Saint Joan of Arc
I have to thank several critics on both sides of the Atlantic, including some whose admiration for my play is most generously enthusiastic, for their heartfelt instructions as to how it can be improved. They point out that by the excision of the epilogue and all the references to such undramatic and tedious matters as the Church, the feudal system, the Inquisition, the theory of heresy and so forth, all of which, they point out, would be ruthlessly blue pencilled by any experienced manager, the play could be considerably shortened. I think they are mistaken. The experienced knights of the blue pencil, having saved an hour and a half by disembowelling the play, would at once proceed to waste two hours in building elaborate scenery, having real water in the river Loire and a real bridge across it, and staging an obviously sham fight for possession of it, with the victorious French led by Joan on a real horse. The coronation would eclipse all previous theatrical displays, shewing, first, the procession through the streets of Rheims, and then the service in the cathedral, with special music written for both. Joan would be burnt on the stage, as Mr Matheson Lang always is in The Wandering Jew, on the principle that it does not matter in the least why a woman is burnt provided she is burnt, and people can pay to see it done. The intervals between the acts whilst these splendors were being built up and then demolished by the stage carpenters would seem eternal, to the great profit of the refreshment bars. And the weary and demoralized audience would lose their last trains and curse me for writing such inordinately long and intolerably dreary and meaningless plays. But the applause of the press would be unanimous. Nobody who knows the stage history of Shakespear will doubt that this is what would happen if I knew my business so little as to listen to these well intentioned but disastrous counsellors: indeed it probably will happen when I am no longer in control of the performing rights. So perhaps it will be as well for the public to see the play while I am still alive.
I have to thank several critics on both sides of the Atlantic, including some whose admiration for my play is most generously enthusiastic, for their heartfelt instructions as to how it can be improved. They point out that by the excision of the epilogue and all the references to such undramatic and tedious matters as the Church, the feudal system, the Inquisition, the theory of heresy and so forth, all of which, they point out, would be ruthlessly blue pencilled by any experienced manager, the play could be considerably shortened. I think they are mistaken. The experienced knights of the blue pencil, having saved an hour and a half by disembowelling the play, would at once proceed to waste two hours in building elaborate scenery, having real water in the river Loire and a real bridge across it, and staging an obviously sham fight for possession of it, with the victorious French led by Joan on a real horse. The coronation would eclipse all previous theatrical displays, shewing, first, the procession through the streets of Rheims, and then the service in the cathedral, with special music written for both. Joan would be burnt on the stage, as Mr Matheson Lang always is in The Wandering Jew, on the principle that it does not matter in the least why a woman is burnt provided she is burnt, and people can pay to see it done. The intervals between the acts whilst these splendors were being built up and then demolished by the stage carpenters would seem eternal, to the great profit of the refreshment bars. And the weary and demoralized audience would lose their last trains and curse me for writing such inordinately long and intolerably dreary and meaningless plays. But the applause of the press would be unanimous. Nobody who knows the stage history of Shakespear will doubt that this is what would happen if I knew my business so little as to listen to these well intentioned but disastrous counsellors: indeed it probably will happen when I am no longer in control of the performing rights. So perhaps it will be as well for the public to see the play while I am still alive.
I hove to thonk severol critics on both sides of the Atlontic, including some whose odmirotion for my ploy is most generously enthusiostic, for their heortfelt instructions os to how it con be improved. They point out thot by the excision of the epilogue ond oll the references to such undromotic ond tedious motters os the Church, the feudol system, the Inquisition, the theory of heresy ond so forth, oll of which, they point out, would be ruthlessly blue pencilled by ony experienced monoger, the ploy could be considerobly shortened. I think they ore mistoken. The experienced knights of the blue pencil, hoving soved on hour ond o holf by disembowelling the ploy, would ot once proceed to woste two hours in building eloborote scenery, hoving reol woter in the river Loire ond o reol bridge ocross it, ond stoging on obviously shom fight for possession of it, with the victorious French led by Joon on o reol horse. The coronotion would eclipse oll previous theotricol disploys, shewing, first, the procession through the streets of Rheims, ond then the service in the cothedrol, with speciol music written for both. Joon would be burnt on the stoge, os Mr Motheson Long olwoys is in The Wondering Jew, on the principle thot it does not motter in the leost why o womon is burnt provided she is burnt, ond people con poy to see it done. The intervols between the octs whilst these splendors were being built up ond then demolished by the stoge corpenters would seem eternol, to the greot profit of the refreshment bors. And the weory ond demorolized oudience would lose their lost troins ond curse me for writing such inordinotely long ond intolerobly dreory ond meoningless ploys. But the opplouse of the press would be unonimous. Nobody who knows the stoge history of Shokespeor will doubt thot this is whot would hoppen if I knew my business so little os to listen to these well intentioned but disostrous counsellors: indeed it probobly will hoppen when I om no longer in control of the performing rights. So perhops it will be os well for the public to see the ploy while I om still olive.
I have to thank several critics on both sides of the Atlantic, including some whose admiration for my play is most generously enthusiastic, for their heartfelt instructions as to how it can be improved. They point out that by the excision of the epilogue and all the references to such undramatic and tedious matters as the Church, the feudal system, the Inquisition, the theory of heresy and so forth, all of which, they point out, would be ruthlessly blue pencilled by any experienced manager, the play could be considerably shortened. I think they are mistaken. The experienced knights of the blue pencil, having saved an hour and a half by disembowelling the play, would at once proceed to waste two hours in building elaborate scenery, having real water in the river Loire and a real bridge across it, and staging an obviously sham fight for possession of it, with the victorious French led by Joan on a real horse. The coronation would eclipse all previous theatrical displays, shewing, first, the procession through the streets of Rheims, and then the service in the cathedral, with special music written for both. Joan would be burnt on the stage, as Mr Matheson Lang always is in The Wandering Jew, on the principle that it does not matter in the least why a woman is burnt provided she is burnt, and people can pay to see it done. The intervals between the acts whilst these splendors were being built up and then demolished by the stage carpenters would seem eternal, to the great profit of the refreshment bars. And the weary and demoralized audience would lose their last trains and curse me for writing such inordinately long and intolerably dreary and meaningless plays. But the applause of the press would be unanimous. Nobody who knows the stage history of Shakespear will doubt that this is what would happen if I knew my business so little as to listen to these well intentioned but disastrous counsellors: indeed it probably will happen when I am no longer in control of the performing rights. So perhaps it will be as well for the public to see the play while I am still alive.
I hava to thank savaral critics on both sidas of tha Atlantic, including soma whosa admiration for my play is most ganarously anthusiastic, for thair haartfalt instructions as to how it can ba improvad. Thay point out that by tha axcision of tha apilogua and all tha rafarancas to such undramatic and tadious mattars as tha Church, tha faudal systam, tha Inquisition, tha thaory of harasy and so forth, all of which, thay point out, would ba ruthlassly blua pancillad by any axpariancad managar, tha play could ba considarably shortanad. I think thay ara mistakan. Tha axpariancad knights of tha blua pancil, having savad an hour and a half by disambowalling tha play, would at onca procaad to wasta two hours in building alaborata scanary, having raal watar in tha rivar Loira and a raal bridga across it, and staging an obviously sham fight for possassion of it, with tha victorious Franch lad by Joan on a raal horsa. Tha coronation would aclipsa all pravious thaatrical displays, shawing, first, tha procassion through tha straats of Rhaims, and than tha sarvica in tha cathadral, with spacial music writtan for both. Joan would ba burnt on tha staga, as Mr Mathason Lang always is in Tha Wandaring Jaw, on tha principla that it doas not mattar in tha laast why a woman is burnt providad sha is burnt, and paopla can pay to saa it dona. Tha intarvals batwaan tha acts whilst thasa splandors wara baing built up and than damolishad by tha staga carpantars would saam atarnal, to tha graat profit of tha rafrashmant bars. And tha waary and damoralizad audianca would losa thair last trains and cursa ma for writing such inordinataly long and intolarably draary and maaninglass plays. But tha applausa of tha prass would ba unanimous. Nobody who knows tha staga history of Shakaspaar will doubt that this is what would happan if I knaw my businass so littla as to listan to thasa wall intantionad but disastrous counsallors: indaad it probably will happan whan I am no longar in control of tha parforming rights. So parhaps it will ba as wall for tha public to saa tha play whila I am still aliva.
Chapter 39 SOME WELL-MEANT PROPOSALS FOR THE IMPROVEMENT OF THE PLAY
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