M. Brasseur is preposterously natural, full of aplomb and
impertinence. He never flags, never hesitates; it is impossible to take
him seriously, as we say of delightful, mischievous people in real life.
I have been amused to see a discussion in the papers as to whether "La
Veine" is a fit play to be presented to the English public. "Max" has
defended it in his own way in the _Saturday Review_, and I hasten to say
that I quite agree with his defence. Above all, I agree with him when
he says: "Let our dramatic critics reserve their indignation for those
other plays in which the characters are self-conscious, winkers and
gigglers over their own misconduct, taking us into their confidence, and
inviting us to wink and giggle with them." There, certainly, is the
offence; there is a kind of vulgarity which seems native to the lower
English mind and to the lower English stage. M. Capus is not a moralist,
but it is not needful to be a moralist. He is a skilful writer for the
stage, who takes an amiable, somewhat superficial, quietly humorous view
of things, and he takes people as he finds them in a particular section
of the upper and lower middle classes in Paris, not going further than
the notion which they have of themselves, and presenting that simply,
without comment.
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