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A DRAMATIC CRITIC That Robertson's comedies should be the last to succumb to this remorseless rule of death is interesting. Their texture is of the flimsiness of gossamer; their wit usually consists of quaint equivoque ; their wisdom is trite; their humor, often de- licious in flavor, trickles in a thin and narrow stream; their passion, except for a few minutes in Caste, has neither depth nor blaze. But they showed the work of a deft hand in their eflfective situations; they had a grace and charm of their own, which made them cling to the memory as tenaciously as the fragrance of lavender clings to gloves and laces ; and they were often in touch with life, though the touch never became a grasp. Again, a special word is to be said for Caste, which dealt finely, if not profoundly, with the never ceasing strain between the freedom of man as an individual and his bondage as a member of society. Nearly all these plays, also, displayed, after a fashion pe- [ 42 ]

THE EPHEMERAL DRAMA culiar to their author, the familiar con- trasts between generosity and meanness, simplicity and sophistication, the self-for- getting impulsiveness of youth and the self-cherishing deliberation of middle age. Robertson loved to point such compari- sons by means of bits of dialogue, carried on at opposite sides of the stage by pairs of persons, neither pair being conscious of the other. The mode of many of these passages was distinctly cynical, if not un- amiable; but their surface truth was of universal appeal, and their humor was fetching. Indeed, the public palate always most keenly relished Robertson's mild bitterness when it was bitterest. Some of my readers will recall an exemplary epi- sode in Ours. The scene is an English private park. A heavy shower of rain has come on, and two pairs have sought shel- ter under the trees. On the right are a youthful couple, in the early stages of a love affair. The jeime premier has taken [ 43 ]

THE EPHEMERAL DRAMA<br />

culiar to their author, the familiar con-<br />

trasts between generosity and meanness,<br />

simplicity and sophistication, the self-for-<br />

getting impulsiveness of youth and the<br />

self-cherishing deliberation of middle age.<br />

Robertson loved to point such compari-<br />

sons by means of bits of dialogue, carried<br />

on at opposite sides of the stage by pairs<br />

of persons, neither pair being conscious<br />

of the other. The mode of many of these<br />

passages was distinctly cynical, if not un-<br />

amiable; but their surface truth was of<br />

universal appeal, and their humor was<br />

fetching. Indeed, the public palate always<br />

most keenly relished Robertson's mild<br />

bitterness when it was bitterest. Some of<br />

my readers will recall an exemplary epi-<br />

sode in Ours. The scene is an English<br />

private park. A heavy shower of rain has<br />

come on, and two pairs have sought shel-<br />

ter under the trees. On the right are a<br />

youthful couple, in the early stages of a<br />

love affair. The jeime premier has taken<br />

[ 43 ]

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