ll lunatics, every one.

CHAPTER XVIII

NEW AND PIQUANT CRITICISM

The Paris _Matin_ has started a new kind of dramatic criticism. The day
after a play has been produced it publishes a criticism of it by the
author himself, or by the manager of the theatre. This is as piquant as
it is novel, and if the French had the sense of humour as keenly
developed as the Americans, the result would be highly diverting.

Just imagine a play by Mark Twain reviewed and criticised the following
morning in a paper by Mr. Samuel L. Clemens!

Gentlemen of the American press, take the hint, if you like.

This new kind of criticism is only a few days old, but the readers of
the _Matin_ have taken to it kindly already. Two well-known men have
inaugurated it. They are Pierre Wolff, the dramatist, and Antoine, the
actor and proprietor-manager of the Antoine Theatre. Both give a very
flattering account of their plays: how beautifully they were acted, how
well they were received, and, after giving a short synopsis of them,
wind up with heartfelt thanks to the actors and actresses who appeared
in them. Everybody is satisfied, author, actors, managers, editor, who
has attracted the notice of the public, and the readers, who are amused
at the new idea, and do not care a jot what critics say of the plays
which they review.

Why should not books be reviewed in the same way? Why should they not be
reviewed and criticised by the author or the publisher? I should
prefer--by the author.

I have never read a notice of any of my books, however favourable, which
I did not think I could have done better myself, if I had had to write
it.

Just imagine, if only for fun, a new novel (pronounced 'novell,' please)
by Hall Caine reviewed by Mr. Hall Caine; or one by Marie Corelli
criticised by that talented lady herself! I say, just think of it!

We might have the good-fortune to read something in the following style:
'A new novel by myself is one of those literary events which keep the
world breathless, in awful silence, for a long time before it comes to
pass. The first edition of 100,000 copies was exhausted a week before
the book appeared, but a second edition of the same number will be ready
in a day or two. The story is wonderful, colossal, like everything that
comes from the pen of that author, whose genius is as Shakespearian as
his brow, which even reminds one of that of--but perhaps it would be
profane to name.'

Or something intere