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Updated: June 23, 2025
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.
Auberon. Never, never: it's the same old stage. The change is in ourselves. Florentia. Well, I never would have given an evening to what we have just seen. If one could have put it in between luncheon and tea, well enough. But one's evenings are too precious. Dorriforth. Florentia. I mean too precious for that sort of thing. Auberon.
The charm is the recognition of what we know, what we feel. Dorriforth. See already how you differ. What we surrender ourselves to is the touch of nature, the sense of life. Amicia. The first thing is to believe. Florentia. The first thing, on the contrary, is to disbelieve. Auberon. Lord, listen to them! Dorriforth. The first thing is to folio to care. Florentia.
Dorriforth. Auberon hates generalizations. Nevertheless I make bold to say that we go to the theatre in the same spirit in which we read a novel, some of us to find one thing and some to find another; and according as we look for the particular thing we find it. Auberon. That's a profound remark. Florentia. We go to find amusement: that, surely, is what we all go for. Amicia.
How do you mean, what do we hear of it? Dorriforth. In what trumpet of fame does it reach us? They do what they can, the performers Auberon alludes to, and they are brave souls. But I am speaking of the conspicuous cases, of the exhibitions that draw. Florentia. There is good acting that draws; one could give you names and places. Dorriforth. I have already guessed those you mean.
The artistic effect, as a whole, is so welded together that you can't pick out the parts. Dorriforth. Precisely; that's what it is in the best cases, and some examples are wonderfully clever. Florentia. Then what fault do you find? Dorriforth. Simply this that the whole is a pictorial whole, not a dramatic one.
"Come home to tea," Florentia said to certain friends who had stopped to speak to her in the lobby of the little theatre in Soho they had been present at a day performance by the company of the Theatre Libre, transferred for a week from Paris; and three of these Auberon and Dorriforth, accompanying Amicia turned up so expeditiously that the change of scene had the effect of being neatly executed.
They were both initiated in all love's delicious mysteries by their respective parents. My lovely little Florentia, for we christened her in my adored wife's name Italianized, which became familiarly Entee, was a great comfort to us. From childhood she always came to cuddle us in bed before we rose.
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.
Here in the choir is a series of frescos by Masolino da Panicale, the master of Masaccio, who painted them about the year 1428. "Masolinus de Florentia pinxit" decides their authorship. The histories of the Virgin, St. Stephen, and St. Lawrence are represented; but the injuries of time and neglect have been so great that it is difficult to judge them fairly.
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