You practised as a doctor and an attorney at
once?
PUFF.
No, egad; both maladies and miseries were my own.
SNEER.
Hey! what the plague!
DANGLE.
’Tis true, i’faith.
PUFF.
Hark’ee!—By advertisements—. Oh, I understand you.
PUFF.
And, in truth, I deserved what I got! for, I suppose never man went through
such a series of calamities in the same space of time. Sir, I was five times
made a bankrupt, and reduced from a state of affluence, by a train of
unavoidable misfortunes: then, sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I was
twice burned out, and lost my little all both times: I lived upon those fires a
month. I soon after was confined by a most excruciating disorder, and lost the
use of my limbs: that told very well; for I had the case strongly attested, and
went about to collect the subscriptions myself.
DANGLE.
Egad, I believe that was when you first called on me.
PUFF.
In November last?—O no; I was at that time a close prisoner in the
Marshalsea, for a debt benevolently contracted to serve a friend. I was
afterwards twice tapped for a dropsy, which declined into a very profitable
consumption. I was then reduced to—O no—then, I became a widow with
six helpless children, after having had eleven husbands pressed, and being left
every time eight months gone with child, and without money to get me into an
hospital!
SNEER.
And you bore all with patience, I make no doubt?
PUFF.
Why yes; though I made some occasional attempts at felo de se, but as I
did not find those rash actions answer, I left off killing myself very soon.
Well, sir, at last, what with bankruptcies, fires, gout, dropsies,
imprisonments, and other valuable calamities, having got together a pretty
handsome sum, I determined to quit a business which had always gone rather
against my conscience, and in a more liberal way still to indulge my talents
for fiction and embellishment, through my favourite channels of diurnal
communication—and so, sir, you have my history.
SNEER.
Most obligingly communicative indeed! and your confession, if published, might
certainly serve the cause of true charity, by rescuing the most useful channels
of appeal to benevolence from the cant of imposition. But, surely, Mr. Puff,
there is no great mystery in your present profession?
PUFF.
Mystery, sir! I will take upon me to say the matter was never scientifically
treated nor reduced to rule before.
SNEER.
Reduced to rule!
PUFF.
O Lud, sir, you are very ignorant, I am afraid!—Yes, sir,. puffing is of
various sorts; the principal are, the puff direct, the puff preliminary, the
puff collateral, the puff collusive, and the puff oblique, or puff by
implication. These all assume, as circumstances require, the various forms of
Letter to the Editor, Occasional Anecdote, Impartial Critique, Observation from
Correspondent, or Advertisement from the Party.
SNEER.
The puff direct, I can conceive—
PUFF.
O yes, that’s simple enough! For instance,—a new comedy or farce is
to be produced at one of the theatres (though by-the-by they don’t bring
out half what they ought to do)—the author, suppose Mr. Smatter, or Mr.
Dapper, or any particular friend of mine—very, well; the day before it is
to be performed, I write an account of the manner in which it was received; I
have the plot from the author, and only add—characters strongly
drawn—highly coloured—hand of a master—fund of genuine
humour—mine of invention—neat dialogue—Attic salt. Then for
the performance—Mr. Dodd was astonishingly great in the character of Sir
Harry. That universal and judicious actor, Mr. Palmer, perhaps never appeared
to more advantage than in the colonel;—but it is not in the power of
language to do justice to Mr. King: indeed he more than merited those repeated
bursts of applause which he drew from a most brilliant and judicious audience.
As to the scenery—the miraculous powers of Mr. De Loutherbourg’s
pencil are universally acknowledged. In short, we are at a loss which to admire
most, the unrivalled genius of the author, the great attention and liberality
of the managers, the wonderful abilities of the painter, or the incredible
exertions of all the performers.
SNEER.
That’s pretty well indeed, sir.
PUFF.
Oh, cool!—quite cool!—to what I sometimes do.
SNEER.
And do you think there are any who are influenced by this?
PUFF.
O Lud, yes, sir! the number of those who undergo the fatigue of judging for
themselves is very small indeed.
SNEER.
Well, sir, the puff preliminary.
PUFF.
O, that, sir, does well in the form of a caution. In a matter of gallantry
now—Sir Flimsy Gossamer wishes to be well with Lady Fanny Fete—he
applies to me—I open trenches for him with a paragraph in the Morning
Post.—It is recommended to the beautiful and accomplished Lady F four
stars F dash E to be on her guard against that dangerous character, Sir F dash
G; who, however pleasing and insinuating his manners may be, is certainly not
remarkable for the constancy of his attachments!—in italics. Here,
you see, Sir Flimsy Gossamer is introduced to the particular notice of Lady
Fanny, who perhaps never thought of him before—she finds herself publicly
cautioned to avoid him, which naturally makes her desirous of seeing him; the
observation of their acquaintance causes a pretty kind of mutual embarrassment;
this produces a sort of sympathy of interest, which if Sir Flimsy is unable to
improve effectually, he at least gains the credit of having their names
mentioned together, by a particular set, and in a particular way—which
nine times out of ten is the full accomplishment of modern gallantry.
DANGLE.
Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an adept in the business.
PUFF.
Now, Sir, the puff collateral is much used as an appendage to advertisements,
and may take the form of anecdote,—Yesterday, as the celebrated George
Bonmot was sauntering down St. James’s Street, he met the lively Lady
Mary Myrtle coming out of the park:—‘Good God, Lady Mary, I’m
surprised to meet you in a white jacket,—for I expected never to have
seen you, but in a full-trimmed uniform and a light horseman’s
cap!’—‘Heavens, George, where could you have learned
that?’—‘Why,’ replied the wit, ‘I just saw a
print of you, in a new publication called the Camp Magazine; which, by-the-by,
is a devilish clever thing, and is sold at No. 3, on the right hand of the way,
two doors from the printing-office, the corner of Ivy Lane, Paternoster Row,
price only one shilling.’
SNEER.
Very ingenious indeed!
PUFF.
But the puff collusive is the newest of any; for it acts in the disguise of
determined hostility. It is much used by bold booksellers and enterprising
poets.—An indignant correspondent observes, that the new poem called
Beelsebub’s Cotillon, or Proserpine’s Fête Champêtre, is one of the
most unjustifiable performances he ever read. The severity with which certain
characters are handled is quite shocking: and as there are many descriptions in
it too warmly coloured for female delicacy, the shameful avidity with which
this piece is bought by all people of fashion is a reproach on the taste of the
times, and a disgrace to the delicacy of the age. Here you see the two
strongest inducements are held forth; first, that nobody ought to read it; and
secondly, that everybody buys it: on the strength of which the publisher boldly
prints the tenth edition, before he had sold ten of the first; and then
establishes it by threatening himself with the pillory, or absolutely indicting
himself for scan. mag.
DANGLE.
Ha! ha! ha!—’gad, I know it is so.
PUFF.
As to the puff oblique, or puff by implication, it is too various and extensive
to be illustrated by an instance: it attracts in titles and resumes in patents;
it lurks in the limitation of a subscription, and invites in the assurance of
crowd and incommodation at public places; it delights to draw forth concealed
merit, with a most disinterested assiduity; and sometimes wears a countenance
of smiling censure and tender reproach. It has a wonderful memory for
parliamentary debates, and will often give the whole speech of a favoured
member with the most flattering accuracy. But, above all, it is a great dealer
in reports and suppositions. It has the earliest intelligence of intended
preferments that will reflect honour on the patrons; and embryo promotions of
modest gentlemen, who know nothing of the matter themselves. It can hint a
ribbon for implied services in the air of a common report; and with the
carelessness of a casual paragraph, suggest officers into commands, to which
they have no pretension but their wishes. This, sir, is the last principal
class of the art of puffing—an art which I hope you will now agree with
me is of the highest dignity, yielding a tablature of benevolence and public
spirit; befriending equally trade, gallantry, criticism, and politics: the
applause of genius—the register of charity—the triumph of
heroism—the self-defence of contractors—the fame of
orators—and the gazette of ministers.
SNEER.
Sir, I am completely a convert both to the importance and ingenuity of your
profession; and now, sir, there is but one thing which can possibly increase my
respect for you, and that is, your permitting me to be present this morning at
the rehearsal of your new trage—
PUFF.
Hush, for heaven’s sake!—My tragedy!—Egad, Dangle, I
take this very ill: you know how apprehensive I am of being known to be the
author.
DANGLE.
I’faith I would not have told—but it’s in the papers, and
your name at length in the Morning Chronicle.
PUFF.
Ah! those damned editors never can keep a secret I—Well, Mr. Sneer, no
doubt you will do me great honour—I shall be infinitely
happy—highly flattered—Dang. I believe it must be near the
time—shall we go together?
PUFF.
No; it will, not be yet this hour, for they are always late at that theatre:
besides, I must meet you there, for I have some little matters here to send to
the papers, and a few paragraphs to scribble before I go.—[Looking at
memorandums.] Here is A conscientious Baker, on the subject of the Army
Bread; and a Detester of visible Brick-work, in favour of the new invented
Stucco; both in the style of Junius, and promised for tomorrow. The Thames
navigation too is at a stand. Misomud or Anti-shoal must go to work again
directly.—Here too are some political memorandums—I see; ay—
To take Paul Jones and get the Indiamen out of the Shannon—reinforce Byron—compel the Dutch to—so!—I must do that in the evening papers, or reserve it for the Morning Herald; for I know that I have undertaken tomorrow, besides, to establish the unanimity of the fleet in the Public Advertiser, and to shoot Charles Fox in the Morning Post.—So, egad, I ha’n’t a moment to lose.
DANGLE.
Well, we’ll meet in the Green Room. [Exeunt severally.