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Then you didn't sit spellbound by the little history of the Due d'Enghien? Florentia. I sat yawning. Heavens, what a piece! Amicia. Upon my word I liked it. The last act made me cry. Dorriforth. Wasn't it a curious, interesting specimen of some of the things that are worth trying: an attempt to sail closer to the real? Auberon. How much closer? The fiftieth part of a point it isn't calculable.
It's the refuge of observers who are no observers and critics who are no critics. With what on earth have we to do save his execution? Florentia. I don't in the least agree with you. Amicia. Are you very sure, my poor Dorriforth? Auberon. Give him rope and he'll hang himself. Dorriforth.
My acharnement is your little joke, and my contention is a little lesson in philosophy. Florentia. I prefer a lesson in taste. I had one the other night at the "Merry Wives." Dorriforth. If you come to that, so did I! Amicia. So she does spare an evening sometimes. Florentia.
Florentia. It was just like any other play I saw no difference. It had neither a plot, nor a subject, nor dialogue, nor situations, nor scenery, nor costumes, nor acting. Amicia. Then it was hardly, as you say, just like any other play. Auberon. Florentia should have said like any other bad'one. The only way it differed seemed to be that it was bad in theory as well as in fact. Amicia.
Amicia, the heiress of the earldom of Leicester, was the wife of Simon, Count de Montfort, an austere warrior, on whom fell the choice of Innocent III. to be leader of the so-called crusade against the unfortunate Albigenses.
One goes to the theatre just for the refreshment of seeing them happen in another way in symmetrical, satisfactory form, with unmistakable effect and just at the right moment. Dorriforth. It shows how the same cause may produce the most diverse consequences. In this truth lies the only hope of art. Auberon. Oh, art, art don't talk about art! Amicia. Mercy, we must talk about something!
I read a novel, I go to the theatre, to forget. Amicia. To forget what? Florentia. To forget life; to thro myself into something more beautiful more exciting: into fable and romance. Dorriforth. The attraction of fable and romance is that it's about us, about you and me or people whose power to suffer and to enjoy is the same as ours.
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