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Precious that must be to the sincere spirits on the stage who are conscious of all the other things formidable things that rise against them. Amicia. What other things do you mean? Dorriforth.
Why not use bravely and intelligently every resource of which the stage disposes? What else was Richard Wagner's great theory, in producing his operas at Bayreuth? Dorriforth. Why not, indeed? That would be the ideal. To have the picture complete at the same time the figures do their part in producing the particular illusion required what a perfection and what a joy!
A reading, as they say, either commends itself to one's sense of truth or it doesn't. In the one case Dorriforth. In the one case I recognize even or especially when the presumption may have been against the particular attempt, a consummate illustration of what art can do. In the other I moralize indulgently upon human rashness.
Dorriforth heard this, standing silently by, with a manly scorn upon his countenance; but on Miss Milner's struggling to release her hand, which Lord Frederick was devouring with kisses, with an instantaneous impulse he rushed forward and struck him a violent blow in the face.
It may be true I don't say it is! of two or three good-natured playhouses in London. It isn't true how can it be? of the provincial theatres or of the others in the capital. Put it even that they would be all scenery if they could; they can't, poor things so they have to provide acting. Dorriforth. They have to, fortunately; but what do we hear of it? Florentia.
Did she by any chance suppose that he would be able to modify her husband's violent feeling? "If I am to say the truth, Charles," said Mr. Dorriforth mildly, "and you would not have me conceal my sentiments, then I believe the time will come when even you will be reconciled to this marvellous invention.
But where do you draw the line and fix the limit? What is the exact dose? Dorriforth. It's a question of taste and tact. Florentia. And did you find taste and tact in that coal-hole of the Théâtre Libre? Dorriforth. Coal-hole is again your joke.
She had been visiting at Bath when her father died. Therefore, Mr. Dorriforth, together with Miss Woodley, the middle-aged niece of the widow lady, Mrs. Horton, who kept his house, journeyed midway to meet her.
Gracious, what you see in things! Don't you suppose they were paid? Amicia. I know nothing about it. I liked their shabbiness they had only what was indispensable in the way of dress and scenery. That often pleases me: the imagination, in certain cases, is more finely persuaded by the little than by the much. Dorriforth. I see what Amicia means. Florentia.
In other words, we live their experience, for the time, and that's hardly escaping from life. Florentia. I'm not at all particular as to what you call it. Call it an escape from the common, the prosaic, the immediate. Dorriforth. You couldn't put it better. That's the life that art, with Auberon's permission, gives us; that's the distinction it confers.
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