“No, sir, not often, I believe;—the fault, commonly, lies in the very foundation.”
“Yes, or they might mend the mere speeches—but the characters are all bad from the beginning to the end.”
Then he specified several; but I had read none of them, and consequently could say nothing about the matter—till, at last, he came to Shakspeare.
“Was there ever,” cried he, “such stuff as great part of Shakspeare only one must not say so! But what think you?—What?—Is there not sad stuff? what?—what?”
“Yes, indeed, I think so, sir, though mixed with such excellences, that——”
“O!” cried he, laughing good-humouredly, “I know it is not to be said! but it's true. Only it's Shakspeare, and nobody dare abuse him.”
Then he enumerated many of the characters and parts of plays that he objected to—and when he had run them over, finished with again laughing, and exclaiming,
“But one should be stoned for saying so!”
“Madame de Genlis, sir,” said I, “had taken such an impression of the English theatre, that she told me she thought no woman ought to go to any of our comedies.”
This, which, indeed, is a very overstrained censure of our dramas, made him draw back, and vindicate the stage from a sentence so severe; which, however, she had pronounced to me, as if she looked upon it to be an opinion in which I should join as a thing past dispute.