Reaction
certainly ensues; men begin to hiss by way of self-assertion, and out
of self-respect. They resent an attempt to coerce their opinion, and
to compel a favourable verdict in spite of themselves. The attempt to
encore the prologue to "Mr. H." was most unwise. It was a strong
prologue, but the play was weak. The former might have been left to
the good sense of the general public; it was the latter that
especially demanded the watchful support of the author's friends. The
infirm need crutches, not the robust. The playbills announced, "The
new farce of 'Mr. H.,' performed for the first time last night, was
received by an overflowing audience with universal applause, and will
be repeated for the second time to-morrow." Such are playbills. "Mr.
H." never that morrow saw. "'Tis withdrawn, and there's an end of it,"
wrote Lamb to Wordsworth.
Hissing is no doubt a dreadful sound--a word of fear unpleasing to the
ear of both playwright and player. For there is no revoking, no
arguing down, no remedying a hiss; it has simply to be endured.
Playgoers have a giant's strength in this respect; but it must be said
for them, that of late years at any rate, they have rarely used it
tyrannously, like a giant.
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