To the irreverent—and which of us will claim entire exemption from that comfortable classification?—there is something very amusing in the attitude of the orthodox criticism toward Bernard Shaw. He so obviously disregards all the canons and unities and other things which every well-bred dramatist is bound to respect that his work is really unworthy of serious criticism (orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about the _dramatic art_ than, according to his own story in “The Man of Destiny,” Napoleon at Tavazzano knew of the _Art of War_. But both men were successes each in his way—the latter won victories and the former gained audiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war and the t…
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