_The Comedy of
Sighs_ was a rambling story told with a little paradoxical wit. She had
brought the trouble upon herself perhaps, for always in revolt against her
own poetical gift, which now seemed obsolete, and against her own
Demeter-like face in the mirror, she had tried when interviewed by the
Press to shock and startle--to seem to desire enemies; and yet, unsure of
her own judgment being out of her own trade, had feared to begin with
Shaw's athletic wit, and now outraged convention saw its chance. For two
hours and a half, pit and gallery drowned the voices of the players with
boos and jeers that were meant to be bitter to the author who sat visible
to all in his box surrounded by his family, and to the actress struggling
bravely through her weary part; and then pit and gallery went home to
spread their lying story that the actress had a fit of hysterics in her
dressing-room.

Todhunter had sat on to the end, and there were, I think, four acts of it,
listening to the howling of his enemies, while his friends slipped out one
by one, till one saw everywhere their empty seats, but nothing could
arouse the fighting instincts of that melancholy man. Next day I tried to
get him to publish his book of words with satirical designs and
illustrations, by Beardsley, who was just rising into fame, and an
introduction attacking the public, but though petulant and irascible he
was incapable of any emotion that could give life to a cause. He shared
the superstition still current in the theatre, that the public wants
sincere drama, but is kept from it by some conspiracy of managers or
newspapers, and could not get out of his head that the actors were to
blame. Shaw, whose turn came next, had foreseen all months before, and had
planned an opening that would confound his enemies. For the first few
minutes _Arms and the Man_ is crude melodrama and then just when the
audience are thinking how crude it is, it turns into excellent farce. At
the dress rehearsal, a dramatist who had his own quarrel with the public,
was taken in the noose; for at the first laugh he stood up, turned his
back on the stage, scowled at the audience, and even when everybody else
knew what turn the play had taken, continued to scowl, and order those
nearest to be silent.

On the first night the whole pit and gallery, except certain members of
the Fabian Society, started to laugh at the author and then, discovering
that they themselves were being laughed at, sa