The Dramatist; or Stop Him Who Can! Part 1

The Dramatist; or Stop Him Who Can!

by Frederick Reynolds.

REMARKS.

Plays of former times were written to be read, not seen. Dramatic authors succeeded in their aim; their works were placed in libraries, and the theatres were deserted.--Now, plays are written to be seen, not read--and present authors gain their views; for they and the managers are enriched, and the theatres crowded.

To be both seen and read at the present day, is a degree of honour, which, perhaps, not one comic dramatist can wholly boast, except Shakspeare. Exclusive of his, scarcely any of the very best comedies of the best of former bards will now attract an audience: yet the genius of ancient writers was a.s.sisted by various tales, for plots, of which they have deprived the moderns; they had, besides, the privilege to write without either political or moral restraint. Uncurbed by law or delicacy, they wrote at random; and at random wrote some pages worthy posterity--but along with these, they produced others, which disgrace the age that reprints and circulates them.

It might be deemed suspicious to insinuate, that those persons, perhaps, who so vehemently exclaim against modern dramas, give up with reluctance the old prerogative of listening to wit and repartee, which would make the refined hearer of the present day blush, and the moral auditor shudder.

To those who can wisely bear with the faults of their own time, nor think all that is good is gone by, the representation of the present comedy will give high entertainment; particularly in those scenes in which Vapid is concerned.--Reynolds could hardly mistake drawing a faithful portrait of this character, for it is said--he sat for himself.

Yet those, who expect to be highly delighted with "The Dramatist," must bring with them to the theatre a proper acquaintance with the stage, and also of its power over certain of its votaries.

If attraction, if bursts of applause, and still less equivocal approbation, bursts of laughter, const.i.tute perfect success to a comic writer, Mr Reynolds, in this, as well as in other of his comedies, has been preeminently successful.

In this comedy, however, and, perhaps, in one or two more he has written, there is an obstacle to his independent merit as an author--an obstacle which too many dramatic writers willingly place in their path to lasting reputation. He has written for one particular actor to support his play--Lewis--more worthy to be thus considered than almost any other performer: but here his very skill gives the alarm--for Lewis possesses such unaffected spirit on the stage, a kind of vivid fire, which tempers burlesque with nature, or nature with burlesque, so happily, that it cannot be hoped any other man will easily support those characters written purposely for him.

Be that as it may--when Reynolds can no more enliven a theatre by his Dramatist, this comedy will grow dull in excellent company--for Congreve's "Way of the World" was hissed, it is said, from a London stage, the last time it was acted, for insipidity.

DRAMATIS PERSONae.

LORD SCRATCH _Mr Quick._ HARRY NEVILLE _Mr Holman._ FLORIVILLE _Mr Blanchard._ WILLOUGHBY _Mr Macready._ ENNUI _Mr Munden._ PETER _Mr Thompson._ VAPID _Mr Lewis._ SERVANT _Mr Evatt._

LOUISA COURTNEY _Miss Brunton._ LADY WAITFOR'T _Mrs Webb._ LETTY _Miss Brangin._ MARIANNE _Mrs Wells._

_SCENE,--Bath._

THE DRAMATIST.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

_The Grove.--LADY WAITFOR'T'S House._

_Enter MARIANNE, and LETTY, from the House._

_Mari._ But I tell you I will come out--I didn't come to Bath to be confined, nor I won't--I hate all their company, but sweet Miss Courtney's.

_Letty._ I declare, Miss Marianne, you grow worse and worse every day, your country manners will be the ruin of you.

_Mari._ Don't you talk about that, Letty--It was a shame to bring me up in the country--if I had been properly taken care of, I might have done great things--I might have married the poet I danced with at the ball--But it's all over now.--I shall never get a husband, and, what's worse, my aunt did it on purpose.--She ruined me, Letty, that n.o.body else might.

_Letty._ How you talk!--I hope Miss Courtney hasn't taught you all this?

_Mari._ No,--she's a dear creature,--she has taught me many things; but nothing improper, I'm sure.

_Letty._ Pray, has she taught you why she never plays any tune but the one we heard just now?

_Mari._ Yes--and if you'll keep it a secret, I'll tell you, Letty; Mr Harry Neville taught it her last summer,--and now she is always playing it, because it puts her in mind of the dear man;--when it is ended, don't you observe how she sighs from the bottom of her dear little heart?

_Letty._ Why, I thought they had quarrelled?

_Mari._ So they have--she won't see him, and I believe my aunt, Lady Waitfor't, has been the occasion of it;--poor Mr Neville!--I wish I could a.s.sist him, for indeed, Letty, I always pity any body that is crossed in love--it may be one's own case one day or other, you know.

_Letty._ True--and for the same reason, I suppose, you rejoice when it is successful.--I'm sure now the intended marriage of Lady Waitfor't and Lord Scratch gives you great pleasure.

_Mari._ What! the country gentleman who has lately come to his t.i.tle?

No, if you'll believe me, I don't like him at all,--he's a sour old fellow--is always abusing our s.e.x, and thinks there is only one good woman under heaven:--now, I'm sure that's a mistake, for I know I'm a good woman, and I think, Letty, you are another.

_Letty._ Yes,--I hope so, though I confess I think your aunt is better than either of us.

_Mari._ More shame for you--she is a woman of sentiment, and hums you over with her flourishes about purity, and feelings.--Feelings!--'faith, she ought to be ashamed of herself--no other woman would talk in that manner.

_Letty._ You mistake her--she is a woman of virtue, and can't help feeling for the vices and misfortunes of others.

_Mari._ Then why can't she do as I have done, Letty? keep her feelings to herself--If I had given way to them half so much as she has--Oh Lord!

I don't know what might have been the consequence.

_Letty._ For shame! You never hear Lady Waitfor't speak ill of any body.

_Mari._ No,--How should she, when she talks of n.o.body but herself?

_Letty._ Well, your opinion is of little weight; my Lord sees her merit, and is come to Bath on purpose to marry her--he thinks her a prodigy of goodness.

_Mari._ Then, pray let him have her--every fool knows so, to be sure he does, Letty, that a prodigy of goodness is a very rare thing;--but when he finds her out!--'faith, it will be a rare joke, when he finds her out.

_Letty._ Shameful, Miss Marianne! do speak a little intelligibly, and remember your aunt's favourite observation.

_Mari._ What is it?--I have forgot.

_Letty._ That good sentiments are always plain.

_Mari._ Yes,--so are good women,--bid her remember that, Letty.