THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS.
Vanity Fair (UK), September 1, 1904
(According to a West End manager, the theatre of the future will have no gallery.)
Up till now we’ve always acted
With a trembling at the knees,
For the men who paid a shilling
Were so difficult to please:
And with feverish excitement
We would estimate the odds
Of the piece that charmed the boxes
Being hooted by the gods.
But, according to an expert,
Novel theatres will be planned,
And the gallery will vanish
In our revoluted land.
The millennium must be coming:
Can we need a better proof
Than the total abolition
Of the critic in the roof?
Yes, there’s something to be looked for
In the golden time to come,
For the stalls will all be crowded,
And the gallery be dumb;
And the sensitive young playwright
Dreams of happier days in store,
When the hooters cease from hissing,
And the booers boo no more.