Especially he reproached them with deliberately omitting the
_scene a faire_. A young lady is seduced, he says, and, for the sake of
her child, implores her betrayer to keep his promise of marriage. He
renews the promise, without the slightest intention of fulfilling it,
and goes on board his yacht in order to make his escape. She discovers
his purpose and follows him on board the yacht. "What is the scene,"
asks M. Sarcey--here I translate literally--"which you expect, you, the
public? It is the scene between the abandoned fair one and her seducer.
The author may make it in a hundred ways, but make it he must!" Instead
of which, the critic proceeds, we are fobbed off with a storm-scene, a
rescue, and other sensational incidents, and hear no word of what passes
between the villain and his victim. Here, I think, M. Sarcey is mistaken
in his application of his pet principle. Words cannot express our
unconcern as to what passes between the heroine and the villain on board
the yacht--nay, more, our gratitude for being spared that painful and
threadbare scene of recrimination.
Pages:
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352