No More Learning

If it succeeds.
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. How?
_Sneer_. Swear he wrote it.
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. Hey! --sir! --
_Dang_. Oh, you know, he never means what he says.
_Sir Fret_. Sincerely then--do you like the piece?
_Sneer_. Wonderfully!
_Sir Fret_. But come, now, there must be something that you
think might be mended, hey? --Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you?
_Dang_. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing for the
most part, to--
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. Sir, you can't oblige me more.
_Sneer_. I think it wants incident.
_Sir Fret_. Good God! you surprise me! --wants incident!
_Sneer_. Yes; I own I think the incidents are too few.
_Sir Fret_. 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?
_Dang_. 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 Fret_. Rises, I believe you mean, sir.
_Dang_. No, I don't, upon my word.
_Sir Fret_. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul! --it certainly
don't fall off, I assure you. --No, no; it don't fall off.
_Dang_. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it struck you in
the same light?
_Mrs. Dang_. No, indeed, I did not. --I did not see a fault
in any part of the play, from the beginning to the end.
_Sir Fret_. Upon my soul, the women are the best judges
after all!
_Mrs. Dang_. 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 Fret_. Pray, madam, do you speak as to duration of
time; or do you mean that the story is tediously spun out?
_Mrs. Dang_. O Lud! no. --I speak only with reference to the
usual length of acting plays.
_Sir Fret_. 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. Dang_. Then, I suppose, it must have been Mr. Dangle's
drawling manner of reading it to me.
_Sir Fret_. 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. Dang_. I hope to see it on the stage next.
_Dang_. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get rid
as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours.
_Sir Fret_. 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.
_Dang_. You are quite right; for it certainly must hurt an
author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take.
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. What? where?
_Dang_. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday: it was
completely ill-natured, to be sure.
_Sir Fret_. Oh so much the better. --Ha! Ha! Ha! I wouldn't
have it otherwise.
_Dang_. Certainly it is only to be laughed at; for--
_Sir Fret_. You don't happen to recollect what the fellow
said, do you?
_Sneer_. Pray, Dangle--Sir Fretful seems a little anxious--
_Sir Fret_. O Lud, no! --anxious! --not I--not the least. --
I--but one may as well hear, you know.
_Dang_. Sneer, do you recollect? --[_Aside to_ SNEER. ]
Make out something.
_Sneer_. [_Aside to_ DANGLE. ] I will. --[_Aloud_. ]
Yes, yes, I remember perfectly.
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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 Fret_. [_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 Fret_. 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!
_Dang_. A severe rogue! ha! ha! ha! But you are quite right,
Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense.
_Sir Fret_.
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.
_Ser_. 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.
_Dang_. Gadso! they come by appointment! --Dear Mrs. Dangle,
do let them know I'll see them directly.
_Mrs. Dang_. You know, Mr. Dangle, I shan't understand a
word they say.
_Dang_. But you hear there's an interpreter.
_Mrs. Dang_. Well, I'll try to endure their complaisance
till you come.
[_Exit_. ]
_Ser_. And Mr. Puff, sir, has sent word that the last
rehearsal is to be this morning, and that he'll call on you
presently.
_Dang_. 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 Fret_. Psha! sir, why should I wish to have it
answered, when I tell you I am pleased at it?
_Dang_. True, I had forgot that. But I hope you are not
fretted at what Mr. Sneer--
_Sir Fret_. Zounds! no, Mr. Dangle; don't I tell you these
things never fret me in the least?
_Dang_. Nay, I only thought--
_Sir Fret_. 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 Fret_. 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.
_Dang_. 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.
_Dang_. 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.
_Dang_. 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_.
_Interp_. 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 Past_. Ah! vosignoria, not vi preghiamo di
favoritevi colla vostra protezione.
_1 Signora Past_. Vosignoria fatevi questi grazie.
_2 Signora Past_. Si, signora.
_Interp_. Madame--me interpret. --C'est à dire--in English--
qu'ils vous prient de leur faire l'honneur--
_Mrs. Dang_. I say again, gentlemen, I don't understand a
word you say.
_Signor Past_. Questo signore spiegheró--
_Interp_. Oui--me interpret. --Nous avons les lettres de
recommendation pour Monsieur Dangle de--
_Mrs. Dang_. Upon my word, sir, I don't understand you.
_Signor Past_. La Contessa Rondeau è nostra padrona.
_3 Signora Past_. Si, padre, et Miladi Fugue.
_Interp_. O! --me interpret. --Madame, ils disent--in English--Qu'ils
ont l'honneur d'être protégés de ces dames. --You
understand?
_Mrs. Dang_. No, sir,--no understand!
_Enter_ DANGLE _and_ SNEER.
_Interp_. Ah, voici, Monsieur Dangle!
_All Italians_. Ah! Signor Dangle!
_Mrs. Dang_. Mr. Dangle, here are two very civil gentlemen
trying to make themselves understood, and I don't know which is
the interpreter.
_Dang_. Eh, bien!
[_The_ INTERPRETER _and_ SIGNOR PASTICCIO _here speak
at the same time_. ]
_Interp_. Monsieur Dangle, le grand bruit de vos talens pour
la critique, et de votre intérêt avec messieurs les directeurs à
tous les théâtres--
_Signor Past_. Vosignoria siete si famoso par la vostra
conoscenza, e vostra interessa colla le direttore da--
_Dang_. 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!
_Dang_. 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.
_Dang_. Show him up. --[_Exit_ SERVANT. ] Bravo!
admirable! bravissimo! admirablissimo! --Ah! Sneer! where will you
find voices such as these in England?
_Sneer_. Not easily.
_Dang_. 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.
_Ser_. Mr. Puff, sir. [_Exit_. ]
_Enter_ PUFF.
_Dang_. My dear Puff!
_Puff_. My dear Dangle, how is it with you?
_Dang_. 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--
_Dang_. 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.
_Dang_. 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!