[]THE STAGE.

CHAP. I. THE ORIGIN OF OPERA, AND ITS ESTABLISHMENT IN FRANCE.

WE ſhall now find the affairs of the French theatre ſo blended with the ſerious and comic opera, and a variety of ſpectacles branching from thoſe exhibi⯑tions, that it will be neceſſary to give an account of their eſtabliſhment in FRANCE to make this deſcrip⯑tion of the drama in that country complete; and as it cannot be denied that muſic, taken as an em⯑belliſhment, excites and ſatisfies curioſity in a more gratifying and delightful manner than any other dramatic amuſement, I ſhall beg the reader's pa⯑tience for a few pages while I ſpeak of that be⯑witching art, in order to ſhew how opera originated, [6] and in what manner it eſtabliſhed itſelf in FRANCE and other countries.

It is impoſſible to trace the origin of muſic con⯑ſidered as a ſcience. In its literal and extended idea, which the ancients diſtinguiſhed by the term Har⯑monica, it was born with the world. The more we ſearch, either into holy writ, or into mythology, the more we ſhall be convinced that muſic made up the delight of all countries at all times^*; nay, that it was the ſort of order that lent perfection to the chaos in which other ſciences were involved; and that was the reaſon, perhaps, the ancients gave to every art the appellation muſic.

The Egyptians inform us that muſic was in⯑vented immediately after the flood, and the idea of inſtruments, which naturally implies harmony, are by inumerable authors ſaid to have been of very early invention. MERCURY we are told found a tortoiſe ſhell and ſtretching cords acroſs it formed the lyre. LUCRETIUS ſays that wind inſtruments had their origin from the whiſtling of the wind among the ruſhes. AMPHION, CHIRON, DEMO⯑DOCUS, [7] HERMES TRISMEGISTUS, OLYMPUS, and ORPHEUS, are all reported to have been celebrated muſicians, and performers on muſical inſtruments; nay, to what perfection muſt this art have been brought at the time of the Grecian republic, if it be true that TERPANDER ſet the laws of LYCUR⯑GUS to muſic, that he was well acquainted with the modes, and that THALES, and THAMYRUS knew the nature of inſtrumental muſic without ſinging.

But the more we ſearch into this exquiſite and endleſs theme, the more we ſhall be bewildered with conjecture, though facts ſtare us in the face. A hoſt of writers on one ſide contend that the ancients alone knew how to render muſic facinating, and that the degree of perfection from which it derived that power to which ORPHEUS and others had brought it is loſt to the moderns; others contend that the an⯑cients knew nothing of harmony, and one of them inſiſts that what is called harmony, or the doctrine of combined ſounds, was invented by GUIDO ARETINE, a benedictine friar.

Let us examine this. The ancients had inſtru⯑ments, and to talk of inſtruments without the idea of combined ſounds, is ridiculous and contemptible. It would be pedantry, and perhaps impertinence here, to ſpeak particularly of twelve or fourteen [8] ſtringed inſtruments among the ancients which were ſtruck either with the hand or a plectrum; of ſix or ſeven wind inſtruments, particularly the hydraulic or⯑gan, the very title of which explains the ingenuity of its conſtruction; and as many pulſatile inſtru⯑ments; it is enough to ſay that we know theſe in⯑ſtruments were at that time in uſe, and, therefore, that harmony, to its fulleſt extent, muſt have been known, for no one will be ſo abſurd as to ſuppoſe that this great variety of inſtruments were played on one at a time; but, if it had been ſo, does not every ſtringed inſtrument anſwer all the purpoſes of harmony?

Every adventitious accident, from whence pro⯑ceeds ſucceſſive ſounds, even the creaking of a door, produces the effect of a chord, and therefore leads to combined ſounds. Two unconſcious watchmen ſhall cry the ſame hour in thirds, but this is obvious in a thouſand inſtances; and as to meaſure, the marching of ſoldiers, the ringing of bells, the forging an anchor, and the galloping of an horſe, will give you all the varieties of common and tripple time. The words

came from the truly lyric ſoul of DRYDEN; and a lovely and a delicious truth it is. The divine and [9] exquiſite beauty of order is muſic, of which me⯑lody is like the ſun that cheers the univerſe, and harmony like creation itſelf that exults and rejoices under its celeſtial influence.

If it be meant, as ſome warmly contend, that the ancients in their choruſes had but one ſong, and though there were a variety of voices each diſtinct voice ſung the ſame individual melody, it does not alter the caſe. Did the lyre, the pſalterium, the tibia, the cornuus, the tympanum, the tintinnabulum, did theſe join the voices in playing the ſame ſong, the ſame individual melody? 'Tis impoſſible. Some of theſe inſtruments, out of many others then in uſe, were incapable of it; their contracted ſcale would not admit of it. No; it was an accompanyment, a dreſs to adorn the melody; which, like the deco⯑ration of beauty, by diſguiſing ſome parts, gave to thoſe that were diſcerned a ſuperior degree of lovelineſs.

I'll put this fact in an incontrovertible light. A large congregation ſhall ſing the hundreth Pſalm; and though there is the difference of an octave in the voices of men from the voices of women and children, yet they will ſing the ſame diſtinct indi⯑vidual melody; and a moſt delightful melody it is. What follows? They are accompanied by an organ [10] which combines all thoſe harmonious principles we have been ſpeaking of, the full organ even to ab⯑ſtruſeneſs. What does it ſignify then whether the voices ſing the ſame melody, or ſing in parts? By the introduction of this accompanyment is not the concert full and complete? And, this admitted, who ſhall ſay that the ancients were ſtrangers to harmony in muſic.

I ſhould think it very probable that their muſic was like their writings, grand, natural, and im⯑preſſive; and, if ſo, by uſing leſs complication, they delighted not ſurprized the mind, and therefore the ſimplicity of their harmony, by anſwering all the beſt purpoſes of muſic, ſurpaſſed the inexplicable and diſtracting ſyſtem of modern harmoniſts.

Theſe and a thouſand other reaſons incline us to believe that dramatic entertainments were invented through the medium of muſic. Dithyrambics were, as we have ſeen, actually ſung by one perſon, and we may go further and ſay that HOMER, HESIOD, and all the ancient poets ſung their ſongs of what nature ſoever for the amuſement of the public^*.

[11]This admitted, ſomething as much in the nature of opera as other dramatic entertainments were in the nature of plays, certainly made at all times a part of the amuſements of the theatre; and that ſoſtenuto for which LULLY has been ſo greatly admired, and which, I dare ſay, was dull enough, was clearly that ſuſtained ſleepy declamatory effect ſo often com⯑plained of in the choruſes of the ancients.

Opera, however, being in its capability more ex⯑traneous and leſs natural as a vehicle to convey re⯑gular and probable action, was longer than any other ſpecies of dramatic production before it took a tone and a form ſo as to be claſſed ſeparately and diſtinct from other ſtage repreſentations; and it is very pro⯑bable, though the regular opera had often been at⯑tempted, it never would have become any thing more than a vehicle for the introduction of dances and decorations, had it not found a ſort of AESCHY⯑LUS in METATASIO.

JOHANNES SULPITIUS, a native of VEROLI, is ſaid to have exhibited operas in the fifteenth cen⯑tury; and we are told that EMILIO CAVALIERE, in 1590, exhibited two dramas, ſet to muſic, in the Palace of the Grand Duke of FLORENCE. We hear alſo of OCTAVIO RINUCCINI who brought an opera on the theatre at FLORENCE, in 1633, in [12] honour of the marriage of MARY de MEDICIS with HENRY the fourth of FRANCE.

We have ſeen by VOLTAIRE's account how opera came to be introduced into FRANCE. I ſhall, therefore, now proceed to relate ſome par⯑ticulars of LULLY who preſided ſo long at the head of that entertainment. LULLY was born at FLORENCE in 1633, and died in PARIS in 1687. Being an excellent performer on the violin, he was invited to FRANCE, where he became ſuperintendant of the king's band, and by addreſs and cunning ſoon introduced himſelf into all companies. His will was a fiat, not only as to muſic but almoſt as to every thing elſe, though he was very little more than an arrogant pretending buffoon^*.

In ſpeaking of the opera, it will be generally [13] neceſſary to aſſociate the names of QUINAULT and LULLY. In 1673. they brought out Cadmus, which was performed au Jeu de paulme de Bel Air; but LULLY, ever attentive to his intereſt, no ſooner heard of MOLIERE's death than he ſet every engine to work to procure a grant from the king of MO⯑LIERE's theatre. This with very little difficulty he obtained, and Cadmus was the firſt opera brought out on the theatre of the Palais Royal^*, though ſome contend that Alceſte was the firſt, which ap⯑peared in 1674. This, however, is not probable, or if it were, it is hardly worth enquiring into.

Theſée came out in 1675; and on the following [14] year Atys, one of the moſt celebrated operas of theſe aſſociates, in which there is certainly ſome beautiful lyric writing^*. This piece had aſtoniſhing ſucceſs. It was, however, according to cuſtom bitterly at⯑tacked by DESPREAUX, of whoſe judgment, as a critic, I cannot give a better proof than that which follows: When this ſatyriſt went to the repreſenta⯑tion of this opera at VERSAILLES, ‘"put me,"’ ſaid he, ‘"in ſome corner where it will be impoſſible for me to hear the words. I admire the muſic of LULLY, but I have a ſovereign contempt for the verſes of QUINAULT^†.’

Iſis followed Atys in 1677, and Proſerpine in 1680, but Perſée which came out in 1682, was one of the moſt famous operas produced by theſe allies. COR⯑NEILLE, however, had treated the ſame ſubject in a piece called Andromede. A number of fortunate circumſtances combined to aſſiſt the ſucceſs of this piece. Among the reſt the audience were moſt agreeably ſurpriſed to ſee the young prince DEI⯑TRICHTEIN, the eldeſt ſon of the prince of that name, grand maſter of his imperial majeſty, dance [15] with an elegance and a grace which gave univerſal aſtoniſhment. He appeared on the theatre maſked, as was then the cuſtom, and took alternately the ſituation of all the principal dancers.

The concourſe of people who ſlocked to ſee this prince was incredible, and what renders the circumſtance ſtill more wonderful is, that though he excelled every other dancer, he had not been taught more than a year.

The king had this opera performed in an oran⯑gerie, where the diſpoſition of real trees, a foun⯑tain, and other natural objects, curiouſly and ju⯑diciouſly arranged gave a moſt delicious effect to the ſpectacle.

All the beauties of the court were invited, and every poſſible care taken and expence laviſhed to ſhew the merit of the poet and compoſer to ad⯑vantage; all which merit LULLY, as uſual, took to himſelf, and received the compliments of the king and the nobility, while the humble QUINAULT ſtood at a diſtance, as little noticed as if he had been an indifferent ſpectator. The words of the king to LULLY were, ‘"that he had never ſeen a piece where the muſic was ſo equally good throughout."’

[16]The very ſame year a brilliant fete was given to celebrate the birth of the Duke of BURGUNDY. LULLY, upon this occaſion gave Perſeus gratis, and prevailed upon QUINAULT to introduce a great deal of novelty applicable to the event in honour of which the opera was performed; beſides which he put himſelf to a prodigious expence. He had a triumphal arch, a firework, and a fixed ſun of an aſtoniſhing magnitude, containing ſeveral thouſand lamps; after which there was a diſcharge of muſ⯑ketry, and, to finiſh all, a fountain that ran with wine, Who, after this, could deny that Perſeus was the ſole production of LULLY?

Nor were theſe adventitious circumſtances all that gave advantage to Perſeus; it begat a ſpirited controverſy, which the ladies very warmly entered into, and inſiſted that Pheneus's expreſſion that he would rather ſee ANDROMEDA devoured by the monſter, than in the arms of his rival, was void of gallantry, and therefore ought not to be uttered on the ſtage.

This diſpute was ſo followed up that all the public prints of the times were full of it. No wonder then that an opera, ſo much praiſed and condemned, ſhould be the conſtant topic, and that therefore, either through prejudice, or partiality—motives [17] equally advantageous—all PARIS made a point of attending it.

After Perſée came Phaeton, in 1683; Amadis de Gaule, in 1684; Le Temple de la Paix, in 1685; Roland, alſo in 1685; and Armide, in 1686. Im⯑mediately after the production of this laſt opera, QUINAULT, heartily tired of LULLY, retired from the theatre.

It may truly be ſaid, that though the enthuſiaſm cauſed by the muſic of LULLY aroſe from no other reaſon than that muſic had till that time in FRANCE been of the moſt contemptible kind; yet he merits a large ſhare of praiſe for reducing it to a ſort of ſlandard, which proved a good ground work for the improvements afterwards made in it by RAMEAU and others. But none of this would have been effected had not QUINAULT ſtarted up the only French poet, in ſpight of the ill nature and the ignorance of BOILEAU, who poſſeſſed a true genius for this ſpecies of lyric poetry.

Theſe men led very different lives; and while QUINAULT lived honoured and reſpected, and died lamented and regretted, LULLY was laughed at and deſpiſed in his life time, and deteſted and exe⯑crated after his death^*.

[18]Among the operas of QUINAULT and LULLY, it was ſaid that Atys was the opera for the king, Armide, for the ladies, Phaeton for the public in general, and Iſis for muſicians.

Many other operas, written by QUINAULT, and compoſed by LULLY, were performed with various [19] ſucceſs^*. At length many of the beſt authors adven⯑tured in this ſpecies of writing, and MOLIERE, QUIN⯑AULT, PIERRE, and T. CORNEILLE wrote Pſyche in conjunction; and there is another Pſyche, which has been pretty generally given to FONTENELLE. At length, when the opera became more eſtabliſhed, and RAMEAU was the favourite compoſer^†, the beſt geniuſes wrote for that ſpectacle; nay even VOLTAIRE was tempted to adventure in it, and thereby undertook what he himſelf confeſſes he did not underſtand. His Temple de Gloire, an entertain⯑ment of this kind, not ſucceeding, he aſked an Abbe of his acquaintance how he liked it. The Abbe an⯑ſwered [20] he had been at the temple of glory, but the lady did not happen to be at home.

In anſwer to a friend, whoſe ſentiments were ſomething ſimilar to the above, VOLTAIRE ſays, ‘"I ſee I have done a very fooliſh thing in writing an opera, but the pleaſure of working for ſuch a man as RAMEAU hurried me out of all prudence. In conſidering the extent of his genius, I forgot how much my own was circumſcribed, for I now find, if I have any, it is not calculated for the lyric ſtyle, and I plainly ſee I could write an epic poem with more eaſe than I could fill a canvaſs. Not that I by any means hold this art in con⯑tempt; on the contrary, I hold it to be a very re⯑ſpectable ſpecies of writing, but I now fairly ſee that I ſhall never have a talent for it."’

CHAP. II. ITALIAN THEATRE.

AS the Italian theatre, as it always has been called, will hereafter make up a conſiderable part of French dramatic exhibitions, it will be extremely proper in in this place to give ſome account of it, and alſo of all thoſe inferior dramatic objects which branched out from that ſtrange heterogeneous amuſement which, like our opera, was originally performed in a language the natives did not underſtand. Nay till very lately the love ſcenes, in ſome of thoſe come⯑dies, have been occaſionally performed in Italian. In 1577, a troop of Italian comedians called Le Geloſi, performed at the Hotel de Bourbon, but they had no fixed eſtabliſhment, and after ſome years they were replaced by another, who, in their turn, were ſuppreſſed in 1662. It was after this that an Italian troop were permitted to perform alternately with the troop of MOLIERE au petit Bourbon, where they continued till 1697, when the king thought proper to ſhut up their theatre.

[22]The variety of difficulties the Italian comedians laboured under to procure leave for their perfor⯑mances, obliged them to exhauſt invention for ex⯑pedients to combat the laws then in force. The firſt of theſe expedients was an attempt to evade an ac⯑cuſation of performing regular pieces. This they effected by taking an outline of the plot of the piece, together with all the nicer immediate circum⯑ſtances; and having got this perfectly by heart, to ſupply the dialogue extempore. By this means the ſame ſcene was never literally performed twice alike, eſpecially as they frequently changed parts with each other^*.

Notwithſtanding this and other expedients, the Italian theatre was ſhut up for nineteen years, and after this they were ſo diſperſed that it was not ex⯑pected they would ever again rally in FRANCE. The Duc D'ORLEANS, however, at that time [23] Regent, ſent for others, who arrived in PARIS in 1716. He gave inſtructions to M. ROUILLE, Counſeiller d'Etat, to procure the beſt performers from ITALY. It will eaſily be believed the taſk was not difficult. Indeed with ſuch alacrity did they pour in from all quarters, that the company was very ſoon complete, and the regent, till the Hotel de Bourgogne could be got ready, permitted them to perform at the Palais Royal on ſuch days as there was no opera.

On the eighteenth of May, 1716, they opened their theatre with a piece called L'Heureuſe Surprize, and on the twentieth of the ſame month their eſta⯑bliſhment was announced by an order from the king. The firſt day of the following June they took poſſeſſion of the theatre of the Hotel de Bourgogne, under the title of the comedians in ordinary to his Royal Highneſs Monſieigneur le Duc D'ORLEANS, Regent, and that prince dying, on the ſecond of De⯑cember, 1723, the company obtained the title of the KING's Italian comedians in ordinary, with a penſion of fifteen thouſand livres. This obtained, they put the king's arms upon the Hotel de Bourgogne, and above it, in black marble, this inſcription in letters of gold.

HOTEL des comediens Italiens ordinaires du Roi, [24] entretenus par ſa Majéſté rétablis a Paris en l'annee M,DCC,XVI.

The theatres that were erected at the Fairs, St. Germain, and St. Laurent, though an inferior kind, were nevertheleſs productive of great improvement in dramatic humour; and alſo bringing forward actors and actreſſes of great and particular merit. Engliſh travellers at that time flocked with pleaſure to ſee the buffoon and groteſque acting of DOMINIQUE in Harlequin, the ſimple and naive deportment of BELLONI in Pierrot, the humour and fineſſe of Madamoiſelle de LISLE in the waiting maids, the pleaſant awkwardneſs of DESGRANGES in Scara⯑mouch, the ſingular figure of PAGHETTI, in old men, and the noble and modeſt air of Madamoiſelle MO⯑LIN, in the characters of wards and daughters.

In all countries the beſt writers have been, at different times, ill treated by managers. LE SAGE, D'ORNEVAL, PANNARD, PIRON, and BOISSY led the way for almoſt a total deſertion of the theatre, in favour of the fair; which boaſted at length the added names of FAVARD, ANSEAUME, DOMINI⯑QUE, LE GRAND, FAGAN, DELAFOND, PONTAU, VADE, and SEDAINE. The trifles they produced being excellent in their kind, and in a ſtyle per⯑fectly different from the general run of dramatic [25] entertainments, and alſo produced by ſome of the beſt writers, made the fairs, for forty years, the firſt object of amuſement in FRANCE.

The theatres feeling ſeverely the effect of their own inferiority, were obliged to have re⯑courſe to a number of expedients, if not to ſup⯑preſs the pieces performed at the fair, at leaſt to leſſen their value. For this purpoſe they were per⯑petually teaſing the magiſtrates, who, at different times, upon being properly applied to, iſſued ſeveral mandates to forbid ſuch parts of the performances as were moſt likely to be applauded^*.

This only ſerved to ſtimulate their exertions, and to rouſe them to freſh ingenuity. Being forbidden to perform in dialogue, they were, for ſome ſhort time, reduced to exhibit every thing by geſture, through which they ſeverely and ſucceſsfully ridi⯑culed their enemies. They could not hope, how⯑ever, to perform long in this manner to any great advantage; and, therefore, applied to the ſydnies [26] and the doctors of the royal academy of muſicians, who permitted them to perform ſhort pieces, partly dialogue, and partly ſongs, and occaſionally aſ⯑ſiſted by dances.—Theſe ſpectacles were called the Comic Opera, of which ſpecies of amuſement the admirable author of Gil Blas may be conſidered as the father.

Flattered with the great ſucceſs he had met with on the ſtage, and irritated with the avarice and folly of the managers, he devoted himſelf entirely to this ſlighter ſpecies of dramatic employment. Many of his pieces were in great meaſure written from mo⯑tives of revenge, and ſuch were generally parodies of the new tragedies, which no ſooner appeared on the theatre, than they were humourouſly and ſuc⯑ceſsfully ridiculed at the fair. The beſt authors ſmarted, and moſt ſeverely too, under this teaſing rod of criticiſm. Among the reſt, Mr. VOLTAIRE, in the buſineſs of his Semiramis, certainly felt it with the greateſt keenneſs^*.

[27]Theſe comic writers, however, drew on them⯑ſelves, by the ſeverity of their ſatires, a hoſt of ene⯑mies, and were forbid to perform any pieces in which there was either ſpeaking or ſinging. This only convinced the world that they were complete adepts in their buſineſs; for, immediately ſetting their wits to work, they invented a ſpecies of amuſe⯑ment [28] which, from its extraordinary novelty, had the greateſt ſucceſs. It was written in the ſtrongeſt manner, and thus performed:

Two actors came on the ſtage with as many rolls of parchment as there were ſpeeches in the ſcene they were to perform. Theſe rolls were numbered, and on each, written in large characters, what they had to ſay. Theſe they alternately diſplayed, which, being read by the audience, exhibited, in very la⯑conic terms, ſome witty colloquy, eſpecially as theſe writings in great meaſure conſiſted of humorous apologies for their being under the neceſſity of having recourſe to ſo incomplete an expedient.

When the audience had ſeen enough of this viſual dialogue, large rolls of canvas were ſo diſ⯑played by two figures of boys, who ſeemed playing in the air, that the ſpectators could completely read the words of a ſong, As ſoon as it became com⯑pletely viſible, the orcheſtra began a well known air, which ſome actor, placed either in the parterre, or the boxes, began to ſing. The audience ſoon took the hint, and after a time it was no uncommon thing for the whole of the ſpectators to join in every chorus.

The matter was, in proportion to the ſingularity [29] of the exigence, moſt wonderfully managed; but, after all, it is very evident that they laboured under the greateſt diſadvantages; and, at length, by the e [...]iſhment of the regular Italian comedians in 17 [...], who were joined by ſome of the beſt per⯑fo [...]mers at the fair, this memorable era of humour and pleaſantry on the French ſtage, became ap⯑parently extract; but it, however, left ſuch traces of real humour, fertile imagination and happy ſa⯑tire, that there has been ſcarcely a comic opera written ſince in FRANCE, that has not kept in view the ſpecies of intrigue invented by this extra⯑ordinary ſet of ingenious men^*.

Before we quit the ſubject of the fair, it is pro⯑per to ſay it began with puppets. After this ap⯑peared wild beaſts, but it is curious to remark that a lion or a tiger was not conſidered as the ſmalleſt [30] rarity, if he could not perform ſome comical tricks. After theſe came giants who muſt alſo be buffoons, otherwiſe they had no attention paid them. On this account, the common animals which we ſee every day were the greateſt favourites. Dogs, cats, and monkies, did more than the beſt actors and actreſſes that ever appeared, and theſe for a time were put out of countenance by ſlight-of-hand men, tumblers, and rope-dancers.

It muſt, however, be remembered, to the ho⯑nour of the fair, that it gave birth to the moſt elegant dancing in FRANCE. Madmoiſelle de LISLE, who joined the moſt refined taſte and exe⯑cution in ſerious dancing to the moſt charming ſprightlineſs in demi-character, and the ſtrongeſt con⯑ception and diſcrimination in dances of character and expreſſion, may be reckoned among the earlieſt proofs that the French were born eminently to rival all other nations in that accompliſhed—I will not, however, here ſay how far uſeful—art.

Madmoiſelle SALLE, who cauſed ſo long the admiration of PARIS, and at length retired with the applauſe of her country, was alſo an Eleve at the fair. Madmoiſelle RABON, that very celebrated dancer, was alſo bred up at the fair; and as for ſingers, it was the nurſery of the theatre.

[31]Among other dancers who performed with great celebrity at the fair, was the father of our famous GRIMALDI. He had then juſt fled from ITALY. He was called, for diſtinction, Iron Legs; and ſup⯑poſed to be the beſt jumper in the world: for even the taſte of FRANCE, in its own proper profeſſion has been at times vitiated. He once jumped ſo high that he broke a chandelier; a piece of which hitting the Turkiſh ambaſſador, who was in the ſtage box, he conſidered this conduct as a premeditated affront, and complained to the French court of the outrage. But the moſt extraordinary circumſtance concerning him was his being put in priſon for in⯑decency on the FRENCH STAGE, which is a circum⯑ſtance, when we conſider the licence uſed there, moſt peculiarly extraordinary.

The French were certainly for a time inſatuated with GRIMALDI, but after the unlucky buſineſs of his impriſonment for indecency^*, he began [32] to loſe ground, and at length was obliged to ſtroll into FLANDERS, where, however, he proved a ſource of riches to his confederates, for the Flan⯑derkins, as he added legerdemain and other tricks to his jumping, thought him ſome ſupernatural being^*.

[33]I have ſaid that the regular Italian comedy was re-eſtabliſhed in 1716. Such an impreſſion. how⯑ever, the performances at the fair made, that the Ita⯑lians on their return were, for a time, obliged to perform on that very ſpot, in order to give an original colour to their repreſentations; and thus, by degrees, they ſtole on the notice of the public, who, ſuch is the force of cuſtom, reliſhed thoſe amuſements no where but at the place they were originally given.

The circumſtance of performing the pieces of the fair aroſe from this: When firſt this troop be⯑gan to be eſtabliſhed at PARIS, they performed no⯑thing but pieces entirely Italian. The ladies who [34] did not underſtand that language, no longer fre⯑quented the theatre. The gentlemen finding them⯑ſelves deſerted by the ladies, and thus the great channel of gallantry ſtagnated, alſo kept away. Seeing this, the Italians had recourſe to the pieces anciently performed at the Italian theatre, which were a jumble of half Italian and half French. What had formerly pleaſed, however, was no longer reliſhed, and they were, at one time, upon the point of returning to ITALY. What follows is the ſubſtance of a ſpeech ſpoken by Harlequin to the audience.

This ſpeech had the deſired effect; the public intereſted themſelves in the affairs of the comedians, and ſome of the beſt authors having adviſed them to perform the moſt celebrated among the pieces given at the fair, they very ſoon got into reputation. At length, many writers of eminence lent their aſſiſtance, and their children, as they had predicted, grew up, and were moſt accompliſhed actors. Indeed the re⯑putation of the Italian theatre eclipſed that of the French. to which St. FOIX, MARIVAUX, and other eminent authors did not a little contribute.

A circumſtance which happened about this time went a great way towards eſtabliſhing the reputation of the Italian theatre at PARIS. The convaleſcence of the king after a dangerous illneſs, gave occaſion for every exertion of loyalty throughout the king⯑dom; but the ſpirit of the Italians was very re⯑markable; they erected a moſt magnificent tranſpa⯑rency before the Facade of their theatre; they built up a temporary ſtage on the balcony over it, whence their band did not ceaſe to play, or their troop to dance, during the greateſt part of the night; and as the whole tendency of their performance was to com⯑pliment [37] the king, and congratulate the people on his recovery, as many as could be collected on the ſpot joined their ſhouts of Vive le Roi in time to the muſic, as often as it was introduced; and that their mirth might not want an incentive, ciſterns of wine were placed in a convenient manner, to ſupply the populace.

On the day that Te Deum was ſung at Notre Dame, the Italians recommenced the rejoicings. The tranſparency erected before their theatre was ſo maſterly both in conception and execution, that it is really worthy of particular deſcription:—Within a circular decoration, conſiſting of ſymbolical orna⯑ments, was painted the temple of IRIS, ſurrounded with a beautiful rainbow, on which appeared the goddeſs with all her attributes.

The illuminations which accompanied this grand picture formed three arcades, ſupported by pilaſters, all of the ruſtic order. Between the arcades Vive le Roi was ſuſpended in large characters. Above the pilaſters were placed four pyramids, ornamented with ſtreams of fire^*, which gave an unſpeakable effect. The inſide of the temple was entirely tranſparent, [38] and nobly deſigned, as well as the rainbow and the figure of IRIS.

In the middle of the temple was placed a por⯑trait of the king, under a figure of APOLLO, ſur⯑rounded with his ordinary ſymbols. Over his head the words POST NUBILA PHOEBUS, and on the two ſides of APOLLO were the figures of Peace and Plenty. From the extremity of the erection were carried two pyramids, which completed the grandeur of the whole to a degree of wonder; they were of themſelves fifty-two feet high, and at the baſe fifty feet wide, tapering, as they aſcended, to a point.

To enumerate all the prodigious variety of de⯑vices which were contained in the paintings on the pyramids would take up much more room than I ought to allow. It is enough to ſay that they were all tranſparent, and diſtributed about in the moſt fanciful and charming order, being interlaced with innumerable lamps, placed before reverberators. To the BRUNETTIS, father and ſon, famous Italian painters, was confided the execution of the whole, who had now brought ſcenery in FRANCE to that perfection which has ever ſince made it the ad⯑miration of all other nations.

Theſe comedians alſo gave upon theſe occaſions [39] three new pieces, called the Illumination, the Village Wedding, and the Sincere Revels. They were written by PANNARD, and performed with all the ſucceſs that could be expected from an event ſo naturally intereſting. From this circumſtance it happened that the king was ever after called LOUIS le bien aime, thoſe words being a quotation from a ſpeech in one of the pieces.

CHAP. III. ACTORS.

ANCIENTLY in FRANCE we have ſeen that all the authors were actors. The Trouverres, the Trou⯑badours, the Pilgrims, and even the Prieſts pe⯑ſonated different characters; and we find them at the head of their reſpective companies acting, ſing⯑ing, or poſturing, according to the nature of the ſpectacle they undertook to exhibit. In the My⯑ſteries, the Confraternity of the Paſſion, were all ac⯑tors. When the Myſteries had yielded to the Mo⯑raliſts, the performers were partly the prieſts and partly the laiety. By the time the Children of Sans Souci joined this confedracy, and they were forbid to perform any other than profane ſubjects that had a moral tendency, the prieſts retired from the ſtage, and the laiety had excluſive poſſeſſion of it.

The retirement of the prieſts ſeemed to be the ſignal for improvement. The tragedies of JODELLE and the reſt muſt have boaſted much more regular actors than the rhapſodies that preceded them; de⯑clamation, [41] however, was all that yet could be ex⯑pected. It ſhould ſeem, indeed, that till then the employment of an actor had never been conſidered as a profeſſion of itſelf, for we are told, and particu⯑larly by MAROT, who died before JODELLE, that a man, whoſe epitaph he had written, of the name of SERRE, was the firſt regular actor^*.

As to women, we have ſeen JODELLE obliged to perſonate his own Cleopatra; and, if credit can be given to the beſt French authorities, a woman of the name of BEAUPRE was the firſt actreſs in FRANCE, who might certainly have performed in the pieces written by HARDY, but not earlier, for ſhe was very old and had retired from the ſtage before CORNEILLE brought out Melite. She is reported to have ſaid to CORNEILLE that times were changed; for that before he wrote the pieces were miſerable, and the performers excellent, but that ſince he had written, the pieces were excellent, and the per⯑formers miſerable.

[42]We have the names of PONT ALAIS, GRINGORE, and others who muſt have been cotemporaries of SERRE, for they are reported to have aſſiſted in the Myſteries, and being excellent buffoons, they were perpetually quarrelling with the prieſts. Inſtead of announcing their amuſements by bills it was then the cuſtom, as we have formerly ſeen it in ENGLAND, to beat a drum about the ſtreets; and theſe men having done ſo one day to the great annoyance of a prieſt, who was preaching, and who had a grudge againſt them, he came out of the church and demanded how they came to be ſo audacious as to beat a drum while he was preaching. ‘"I may as well aſk you,"’ ſaid PONT ALAIS, ‘"how you came to be ſo audacious as to preach while I was beating my drum; we are both following our occupations."’ The prieſt, how⯑ever, to ſhew who had the upper hand, complained to the magiſtrates, and the actor was impriſoned for ſix months^*.

We have the names of other actors before HAR⯑DY, but we know little of their merit. During his time, however, at the head of a numerous company we find TURLUPIN, GAUTHIER, GARGUILLE, HAUDOIN, BONIFACE, CAPITAINE, and others, [43] who are ſaid to have been very celebrated; but it ſhould ſeem by this that the productions of HARDY, which were generally called tragedies, muſt have been full of buffoonery; for TURLUPIN, who, from 1583 to 1634, was a principal performer in that com⯑pany, was a mere buffoon, The word turlupinade taken from his name, having been from that time to this incorporated into the French language as a term implying a filly jeſt.

GARGUILLE ſucceeded TURLUPIN, and HAU⯑DOIN, GARGUILLE, exactly in the ſame ſteps. The latter is ſaid to have learnt ſo much of the jargon of phyſicians by performing doctors and apothecaries on the ſtage, that he retired to MELUN without the ſmalleſt knowledge of phyſic but technical terms, and there made a fortune in quality of phyſician.

All this, however, ſeems to have been reformed when CORNEILLE began to write for the ſtage; for, notwithſtanding the handſome compliment of Madame BEAUPRE, and her predelection for the buffoonery juſt deſcribed, which ſhe was pleaſed fa⯑cetiouſly to call good acting, BELLEROSE, the hero for whom CORNEILLE wrote, and who, about 1685, became manager of the company at the Hotel de Bourgogne, gave ſo new and ſo natural a turn to dra⯑matic repreſentation, both in tragedy and comedy, [44] that, followed up by CHEVALIER, GUERON, BRE⯑COURT, and others, mummery and buffoonery ſoon gave way to truth and nature, ^*

To theſe ſucceeded MONTFLEURY, LA FLEUR, LA THUILLERIE, MONDORY, LA THORRIL⯑LIERE, JODELET, DU PARC, and his wife, CHAMP⯑MELE, and his wife, RAISIN, BEJART, and his wife and daughter, Madmoiſelle DESCEILLETS, BEAUCHATEAU, and at length the great BARON, who was called the French Roſcius. Theſe and others of inferior rank made up the companies Au Marais, at the Hotel de Bourgogne, and the Palais Royal.

MONTFLEURY was a man of family and page to the Duke of GUISE. He was held in great conſi⯑deration by perſons of rank. The Cardinal de [45] RICHELIEU in particular undertook the care and expence of his wedding, He had very brilliant abilities as an actor, and we have already ſeen that his exertions coſt him his life^*.

LA FLEUR, who took the ſituation of MONT⯑FLEURY after his death, was an admirable actor, and in a more extenſive way than his predeceſſor. He is reported to have been the firſt who poſſeſſed what the French call des entrailles; that is to ſay, the art of feeling to make others feel. He married the daughter of an actor called GROS GUILLAUME, and left a ſon who became a celebrated performer under the name of LA THUILLERIE.

MONDORY, a performer in tragedy, ſuſtained a reſpectable ſituation, au Marais. He was ſeized with an apoplexy, as he was performing the part of Herod in the Mariamne of TRISTAN, and ſurvived but a few days.

LA THORILLIERE was a man of family, and was a captain in the cavalry, but thought proper to [46] leave every other occupation to follow the profeſſion of an actor. He was remarkable for performing equally well the parts of kings and peaſants. He left behind him a ſon and a grandſon, both of whom were actors.

JODELET was an admirable comic actor. His features were ſo marked and ſo groteſque, that when⯑ever he appeared he excited loud burſts of laughter, of which he ſeemed perfectly unconſcious. His hu⯑mour was very peculiar, and the authors, to give force to their characters, accommodated themſelves to it. Hence ſeveral of the pieces of that time were named after this actor; witneſs, Jodelet Maitre et Valet, Jodelet Souffleté, and others.

DU PARC ſucceeded JODELET. His ſucceſs was at firſt doubtful, though his merit was acknow⯑ledged; but, having performed an original part, a kind of utterer of bon mots, he hit upon a humour ſo whimfical that he became a great favourite. He died the ſame year in which the world loſt MO⯑LIERE. He had long, however, left the Palais Royal, having followed his wife to the Hotel de Bour⯑gogne, as we have ſeen, through the connivance of BOILEAU and RACINE.

CHAMPMELE was a very mediocre performer, [47] but he is celebrated, if celebrity may be that way acquired, for fathering other people's pieces, and other people's children. There were five or ſix pieces given to him, which appeared in the works of others, in particular La Coupe Enchantee, and Je vous prends ſans Verd, both of which are among the productions of LA FONTAINE, and Delie, which was undoubtedly written by VISE; but for the merit of theſe pieces, FONTAINE might have been aſhamed of his part; and, as to VISE, it is no great matter whether he wrote Delie or not, for he was as dull as CHAMPMELE.

As to the other accommodating part of his cha⯑racter, winking at his wife's infidelity, who was an incomparable actreſs, and a beautiful woman, I can only ſay he deſerves no pity, for every man of that convenient deſcription, ought to have an unfaithful wife. The lady is ſaid to have dealt her favours pretty liberally. We have ſeen RACINE in love with her, and we are told that he was ſucceeded in her affections by the Count de CLERMONT TON⯑NERRE. This gave riſe to an epigram, which, as it is impoſſible on account of the names, to render with any effect into Engliſh, I ſhall tranſcribe as it is.

[48] Madame CHAMPMELE is ſaid to have been en⯑dowed with very extraordinary talents, together with a moſt conſummate knowledge of the world. Her manners were uncommonly elegant, and her con⯑verſation ſweet and amiable. Her houſe was the rendezvous for men of diſtinguiſhed merit; but it has been ſaid by way of pleaſantry, that notwith⯑ſtanding ſo much temptation, except in the inſtance of her little ſlip with TONNERRE, ſhe was conſtant to DESPREAUX, RACINE, LA CHAPELLE, VA⯑LINCOUR, LA FONTAINE, and—her huſband.

It is ſaid that CHAMPMELE meditated a ſingular revenge on his rivals, which induced BOILEAU to write the following epigram:

CHAMPMELE, we are told, outlived his mother and his wife, and ſoon afterwards died in the following extraordinary manner. Coming out of the church of the Cordeliers, where he had been to put up two requiems for his departed mother and wife, the prieſt demanded the money. CHAMPMELE gave him a piece of thirty ſols, the requiems being ten ſols [49] a piece, ‘"No,"’ ſaid he, ‘"keep that to pay for my requiem and inſtantly dropped down and ex⯑pired."’

RAISIN was an actor of infinite merit. He was equal to any ſtyle of comedy. He was called PROTEUS, not more for his facility of changing from part to part than for the variety he threw, into the part itſelf. To theſe ſuperior talents he united an excellent underſtanding, and inexhauſtible gaiety and good humour. He was an admirable teller of a ſtory, and his company was coveted by all ranks; a circumſtance proving in him that talents are as dangerous as they are enviable, for the pleaſures he courted were the cauſe of his death.

BEJART was himſelf but an indifferent actor, but his wife was a woman of great theatrical talents, and ſhrewd and penetrating judgement. We have ſeen that MOLIERE, when he left the Illuſtrious theatre to go into PROVINCE, choſe her for his guide in his theatrical conduct. She, having before been accuſtomed to regulate a country company. Her attention to him and his intereſt was ſo much to his ſatisfaction that he married her daughter; who, under their inſtructions became a celebrated actreſs, and an excellent ſinger.

[50]Some have endeavoured to ſully her character, and I am the more particular in mentioning this on account of having read an Engliſh hiſtory of MO⯑LIERE, where calumny is unſparingly dealt out on the head of this poor woman. The French, how⯑ever do her juſtice, not one of whom, at leaſt that I have ſeen, and my perquiſitions have been pretty induſtrious, have hinted at any thing againſt her re⯑putation. It is true ſhe married four or five years after the death of MOLIERE, but her general con⯑duct in his life time, and the noble trait of duty, tenderneſs, and reſpect to his memory, which we witneſſed at the time of his funeral, muſt in every candid mind acquit her of any infidelity towards a man whoſe alliance with her was a proud and en⯑viable diſtinction, and whoſe affectionate and friendly attention to her and her family was warm and unre⯑mitting throughout his life.

Madmoiſelle DESOEILLETS was an actreſs of conſiderable merit. She was the original Hermione in RACINE's tragedy of Andromache, and performed the part with wonderful force and energy. CHAMP⯑MELE, however, who came after her, and who had more pathos and feeling, ſucceeded ſo greatly that DESOEILLETS confeſſed herſelf conquered, which being told to the king he ſaid it was a miſtake, for that they both performed the part admirably; but [51] to repreſent it to perfection, DESOEILLETS ought to play the two firſt acts and CHAMPMELE the three laſt.

BEAUCHATEAU was a reſpectable actor, and had a ſon who gave promiſe of uncommon talents both as an author and a performer; but at the age of fourteen he came to ENGLAND, where he ab⯑jured the Roman Catholic religion, and afterwards travelled into PERSIA, and was never after heard of.

It will be proper here to ſpeak of BARON, but to follow him through his career would lay me un⯑der the premature neceſſity of introducing POISSON, D'ANCOURT, and a number of other actors, an ac⯑count of whom had better come when we have ex⯑amined thoſe pieces in which they performed. As BARON, however, was cotemporary with many of thoſe who are mentioned in this chapter, I ſhall ſpeak of him previous to his quitting the theatre in 1691, when he retired with a penſion of a thouſand crowns.

This performer is allowed infinitely to have ſurpaſſed all who had gone before him. To ſtrong natural conception he added a ſolid and deciſive un⯑derſtanding; his figure was noble, his voice clear and powerful, his deportment was graceful and ma⯑jeſtic, [52] his manner varied and accommodating, and he never violated art unleſs to adorn nature. ‘"The rules,"’ ſaid he, ‘"forbid us to liſt the hands above the head, but if paſſion carries them there it is right; nature knows better than the rules."’ ROUS⯑SEAU ſays that BARON gave new luſtre to the beau⯑ties of RACINE, and threw a veil over the defects of PRADON.

BARON was certainly an actor of moſt extra⯑ordinary talents, which he availed himſelf of every opportunity to ripen and perfect. Bred up under the eye of MOLIERE, it was impoſſible not to benefit materially by the admirable precepts of ſo excellent a maſter. This added to thoſe gifts, with which by nature he had been abundantly endowed, qualified him for every ſtile of acting; and, except in what we call low comedy, a line he never at⯑tempted, he was allowed eminently to excel all others.

BARON wrote ſeveral pieces for the theatre, which have a ſmartneſs and ſomething very paſſable, but nothing more. His dialogue is lively, and his ſcenes are varied; and having mixed a good deal in ſociety, his characters are generally natural; but they are rather ſketches than plays, traits than ſcenes; and though taken abſtractly they produced ſtage [53] effect, yet their flimſyneſs and want of conſequence rendered their ſucceſs weak, and their duration tranſitory.

A French author ſays that the public never allow a man merit more than in one way, and that though the writings of BARON ought to have enſured him reputation, yet theſe meaner pretenſions are ſo loſt in the ſplendour of his talents as an actor that, rather than be obliged to admire them, they don't chuſe to acknowledge them at all. For my part I cannot ſee this, though I muſt confeſs it is a doctrine that ever has been held; for the more a man va⯑riouſly ſucceeds the more he muſt naturally be an object of public admiration; and this is particularly noticeable in MOLIERE, whoſe ſplendid talents as a writer, have never leſſened his reputation as an actor.

I am afraid the friends of BARON have attempted to give him an overſtrained reputation more ſuitable to his vanity, which was inſufferable, than propor⯑tioned to his talents. It was his common ob⯑ſervation that every hundred years produces a CAESAR, but that it takes two thouſand to produce a ROSCIUS^*. BARON's father was an actor, and his [54] mother an actreſs; he had alſo a ſon of promiſing talents, who died very young; and though from the intermarriages of this family, as will hereafter be ſeen, many members of the theatre were produced, he deſervedly ſtood at the head of it, and will ever be conſidered as a man of wonderful talents.

CHAP. IV. FRENCH THEATRE TO THE DEATH OF RACINE.

AT the time of MOLIERE's death, and ſoon after of CORNEILLE's final ſeceſſion from the ſtage, RA⯑CINE ruled with almoſt undiſputed ſway in tragedy, having no competitors worthy conſideration, except T. CORNEILLE, CAMPISTRON, and BOURSAULT; except we ſhould mention FONTENELLE, whoſe works for the theatre, like thoſe of LA FONTAINE, were written more for amuſement than profeſſionly. The vapid PRADON muſt be noticed merely for the ſake of form.

Comedy after the death of MOLIERE was almoſt wholly ſuſtained by T. CORNEILLE and BOUR⯑SAULT; till, in 1686, D'ANCOURT brought out his Fonds Predues ^*, ſo extremely difficult was it to [56] attain any thing like the ſtandard MOLIERE had ſet up.

As to the rincings of BOISROBERT's muddy hypocrene, they had evaporated long before; and long before had ceaſed the drolls of SCARRON; which, though admirable in their way, were in com⯑mon with a multitude of other mixed productions cruſhed by the powerful genius of MOLIERE. BEN⯑SERADE had ſo injured himſelf by his diſputes with this truly celebrated man, that he thought it more prudent to write ſonnets and epigrams, and obtain patronage among the great, than bring out plays and riſk the deciſion of the public; and as to BOYER's left handed fame, it ought to be conſigned to oblivion with the impertinent prattling of VISE, who only made himſelf celebrated by cenſuring what he could not imitate. CHAPELLE was juſt as much of a writer as a muſical amateur is of a leader of a band, and even LA FONTAINE, deſervedly celebrated as he ever will be, and particularly for thoſe writings which he ſo ſolemnly abjured^*, would [57] render the indiſpenſible neceſſity of mentioning him here an irkſome duty did it not give opportunity [58] of acknowledging his incomparable merit in every part of his productions except thoſe written for the ſtage.

I have already ſaid of BOURSAULT that his comedies, during the time of MOLIERE, having been the offspring of feuds and controverſies, in which he was always conquered, poſſeſſed conſi⯑derable merit, but were ſeldom intereſting, becauſe they ſpent their force againſt the reſiſtance oppoſed by this powerful competitor. Le Medecin Volant, Le Mort Vivant, and Les Cadenats, were of a deſ⯑cription too weak to cope with thoſe pieces of MO⯑LIERE, to which they were oppoſed; but, as if the exiſtence of that father of comedy had been the enchantment which held the genius of BOURSAULT ſpell-bound, no ſooner did that exiſtence ceaſe, but, like a ſpirit emancipated from confinement, this au⯑thor's merit began to be acknowledged; of which truth, as in many other inſtances, it will be impoſſible for me, in conſequence of ſo much matter, which will now preſs on me, to mention more than ſome leading particulars.

In 1679, BOURSAULT brought out Le Mercure Ga⯑lant, and Germanicus, which laſt had before appeared under the title of La Princeſſe des Cleves. The firſt of theſe pieces abounded with true comic humour, and the other with harmony, pathos, and ſtrength. VISE, [59] the author of a Journal called Le Mercure Galant, who was triumphantly ridiculed in this comedy, notwithſtanding we have ſeen him formerly join BOURSAULT in ridiculing MOLIERE, complained to the court againſt his old friend. The court referred him to the General of the Police, who ſaid he could not find in his conſcience to ſuppreſs the piece, it was ſo entertaining; but that, to meet the matter half way, he would iſſue a beheſt to call it La Co⯑medie ſans Titre, in order that, if it was not a juſt ſatire, nobody might find it out.

As to Germanicus, it had prodigious ſucceſs. CORNEILLE in the academy ſpoke of it in the higheſt terms, and ſaid, among other things, that it wanted nothing but the name of RACINE to be conſidered as one of the beſt tragedies on the the⯑atre. This RACINE conſidered as a ſarcaſm, and he, therefore, was never afterwards cordial with COR⯑NEILLE.

Marié Stuart, Phaeton, Meleagre, Mots a la Mode, Eſope a la Ville, and Eſope a la Cour, make up the re⯑mainder of BOURSAULT's works, which being writ⯑ten upon different occaſions, and for different pur⯑poſes, had of courſe various ſucceſs. The two Aeſops are certainly not calculated for intereſting effect, being thronged with fabulous applications; [60] the Fables, however, are written with great beauty, point, truth, and intereſt; and have ever been held in admiration, though they have been over and over again attempted both here and in other countries with but indifferent effect on the ſtage.

Eſope a la Ville nevertheleſs ſucceeded greatly during its firſt run; which, indeed, in ſome meaſure, was owing to the preſence of mind of the celebrated RAISIN, who performed the part of AESOP. Find⯑ing that the audience began to tire at this perpetual repetition of fables, though they greatly admired the fables themſelves, he came forward and told them that he plainly perceived, among them tokens of diſcontent; but the fact was that the author, de⯑termined to bring AESOP on the ſtage, would have failed in portraying the truth of his character if he had made him do any thing but repeat fables. ‘"This character,"’ ſaid he, ‘"as all characters ſhould be, is drawn naturally; and I can only tell you that if good fables, which are generally conſidered as the eſſence of dramatic pieces, ſhould be deemed an imperfection in the piece before you, we had better ſtop here, for I have yet eleven or twelve fables to repeat and all as good as thoſe you have heard."’ The loudeſt and moſt univerſal applauſe ſucceeded, and the piece from that moment was con⯑ſidered [61] as a work of great genius and a brilliant ornament to the theatre.

Let us look after T. CORNEILLE. Darius, brought out in 1655, Le Geolier de ſoi-meme, in 1659, Le Galant Double in 1660, and Stilicon in the ſame year, had none of them more than paſſable ſucceſs; but in 1661, Camma, which ſubject was ſuggeſted by FOUQUET, and recommended by the great CORNEILLE to his brother when he returned to the theatre, ſhews that fortune with T. COR⯑NEILLE was always in extremes; for the Hotel de Bourgogne, where it was repreſented, was ſo thronged and that repeatedly both in the front and behind the ſcenes, that there was ſcarcely room for the actors to perform their parts.

The concourſe of people who came to this tra⯑gedy induced the actors, who had exhibited till then only on Sundays, Tueſdays, and Fridays, to add Thurſday to their nights of performance; and this afterwards became a cuſtom during the run of any piece that had extraordinary ſucceſs.

Pyrrhus performed in 1661, Maximien in 1662, Perſée et Demetrius in 1662, Antiochus in 1666, and Le Baron D'Albikrac in 1668, had each a creditable degree of ſucceſs. Laodice, brought out the ſame [62] year, did not ſuccced ſo well^*. Annibal in 1669, La Comteſſe D'Orgueil in 1670, and Theodat in 1672, ſhared that ſort of fate uſually experienced by this author, when fortune was not in her moſt generous mood. Ariane, produced in the ſame year, though an indifferent piece was well received on account of the admirable acting of Madame CHAMPMELE, and has frequently been revived ſince. This is the play that induced BOILEAU to give T. COR⯑NEILLE the name of the Younger Brother. COR⯑NEILLE is ſaid to have written this tragedy in ſeven⯑teen days.

Achille in 1673, and Don Caeſar D'Avalos in 1674, did tolerably well, but this author determined to rouſe the public, had recourſe in his next piece, Circe, which he brought forward in 1675, to ma⯑chines and decorations. This anſwered his expec⯑tations for the performance ran forty nights in ſuc⯑ceſſion, and was freqently afterwards repeated during the ſeaſon; and CORNEILLE, determined to ſtrike while the iron was hot, in the ſame year produced [63] L'Inconnu, a piece upon the ſame principle, which had a prodigious number of repreſentations, of which the firſt thirty were at double price.

Le Feſtin de Pierre, brought out in 1677, was nothing more than MOLIERE's comedy under that title put into verſe, and of courſe rendered more unnatural. Le Comte D'Eſſex, produced in 1678, was performed with ſucceſs, and has been often re⯑peated.

La Devinèreſſe, performed in 1679, and Bra⯑damante in 1695, are all that now remain of the dra⯑matic pieces written by T. CORNEILLE. He is ſaid, in La Devinèreſſe, to have called in the aſſiſtance of VISE; this is not very probable. It was performed forty-ſeven ſucceſſive times to prodigious houſes^*.

This laſt was not one of thoſe meteors which now and then burſt forth to irradiate the reputation of this author; not that it ought to be taken for granted that his productions of that deſcription were his beſt; [64] on the contrary they ſeem to have owed their fame principally to capriciouſneſs, a quality very apt to cheriſh what is ſuperficial and paſs over ſterling merit.

T. CORNEILLE alſo wrote for the theatre two operas under the titles of Pſyche, and Medee; nei⯑ther of which had great ſucceſs, probably owing to LULLY. Having loſt QUINAULT, the only poet who knew how to give advantage to his muſic, the cloven foot appeared; for with all his vaunting that his muſic had made QUINAULT a poet, it fairly proved by his ill ſucceſs after that writer's retire⯑ment, that the beauty of QUINAULT's poetry had made LULLY a muſician.

I have been the more particular in this account of the works of T. CORNEILLE, becauſe they are very frequently confounded with thoſe of his bro⯑ther; an error that ought clearly to be pointed out. There certainly was a wide diſtinction between the two men; cauſed by the ſimple fact that the genius of the elder brother was infinitely ſuperior to that of the younger, If, however, the works of one may truly be called great, thoſe of the other may fairly claim the title of reſpectable; and nothing can prove this more fully than his making head in the extraordinary way we have ſometimes ſeen at the [65] time when his brother's brilliant ſucceſs muſt have been a great obſtacle to his reputation.

Some of the beauties of the great CORNEILLE were ſtrong conception, grandeur of mind, and true delineation of character, T. CORNEILLE could only boaſt conduct, regularity, and theatrical effect. Hence the cauſe ſometimes of ſudden and unex⯑pected ſucceſs. In other reſpects his pictures, which were admirable on the ſide of deſign, were faint on the ſide of colouring. His diction is unequal and weak, and only confirms the facility with which he laboured; always a dangerous circumſtance, and that ſeldom permits an author to attain any thing beyond mediocrity, unleſs, through impulſive ge⯑nius, the mind be inſpired with ideas ſo replete with truth and force, that it may be ſaid they are rather tranſmitted than written.

CAMPISTRON, a writer of reſpectable conſi⯑deration, next claims our attention. He was born at TOULOUSE, in 1659, and died of an apoplexy in 1723. CAMPISTRON was a nobleman by birth; and to the happieſt diſpoſitions for a purſuit of literature, received a moſt perfect and correct edu⯑cation. His taſte for poetry led him to PARIS, where RACINE became his guide in his dramatic [66] career. CAMPISTRON became the imitator of his preceptor; but, though he equalled him, and ſome⯑times excelled him in the conduct of his pieces, he always fell ſhort of the beauty of his verſification.

Owing to his birth, his talent for poetry, and the protection of the Duke de VENDÔME, he poſſeſſed ſeveral conſiderable employments, and was called on to fill a ſeat in the French Academy^*.

[67]In 1683 he brought out his tragedy of Virginie, which gave his name the ſtamp of reputation. He cloſely allied himſelf with RAISIN, the actor, at whoſe houſe he lived in the continual ſociety of all the men of talents and genius of that day; ſo that he had the advantage of their united opinions before he produced any thing to the public.

Arminius came forward in 1684. At this time the French taſte was guided by the caprice of Ma⯑dame de BOUILLON, who was conſidered as the arbiter of the public judgment, She had taken a whim to patronize a very indifferent tragedy, called Teléphonte, written by CHAPELLE. In conſe⯑quence of this Arminius was thruſt into a corner; CAMPISTRON, therefore, withdrew his piece under the idea of improving it, and having made a few im⯑material alterations, he dedicated it to Madame de BOUILLON, after which time it was univerſally followed.

Andronic was brought out in the following year, and had ſuch prodigious ſucceſs that for the firſt twenty nights the prices of admittance were doubled; and, when after that they had reduced them to their uſual ſtandard, they were again obliged to double them for a conſiderable time; and even then they [68] could ſcarcely keep the theatre clear enough to give the actors place for their performance.

Alcibiade, performed alſo in 1685, had not the ſucceſs of any of thoſe pieces which preceded it. CAMPISTRON was accuſed of having borrowed the ſubject from the Themiſtocle of DU RYER, but this was not the truth; or, if it had been ſo, it was not a ſufficient reaſon for the coolneſs with which the public received it, for the moſt celebrated authors have at all times taken the ſame liberties; and when⯑ever this has been done to advantage, thoſe pro⯑ductions have been uniformly conſidered as an ad⯑ditional value to the public ſtock of literature. The real fact was that CAMPISTRON not having had ſufficient time to prepare his play, it came out in a more unfiniſhed ſtate than any of thoſe the public had before ſeen.

Phraate produced in 1686, was ſo bold a picture of the times that CAMPISTRON rouſed all PARIS againſt him. It was performed but three times, and afterwards ſuppreſſed with all poſſible haſte leſt the incenſed party ſhould have had influence enough to ſend the author to the Baſtile.

Phocion performed in 1688, had very indifferent ſucceſs. The public had not forgot Phraate. This [69] induced CAMPISTRON to turn his mind to a ſubject which he thought would conciliate all parties. He, therefore, in 1690, brought forward Adrien, taken from the Hiſtory of the Church; but the public, as little deſirous of ſeeing religion on the ſtage as po⯑lities, gave this chriſtian tragedy, as it was called, a very heretical reception.

CAMPISTRON, however, was determined to ſtick to ſcripture; and, therefore, in his tragedy of Tiri⯑date, which was exhibited in 1691, the very delicate ſubject, from the Second Book of SAMUEL, of the amour of AMNON and his ſiſter TAMER, was intro⯑duced on the theatre, under the veil of profane hiſtory. This tragedy had but little ſucceſs; and, though it has been at different times revived, its reception was always ſo little in its favour, that it would have been better for the author and the pub⯑lic if it had been at once conſigned to oblivion.

Actius, brought out in 1693, is ſo little known, and its ſate ſo little remembered, that a French author ſays it is entirely loſt to the world except the following line:

Pompeia. This tragedy was publiſhed in the works of CAMPISTRON, but its original ſucceſs is [70] not known. His comedies will come more pro⯑perly hereafter; we have, therefore, nothing now to prevent our leaving the courſe fairly open to RA⯑CINE, expect the neceſſity of noticing PRADON, who was the ſame ſort of thorn in RACINE's ſide that BOURSAULT had been in the ſide of MOLIERE; with very diſtinct and different pretenſions, however, BOURSAULT having poſſeſſed great genius, and every literary requiſite, except a claſſical education, and PRADON having boaſted very little from nature without any education at all^*.

But there were ſo many authors of that time of the ſame deſcription in PARIS, that PRADON, if he had relied on mere patronage without ſetting himſelf up as the rival of RACINE, might have quietly en⯑joyed ſome partial reputation, and a good deal of profit; but his conduct in ſociety was like that of a fool in company: He was perpetually betraying his ignorance in his loquacity, inſtead of prudently concealing it by remaining ſilent. The conſequence was, that he drew on his head all the vengeance of RACINE's admirers, and particularly that of [71] BOILEAU; by which means he was perpetually loaded with literary diſgrace. In ſhort, had he not vainly and ridiculouſly compared himſelf to RA⯑CINE, his name would not have been held in ſuch contempt; or in other words, had he been modeſt as a man, he would have been conſidered paſſable as poet; but to ſpeak of RACINE.

We have ſeen in what manner the Mithridate ^*, and the Iphigene of RACINE, conquered the Pul⯑cherie, and the Surene of CORNEILLE. It will now be proper to ſpeak of the remaining pieces of RA⯑CINE, which are Phedre et Hypolite, Eſther, and Athalie.

Againſt Phedre et Hypolite, which came out in 1677, the whole force of PRADON's friends was drawn up in martial array; not only with a deter⯑mination to ſuppreſs this play of RACINE, but to eſtabliſh another under the ſame title written by PRADON. Among this party Madame DESHOU⯑LIERES, a celebrated writer, was ſupported by the Ducheſs of BOUILLON, the Duke of NEVERS [72] her brother, and many other perſons of diſtinction. The conſequence was that RACINE's play had but very indifferent ſucceſs, and that of PRADON was lifted to the ſkies.

Every induſtry was uſed to humiliate RACINE and exalt PRADON. The boxes, to PRADON's play, were taken for ſeveral nights together; ſo were thoſe to the play of RACINE, and paid; but they were locked up and left empty, that the houſe might appear as if it were deſerted. At the ſame time parties were hired to line the two parterres and to applaud one play and hiſs the other. But the moſt curious inſtance of their caprice was, that RACINE was execrated for bringing out a piece upon ſo indecent a ſubject, when the ſame circum⯑ſtances, equally reprehenſible in PRADON, was, in his favour, not only paſſed by but commended. It was ſaid that to raiſe this cabal it coſt this illuſtrious party fifteen thouſand livres.

This buſineſs at laſt became very ſerious. Ma⯑dame DESHOULIERES wrote a ſonnet with a view to humiliate RACINE and BOILLAU. They ſuſ⯑pecting this ſonnet to have come from the pen of the Duke of NEVERS, anſwered it by another, con⯑ſerving the ſame rhimes, in which they treated the Duke with great ſeverity. He replied by a third, [73] ſtill keeping the ſame rhimes, and finiſhed by a de⯑claration that he would cane them both in the the⯑atre before the public. ^*

This, however, upon reflection he thought pro⯑per to decline; for, his cauſe not being a very good one, and RACINE and BOILEAU having been that year choſen by the king to write the hiſtory of his reign, he was apprehenſive by this vindictive ſpirit he might incur the king's diſpleaſure; which con⯑jecture turned out to be well ſounded, for the king having noticed this unhandſome treatment to RA⯑CINE from firſt to laſt, ſent for the Duke himſelf and repreſented to him that he not only injured the [74] cauſe of literature, an object of conſequence in all civilized ſtates, by protecting dunces to the prejudice of men of talents, but that in this particular inſtance he had inſulted two men of merit, whom he himſelf had taken under his royal protection, and to whom it was his reſolution to ſhew every poſſible counte⯑nance and attention.

Notwithſtanding this ample juſtice done to the reputation of RACINE, the humiliation of having ſo deſpicable a competitor as PRADON, and that it ſhould be poſſible that the public could heſitate a moment between their different merits, determined RACINE, at all times exceſſively vain, and feelingly irritable, inſtead of exulting in his triumph, and treating the whole buſineſs with the ineffable con⯑tempt it deſerved, to retire at once from the theatre. In vain did BOILEAU, that kind friend, whoſe malignant ſpirit had led RACINE into all ſorts of ſcrapes, entreat him, in his ſeventh epiſtle, to re⯑enter on his dramatic career. He perſiſted ſtub⯑bornly till twelve years afterwards, when he brought out Eſther from motives of piety.

Madame de MAINTENON, diſguſted with the pieces which were performed by her young ſcholars at her convent of St. CYR, prevailed, with ſome difficulty, on RACINE to undertake ſome religious [75] ſubject to be repreſented by theſe young ladies. RACINE, after raiſing many difficulties, conſented at laſt, and wrote the tragedy of Eſther, which was performed, during the Carnaval at St. CYR, and afterwards at VERSAILLES before the king.

Madame de SEVIGNE calls this RACINE's chef d'oeuvre. ‘"This poet,"’ ſays ſhe, ‘"has here ſur⯑paſſed himſelf. He loves his GOD as he loved his miſtreſſes. He is as warm on holy ſubjects as he was on profane. All is beautiful, grand, written with dignity."’ VOLTAIRE, however, does not happen to be of this opinion. ‘"It ſeems to be,"’ ſays he, ‘"very extraordinary that Eſther had univerſal ſucceſs, and that Athalie, though performed but two years afterwards, by the ſame perſons, had none at all. The caſe was entirely the reverſe when theſe pieces were performed at PARIS long after the author's death, and when prejudice and partiality had alſo died away. Athalie was repreſented then, as it ought to be, with tranſport; and Eſther was received with coldneſs, and ſoon forgotten. The fact was; that, at this latter period, there were no ſervile courtiers who complaiſantly acknowledged Eſther in Madame de MAINTENON, or malignantly ſaw Vaſhti in Madame de MONTESPAN, or Hamon in DE LOUVOIS; or, above all, the perſecution [76] of the Huguenots in the proſcription of the He⯑brews. The impartial public ſaw nothing in it but a ſtupid and improbable ſtory. A ridiculous prince, who had lived ſix months with his wife without knowing what ſhe was, who commanded a whole nation to be murdered without the leaſt pretence^*, and who afterwards hanged his fa⯑vourite with as little reaſon."’

Eſther again rouſed RACINE's enemies; whoſe malignity, in revenge for the ſatire thrown out againſt them by BOILEAU, was ſo indeſatigably exerciſed, that from a variety of repreſentations of the circumſtance to Madame de MAINTENON, ſhe was taught to believe that ſhe relaxed the morals of her young penſioners by ſuffering them to ex⯑hibit any thing dramatic, even though on religious ſubjects. Deſirious, however, to hear Athalie, eſ⯑pecially after RACINE had taken ſo much pains to pleaſe her, ſhe conſented that the young ladies ſhould repeat the play in the preſence of the king in a plain antichamber, and without theatrical dreſſes. A piece, thus deprived of the advantages of dreſſes, ſcenery, and decorations, and upon ſuch a ſerious [77] ſubject, could not poſſibly ſucceed to any extra⯑ordinary degree; which circumſtance, perhaps, eſcaped VOLTAIRE. The king, however, was ſo well content that he conferred on RACINE the charge of one of his gentlemen in ordinary.

I ſhall now go as ſhortly as poſſible into an ex⯑amination of RACINE, of whom more, perhaps, has been ſaid by the French than of any other poet that ever had exiſtence, and certainly more, infinitely more, than his merit will bear out.

VOLTAIRE, who know as well that he was unable to write verſe with the ſame tenderneſs, the ſame beauty, and the ſame harmony as RACINE, as he did that in eloquence, force, and animation, he could greatly excel him, riſked nothing in thoſe rap⯑turous declarations which the world have taken for honeſt candour, and ſelf denying impartiality. Theſe are his words, on the delineation of RACINE's cha⯑racter of Phedre. ‘"This,"’ ſays he, ‘"is the chef d'oeuvre of the human mind, and the eternal but inimitable model for the labours of all thoſe who would write verſe."’ This, in Mr. VOLTAIRE's opinion, ſeems to ſtamp RACINE as the firſt of poets; but does it ſtamp him as the firſt of dramatic writers? At another time, when he was ſpeaking with great enthuſiaſm of the poetry of RACINE, he [78] was aſked by a friend why he had not given the world the eulogium of that poet as well as of the great CORNEILLE. ‘"It is already done,"’ ſaid VOLTAIRE, ‘"we have nothing to do but to write under every page, fine, pathetic, harmonious, ſublime!"’

Why did not VOLTAIRE add touching, cha⯑racteriſtic, important, philoſophic? Becauſe theſe are always to be found in CORNEILLE, often in VOLTAIRE, and ſeldom in RACINE.

The baſis of enthuſiaſtic admiration has ſeldom much ſolidity. The harmony of numbers, the en⯑chantment of language, a happy preciſion, a finiſhed elocution; all theſe captivate and entrance the mind; but when we are told by reflection, or if we are too far gone to reflect, by a candid and finiſhed critic, that all theſe qualities are no more than a fe⯑licitous variation of the idiom of a particular tongue, it is impoſſible not to confeſs that, in all this ſuperfi⯑cial deception, ſimplicity, nature, and the heart have been egregiouſly outraged; and, if this is not the caſe, how comes it that RACINE has never been tranſlated? I anſwer, becauſe it would take a poet, ay, and a great poet, to tranſlate RACINE; whereas a common linguiſt might tranſlate SHAKESPEAR, or even CORNEILLE, into any of the living languages.

[79]What does all this ſay, but that, ſeduced by this inimitable elegance, we ſhut our eyes to faults much more material and important than the beauties we have been able to diſcover. There is a wide diſ⯑tinction between a great poet and a great author; between RACINE, for inſtance, and CORNEILLE. Where is there in RACINE the painting, the variety, the depth, the grandeur, the elevation, the force, the majeſty that pervade the writings of CORNEILLE? Theſe are not to be found in ſtudy, and unfortu⯑nately RACINE had no other communication with the Muſes. I own that CORNEILLE fails in ſtyle and taſte; but ſtyle and taſte are weak and effemi⯑nate literary requiſites. How ſuch ſuperficial ex⯑preſſions fade away at thoſe more ſubſtantial epithets, truth, and nature. I own the writing of COR⯑NEILLE is ſometimes hard, incorrect, perplexed, and rude; but I ſtrip off this rind and inſtantly flows a nouriſhing juice that warms my heart and cheers and exhilerates my ſpirits.

The fact is that we find in CORNEILLE a mo⯑raliſt, a philoſopher, a legiſlator, and yet a poet. Love, pity, pride, ambition, cruelty, remorſe, re⯑pentance, mercy, clemency, are only ſo many ſhades which, with the aſſiſtance of a thouſand intermediate tints, he colours the picture of human nature. RA⯑CINE, only a poet, depicts nothing but love in all its various viciſſitudes. To love all the other [80] paſſions are ſubſervient; and, as if this were not enough, his Cupid is now and then a petit maitre and apes all the manners of the French court^*.

Whenever CORNEILLE has availed himſelf of hiſtory, he has taken the circumſtances and invented appropriate language for his perſonages. If RA⯑CINE wrote Phedre, Britannicus, and Athalie, he contented himſelf with verſifying EURIPIDES, TA⯑CITUS, and the Scriptures. But the great fault of RA⯑CINE, and that which ſhews he was by no means a maſter of dramatic conſtruction, is his having given to love the firſt rank in his tragedies; whereas reli⯑gion, general honour, patriotiſm, and other important public duties, though confirmed, conciliated, and endeared by love, to render the conſtruction of a play grand and intereſting, ought always to be the primary conſideration.

The very eulogiſts of RACINE loſe themſelves in attempting to draw a compariſon between him and CORNEILLE, They tell you that CORNEILLE [81] is like a ſtatue that ſtrikes you by the grandeur, the pride, the force, and the vigour of its form; that RACINE is a picture, ſweet, tender, delicate, na⯑tural, and animated, which through the eyes touches the heart. CORNEILLE a torrent that riſes up with violence and precipitates itſelf with impetuoſity; RACINE a majeſtic river whoſe grand and peaceable courſe conveys delight and expands fertility. COR⯑NEILLE an audacious eagle that loſes itſelf in the clouds and ſeizes the thunder of JUPITER; RA⯑CINE a tender dove that ſails beautifully through the air to the groves of IDALIA, from whence it returns training the car of VENUS.

That firmneſs of mind, that conſciouſneſs of ex⯑cellence, that certainty of ſuperiority neceſſary to form a great author, upon all occaſions failed RA⯑CINE. He flew, but he did not ſoar; he always pleaſed the ear, but he ſeldom reached the heart; he every where delighted the imagination, but no where touched the ſoul. That which cheated you into an idea of perfection often flattened into dull monotony, and fancied ſublimity, perpetually dwindled into meaſured numbers.

This mental weakneſs was manifeſt in all his conduct as a man. He was not contented with [82] fancying himſelf the greateſt writer that ever had exiſted, but he fancied he knew every thing better than every body. When he found himſelf ſo greatly favoured by Madame de MAINTENON, who, by the way, had only encouraged his muſe to humiliate her rival Madame MONTESPAN, he actualty projected a plan of finance, which he thought would work a complete reformation in the legiſlature. This plan was put on paper and confided to his patroneſs, in whoſe hands LOUIS the fourteenth found it; who not only ſoundly rated the lady for her officiouſneſs, but warmly inveighed againſt the temerity of the poet. ‘"How,"’ ſaid he, ‘"becauſe this man can write harmonious verſe, does he think he knows every thing? and becauſe he is a good poet does he fancy himſelf a great miniſter?"’

It was the great misfortune of RACINE that he conſidered the perfection of verſifying the perfection of writing; to which BOILEAU, who ſeemed like one of thoſe evil genuiſes that under the maſk of kindneſs lure men to a precipice and then laugh at them as they are precipitated down, did not a little contribute. Thus when he thought he had immor⯑talized himſelf by any work which the public re⯑ceived coldly, the ſhock was too much for his ſpirits. ‘"Though I own,"’ ſaid he to BOILEAU, ‘"nothing delights me ſo much as public applauſe, the leaſt, [83] the moſt contemptible criticiſm, always gives me more pain than the warmeſt praiſe ever gave me pleaſure."’ Is this a great man, a ſublime ge⯑nuis!

Many traits in the life of RACINE, his epigrams, and above all, his preface to Britannicus, where with a heart ſwelling and a mind ſtung with envy, he endeavoured with the moſt bitter irony to turn the greateſt part of CORNEILLE's pieces into ridicule, diſcover in RACINE that pityful littleneſs of mind, that cauſtic and iraſcible ſpirit which HORACE at⯑tributes to all poets, whom he pleaſantly calls the choleric race.

This perpetual diſcontent and eternal irritability abridged his life. After the buſineſs of his im⯑proving the finance, Madame de MAINTENON gave him to underſtand that the king was ſo little ſatisfied with him that he had better not appear at court till the ſtorm was blown over; determined, however, to be convinced, he appeared before the king, who took no notice of him. This ſevere humiliation he could not brook; he, therefore, retired to his native country, where he is ſaid to have lingered a twelve-month in a moſt, diſtracted ſtate of mind, and then to have died on the twenty-firſt of April, in 1699, of a broken heart.

[84]Faithful to the immutable dictates of ſacred truth, let us not withhold a fair tribute of praiſe to RACINE. As a poet he has been unfortunately ſpoken of to the excluſion of all others. If his friends had not been ſo warm in his praiſe, his works would not have demanded ſo critical an inveſtigation, and he would have been accorded his own fair legiti⯑mate portion of commendation, without the ne⯑ceſſity of ſhewing by compariſon how inferior he was to thoſe he is ſaid to have excelled.

In its general ſenſe, RACINE certainly did not belong to the firſt claſs of writers, which muſt be indiſpenſibly compoſed of men of original genius; nor did he more in its particular ſenſe; the art he exerciſed being of a ſecondary nature.

The claſſes of writers, particularly conſidered, may be divided into a large number; at the head of which ſtands firſt, the epic, ſecond, the dramatic, and ſoon after the lyric poet; but any number of any one of theſe particular claſſes may belong to the firſt claſs of writers, taken generally, if poſſeſſed of original genius^*.

Thus RACINE, having neither poſſeſſed original [85] genius, nor written epic poetry, cannot generally, nor particularly, be claſſed otherwiſe than as a ſe⯑condary writer. His labours, however, are both ingenious, and meritorious; and will enſure him a large portion of fame with all thoſe who conſider taſte and ſtyle as the ſtandard of literature; but, I believe, they are few writers who would not rather, like CORNEILLE, be eſteemed by the wiſe, admired by the judicious, and emulated by men of genius; than, like RACINE, be the criterion of the faſhion⯑able, the wonder of the inexperienced, and the idol of the ladies.

CHAP. V. DANCOURT, AND OTHER AUTHORS TO CREBILLON.

HAVING principally ſpoken of tragedy in the laſt chapter, in order that RACINE might be more pro⯑perly before the reader, I ſhall now return to the time when DANCOURT gave a new turn to comedy; certainly an imitation of MOLIERE, but beyond all queſtion, as far as it went, in every reſpect an im⯑provement; for, by aiming at leſs of the ARISTO⯑PHANES, his ſatire is more general and leſs of⯑fenſive.

DANCOURT was born at FONTAINBLEAU, in 1661, he was educated under Father DE LA RUE, a Jeſuit; who finding him a young man of excellent underſtanding, did all in his power to retain him as a member of that fraternity. He, however, de⯑clared for the bar; but, finding that ſtudy too ſtraitened and dry for the vivacity and penetration of a genius like his, he finally determined for the [87] ſtage, where he made ſo great a progreſs, that like MOLIERE, he became director of the theatre.

Though DANCOURT brought out no leſs than fifty-two pieces, beſides ſix or eight others attributed to him, his ſubjects lie in a ſmall circle, round, which he perpetually turned. Trickſters of every deſcription he had a moſt happy knack of expoſing; and, to employ this talent, he found an inexhauſtible ſource of materials in painting the manners of middling life, and the cunning of thoſe who are kind friends and good neighbours, except upon thoſe oc⯑caſions when intereſt renders them callous to ge⯑neroſity and inſenſible to good fellowſhip.

Theſe ordinary feelings and actions of mankind which pervade every order of ſociety, he moſt happily purſued even to the loweſt peaſants. If his ſcene was a village, or even a mill, the ſubtilty, with which intereſt teaches men to betray thoſe they appear to love, was no leſs refined than if his cha⯑racters had been financiers, or procureurs; and, in⯑deed, in painting ruſtic manners no man ever was ſo happy. His clowns are ſo ſimple, and ſo natural, yet ſo fine and ſo cunning, and manage their intrigues with ſuch keen dexterity, that in intereſt, a ſtateſman might envy the art and adroitneſs of BLAISE, and [88] in love a woman of faſhion might be proud to emu⯑late the coquettry and capriciouſneſs of BABET.

The lighteſt circumſtance furniſhed him with an idea for an entertainment. An adventure, a faſhion, a proverb, became a ſubject of moment, dramatiſed by DANCOURT. His pieces are all light, but they are ingenious, regular, managed adroitly, and with⯑out embarraſſment. His dialogue is natural, lively, rapid, full of gaiety, and ſparkling with wit; written, five plays excepted^*, which are by no means the beſt of his works, in proſe, a ſtrong proof of his good ſenſe. Not that he was unequal to the taſk of writing poetry; for his pieces are ſometimes in⯑terſperſed with little ſongs, maſques, and divertiſe⯑ments, which are written very neatly, and which, upon the whole, rank his genius ſomewhere be⯑tween PRIOR and VANBRUGH; which laſt, what⯑ever his obligations were to nature, was, as I ſhall hereafter particularize, alſo highly obliged to DAN⯑COURT.

[89]The pieces of DANCOURT which have beſt eſtabliſhed his reputation, are La Femme D'intrigue, Le Chevalier a la Mode, Les Bourgeoiſes a la Mode, and the Agioteurs. Theſe, except the laſt, are pieces of five acts, and for conduct, truth, colour⯑ing and ſpirit, no comedies can be better managed, nor characters drawn. His ſecondary claſs are La Maiſon de Campaigne, La Pariſienne, Le Tuteur, La Foire de Bezons, Le Galant Jardinier, and five or ſix others; in all which the circumſtances are ſtrong, the characters natural, and the dialogue lively and unaffected.

A third ſort are thoſe pictureſque trifles, ad⯑mirable in their way, where he has availed himſelf of any temporary circumſtance. Such are La Lo⯑terie ^*, Les curieux de Compeigne ^†, Le Mari Re⯑trouvé ^*, [90] Le Vert Galant ^†, and ſeveral others. His [91] fourth claſs, but by no means his worſt, are pieces generally of one act, containing a neat unaffected plot, ſpiritedly begun, well followed, and roundly finiſhed. Among theſe we find La Gazette, L'Opera de Village, Les Vendanges, Le Moulin de Javelle, Les eaux de Bourbon, Les Vacances, Colin Maillard, and about eight more.

It has been ſaid that what REGNARD was to MOLIERE in the higher ſtyle of comedy, DAN⯑COURT was to the ſame degree in farce. Nothing can more clearly prove his good ſenſe than this re⯑mark, for that part of MOLIERE's works which ap⯑proaches neareſt to farce, is by infinite degrees his beſt; and it would have ill ſuited the bent of DAN⯑COURT's genuis to have attempted any thing of a grander kind. As it is, by diverſifying, extending, and, indeed, improving this lighter ſpecies of dra⯑matic amuſement, his pieces have ever been de⯑ſervedly celebrated; had he attempted any thing more he might have been reſpectable, but he never would have been popular.

It has been laid to DANCOURT's charge, that he foiſted on the public the works of other people as his own; but the ſame thing has been ſaid of every author of merit that ever exiſted. In ſupport [100] of theſe accuſations againſt DANCOURT it is in⯑ſiſted that, being a manager of a theatre, and con⯑ſtantly in poſſeſſion of a variety of new pieces, he appropriated ſuch as he thought proper to his own uſe, and having kept copies of them, returned them to their different authors as improper for repre⯑ſentation.

This aſſertion, however, ſtands upon very feeble ground indeed, and ſeems to have originated from that envy which, the poet tells us, purſues merit as its ſhadow. There is no piece of DANCOURT, let the materials be ever ſo ſlight, that is not touched with the hand of a maſter. How could he then reap advantage from the eſſays of novices? For he is not accuſed of robbing a ſingle adept. Indeed the beſt name they can produce, and almoſt the only one, to corroborate this improbable aſſertion, is that of SAINTYON, who is ſuſpected to be the author of Le Chevalier a la Mode, and Les Bour⯑ge [...]iſis a la Mode—two comedies of conſiderable merit in point of conſtruction the latter being al⯑moſt, word for word, our admirable play of The Confederacy—and known to be the author of Les Facons du Temps, and Danae, two pieces which, though touched up by RICCOBONI and DOMINIQUE, and puſſed by BOURSAULT's celebrated VISE, who [101] was paid for his pains, were conſidered by the pub⯑lic as moſt contemptible productions.

Thoſe who can read with judgement will very eaſily ſee that the works of DANCOURT are uni⯑formly written by the ſame perſon. They are col⯑lected into nine volumes with the greateſt care by his friends, who one ſhould ſuppoſe would have made theſe diſtinctions had they been neceſſary; and they bear the ſignature of DE LA MOTTE, whoſe duty it was to ſign the privilege of the king, and whoſe advice, both for the ſake of truth and out of care for the reputation of DANCOURT, whom he admired, would of courſe have been to pub⯑liſh no more than was legitimately his. I ſhall hereafter reſume DANCOURT as an actor and a manager.

REGNARD, a reſpectable writer, who is ſaid to have divided the genuis of MOLIERE with DAN⯑COURT, certainly not only choſe the worſt and the moſt difficult part, but that to which he was un⯑equal. The higher ſtyle of MOLIERE's comedy is in verſe, and unfortunately for REGNARD in ſuch verſe as he was incapable of writing. He did right, however, for had he choſen that part which DAN⯑COURT improved, he would have been worſe off. VOLTAIRE, who loves to afford left handed praiſe, [102] ſays that he who is not pleaſed with REGNARD is not worthy to admire MOLIERE. The truth is, that had REGNARD never heard of ſuch a writer as MOLIERE, he would have been a better writer him⯑ſelf. Every man ſhould uſe his own faculties ſuch as they are, and ſcorn the ſervility of imitation^*.

REGNARD, who was born of rich parents in 1657, in the early part of his life viſited many of the courts of EUROPE. In one of his voyages in the MEDITERANEAN, he was taken by a Corſair and ſold afterwards for fifteen hundred livres. His maſter carried him to CONSTANTINOPLE, where he was a long time a ſlave; finding means, however, to inform his friends of his ſituation, they paid his ranſom, and he returned to FRANCE, bringing with him his chains; which, in imitation of AESOP, and other [103] great men, he preſerved to remind him of his former adverſity.

REGNARD, between 1688 and 1695, brought out ſix pieces at the ancient Italian theatre^*. Theſe were none of thoſe in which he copied MOLIERE, but if they had been any of them they would have done him but little credit, for they were flunzy enough, and their ſucceſs was ſo little to the repu⯑tation of their author, or DOMINIQUE, who pro⯑duced them, that there is an anecdote of his eraſing ſome of them from his ſtock catalogue.

His pieces for the French theatre, amounting to eight, have more pretenſions to merit, particu⯑larly Le Joueur de Bal, Le Diſtrait, Democrite, and Les Menechmes; but even theſe are full of de⯑fects; [104] having but little original in them, and being written in dull monotonous verſe, with little energy and leſs intereſt. The Diſtrait makes a better figure in BRUYERE, Democrite is a ſtrange jumble of improbability, and Les Menechmes, originally from PLAUTUS, is altered very little for the better from ROTROU. Upon the whole Le Joueur is his beſt comedy, which has intereſt, ſituation, and character enough to give it conſequence, were it not for the negligent, heavy, and proſaic verſe in which it is written.

DUFRESNY was an author of conſiderable merit. His pieces, upwards of thirty in number, are ge⯑nerally an irregular jumble, careleſs, and negligent, and yet they are not without ingenuity, ſprightlineſs, and nature. Their grand fault is indecency, which, however, in FRANCE, has ſeldom impeded the ſuc⯑ceſs of dramatic repreſentations of the ligher kind, nay, ſome of thoſe which have been performed on the Boulevards, have, if I may ſo expreſs myſelf, no other merit.

It is very well known that DUFRESNY was de⯑ſcended from HENRY the fourth. That king hav⯑ing had an amour with a woman who was called LA BELLE JARDINIERE, the conſequence of which was the birth of DUFRESNY's grandfather. LOUIS [105] fourteenth did not diſſemble the fact; but, on that account, afforded him his particular countenance and protection.

It is aſtoniſhing how variouſly gifted this man was, and yet how little he knew. He had a taſte for poetry, painting, ſculpture, architecture, and agriculture; but his great delight was muſic; and, though nothing could beat into him the ſmalleſt comprehenſion of its theoretical principles, yet he made many melodies, which are printed at the end of his works, and which evince a muſical mind if he had known how to have put it into action. His method was when he had invented his tune to ſing it to GRANDVAL, who as well as an actor was a muſician, after which GRANDVAL wrote it down and added the accompanyments.

As extraordinary things are ſaid of his know⯑ledge of deſign; in which he uſed no pencil, nor crayon, but a pair of ſciſſars, faſhioning every kind of animate and inanimate object with the moſt cri⯑tical ſymetry and taſte. Models for ſculpture he formed in the ſame extemporaneous manner with clay and wax; and his knowledge of agriculture, which he is very gravely ſaid to have inherited from [104] [...] [105] [...] [106] his great grandmother, was, both as to ornament and utility, uncommonly great and extenſive.

The gardens of MIGNAUX, near POISSY, thoſe in the FAUXBOURG, SAINT ANTOINE, called Du Moulin and Le Chemin Creux, thoſe of the Abbe PAJOT, near DE VINCENNES, are proofs of his ſuperior taſte and judgement in this ſtudy. LOUIS the fourteenth, determined to make the gardens at VERSAILLES ſurpaſs in grandeur and magnificence every thing of that kind ſeen before, ſubmitted his plan to DUFRESNY, who ſuggeſted many material alterations with which the king was greatly pleaſed; but objected to them on account of the prodigious expence that would be incurred had the plan been carried into execution. He, however, to ſhew DU⯑FRESNY how much he admired his ſpirit and taſte, made him controller of his gardens.

This projector afterwards was at the head of a glaſs manufactory which had prodigious ſucceſs. With all theſe fortunate advantages, however, DU⯑FRESNY was always behind hand. This induced him, when he had brought this manufactory to perfection, to ſell his concern in it for a very moderate ſum, which circumſtance coming to the ears of the king, he obliged thoſe who had taken advantage of his [107] neceſſity and ingenuity to allow him three thouſand livres a year. His extravagance, however, knew no bounds, and it was not long before he agreed with his partners to give up the annuity for a given ſum, on which the king was heard to ſay, ‘"that the public treaſury would not content DU⯑FRESNY^*."’

Many of his dramatic pieces, only two of which L'eſprit de Contradiction, and Le Lot Suppoſè, ſuc⯑ceeded in his life time, have been revived at dif⯑ferent times either at the Italian theatre, or the Fairs; but though the major part of them are printed in his works, they have now been baniſhed the theatre for many years.

[108]POISSON, whom I ſhall ſpeak of here only as an author, brought forward, between 1661 and 1680, nine pieces, ſeven of which are each in one act, one is in five acts, and the other in three. It is not ſo much the number of pieces, or their eſtimation, in point of weight and conſequence, that entitles the performances of POISSON to particular mention here, as the ſimplicity and nature in their ſtyle by which they are diſtinguiſhed.

His perſonages are, like thoſe of DANCOURT, choſen from the middle order of ſociety, whoſe tone and language he has happily caught; and, though it muſt be confeſſed that his pieces are fee⯑ble, on the ſide of invention, they are deſigned with that intelligence, and executed with that fa⯑cility, which evince judgement and experience in their author.

He is conſidered as the inventor of the character of CRISPIN, and theſe pieces are evidently written to ſupport that character, which he always per⯑formed himſelf. Its outline is light pleaſantry, in⯑ſinuating flattery, perpetual importunity, one who meddles with every thing, is attached to nothing, and who ſeems more intereſted in proportion as the circumſtance is contemptible. Theſe qualities he has woven into his pieces and characterized by in⯑numerable [109] tints and ſhades to ſhew off the fineſſe of his acting, in which he was ſuppoſed to excel all other performers. La Fou de Qualité, which he de⯑dicated to LANGELY, the fool of LOUIS the four⯑teenth, Les Faux Muſcovites ^*, and two or three others, may rank fairly by the ſide of thoſe pieces written by DANCOURT. I ſhall hereafter ſpeak of POISSON as an actor.

The pieces of LE NOBLE are of ſo little celebrity that I ſhould paſs over that author entirely but for the rank in literature he otherwiſe held, and for thoſe ſtrange adventures which aroſe out of his ſingular conduct.

LE NOBLE was born at TROYES, in 1643, of a family of diſtinction, and was given, entirely through his merit, a charge of procureur general of the [110] parliament of METZ. He enjoyed for ſome years a brilliant reputation and a large fortune, when he was all of a ſudden accuſed of forgery, conveyed to the Chatelet, and condemned to make amende ho⯑norable, and to be baniſhed for nine years. He ap⯑pealed againſt the ſentence, merely to gain time, and in the mean while he was committed to the Conçergerie.

GABRIELLE PERREAU, known by the name of LA BELLE EPICIERE, was at that time in the ſame priſon, where ſhe had been ſent by her huſband for infidelity and other ill conduct. She was hand⯑ſome, and LE NOBLE, not inſenſible of her charms, undertook to be her advocate. She in return was not ungrateful. A handſome man, with a lively and ſenſible imagination, and who ſpoke and wrote to admiration, was the very object to her mind. They lived together upon the moſt familiar terms till an apprehenſion of a living witneſs of their inter⯑courſe obliged them to take meaſures to prevent a diſcovery.

LE NOBLE bad prolonged the proceedings with great addreſs both againſt her and himſelf; and, upon this emergency, he managed that ſhe ſhould be received into a convent to lie in as a penſioner. In this ſituation he concerted his meaſures ſo cun⯑ningly [111] that when ſhe was able to go out, he evaded the vigilence of his keepers and retired to an obſcure part of PARIS, where ſhe ſoon joined him, firſt leav⯑ing the child behind her as a preſent to the holy ſiſters of the convent. They were ſoon routed, obliged to leave PARIS, and lived for ſome years an errant and a vagrant life, during which time the lady brought him two more children.

At length he was taken, again put into priſon, and immediately condemned to make the amende honorable in the chamber of the Chatelet, and to be baniſhed the kingdom for nine years, and at the ſame time his lady's cauſe was determined, which deciſion releaſed her huſband from all charge upon her ac⯑count, and obliged LE NOBLE to provide for her and her three children. What degree of ignomi⯑nious puniſhment he ſuſtained we are not told, but one ſhould ſuppoſe it was as ſlight as the nature of the circumſtance would admit, for he was permitted after a ſhort baniſhment to return to FRANCE, where he figured away with incredible reputation as a writer.

His troubles, however, had no power to reſtrain his irregularities. He continued incorrigible the whole of his life, and, at length, died in conſequence of his diſſipation, at the age of ſixty eight, and was [112] buried at the expence of the pariſh, after having gained the bookſellers a hundred thouſand crowns. His works, which are publiſhed in twenty volumes, are upon various ſubjects, and generally well written. Among them are to be found four dramatic pieces; which, like thoſe of FONTENELLE, and LA FON⯑TAINE, ſeem to have been more the fruits of leiſure hours than the employment of that time which he devoted to the aſſiſtance of his literary reputation. Their titles are Eſope, Les Deux Arlequins, Tha⯑leſtris, and Le Fourbe.

The ſwarm of inferior authors who infeſted the theatres and inundated the public about this period, every one a MOLIERE in imagination, I ſhall nei⯑ther have room, nor have I inclination to intro⯑duce. I cannot, however, paſs by BRUEYS and PA⯑LAPRAT, who wrote in conjunction ſeveral pieces for the theatre. BRUEYS was born in PROVENCE, in 1640, and was bred up a Calvaniſt. He made himſelf remarkable early in life by writing againſt BOSSUET's Expoſition de la Foi. That prelate in combating his reaſons converted him, and when he had become a Roman Catholic he was altogether as zealous againſt the Proteſtants as he had been for⯑merly ſtrenuous in their favour. He was, however, ill calculated for diſputes of this kind, and, there⯑fore, left theology for the theatre.

[113]PALAPRAT was born at TOULOUSE, in 1650. As a poet he had a lively and pleaſant imagination, and as a man he was candid, ingenuous, and un⯑offending. Alike unconſcious of his philanthropy, or his wit, he was kind to others for his own gratification, and he delighted the world while he thought he was inſtructing himſelf; thus if THEMISTOCLES aſked, when his hearers laughed, if he had ſaid a fooliſh thing, PALAPRAT might have aſked with the ſame ſimplicity as his hearers admired him, ‘"What have I ſaid worthy of attention."’

The ſimilitude of diſpoſitions and merit in BRUEYS and PALAPRAT pointed them out to each other as proper aſſociates in literature. They brought out, in conjunction, a great number of pieces. Le Grondeur is ſaid to be ſuperior to any thing in MOLIERE. This, however, is ſaying too much of it, though it cannot be denied that it is full of whimſical pleaſantry and well conducted intrigue. Le Muet is imitated from the Eunuch of TERENCE, but certainly written with much more warmth than its model. L'Important de Cour, which neither wants fire nor humour, is however wrongly named; for the principal character is not by any means a perſon of importance, but a pityful provincial pretender, [114] who awkwardly apes courtly manners without un⯑derſtanding them.

Le Force du Sang, L'Opiniatre, Les Empyriques, Les Quiproquo, and Les Embarras du derriere du The⯑atre, have all ſome pleaſant paſſages. L'Opiniatre is in verſe, and, therefore, hard and dry, and though full of action, it has no humour. The principal character is a mere chalk drawing. Upon the whole L'avocat Patelin is the beſt piece produced by theſe aſſociates, and is a meritorious attempt to reſtore the ancient farce originally invented by the Children of Sans Souci, and greatly encouraged at the time of FRANCIS the firſt, and which, without doubt, MO⯑LIERE had frequently in his eye^*.

Theſe are the moſt material of thoſe pieces which [115] were brought out by theſe friends, for friends they ſtrictly were; induced, one would think, by a re⯑markable parity in their genius, diſpoſitions, ha⯑bits, and manners, nay, even their bodily infirmities, which rendered them a conſtant prey to doctors, and particularly to the nephew of BRUEYS, a man of medical celebrity^*. Thus equal in reputation, in ſimplicity, and in credulity, they lived upon the kindeſt terms for many years. At length, not without ſtrong regret on both ſides, they parted. PALAPRAT followed the fortune of VENDÔME into ITALY, and BRUEYS retired to MONTPELIER, where he died at the age of eighty-three, having ſurvived his friend only a year.

CHAP. VI. CREBILLON AND THE STATE OF TRAGEDY TO VOLTAIRE.

CREBILLON, who ſtands at the head of thoſe dra⯑matic writers that immediately ſucceeded RACINE, now claims our attention; he being the only author who knew how to make advantage of the occaſion that then preſented itſelf of emulating the reputation of CORNEILLE and RACINE, without imitating either of them.

CREBILLON was born at DIJON, of an ancient and noble family, in 1674, and died at PARIS in 1762. He was intended by nature to purſue in literature a career of his own, which was the more fortunate for him as CORNEILLE had appropriated to himſelf the majeſty, and RACINE the tender⯑neſs of tragedy. He diſdained to follow their ſteps, perhaps leſs impelled by choice than compulſion; genius ſeldom balances; it decides. It projects leſs than it executes.

[117]CREBILLON, determined to chuſe a ſure road, ſtruck into the path that AESCHYLUS had trod be⯑fore him; which he purſued with a ſtrength and a regularity that AESCHYLUS never knew. His ſtyle was all nerve, all force; it had neither the elevation of CORNEILLE, nor the elegance of RACINE. He preferred aſtoniſhment to admiration, ſtrength to harmony, and his male and vigorous pencil ſeldom drew any but terrible objects. It was a tyrant who, while he exacted your obedience, made you trem⯑ble in his preſence.

CREBILLON's firſt tragedy, Idoménée, was brought out in 1705. The public balanced at the bold ſtyle in which it was written, and complained againſt the fifth act. It was withdrawn and a new fifth act written, when its ſucceſs was prodigious^*.

Atree et Thyeſte, produced in 1707, gave CREBILLON's reputation ſtronger footing. Never⯑theleſs the boldneſs of his ſtyle induced the au⯑dience on the firſt night to pauſe on its merits. It was impoſſible to blame, but they knew not to what degree to applaud judiciouſly^†. It [118] grew, however, on the public and became a great favourite.

Electre came out in 1708, with much reputation, but Radamiſte et Zenobie, lifted the ſame of CRE⯑BILLON to that height where it has ever ſince de⯑ſervedly been placed. It is certainly one of the chef d'oeuvres of the French theatre, and the aſtoniſh⯑ing ſucceſs it met with was greatly its due^*. In his next piece, Xerxes, brought forward in 1714, he was leſs happy. It had but one repreſentation. When it was over he aſked for the parts from the actors and burnt them before their faces, ſaying, ‘"I was in the wrong, the public have undeceived me."’ There is good writing in this piece, but the author killed almoſt all the characters; a circum⯑ſtance [119] at which the French have always with juſtice revolted.

Semiramis came out in 1717. This is the play which, as we ſhall hereafter ſee, VOLTAIRE took for the model of his tragedy under that title, and which induced ſo many ſquibs and epigrams at his expence. It had conſiderable ſucceſs when CRE⯑BILLON firſt produced it. Pyrrhus, performed in 1762, was a tragedy written upon a new model; and, therefore, did not greatly ſucceed. CREBILLON had been reproached with introducing ſo much cruelty on the ſtage, that he, therefore, reſolved to try his hand at tenderneſs. We are told he worked for five years at this tragedy, and, at laſt, though it had its particular merits, the audience gave but little credit to them, becauſe written by a man who, inſtead of the pathetic, had been ac⯑cuſtomed to produce the terrible.

As Catalina, CREBILLON's next piece, was not produced till 1748, at which time he might be con⯑ſidered as cotemporary with VOLTAIRE, I remit a further account of him till that time; when, as far as it may be neceſſary, I ſhall alſo notice his ſon.

LONGEPIERRE, who was celebrated for three tragedies under the titles of Medee, Electre, and [120] Seſoſtris, was a proof how extremely difficult au⯑thors found it to ſteer, like CREBILLON, wide of CORNEILLIE and RACINE, and yet ſucceed. Search⯑ing for the beauties of SOPHOCLES and EURIPIDES, they forgot the age in which they were writing. Medée, which is ſaid to have been ſuperior to COR⯑NEILLE, is full of declamation, cold, unequal, and prolix. Electre, from which piece, however, VOL⯑TAIRE has not diſdained to borrow ſome circum⯑ſtances in his Oreſte, is a Greek dreſſed in a French habit, a ſtatue of PRAXITELES disfigured by a modern bungler; and, as for Seſoſtris, it was per⯑formed but once, and was never printed^*.

[121]LA GRANGE CHANCEL, who wrote with con⯑ſiderable celebrity, would have enſured himſelf a more brilliant fame had he not ſervilely followed RACINE, who, indeed, was his preceptor in the art of letters; if it be not a profanation to call that an art which is incapable of being taught by any other preceptor than nature.

LA GRANGE was born near PERIGUEUX, in 1676, and he died at PARIS, in 1760, having ren⯑dered himſelf remarkable for employing his pen from nine years old till within two years of his death. Having been puffed up with early ſucceſs, he ventured at ſome indiſcreet ſatires, for which he was confined in the Iſlands of Saint MARGUERITE, whence, after a year, he contrived to eſcape; and, by means of friends which he conjured up wherever he went, he was kindly received by the king of SARDINIA, and afterwards he rendered himſelf uſeful to the king of SPAIN.

The Spaniſh nobles, jealous of this diſtinction, planned his deſtruction, and it was with the utmoſt difficulty he eſcaped aſſaſſination. Finding that SPAIN was no place for him, he embarked for AM⯑STERDAM. There he procured an introduction to [122] the Ambaſſador of AUGUSTUS, king of POLAND, who finding him full of political intelligence, took him to POLAND at his return, where AUGUSTUS invited him to his court and made him conſiderable preſents.

After the death of thoſe he had ſatirized, who had been his perſecutors in FRANCE, he ventured to return to his native country. The miniſters of ſtate very ſoon courted his alliance, know⯑ing that the intelligence he muſt have gathered by his intimate knowledge of the affairs of foreign courts would render him of infinite ſervice to them in the proſecution of their views. This party he readily embraced and, after that, he lived ſafe, fa⯑voured, and opulent.

His writings, which are full of genius and inex⯑perience, are a mixture of temerity and fear. Every thing is ventured, nothing prepared. Love and hatred, fury and moderation, are violently dragged in without motive or management. Inſults are com⯑mitted and pardoned, anger is kindled and extin⯑guiſhed, nobody knows why. Soaring after the ſub⯑lime he ſeizes the bombaſt; and ſtudying for the beautiful he is loſt in the bathos. His grandeur is burleſque, and his ſimplicity puerility.

[123]The ſeverity of theſe truths, however, would not have attached to the writings of LA GRANGE, had he like CREBILLON diſdained imitation. His firſt piece Adherbal, brought out in 1694, and written when he was only fourteen years of age, is ſpoken of as an aſtoniſhing attempt for ſuch a youth, and very probably he might have claimed the merit of an original writer had he not ſuffered his fancy, at that tender ſeaſon when the mind takes and retains im⯑preſſions, to be ſo cramped and lamed as to have little power afterwards to exerciſe its natural functions^*.

[124]Three years afterwards, was produced Oreſte et Pilade, which is ſaid to have been written by LA GRANGE from a plan drawn by RACINE. It was performed a few nights and then kept back on ac⯑count of the death of the celebrated CHAMPMELE, after which it was wholly withdrawn.

In 1699, appeared Meleagre, which, however, ſucceeded but indifferently, and in the ſame year he brought forward Athenais, which piece was at⯑tacked by LE NOBLE and others, and warmly de⯑fended by its author; and the little ſucceſs it had ſeems to have ſprung from this controverſy.

Amoſis in 1701, Alceſte in 1703, Ino et Melicerte in 1713, and Sophoniſbe in 1716, are all the re⯑mainder of thoſe pieces written by LA GRANGE before VOLTAIRE. Amaſis was violently attacked, and it muſt be confeſſed was very vulnerable; Alceſte was ſaid to be no more than a plan from RACINE filled up by LA GRANGE—indeed we are [125] told that RACINE left in the poſſeſſion of LA GRANGE many of thoſe plans, ſome of which were partly written in proſe, and thoſe fragments which are publiſhed in his works lend probability to the report—Ino et Melicerte had no ſucceſs, and So⯑prioniſbe is remembered by nothing but four re⯑markable lines^*.

LA FOSSE attempted what CREBILLON after⯑wards perfected. Like him he had a ſtrong mind; full of grandeur and dignity; but probably, fear⯑ing to attack ſo revolting a ſtyle of writing as terror which requires more ſtrength and ſuror than majeſty and tenderneſs, and is yet ſubordinate to both, he ſtrove in vain to imitate AESCHYLUS; till, finding how difficult it is to be original, he at length contented himſelf with copying CORNEILLE as ſervilely as LA GRANGE had copied RACINE; ſo that, during the interval between CAMPISTRON and CREBILLON, tragedy languiſhed under the [126] feeble ſupport of theſe ſhadows of two men, one of whom had given it life and vigour, and the other poliſh and refinement.

LA FOSSE wrote four tragedies, in which it is plain to be ſeen that CORNEILLE was the Phoebus to whom he condeſcended to become the Phoeton. Theſe tragedies were called Polixene, brought out in 1696, Manlius Capitolinus in 1698, Theſee in 1700, and Coréſus in 1703. Of all which plays it has been ſaid, but of Manlius Capitolinus in par⯑ticular, that CORNEILLE might not have been aſhamed of being known as the author; but this is going a great deal too far; for, though they con⯑tain many paſſages that reflect a reſpectability on the writer, they are upon the whole heavy, dull, and unintereſting; and evince the certain painful, difficult, and unfruitful reſult of their purſuits, who fetter genius, and ſtudy to be natural.

Both LA GRANGE, and LA FOSSE, owe their re⯑putation, ſuch as it was, and conſequently the notice taken of them here, to the adventitious circumſtance of appearing at a time when they could comfortably conſider themſelves reſpectively as repreſentatives of CORNEILLE, and RACINE, merely becauſe they had no formidable opponent. And now, un⯑leſs I were to ſubſtitute writings for literature, and [127] names for merit, I ſee nothing to prevent my coming immediately to that remarkable era in French dramatics when the united abilities of ſo many men of great and extraordinary talents brought the ſtage in that country into decided reputation in all its various branches under the powerful influence of VOLTAIRE.

CHAP. VII. STATE OF THE FRENCH THEATRE ON TO THE YEAR 1730.

FLUCTUATING, timid, irreſolute, and unſettled, as the French ſtage was at this period, nothing, per⯑haps, could have raiſed its reputation to any pitch of excellence but the appearance of the only man who ſeemed born to render his country that ſervice. Tragedy had been thitherto conſidered under three diſtinct heads; the grand, the tender, and the ter⯑rible; and theſe had ſeparately been carried as far as poſſible by CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CRE⯑BILLON. No man had dreamt that the French had never ſeen a real tragedy, a ſpecies of production which to be perfect muſt involve a union of theſe three great eſſentials, till VOLTAIRE, born with little genius, and leſs intuition, but endowed with a judgment almoſt equal to the happieſt efforts of both, plainly ſhewed not only the practicability but the neceſſity of this meaſure, by fairly ſtepping be⯑fore [129] his three celebrated countrymen, and building a laſting reputation for himſelf with the valuable materials they had left behind them.

It cannot, however, be denied that his fame is fair, honeſt, and legitimate; for though, had theſe authors never lived, he would have been at a loſs how to have exerciſed thoſe talents which had not been given to inſpire him with invention, though greatly to perfect the inventions of others; as he poſſeſſed himſelf of the eſſence of their reſpective merits, as thoſe merits were rendered more brilliant in his hands, their ap⯑propriation more reſpectable, and as thoſe he added gave them a conſequence and a rank they had not been able to ſupport alone, we cannot refuſe him the praiſe due to exertions ſo highly meritorious.

But this is not all the length juſtice obliges us to go. VOLTAIRE added to tragedy a colouring, a harmony, a fire, a variety, till then unknown to it. He did more. The tragic poets had contented themſelves with rendering vice odious; he rendered virtue amiable. His productions are the panegyric of humanity, and his moral appeals to all hearts.

VOLTAIRE was born at PARIS, November 30, 1694. He brought out on the French theatre [130] twenty-eight plays, five of which appeared during the interval that will occupy this chapter. The firſt of theſe, performed in 1718, was Oedipe. The ſuc⯑ceſs of this tragedy was brilliant beyond all ex⯑ample. He had, however, great difficulty to get it accepted by the actors, and he ſubmitted to alter it out of compliment to their opinion ſeveral times, whether for the better or the worſe cannot now be diſcovered; but it was conſidered very complete in all its requiſites when it did appear^*.

Artémire produced in 1720, had no ſucceſs, and was withdrawn by its author ſo ſuddenly and ſo [131] completely ſuppreſſed, that ſolicitous as the pub⯑liſhers of VOLTAIRE's works have been to collect his whole writings, bad and good, it is not known exactly what ſhape it wore upon its firſt repreſen⯑tation. The moſt material parts of it, however, were afterwards taken into Mariamne, which was performed for the firſt time in 1724. This piece did not ſucceed to any great degree the firſt ſeaſon, but when it was altered and brought forward on the following year under the title of Herode et Mariamne, it experienced very ſolid and confirmed ſucceſs^*.

[132]The next piece of VOLTAIRE was L'Indiſcret, a comedy in one act and in proſe. Its ſucceſs is not known. It was very probably written from ſome complimentary motive, and with no great view to fame. Nothing more appeared of this author till 1730, when he brought out Brutus ^*. In this tra⯑gedy VOLTAIRE completely overſhot his mark. Fired with the ſpirit of Engliſh liberty, which with ſo much adulation he had in ENGLAND defined to be a medium between tyranny and democracy, and which the Romans attempted but never could at⯑tain, its eſſence ſo evaporated in his paſſage from DOVER to CALAIS, that in Brutus, written avowedly to promulgate the principles of Britiſh patriotiſm, he introduced all the levelling ſentiments of a re⯑public, and expected the French to tolerate, under [133] a deſpotic monarch, what would have revolted the Engliſh under a limitted one.

The conſequence was that the parterre ex⯑preſſed, at the firſt repreſentation of this piece, the loudeſt indignation; and, when they heard the fol⯑lowing lines from the mouth of TITUS,

there was a general tumult. The piece, however, had its partizans, and thoſe it offended contented themſelves with barely ſtaying away from it. It, nevertheleſs, ſo injured the reputation of VOL⯑TAIRE that he did not recover it till he brought out Zaire, which might be called the firſt complete tra⯑gedy in all its parts ever performed on the French ſtage.

As I mean to draw up the moſt celebrated of thoſe numerous authors who at this time attracted the notice of the public, and make them paſs along in the view of the reader, I ſhall follow up VOL⯑TAIRE with DE LA MOTTE, a man of great genius, and a moſt finiſhed poet.

DE LA MOTTE wrote for the French theatre, the Italian theatre, and for the opera, and always [134] reſpectably; but his poetic works, and particularly his odes, gave his fame the moſt ſubſtantial and permanent confirmation. He was born at PARIS in 1674. and died in 1731; ſo that his whole public hiſtory may come in here.

DE LA MOTTE from his earlieſt youth had a ſtrong propenſity to poetry, and a remarkable talent for declamation. This induced him to get by heart every thing that was celebrated, in which he was aſſiſted by a memory ſo quick and ſo tenacious, that facts are averred of its effects almoſt beyond credibility^*.

[135]DE LA MOTTE was an extraordinary character. He had ſcarcely made himſelf known but, without any apparent cauſe, he all of a ſudden retired to the monaſtry of DE LA TRAPPE; but the celebrated Abbe DU RANCE, unwilling to deprive the world of a young man of ſuch promiſe, refuſed him the habit under a pretence that he was too young to ſuſtain all the rigid and ſevere diſcipline of that auſtere order. After this he attached himſelf to the theatre, not without ſome caſuiſtical qualms as to the propriety of how far his conduct was recon⯑cileable to the duty of a true chriſtian.

But his conduct all through life was, it muſt be confeſſed, fanciful and irreſolute. Having paſſed a long ſeries of years in compoſing moſt beautiful verſe, he finiſhed by decrying poetry as an unna⯑tural ſpecies of writing. He compared verſifiers to ſlight-of-hand-men, who paſs grains of millet through the eye of a needle, in which exploit there is no other merit than the difficulty; and, to prove the truth of this aſſertion, he turned his tra⯑gedy of Oedipe into proſe, which he had before written in verſe. This, however, drew on him a volley of epigrams which he was too much a phi⯑loſopher to anſwer, though the beſt of them was infinitely below the worſt of his poetry; but I [136] ſhall wind up his character after I have enumerated his pieces.

The tragedies of DE LA MOTTE are Macha⯑bees, performed in 1721, Romulus, in 1722, Ines de Caſtro, in 1723, and Oedipe, in 1726. When DE LA MOTTE produced Machabees, he kept himſelf aloof as the author. In conſequence of this the play was immediately attributed to RACINE; but as the truth got wind, thoſe wiſe critics gradually pretended that upon maturer conſideration they had found, by comparing one author with the other, that it could be written by nobody but DE LA MOTTE^*.

Romulus was greatly ſucceſsful, and excited much curioſity, both from the public and the dif⯑ferent authors. Parodies, at the Italian theatre, and the fairs, were at that time the teſt of dramatic ſucceſs. Romulus was parodied at the Italians by DOMINIQUE, under the title of Arlequin Romulus, [137] and at the puppet ſhew by LE SAGE and FUZELIER, by the name of Pierrot Romulus. The parodies, however, were damned, and the ſucceſs of the tra⯑gedy confirmed.

Inés de Caſtro had ſtill greater ſucceſs than Ro⯑mulus. Never piece attracted ſo many ſpectators and ſo much criticiſm^*. It is written in verſe, but certainly too proſaic; for DE LA MOTTE, though he complied with the cuſtom of other writers, could never reconcile to himſelf that characters on a the⯑atre ought to addreſs each other in any other ſtyle of language than that in which, according to their rank, they uſually ſpeak^†.

Oedipe, which piece DE LA MOTTE wrote in [138] verſe againſt his own opinion, had but little ſucceſs for that very reaſon; and, when he turned it into proſe, it did not ſucceed at all. This induced him to defend his conduct; which it muſt be confeſſed he did very ably, for, indeed, he was upon good ground. VOLTAIRE replied to him; and, as he had a real regard for DE LA MOTTE, uſed in his arguments every poſſible politeneſs and delicacy. DE LA MOTTE, under the pleaſanteſt irony, couched his arguments in the ſame terms, and this called forth innumerable ſquibs levelled at theſe polite enemies. Madame DACIER mixed in the diſpute; but, diſdaining VOLTAIRE's, or any body's polite⯑neſs, this female ARISTOPHANES reprobated in un⯑qualified terms every requiſite of the drama but its barbarity, which one ſhould naturally ſuppoſe is not a requiſite. It finiſhed by DE LA MOTTE's leaving the theatre.

DE LA MOTTE wrote for the French theatre two comedies, and five for the Italian theatre. The ſubjects are principally taken from the Tales of DE LA FONTAINE, or rather from thoſe whence they were taken by him. They are moſt of them per⯑formances of merit, for, indeed, it was impoſſible for DE LA MOTTE to write ill, but they are cer⯑tainly the moſt inferior of his works. His operas, twelve in number, are clearly upon the whole [139] the beſt of his dramatic writings; for, though as to the general requiſites of opera writing, QUINAULT ſtood certainly before all other French poets, though far behind METASASIO, yet, for the true, grand, extended idea of lyric writing, DE LA MOTTE was infinitely ſuperior to them both, of which his incomparable odes are an incontro⯑vertible proof. DE LA MOTTE's operas were com⯑poſed by various muſicians, among whom were CAMPRA, DESTOUCHES, MARAIS, COLASSE, and LA BARRE.

DE LA MOTTE was loved and eſteemed both in public and in private the whole of his life. His genius was brilliant, his underſtanding commanding, and his manners amiable, to which his writings bear ample teſtimony. They are the effuſions of a great mind regulated by a found judgment. Alike a ſtranger to rancour or adulation, not a ſingle line of ſatyric ſeverity has eſcaped from his pen, nor has he, though his heart teemed with philanthropy, and though it was his delight to praiſe, in one ſingle in⯑ſtance condeſcended to flatter^*.

[140]DESTOUCHES demands our next attention, on whom it will be the leſs neceſſary to enlarge, be⯑cauſe almoſt the whole of his productions have been in one form or another exhibited on the Engliſh theatre, and will, therefore, of courſe require an inveſtigation in their place. He was born at TOURS, in 1680, and bred up to arms, in which profeſſion he ſo diſtinguiſhed himſelf that he grew into great eſteem with his ſuperiors.

In 1717, the DUC D'ORLEANS, then Regent of FRANCE, ſent him on an embaſſy to ENGLAND, where he was employed on negociations for three years, and where, no doubt, he greatly improved himſelf as a dramatic writer, his comedies, though heavy, and ſometimes inſufferably tireſome, being conſtructed more upon the Engliſh plan than any thing French which had gone before them. Le Tambour Nocturne in particular, is almoſt a literal tranſlation of the Drummer.

His works, which are publiſhed in ten volumes, conſiſt of twenty-two comedies, and ſome divertiſe⯑ments and detatched ſcenes. His firſt piece, Le Curieux Impertinent, appeared in 1710, which was [141] followed, before he came to ENGLAND, by L'Ingrat, L'Irreſolû, Le Mediſant, Le Triple Mariage, and L'Obſtacle Imprevû. The firſt piece he produced after his return to FRANCE, was Le Philoſophe Marie ^*, this was ſucceeded by L'Envieux, and Les Philoſophes Amoureux, which are all that ap⯑peared of this author till 1730.

What DESTOUCHES ought principally to be commended for is his endeavouring to give the French ſtage a conſequence that it had before been a ſtranger to; but, in cutting up frivolity, he has loſt ſight of humour. His principal character is always a coloſſal ſtatue, by the ſide of which the ſubordinate perſonages ſtand like mere pigmies, and are totally loſt in our contemplation of the grandeur and ſtupidity of the primary object; which after all would no more attract our attention than any other monſtrous figure, did not ſome accommodating LY⯑SIMON, or GERONTE, like a wild beaſt-man, play off its ſingularities and explain its extraordinary qualities.

[142]It muſt not, however, be denied that in DES⯑TOUCHES there are many beauties; in his intrigue he is happier than MOLIERE, and in his moral more chaſte than REGNARD, for between theſe two he ſeems ambitious to place himſelf. He is, however, too dry, too ſententious; and, if the obſervation may be permitted, too wiſe, and too regular. He is generally without ſaillies, or embelliſhments; which, when rigourouſly judged, are ſometimes frivolous and miſplaced; yet, when judiciouſly in⯑troduced, they enliven the mind and warm it to a more willing acknowledgement of the pleaſure of truth.

MARIVAUX, whoſe writings claim the higheſt praiſe for their ingenious, bold, and meritorious tendency, ſtarted like a true genius with a deter⯑mination to become original. He went, however, in ſome reſpects upon a falſe principal. Having moſt uncommon powers of language, and fancying his predeceſſors had exhauſted all that it was poſſible to do with character, he reſolved to turn entirely to ſubjects of intrigue; which, in proportion as they admit of variety to infinity, loſe known and ac⯑knowledged manners, and, therefore, wander out of of nature's ſight.

'Tis too much to attempt to analyze the heart. [143] Pleaſant traits, pretty thoughts, new ſituations, agreeable repartees, and lively ſailies, are all thrown away when they are uſed to betray motives, inſtead of develop actions. MARIVAUX goes for the applauſe of the mind inſtead of the heart; the pro⯑vince of comedy is to command the applauſe of both. Full of genius, he expoſes nothing but in⯑genuity; certainly fraught with fineſſe, with delicacy, with grace, and with ſentiment; but, nevertheleſs, frequently tireſome, and often almoſt inexplicable. The French are remarkable for ſaying a great deal without intereſt, upon nothing; MARIVAUX has the knack of making the nothing, on which he ſays a great deal, intereſting.

MARIVAUX brought out on the French and Italian theatres thirty-ſix pieces, generally in three acts and in proſe; thirteen of which were performed before 1730. They ſeldom had ſucceſs at ſtarting, and it was his uſual obſervation that he conſidered it more flattering to his reputation that they ſhould pleaſe on repetition than at firſt. Many of them, however, never recovered the blow, and it is pro⯑bably owing to the extraordinary, the inconceivable ingenuity they contain, that any of them kept the ſtage for a length of time. I ſhall ſay more on this ſubject when I ſhew that ſome of the Engliſh poets have read MARIVAUX as well as DESTOUCHES.

[144]Circumſcribed as I am I muſt now take up au⯑thors in a much more ſummary way than either their merits or my wiſhes incline me. LE SAGE, FUZFLIER, and D'ORNEVAL, who ran the ſame career, may properly be mentioned in this pl [...], LE SAGE, claiming every way the pre-eminen [...] ▪ and being ſo well known in ENGLAND by G [...] ▪ BLAS, and LE DIABLE BOITEUX, it will be mo [...] unneceſſary that I ſhould enlarge on his genius and writings.

LE SAGE wrote ten pieces for the French and Italian theatres, and twenty for the fairs, beſides thoſe he had a hand in together with FUZELIER and D'ORNEVAL. They all go for a fair and lively expoſition of folly, and many of thoſe per⯑formed at the fairs are either parodies of celebrated plays at that time performed at the regular theatres, or neat ſatires on temporary ſubjects. His pieces for the theatre are too much in the Spaniſh ſtyle, except two or three, which are admirably levelled at the reigning abſurdities of thoſe times, of theſe La Tontine, and Turcaret, are the moſt remarkable.

FUZELIER wrote at different times for all the theatres, and brought out twenty pieces ſingle handed, and as many in conjunction with LE SAGE and D'ORNEVAL; which laſt, though he greatly [145] aſſiſted thoſe aſſociates, is not reported to have written any thing without them.

It will be proper to mention DOMINIQUE, ROMAGNESI, the two RICCOBONIS and LE GRAND together; for as they wrote reſpectively, or in con⯑junction, for the Italian theatres, from ſubjects either taken from Italian canvaſſes, or approved by them all, it would be difficult to diſtinguiſh their ſeparate merits. There are nearly a hundred pieces to be traced in which all theſe had a hand.

PANNARD, PIRON, CAROLET, and others, alſo contributed at this period towards the prodigious fund of amuſement which attracted the attention of the public at the Italian theatre and the fairs, while BOISSI, LA FONT, BOINDIN, LA CHAUS⯑SEE, BEAUCHAMPS, DE LA RUE^*, and others, did their beſt to make a ſtand at the French the⯑atre againſt VOLTAIRE, DE LA MOTTE, and [146] DESTOUCHES; but, as I have done with none of thoſe mentioned in this chapter, except DE LA MOTTE, whoſe manners, and whoſe merits were an honour to his country, I ſhall, as I go on, re⯑ſume ſuch points concerning them as I may con⯑ceive likely to inſtruct or amuſe the reader.

CHAP. VIII. CONTINUATION OF THE FRENCH THEATRE TO 1745.

AS the works of VOLTAIRE now form the prin⯑cipal feature of the French drama, I cannot do better than, through the medium of enumerating thoſe, give every collateral particular relative to the other authors his cotemporaries; for to ſpeak particularly, limitted as I am, of every author and play that my documents furniſh me with, would be little more than to ſet down names and dates.

Eryphile produced by VOLTAIRE, in 1732, had no ſucceſs^*. It was, therefore, withdrawn and [148] brought forward as we ſhall ſee under the title of Semiramis. The changes neceſſary for the oc⯑caſion were not very difficult, for the two ſubjects are perfectly the ſame. His next piece was Zaire, a tragedy performed in 1732, of which I regret I have not room to ſpeak the eulogium, but a proper opportunity will occur when this performance under the title of Zara ſhall be ſpoken of as one of the ornaments of the Engliſh theatre^*. This piece, in addition to the popularity it atchieved for itſelf, brought forward the famous DUFRESNE, and the celebrated Mademoiſelle GAUSSIN, who performed the parts of Oraſmane and Zaire.

Adelaide du Gueſclin, brought out in 1734, was the next production of this author. It had been performed before under the title of Adelaide; and, having had but mediocre ſucceſs on either of theſe occaſions, it was, as we ſhall ſee. afterwards pro⯑duced [149] under the title of the Duc de Foix ^*. Alzire appeared in 1736. The ſame engines were ſet to work to decry this piece as had been uſed to injure Zaire. The real author was ſaid to have been a man of the name of LE FRANC. VOLTAIRE, in reply to this calumny, ſaid that ſome perſon in⯑ſtructed as to the ſubject of his piece might have ſuggeſted it to Monſ. LE FRANC, in which caſe he was welcome to treat it; and, if it proved better than that which he had ſubmitted to the public, he ſhould be happy to forget the unkindneſs in pro⯑portion as he ſhould be obliged to applaud the merit of the piece. ‘"I ſhall always adopt this con⯑duct,"’ added he, ‘"for I don't like paper wars.^†"’

L'Infant Prodigue appeared the ſame year with ſucceſs. It was written in verſe. It is ſaid that if VOLTAIRE had not been afraid of the journaliſts he would have ſtruck into proſe. It would have been a noble advantage if he had, for there can be [150] no doubt but VOLTAIRE's proſe is the beſt in the French language, and he would, in that caſe, have completed DE LA MOTTE's laudable plan.

Zulime was brought out in 1740. We are told that this piece was conſiderably altered after it was out of VOLTAIRE's hands, and to this circumſtance is aſcribed its having had but little ſucceſs. La Mort de Caezar, a tragedy in three acts, was brought forward in 1743. The characters are entirely men, conſe⯑quently the plot, having nothing to do with love, is rude and revolting. Its ſucceſs was in proportion.

Mahomet was performed for the firſt time in 1742. This idol of the French was withdrawn after the third repreſentation by authority, and the author informed that he would be denounced if he ſuffered it to be performed again. VOLTAIRE, however, having employed all his credit, Cardinal de FLEURY iſſued a new order for its appearance; nevertheleſs the actors were afraid of incenſing the Procureur Ge⯑neral, and it was kept back till 1751, when it came forward with moſt extravagant ſucceſs, and has al⯑ways been conſidered by the French as the beſt written play in all the works of VOLTAIRE^*.

[151] Merope came out in 1743. This ſubject had been treated by GILBERT in 1643, by CHA⯑PELLE, again by LA GRANGE CHANCEL, and at different periods by other poets under various titles, VOLTAIRE's play is beyond all queſtion the beſt, and its reception was equal to its merit.

The pieces of DESTOUCHES, after 1730, are Le Glorieux, La Fauſſe Agnes, Le Tambour Nocturne, Le Diſſipateur, L'Ambitieux et L'Indiſcrette, La Belle Orgueilleuſe, L'Amour Uſé, Les Amours de Ragonde, L'Homme Singulier, La Force du Naturel, Le Jeune Homme a L'Epreuve, and two or three others. Of all theſe the ſucceſs was ſo uniform, except in one or two inſtances, that it will be unne⯑ceſſary to ſay more here than that DESTOUCHES was deſervedly conſidered as a very reputable author.

DESTOUCHES generally lived in retirement on an eſtate purchaſed near MELUN. His cuſtom was when he had finiſhed a piece to take it to PARIS, and after it had been repreſented for the firſt time, to return again into the country. He died much beloved and reſpected at the age of ſeventy four.

The remainder of the pieces brought out by MARIVAUX, need not be particularized. They conſiſt of twenty two comedies and one tragedy, [152] which was called Annibal, many of which ſucceeded with perſons of taſte and diſcernment, but were ge⯑nerally withdrawn after a time to form the delight of the cloſet, where they are beyond meaſure charming. MARIVAUX lived eſteemed, and died regretted at the age of ſeventy five.

DE LA MOTTE, DESTOUCHES, and MARIVAUX, were members of the French academy. DE LA MOTTE ſucceeded T. CORNEILLE, DESTOUCHES was choſen in the place of CAMPISTRON, and MARIVAUX was elected at the death of the Abbe de HOUTEVILLE^*.

[153]St. FOIX, a moſt accompliſhed and elegant writer, unfortunately for the cauſe of literature dealt in nothing but trifles; trifles, however, only in ſize, for, in value, they were ineſtimable. St. FOIX was too independent both in mind and cir⯑cumſtances to drudge regularly for the theatre, otherwiſe there cannot be a doubt but he would have brought comedy in FRANCE to the trueſt perfection. Full of novelty, yet full of nature, with a correct knowledge of every dramatic re⯑quiſite, and a moſt penetrating judgement to give thoſe requiſites effect, his dialogue, nobly ſimple, agreeably playful, and deliciouſly intereſting, the whole domain of Thalia ſeemed open to his view, in which he was permitted to range for fancy, and variety.

He had the peculiar and maſterly merit in all his dialogue of concealing the writer. His cha⯑racters uttered thoſe ſentiments with which nature [154] inſpired them, and uttered them in nature's lan⯑guage; St. FOIX had nothing to do with it. Every thing ſeemed extemporaneous, becauſe it was full of the heart, and what immediately aroſe from honeſt truth, and conſcious reflection. Theſe and many other requiſites St. FOIX moſt eminently poſſeſſed; which, if they are ſo evident in the ſpecimen he has given, written for amuſement at his hours of leiſure, his productions muſt have been valuable indeed had he devoted his whole time to them; and this is par⯑ticularly confirmed by the fertility of his invention, and the ſtrength of his diſcernment; for, in twenty-two pieces he gave to the French and Italian thea⯑tres, though every plot is peculiarily original and greatly intereſting, no two plots have in any reſpect the ſmalleſt reſemblance of each other.

The pieces of St. FOIX, before 1745, were Deucalion et Pyrrha, Pandore, L'Oracle, L'Iſle, Sauvage, and Les Graces, and now I ſhall leave the works of FAVART, ANSEAUME, MARMONTEL, SEDAINE, and many other celebrated writers, whoſe productions about this period firſt made their appearance, together with all that remains to be ſaid of thoſe whom I have not yet done with, to give a brief account of the opera, ſuch particulars of the Italian theatre as may conduce to round my general hiſtory of it, to ſpeak of actors, of dancers, of [155] muſicians, and of farce writers; after which I ſhall regularly wind up my hiſtory of the French ſtage with a further account of their beſt writers, and ſuch neceſſary remarks on them and their merits as may ſerve hereafter for a comparative elucidation of the dramatic art in ENGLAND.

CHAP. IX. THE OPERA.

HAVING brought the opera forward to the death of LULLY and the ſeceſſion of QUINAULT, I ſhall as briefly as poſſible give ſuch further parti⯑culars concerning it as may ſerve to aſſiſt my future account of it when I come to ſpeak of its eſta⯑bliſhment in ENGLAND. Brief, indeed, I muſt be; for, beſides thoſe operas already mentioned, I reckon more than two hundred, good and bad, that were brought out from their eſtabliſhment up to the year 1773.

In theſe operas authors of all deſcriptions had a hand, from T. CORNEILLE, DE LA MOTTE, MARMONTEL, ROI, DANCHET, and even VOL⯑TAIRE, to LE ABBE PELLEGRIN, BERNARD, MON⯑DORGE, BRUERE, and CAHUSAC, down to many others of much more inconſiderable talents. Some of the muſicians I have already named; to theſe may be added ROYER, MATHEAU, MOURET, MON⯑TECLAIRE, and many others who were, at length, completely eclipſed by RAMEAU. It ſhould not, however, be forgotten that the celebrated PHI⯑LIDORE, [157] whoſe muſic was almoſt as famous as his cheſs, compoſed an opera called Ernelinde written by POINSINET.

RAMEAU, who was born in 1683, was induced by his paſſion for muſic, and his thirſt after im⯑provement to viſit ITALY very early in life^*. There he had formed his taſte upon PERGOLESE, JOMELLI, GALLUPPI, CORELLI, and all that ſtring of celebrated compoſers who exactly at that time had brought muſic to the higheſt degree of perfection. It muſt be underſtood, however, that it was not by their inſtruction, but merely by liſten⯑ing to their admirable compoſitions, that he became ſo aſtoniſhing a muſician. Never did he receive from any man a ſingle leſſon on harmony. Nature and his own ſtrong mind were his preceptors; and ſo well was he taught by ſuch inſallible inſtructors that he at length became a harmonic legiſlator; a muſical LYCURGUS; to the juſtice of whoſe laws the whole tribe of compoſers have implicitly bowed obedience.

The French were ſo enthuſiaſtically attached to [158] that dull monotonous ſtyle of muſic introduced by LULLY, that it was with the utmoſt difficulty RA⯑MEAU could prevail upon even the moſt indifferent writers to ſupply him with words, and he was fifty-five years of age when he promiſed the Abbe PEL⯑LEGRIN, a poor reſource by the by, a large ſum of money to write Hypolite et Aricie, which was performed in 1733. It was at firſt damned, but being again brought forward at the inſtance of ſome perſons of diſcernment, it ſo opened the eyes, or ra⯑ther the ears of the nation, that a new character was from that hour given to the muſical taſte of the French. ^*

After this, authors were ſolicitous enough to write for RAMEAU. MONDORGE, BRUERE, CA⯑HUSAC, and AUTREAU, were all employed by him. At length VOLTAILE, who has told us he went out of his way to oblige a man of ſuch talents, wrote for him Le Temple de la Gloire, which was followed by [159] Pygmalion, written by DE LA MOTTE, and com⯑poſed by LA BARRE in 1700. but reſet by RAMEAU in 1746. After this he had the good fortune to be aſſiſted by the pen of MARMONTEL, who wrote for him four pieces, by which time the French opera had ariſen to its higheſt degree of perſection.

After all, the opera in France, admirable as the talents of RAMEAU were, never equalled, or even approached the Italian opera. The vaſt theatres of VENICE, MILAN, and other places gave a ſtyle and a magnificence to the ſcenery greatly beyond the ſcenery of the French. The advantage of [160] ſetting Italian words to Italian muſic, ſuch muſic eſpecially as was produced by the joint labours of ſo many wonderful compoſers, again threw the French opera at an immenſe diſtance. In ſhort in nothing but the dances, by the way a mere apendage to the opera, have the French excelled, but in theſe they have ever excelled all EUROPE^*.

The performances at PARIS derived great re⯑ſpectability from their regulations by the order of the king. After the death of LULLY, who had at leaſt the merit of being a ſtrict diſciplinarian, the opera relaxed greatly from the regularity and good order that had been before kept up. This induced the king, in 1713, to iſſue an arret conſiſting of eighteen articles, which enacted that the director of the Royal Muſical Academy ſhould chuſe the beſt poſſible performers both vocal and inſtrumental, and alſo performers for the ballets; no one, however, to be received without the approbation of the in⯑ſpector general. That a ſchool for muſic and dancing ſhould be eſtabliſhed where all performers ſhould be taught gratis.

[161]That the different merits of the performers being aſcertained and by them acknowledged, they ſhould receive ſuch parts as were provided for them with⯑out murmuring, upon pain of being deprived of a month's pay for the firſt omiſſion, and of being diſ⯑charged for the ſecond. Their duty both towards one another, and towards the public, is next very pro⯑perly pointed out, the portion of the profits equitably appropriated, a fund eſtabliſhed for ſuch as may have performed fifteen years, not as a charity but as a reward for paſt ſervices, and another fund, by way of encouraging emulation to be at ſtated periods di⯑vided among all thoſe who may have beſt diſcharged their duty towards their employers and the public.

It is next ordered that, during all receſſes, the per⯑formers, without diſtinction, ſhall be put upon half pay; afterwards that the authors and compoſers of all operas ſhall be paid in proportion to their ſucceſs on every night as far as thirty repreſentations, provided the opera is performed ſo many nights in ſucceſſion. The examination of all operas to be impartial, and no meaſure, either for or againſt authors, muſicians, or performers, of any deſcription, to be taken with⯑out a memorial drawn up and well atteſted for the peruſal of the inſpector general, who ſhall audit all accounts and regulate, in conformity to the will of the king, all matters reſpecting the management of [162] the opera; the accounts of all denominations to be conſtantly ſettled the laſt day of every month.

Perſons were, in conſequence of this new regu⯑lation, immediately appointed, and it was, without variation, ever afterwards kept up. In 1773, the appointments ſtood thus: REBEL at the head of the muſical academy, FERRET and PARANT principal conductors of the ſinging ſchool, the two GARDELS regulators of the dancing ſchool; among the prin⯑cipal male ſingers were GELIN, LARRIVEE, DU⯑RAND, LE GROS, MUGUET, TIROT, and LAINEZ; the principal female ſingers were LARRIVEE, AR⯑NOULD, DUPLANT, BEAUMESNIL, ROSALIE, DU⯑RANC, 1 CHATEAUNEUF, and GIRARDIN, and there were about thirty others employed in choruſes and other inferior ſtations.

VESTRIS was the ballet maſter, who was alſo principal dancer with GARDEL and DUBERVAL. Next came a train of figurants; then the principal women, who were PESLIN, GUIMARD, HEINEL, and ASSELIN, and then the figurantes and ſupernu⯑meraries amounting to about fifty. The liſt was cloſed by the names of thoſe who performed in the or⯑cheſtra to the number of ſixty-four, ſo that the whole company, including all deſcriptions of perſons em⯑ployed, muſt have conſiſted of at leaſt two hundred.

CHAP. X. ITALIAN THEATRE.

I SHALL now look after ſuch authors and other perſons as were concerned in the Italian theatre, and intereſted in that conduct, and thoſe circum⯑ſtances which grew out of it after its eſtabliſhment in 1716.

It has been ſeen that the actors at the fairs, hav⯑ing the advantage of performing entirely in French, became very formidable rivals of the Italians, who were, in conjunction with the French comedians, continually making intereſt to throw every poſſible rub in their way. The public, however, tired of ſeeing them thus perſecuted, took the matter up; and, after it had gone through a number of hands, ſome of whom had been ruined in the conteſt, FRANCISQUE and LALAUZE, were glad to ſell the concern to PONTEAU, who wrote a number of things in conjunction with FUZELIER, PANNARD, CARO⯑LET, GALLET, and L'AFFICHARD, and he had in⯑fluence enough to obtain from the muſical aca⯑demy [164] permiſſion to call his performance L'Opera Comique.

From this time forward theſe whimſical pieces grew mo [...]e and more into repute, A hiſtory, or an anecdote deſcribing any of their former perſecu⯑tions, a parody of a bad tragedy, in ſhort any tem⯑porary whim, dramatized by LE SAGE and his fol⯑lowers, who all wrote with wonderful pleaſantry, was a thouſand times more welcome to the public [...]han thoſe pieces, half French and half Italian, ſung through the noſe, or thoſe, entirely French, ſpoken through the noſe, at the regular theatres, The con⯑ſequence was they became too formidable; and, in 1742, were ſuppreſſed, with this qualification, how⯑ever, that the performers ſhould be incorporated with the Italians.

The inferior deſcription of performers, nevertheleſs, ſuch as had been interlocutors at the puppet ſhews, or rope-dancers, or tumblers, or, in ſhort, any of thoſe for whom it was impoſſible to find any em⯑ployment in a regular theatre, ſtill hovered about the fairs, and were permitted, or rather ſuffered to perform there, and on the Boulevards, ſuch drolls and farces as were within their capacity, with a view to aſſiſt and relieve thoſe tricks and ſeats they ex⯑erciſed as their proper profeſſion.

[165]Among theſe the famous NICOLET, ſo well known upon the Boulevards, cut the moſt conſpi⯑cious figure. This man fairly took up the ancient farces, of which I ſhall not have a better opportu⯑nity to give an account than this. They were cer⯑tainly the origin of that prodigious number of pro⯑verbs, and pieces in one act, which have ſpread them⯑ſelves through FRANCE, either in private ſocieties, or on the ſtage. They were without doubt originally the productions of the Children of Sans Souci, and at that time they contained, probably, either the burleſque of the Greek ſatires, or the aſperity of the Roman, or, perhaps, a mixture of both; but, being neglected by them for works of greater magnitude when they joined the Confraternity of the Paſſion, theſe farces were ſuſpended, and would have been altogether loſt if ſome of the buffoons had not afterwards reſtored them; who, not being ſufficiently informed to imi⯑tate Greeks and Romans, made a ſhift to invent a great deal of drollery by ridiculing the folly of their own countrymen.

Of theſe PATHELIN, TABARIN, GUILLOT GORJU, GAUTIER GARGUILLE, GROS GUIL⯑LAUME, and TURLUPIN, were the principal. The laſt three were journeymen bakers, and friends from their infancy. It is difficult to aſcertain whether theſe farces, which they performed upon their own [166] account, were exhibited during any receſs, or whe⯑ther they left the company to which they belonged, but it is certain they were in the early part of their lives, all actors in HARDY's plays, and the other ex⯑hibitions of that time.

For the purpoſe of performing theſe farces they took a ſmall tennis court, near le porte St. Jaques, which they converted into a theatre. The price of admittance was two ſous and ſix deniers. They had ſuch ſucceſs that the company of the Hotel de Bour⯑gogne complained of them to Cardinal RICHELIEU; who, being fond of every thing dramatic, ſent for them to perform before him in the Palais Royal, which was then called his palace. They ſatisfied the Cardinal ſo well that he would not forbid their per⯑formance^*. This ſo emboldened them that they [167] grew more and more ſcurilous and perſonal; till GROS GUILLAUME, in one of their farces, coun⯑terfeited a certain magiſtrate ſo perfectly that he iſſued a warrant to take them all up. GROS GUIL⯑LIAUME was put in priſon, where he ſhortly after⯑wards died. His companions made their eſcape, but it is ſaid they had been ſuch ſworn brothers and friends all their lives, and had promiſed ſo faithfully to ſtick by each other, that when, GARGUILLE and TURLUPIN heard of their friend's death they fell ill and ſoon afterwards followed him. They were very old, the youngeſt of them being nearly eighty.

This ſketch may ſerve to ſhew whence the farces performed on the Boulevards originated, the humour and ſtyle of which MOLIERE, DANCOURT, and others had very frequently in view, and, indeed, all the writers for fairs. Theſe having ſelected all the valuable parts, nothing remained for the exhibitors on the Boulevards but groſſneſs and filth, which cer⯑tainly they have ever thrown about pretty profuſely^*.

[168]The names of Harlequin, Pantaloon, Scara⯑mouche, and the reſt of the pantomime characters, are ſuppoſed to have been either the real or adven⯑titious titles of thoſe who firſt performed them. The original Harlequin is ſaid to have been a young per⯑former among the Italians at the time of HENRY the third; who being retained by the preſident HARLAY, was called by his companions, according to the Ita⯑lian cuſtom of giving the maſter's name to the ſer⯑vant, Arlequino; a name that DOMINIQUE, GHER⯑ARDI, CARLIN, and others ever after went by. The names of Mezetin, Pantaloon, and ſeveral of the reſt are ſaid to have been real; and thus, what⯑ever might be the ſubject, or whatever the ſcene, you ſaw the pieces always performed as it were, by one family. This bad cuſtom ſpread itſelf through all their comic writings, which we ſee ſtuffed with Damons, and Gerontes, and Lyſimons, and Eraſtes, out of number, inſtead of thoſe appropriate names by which we diſtinguiſh the variety of characters that are introduced in our comedies.

After the junction of the Italian theatre with the comic opera, they muſtered very powerfully. CA⯑MILLE, an admirable Pantaloon, brought with him his daughter; a moſt accompliſhed and beautiful woman. ‘"A large volume,"’ ſays my author, ‘"could not contain half the verſes that were written [169] in her praiſe."’ She was an actreſs as well as a dancer, and admirable in both capacities. CLAIR⯑VAL was an excellent ſinger and a ſound actor. CARLO VERONESE alſo brought out his daughter, CAROLINE, who performed the Colombine, that is to ſay, the chambermaid, for all the Harlequins at the Italian theatre were valets, and all the Colom⯑bines chambermaids; ſhe had almoſt as many verſes written in her praiſe as CAMILLE: Some of them by MARMONTEL, who was in love with her.

To Madame FAVART, whoſe merit in public, and whoſe character in private life cannot be ſpoken of too highly, I lament that it is not in my power to do the juſtice ſhe merited. She ſung charmingly, and performed with delicacy, truth, and ſentiment. She was a perfect muſician, and played admirably on the harp. All theſe qualifications her huſband availed himſelf of in the characters ſhe performed, which he wrote purpoſely for her, and to which ſhe gave ſo much grace and nature that her manner has been ever ſince the ſtandard of imitation. In her private life ſhe was a tender wife, and mother, and a faithful and affectionate friend.

THEVENARD and THEVENAU were two ad⯑mirable ſingers. THOMASSIN was a good Harlequin, OCTAVE, who acted, danced, and played upon eight [170] inſtruments, was a great favourite, and STICOTTI was an excellent Pierrot; but the arrangement of the Italian theatre, in 1773, which I ſhall now bring for⯑ward, will ſhew the ſtate of the company, and how well it was regulated.

It is premiſed, ſay theſe laws, that the company are under the immediate protection of the king, and muſt render account to him of their conduct through the ſuperintendant of his menus plaiſirs, and the gen⯑tlemen of his chamber. The organ, through which all applications, reports, and appeals are to be con⯑veyed, to be compoſed of three performers called Semainiers, or weekly inſpectors, choſen by a ma⯑jority out of the company. Theſe inſpectors are to have different departments. The firſt is to take care of the regiſters, to examine the receipts, and diſ⯑burſements, and to act in every reſpect as guardian and treaſurer. He is to convoke all aſſemblies, and regulate with the conſent of a majority of the com⯑pany, the buſineſs of the week; which, having been properly digeſted, is to be announced by the bills to the public, and without good cauſe to the contrary, literally carried into execution.

The ſecond inſpector is to examine the ſtate of the company, the ſtock liſt of performances, the merits of the performers, their forwardneſs as to the diſ⯑charge of their duty; to ſee after the ſtate of the [171] decorations, to take care at performances and re⯑hearſals, that every decorum is obſerved, and that nothing is neglected by actors, ſingers, dancers, pain⯑ters, or members of any other deſcription, that may render their exertions worthy the patronage of the king, and the encouragement of the public.

The third inſpector is to watch over the conduct of the other two, to render an account of every thing that paſſes to the intendant Des Menus, and to inſtruct the company as to what orders he receives in conſequence from court, and whether the pro⯑ceedings of the company are approved or diſap⯑proved of by the king.

Theſe inſpectors are to remain in office three weeks, and, during that time, to ſerve reſpectively each office; the whole company, on every Saturday morning in full aſſembly, receiving an authentication of their fidelity in the diſcharge of their ſeveral truſts, and being at liberty to examine their conduct, on which they may paſs a vote of thanks or cenſure, each performer voting according to the order of his or her reception in the company; at which aſſembly the king's pleaſure is to be made known, and reſolu⯑tions taken as to their future plans and operations; at all times ſtrictly adhering to theſe regulations.

Diſtributing of parts, forſeits, recompences over [172] and above the common appointments, and firſt ap⯑pearances are regulated as equitable as every thing elſe; but theſe, the duty of the performers, and other particulars, I ſhall reſerve till I lay them by the fide of the Engliſh regulations. I cannot, how⯑ever, paſs by the treatment of authors.

All authors, who think proper to ſend pieces to the theatre, are to direct them to the ſecond ſe⯑mainier, who is to report the inſtructions which thoſe authors ſhall think proper to ſend with their per⯑formances to the company. If the author wiſhes to be concealed, they are to obſerve inviolable ſe⯑crecy. If it ſhould be the opinion of the company that the piece ought to be read notice is given and the author invited, who may either read his piece himſelf or chuſe that performer from the company who he conceives will do it the greateſt juſtice. The company are forbid to applaud or condemn, and the author is requeſted, after the reading is over, to retire that the opinions of the actors may be given without reſtraint.

The debate then begins, and it is put to the vote whether the piece ſhall be received or not; with the determination the ſecond ſemainier acquaints the author; who, if he thinks proper, may inſiſt upon altering his piece and ſubmitting it to a ſecond reading, and, if then he ſhould remain diſſatisfied, [173] he may ultimately inſiſt, through the third ſemainier, of appealing to the intendant of Des Menus.

The profits of the author are, for a firſt piece, a ninth of the houſe during the whole of the firſt run, which ſhall not be interrupted upon any account till the receipt ſhall twice together be under a thouſand livres. The profits, on pieces of two acts, are a eighteenth, and on pieces of one act, a twenty-fourth of the receipt, ſubject to the ſame regulations^*.

In 1773, the principal performers where, men, CARLIN, ZENNUZZI, COLALTO, LA RUETTE, CLAIRVAL, CAILLOT, VERONESE, TRIAL, CA⯑MERANI, and others; women, DESGLANDS, LA RUETTE, BERARD, BEAUPRE, TRIAL, ZANERINI, BILLIONI, COLOMBE, and others. Actors, retired on penſions from the king, DESBROSSES, THO⯑MASSIN, TOUVOIS, GAILLARD, DEMERY, ROUS⯑SEL, DESORMERY, MOREL, and LECLERC. Ac⯑treſſes, BACELLI, GAULT, LEFEVRE, GAILLARD, and DU FAYEL. Ballet maſter DE HESSE. Prin⯑cipal dancers, men, BERQUELAURE, and HAMOIRE, women, LEFEVRE, and HAMOIRE, and ſixteen figurants and figurantes. The orcheſtra contained twenty-eight performers.

CHAP. XI. AUTHORS, AND THE FRENCH THEATRE TO THE DEATH OF VOLTAIRE.

CREBILLON will now ſtand forward; who, in 1748, and at the age of ſeventy four, brought out Catalina, after labouring at it more than twenty years. It was greatly admired, and in particular the three firſt acts, notwithſtanding the turn VOLTAIRE had given to tragedy. There were, however, in it ſome incongruous things, and it would not probably have obtained that notice from the public it met with, had not Madame POMPADOUR taken it under her pro⯑tection and preſented the actors with ſuperb dreſſes for all the characters.

Le Triumvirat came out in 1754, at which time CREBILLON was eighty. It had very reſpectable ſucceſs, and though his enemies, among whom may be reckoned his ſon, ſpoke of it as a plagiary from the reſt of his works, and among others from a tragedy called Cromwel, which had been fordidden to appear, it certainly did no diſcredit to his repu⯑tation^*.[175] CREBILLON was received at the academy in 1731, and delivered his preliminary diſcourſe in verſe. He was very much reſpected through life. At his funeral attended all the public bodies and private individuals who were eſteemed for literary purſuits. Every mark of honour and reſpect was paid him, and the king at his private expence or⯑dered for him a handſome monument.

Among the remaining authors, excluſive of thoſe already mentioned, who wrote for the ſtage during the life of VOLTAIRE, at the French theatre, we find FONTENELLE, BRET, MOISSY, PALISSOT, BELLOY, FAGAN, GRESSET, LA GARDE, MER⯑CIER, DE MORAND, and a variety of others, and at the Italian theatre FAVART, ANSEAUME, SEDAINE, and many more.

FONTENELLE, whoſe arduous and meritorious [176] labours did ſo much ſervice to the cauſe of literature in FRANCE, was the nephew of the great COR⯑NEILLE. Among his dramatic pieces, which alone are entitled to notice here, and which were written like thoſe of LA FONTAINE, rather for amuſement than fame, are two or three of conſiderable merit. Not one, however, can be called perfect. There reigns every where in them a powerful and perſuaſive ſtyle, always ingenious, and often ſeducing, but there is an affectation of explaining ſelf evident ſen⯑timents different from other authors; a weakneſs of expreſſion that injures the ſtrength of the ſentence. 'Tis a painted giant, a Hercules dreſſed like a petit maitre; a fault, in ſhort, that every judicious reader will ſee and ought to complain of, for unfortunately the faults of a great man are always dangerous, be⯑cauſe they are always imitated; and, what is worſe, are eaſily imitated by thoſe who have not capacity to imitate his perfections.

I wiſh I could with equal propriety enlarge upon the other publications of FONTENELLE, which are replete with inſtruction and delight; and by which, through a long and laborious life, he de⯑ſervedly kept a brilliant reputation. To his honour, however, and the perpetuity of his fame, the literary world are competent to ſpeak his eulogium, and to enumerate all the particulars of thoſe diſtinctions [177] which were heaped on him by the ſuffrages of the French Academy, the Academy des Belles Lettres, and the Academy of Pruſſia; of all which ſocieties he was a valuable member. He died at PARIS at the age of a hundred in 1757.

BOISSI wrote a great number of pieces for all the theatres; but they are negligently and ſlovenly written, and on mere chit chat ſubjects, therefore, though they ſerved well enough to expoſe and correct temporary folly, they have nothing in them from which may be expected a permanent repu⯑tation. His firſt pieces, after a time, were generally reduced to farces, and ſometimes to one act^*; and, after the whim, or the abſurdity they were meant to laugh at, had gone by, they were heard of no more.

BRET produced ſeveral comedies for the French theatre, which are written with an elegant facility, natural, juſt, and give proof of no mean knowledge in the dramatic art. PALISSOT ſpeaks of this au⯑thor in very handſome terms, and praiſes him in [178] particular for his pieces called La Double Extra⯑gance, and Le Faux Genereux, in which there are certainly ſome admirable circumſtances. The firſt of which he ſays ‘"is written in the true ſtyle of comedy, and the other is full of great tenderneſs and real intereſt."’

MOISSY, who produced eight or nine pieces, generally with ſucceſs, was an eaſy, elegant, and na⯑tural writer. His ſtyle is flowing and lively. He was accuſtomed to mix with the higheſt characters in real life, which enabled him to paint genteel man⯑ners with great truth of colouring, but as there is in genteel company generally too much vapidity, he often wants force, humour, and intereſt^*.

PALISSOT was a writer of conſiderable emi⯑nence. He attempted a tragedy at nineteen which was received as a work of great promiſe. The ſituations were intereſting, and the ſtyle was natural, and pure; but when he conſidered the extreme difficulty of entering the liſts with VOLTAIRE, he [179] very ſenſibly turned his hand to comedy, where he had a larger field to range, and where he might more freely exerciſe that pointed and ſatyric vein which beſt ſuited his genius.

Having made up his mind, he determined to become another ARISTOPHANES; and, that he might be the more conſpicuous, he went to the very fountain head for materials. His firſt comedy that became popular was called Les Originaux, and brought out at NANCY, in LORRAINE in 1755. In this play, without mincing the matter, he boldly drew the character of ROUSSEAU; not individually as to his perſon or his manners, but as his mind ap⯑peared in his writings. The adherents and diſciples of ROUSSEAU, who were numerous, particularly in that town, preſented a memorial to the king of POLAND, duke of LORRAINE and of BAR. in which they prayed vengeance on the head of the author. The ſtorm was violent, but it was ſhort. PALISSOT triumphed, and this oppoſition only ſerved to make him more popular, and encourage him to purſue a career for which his victory had ſhewn he was ſo qualified.

In 1760, PALISSOT brought out Les Philoſophes, which contained ſome moſt cutting and pointed ſatire at all thoſe who were advocates for the fanciful [180] and dangerous doctrines of ROUSSEAU, VOLTAIRE, and other authors of that ſtamp^*. Its ſucceſs was beyond every thing that had been before repreſented on the French theatre. The actors, through the intereſt of VOLTAIRE and the reſt, were induced to raiſe a clamour againſt it, and Madmoiſelle CLAIRON, at the head of a party, entered a proteſt alledging that it ought not to be performed becauſe it contained perſonalities. The drift of this, how⯑ever, being plainly ſeen upon an appeal, an order was iſſued for its repreſentation.

The accounts of the French authors ſay that all the works of CORNEILLE, RACINE, MOLIERE, CREBILLON, and VOLTAIRE put together, never attracted ſuch a concourſe of ſpectators, or ex⯑cited [181] ſo many cabals as this ſingle play^*. It being clearly diſcovered, however, that the parties againſt it were intereſted perſons, or ſuborned at their in⯑ſtance, the favourers of the piece took up the quarrel as their own; and, after a long and warm altercation, its triumph was decided. It muſt, however, be con⯑feſſed that it was a bold undertaking; for this piece did not attack merely a ſingle character, infamous, or ridiculous; but a ſect, numerous, powerful, and celebrated.

By ſome means or other, however, PALISSOT was ſilenced; for, though we hear of a comedy, called L'Homme Dangereux, into which he is ſaid to have thrown as much vigour and as much humour as into Les Philoſophes, and another, called Les Courteſannes, of a ſtill ſeverer caſt, nothing more of his worth notice was actually repreſented.

BELLOY, a very proper author to follow PA⯑LISSOT, gave like him one piece of uncommon [182] celebrity. It was called Le Siege de Calais, and its very extraordinary ſucceſs was entirely owing to its being the firſt French play purely hiſtorical. With very great art and management, he contrived to make not only the times which he portrayed re⯑ſemble the times in which he wrote, but the per⯑ſonages^*. This tragedy had ſuch aſtoniſhing ſuc⯑ceſs that the author was called for four times on the firſt night of its repreſentation, and once on every other during its run^†. It was performed three times at court, the author was preſented in perſon to all the royal family, he dedicated his play to the king, who gave him a gold medal, ordered the con⯑troller general to pay him a conſiderable ſum, and exhorted him to continue writing upon French hiſtorical ſubjects.

Le Siege de Calais was performed in every town [183] throughout FRANCE; the inhabitants of CALAIS preſented BELLOY with a gold box, and placed his portrait in the Hotel de Ville; the military voted him their thanks from the generals down to the ranks, and the celebrated Count D'ESTAING cauſed the play to be printed at St. DOMINGO, and diſtributed through all the French Weſt Indian Iſlands; and yet, after all, poſterity will know but little of BELLOY except this event. It was one of thoſe freaks in which the French fancied they were patriotic; for his Zelmire, ſtolen from METASTASIO and VOLTAIRE, and but little regarded, Titus, performed but once^*, Gaſton et Bayard, which was received with reluctance by the actors, and indifference by the public, and Pierre le Cruel, which was performed at ROUEN becauſe they would not hear it out at PARIS, are but poor vouchers for the ſame of BELLOY, eſpecially as the two laſt were produced after the Siege of Calais.

FAGAN, an author of conſiderable merit, but whoſe indolence would not ſuffer him to avail him⯑ſelf of the genius he poſſeſſed, produced for the French theatre, the Italian theatre, and the fairs, [184] about twenty pieces. They are full of inequalities; they are a mixture of perplexed ingenuity; in ſhort they are lumps of ore containing gems which his idleneſs had not permitted him to ſeparate and poliſh. Le Rendezvous and La Pupille had the beſt ſucceſs.

GRESSET wrote one tragedy and two comedies for the French theatre, which were performed with ſucceſs; but, being unwilling to engage in that war⯑fare which generally attends writing for the ſtage, he is ſaid to have ſuppreſſed ſeveral others; as far as it went certainly a national loſs, for GRESSET was a good writer. His poetry is natural and harmonious; fertile in images, rich in epithets, and never overcharged.

LA GARDE, who wrote three or four pieces with ſucceſs, was remarkable for being the firſt who regulated the mode of dreſſing on the ſtage, and eſtabliſhed what the French call du coſtume. He was originally intended for the church, and had even taken the habit. The enchanting voice of Mad⯑moiſelle le MAURE, however, enticed him away from the ſinging at high maſs to the ſinging at the opera. He was well calculated to give directions in the management of the theatre, and to ſuperintend decorations, to ſet off which, though he was no mean poet, his writings were generally intended.

[185]MERCIER, an author of uncommon merit, and whoſe regard to the reputation of the ſtage was ſincere and patriotic, and ſupported with great judgment and good ſenſe, wrote twelve or fourteen pieces for the theatre; only two of which, however, were performed in PARIS. Theſe were called Natalie, and La Brouette du Vinaigrier. His other pieces were performed in almoſt every part of FRANCE. They are not comedies, but plays; a ſort of repreſentation as I have already contended nearer to nature than mere tragedies and comedies; containing circumſtances and ſentiments that go more immediately to the heart, becauſe they relate to the ſocial duties.

MERCIER, as well as DE LA MOTTE, was a great advocate for proſe, becauſe the mind ill ac⯑commodates itſelf to the pomp of verſe in tender and intereſting ſituations, and proſe is the language of nature. His ſtyle is uncommonly beautiful, ſtrong, decided, powerful; yet ſimple, unaffected, and eaſy. His loweſt characters utter noble, great, and philoſophic ſentiments without ſtepping beyond the truth of nature, or diſplaying more than what every heart can feel, and, therefore, what every tongue can expreſs.

[186]MERCIER was certainly a wonderful writer^*, and particularly for the ſtage. His knowledge of effect is perfect and critical, and he has no cha⯑racter, no incident, no ſituation that is not at once a part and an embelliſhment of the piece. His drift is at all times to inculcate the mild duties of benevolence, and to ſooth the mind to ſober and ſubſtantial happineſs rather than rouſe it to giddy and tranſient delight; but all ſuch authors are con⯑ſidered as reformers, and the ſtage is a dangerous ſpot to attempt at innovation. I ſhall have occa⯑ſion when I ſpeak of MOORE and LILLO to reſume this charming writer.

DE MORANDE, known more by his ſingularity than his writings, brought out ſix pieces of different deſcriptions, which might have ſucceeded tolerably had he not perpetually headed cabals, and ſet him⯑ſelf againſt the works of other authors, who, of courſe, revenged themſelves whenever any of his productions appeared. He was a ſtrange excentric character, and one of thoſe who are miſtakenly [187] called no men's enemy but their own, for perſons of this deſcription in general are peſts to ſociety. His pretenſions to dramatic fame are very ſlender, his pieces being generally an incoherent jumble, not, however, in ſome places without original merit.

MARMONTEL, whoſe admirable writings are of the moſt finiſhed kind, not only brought out ſeveral pieces himſelf, but furniſhed to other authors a va⯑riety of admirable ſubjects. His tragedies, though reſpectable, are by no means equal to his other plays^*. Venceſlas, which, as we have ſeen, was only an alteration from ROTROU, ſeems to have determined MARMONTEL to ſtick to comic ſubjects^†, for which [188] certainly he was more qualified. La Bergere des Alpes, Le Huron, Lucile, Silvain, Zemire et Azor, L'Ami de la Maiſon, and others, are all in the true ſtyle of the comic opera, and written with the ſame delicacy and nature which pervade his Moral Tales, a work that has been held in ſuch high eſtimation by the world.

[189]DIDEROT claims a right to be mentioned here, though he wrote but two comedies, one of which, Le Pere de Famille, had conſiderable ſucceſs; Le Fils Naturel did not ſucceed ſo well. The truth is, DIDEROT and MERCIER wrote too naturally, too cri⯑tically true, too accurate for the multitude. The ſitu⯑ations of their characters were happy; they drew the paſſions in their moſt perfect attitudes, and coloured them with a fidelity through which all their various ſhades were diſcoverable; DIDEROT, however, much more than MERCIER; and it is upon this ac⯑count that he is leſs ſkilful in the conſtruction of his pieces; for while MERCIER introduces no in⯑cident, however ſtriking, but what naturally leads to one general intereſt, DIDEROT, by attempting to create perpetual intereſt, involves his ſubject in perplexity. But he would have reformed this had he written more for the ſtage. The world however, will find their conſolation in thoſe other works in which he has improved and embelliſhed literature.

We come now to conſider the productions of FAVART, ANSEAUME, and SEDAINE, whoſe pieces critically aſcertained the true province of the comic opera, which, however, never had ſettled into ab⯑ſolute regularity till MARMONTEL's Tales gave an idea of the exact nature of what their plots ſhould be formed. Ninette a la Cour, La Chercheoſe D L'Eſ⯑prit, [190] Le Coq de Village, La Rofiere de Salency, La Bohémienae, and many others written by FAVART, boaſt that natural and ſimple regularity of which MARMONTEL's Annette et Lubin, and other pro⯑ductions firſt gave the idea. Mazet, Les Deux Chaiſſeurs et la Laitiere, L'Ecole de la Jeuneſſe, La Clochette, and La Coquette de Village, of ANSEAUME, are again of this deſcription, and ſo are Le Roi et le Fermier, Roſe et Colas, Blaiſe le Savetier, Le Jar⯑dinier et ſon Seigneur, and On Savife Jamais de Tout, of SEDAINE.

Each of theſe pieces conſiſts of ſome pleaſant ſubject on which the play and management of the circumſtances turn, and out of which ſuch incidents ariſe as beget intereſt and lead naturally to a juſt and proper denouement. The ſongs in the pieces of theſe authors are well written; but, upon the whole, thoſe of FAVART are rather the beſt. There are many other pieces of this nature written by theſe and other authors, and ſome of them have been on the Engliſh ſtage; among which are La Fee Urgelle, Les Moiſſonneurs, Le Tableau Parlant, Le Deſerteur, and Richard Coeur de Lion; I ſhall, therefore, find a better time and place to ſpeak of them.

To return to VOLTAIRE. Nanine, a comedy taken from Pamela, was brought forward by VOL⯑TAIRE [191] in 1749. This ſubject was ſo admired and RICHARDSON ſo celebrated in FRANCE, that the general cry was to have it on the ſtage. LA CHAUSSEE tried his hand at it and failed; ſo did BOISSI. VOLTAIRE, however, ſucceeded greatly^*, though it muſt be confeſſed he has treated the ſub⯑ject very inſipidly.

Semiramis was firſt performed in 1748. This tragedy, having been ſtolen from CREBILLON, and once before, as we have ſeen, brought forward with⯑out ſucceſs, the whole hue and cry of wits hunted it down without mercy; in conſequence of which its reception at ſome of the early repreſentations was again doubtful. It gained ground, however, and afterwards drew a prodigious concourſe of ſpec⯑tators to the theatre, who did it the juſtice it really merited; for, though there are faults in the plan, yet it is ſtrongly written and ſome of the ſituations are very affecting^†.

[192]VOLTAIRE's next tragedy was Oreſte. It was performed once and withdrawn for eight days, after which, with the help of many corrections, it did tolerably well. Rome Sauvée came out in 1752, it was reſpectably received. To theſe ſucceeded Le Due de Foix, which alſo gave ſatisfaction. It is impoſſible to deny that theſe three tragedies are greatly written; and that, whatever may be their faults, they confeſs the hand of a maſter in every line. A true poet poſſeſſed of a male and nervous mind.

L'Orphelin de la Chine, and L'Ecoſſaiſe, the firſt performed 1756, and the other in 1760, will come in among the articles of the Engliſh ſtage. Tancred, alſo performed in 1760, had conſiderable ſucceſs. The ſubject called forth all the ſtrength of VOLTAIRE's talents, and it muſt be confeſſed he has well employed them; but L'Ecueil du Sage, a comedy, produced in 1762; was received very coldly, and had it not been written by VOLTAIRE, would not have been heard through on the firſt night. Olimpic, a tragedy, brought out in 1764, had better ſucceſs, but by no means ſuch a reception as ſome of his former pieces.

Les Scythes, performed in 1767, is a work of conſiderable merit. The judicious critic will eaſily [193] diſcern that it is not only written by a poet, but a philoſopher. It did not, however, ſucceed greatly at firſt, being like many of VOLTAIRE's plays written in a hurry and taken back for correction^*. His next piece, Les Triumvirs, was damned, owing, it is alledged, to his keeping back his name. Cer⯑tainly it did not deſerve ſo ſevere a [...]ate, and it is probable that had he, according to cuſtom, acknow⯑ledged its faults and corrected them, it might have been made an acquiſition to the theatre.

The laſt piece but one, by VOLTAIRE, was So⯑phoniſbe, performed in 1768. This tragedy was no⯑thing more than the alteration already ſpoken of from MAIRET, or rather THEOPHILE VIAUD, from a ſubject that had been ſo frequently treated by other authors. It certainly had merit, but had ſo little no⯑velty to recommend it, that its ſucceſs was inconſi⯑derable, which, perhaps, determined VOLTAIRE to leave the theatre; for, though we find among his works eleven pieces, beſides thoſe already enumerated, not one of them was performed except at his private [194] theatre in GENEVA. Theſe are of different diſ⯑criptions, but many of them have great merit, Les Guebres is written with aſtoniſhing force and grandeur, Samſon, an opera, is moſt admirably de⯑ſigned, and charmingly written^*; and, in Socrate, there is ſome of the ſweeteſt proſe, particularly the love ſcenes, that can be conceived.

There was, however, another piece which VOL⯑TAIRE brought with him from FERNEI, when, like a hare, he came to PARIS to die. This was a tragedy called Irene, and it was performed at the French the⯑atre, during an interval in which he flattered himſelf he ſhould recover from the ſevere illneſs with which he had been attacked on his coming to PARIS, and, [195] indeed, afflicted ſome time before^*. This was the conſummation, not of his glory, as he fondly called it, but of his vanity. Before the piece began, BRIZARD, the oldeſt of the actors, entered the box [196] and placed a crown of laurel upon his head, which he with an affected modeſty attempted to return, at the ſame time exclaiming, ‘"What will you over⯑whelm me? Will you kill me with exceſs of [197] glory?"’ The tragedy was then repreſented; after this VOLTAIRE's ſtatue was placed on the ſtage; and, while the actors and actreſſes crowned it with laurel and performed a moſt ridiculous and extravagant ceremony, the poet received all the honours of an apotheoſis.

Whether this exceſs of glory, or the exceſſive importunities of the church, and his friends on one ſide, who wiſhed him to die a chriſtian, or the fol⯑lowers of his doctrines on the other, who were ſo⯑licitous that he ſhould remain what they called a philoſopher to the laſt, would have atchieved the victory it is hard to ſay: the conflict certainly ac⯑celerated his end. Pride, weakneſs, vanity, morti⯑fication, regret, fear, and a thouſand other warring paſſions agitated and convulſed his frame; till, at length, a compaſſionate delirium came to his relief, and he died a warning to ſpeculatiſts, and an awful example of unavailing compunction. This event happened May 30, 1778, when he was nearly eighty four years of age.

The church having forbid that the remains of this extraordinary man ſhould be buried in conſe⯑crated ground, his relations with difficulty got leave to tranſport the body to FERNEI; but they managed to procure its burial at an Abbey of BERNARDINES at SCELLIERES, in the dioceſe of TROYE in CHAM⯑PAIGNE [198] to which place the news of the prohibition had not reached. The biſhop of TROYES, how⯑ever, got intelligence of the buſineſs and ſent to forbid the interment, but the order came too late; it was, therefore, agreed that the body ſhould not be taken up, but the biſhop laid the chapel under an interdiction, and the prior was depoſed^*.

To go over the large field of VOLTAIRE's pro⯑ductions would be both unneceſſary and improper. They are in all recollections and all libraries; and we have nothing to do here with any thing but his dra⯑matic productions. Theſe, though there is ſcarcely any thing original in them, are the beſt his country can boaſt: a ſtrange but a true declaration. VOL⯑TAIRE's judgment was ſtrong, faithful, and pene⯑trating, to a degree of wonder; and his recollection was ſo vivid that his memory ſerved him in the place of genius. Thus he was any writer he pleaſed, and better than the writer himſelf, becauſe he could diveſt himſelf of partiality. The obſervation, I confeſs, is againſt all rule, all example, but it is, nevertheleſs, true in VOLTAIRE; who on every poſſible ſubject could make you receive that as his [199] own which he did nothing but borrow and embelliſh; and, to prove that this is exactly what he thought and felt, his own words are that ‘"originality is no⯑thing but judicious imitation."’

He moulded CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CRE⯑BILLON to his own fancy; and, whether the forms he thought proper to make them wear were ſingle or complicated likeneſſes, the copies were always better than the originals. In Brutus he portrayed CORNEILLE, in Zaire RACINE, and in Mahomet CREBILLON^*. Yet were neither of them injured. ‘"A literary thief,"’ ſays a wit, ‘"ſhould always murder his man, for what uſe is life to him after he is become a cripple."’ but whether VOLTAIRE ſtole a feature from one, or a limb from another, or in what way ſoever committed his depredations, ſtill the perſons plundered ſuſtained no injury; their like the polypus, and their pockets, like the purſe of FORTUNATUS, ſtill retained their original pro⯑portion and value.

‘"My rivals,"’ ſaid he, ‘"accuſe me without [200] mercy of having pillaged both the ancients and the moderns, forgetting that they do the ſame thing. The fact is, we all ſeek for ornaments which may beſt embelliſh the ſubjects we treat; and, if they could ſteal to as good a purpoſe as I do, my now ſuperior roguery would excite no envy, and thus I ſhould hear nothing of their abuſe."’

To go further into this would be not only to in⯑volve theſe obſervations in a review of the num⯑berleſs diſputes, cavils, and heart burnings, from which, owing to inſatiable and inordinate vanity, he was never free; but alſo of thoſe authors, actors, bookſellers, academicians, prieſts, ſtateſmen, in ſhort every poſſible deſcription of perſon with whom he was eternally ſome way or other in hot water. I muſt, therefore, I own unwillingly, take leave of a ſubject which I ſhall hereafter have op⯑portunity collaterally to reſume with ſaying, that the tragedies of VOLTAIRE, which, as ſpecimens of erudition, are correct, elegant, and claſſical, as models of dramatic conſtruction, are maſterly, art⯑ful, and judicious, and, as leſſons of morality, are beautiful, winning, and exemplary, cannot fail to enſure him a permanent literary fame, while great and extenſive knowledge, keen and penetrating judgment, and perfect and refined taſte are objects of admiration.

CHAP. XII. MUSICIANS, ACTORS, REGULATIONS, AND THE CONCLUSION OF THE FRENCH STAGE.

FROM the moment RAMEAU reformed the muſic of the ſerious opera, the ſtrange, trite, unmeaning jigs that had been dinned in the cars of every fre⯑quenter of the comic opera, and every paſſer-by in the ſtreets, began to aſſume ſomething like me⯑lody; and, while the ſtyle of the more important works of PERGOLESI, GALLUPPI, and their co⯑temporaries, made up the grandeur of French muſic, regulated by RAMEAU, the Venetian Ballads and the other lighter muſic of the Italian Serenatas, and In⯑termezzos, changed the complexion and gave a de⯑licacy to the Vaudvilles.

DUNI, following the example of RAMEAU, im⯑proved the comic opera as RAMEAU has improved the ſerious opera. He was afterwards followed, among many others, by MONSIGNY, by PHILI⯑DORE, and, at length, by GRETRY, at which time French muſic had gone beyond its ſtrength, and the ſtring was ſtretched till it cracked.

[202]DUNI was chaſte and correct, but he ſeemed to compoſe tremblingly leſt he ſhould be thought an innovator. MONSIGNY, and PHILIDORE, had more ſpirit, and, catching fire like RAMEAU from the Italian ſchool, threw that genius into a blaze which only wanted ſuch a ſpark to illuminate it. From theſe, and from their imitators, came all thoſe French Minuets, Gavottes, Allemandes, and Jigs, many of which, in the Ballad Operas and Dances, made up the delight of the Engliſh from thirty to forty years ago. At length appeared PICCINI, who, though a compoſer of great ingenuity, was really an innovator. This man, by ſtrangling melody with accompanyment, firſt taught the Engliſh to deſpiſe the ſimplicity of GALLUPPI, and afterwards went to FRANCE where he ſtunned his auditors out of the beauty of RAMEAU, MONSIGNY, and PHI⯑LIDORE; till unfortunately meeting with his coun⯑terpart in GRETRY, the French, ever capricious, choſe to be ſurprized rather than delighted, and their muſical taſte became ſo vitiated that now they have no muſical taſte at all.

Without going over the requiſites in which the French ſuppoſe the merits of their actors to conſiſt, and which had better be conſidered upon a com⯑pariſon with the Engliſh actors, I ſhall content my⯑ſelf at preſent with ſaying that, though they call [203] BARON the French ROSCIUS, and ſpeak with rap⯑ture of many of their performers, yet they never fail in the ſame breath to extol GARRICK above all actors ancient and modern.

Indeed little more than declamation could be expected from the repreſentations of characters who diſcourſed upon their moſt common affairs in rhime. It is notorious that, before Merope was performed, tragedy was ſpoken in a manner little ſhort of re⯑citative, and acted with almoſt the regularity of a minuet. If a character was to be ſaved from a pre⯑cipice, he might break his neck and welcome if he had not patience to ſtay till his preſerver had gone through all the dancing poſitions. Rage, grief, love and pity were all ſpoken in the ſame cadence, and danced in the ſame meaſure.

A trait of nature in Madmoiſelle DU MESNIL broke the charm. In Merope ſhe ſaw her ſon in danger and, fancying herſelf the character ſhe repre⯑ſented, threw into her face all the agony of a deſ⯑pairing mother; and, darting acroſs the ſtage, cried out, in a frenzy of tenderneſs and apprehenſion, ‘"Barbarian he is my ſon."’ But we ſhall have lei⯑ſure to ſpeak of their general merits; at preſent let us talk briefly of them particularly.

[204]From BARON ſprung, either immediately or col⯑laterally, many of the beſt French actors. He mar⯑ried Madmoiſelle LE NOIR, ſiſter of THORILLIERE and Madame DANCOURT. His ſon, who has been already ſpoken of, died young; but he left behind him a ſon and two daughters, who were all per⯑formers of merit; the ſon, in particular, retired with a penſion.

DANCOURT appears to have been a ſound actor, but his great merit lay in training his company, in which he manifeſted the ſtrongeſt good ſenſe. He read remarkably well, and knew how to teach to others the beauties of thoſe authors whoſe works were confided to his care. He was continually con⯑ſidering in what manner he might render the actors reſpectable in the eyes of their fellow citizens^*.

[205]In having ſpoken of POISSON as an author it was impoſſible to avoid giving an outline of him as an actor. His principal merit was in repreſenting comic parts, and in particular the part of CRISPIN, and other valets in that ſtyle. He was very much admired by the court, and LOUIS the fourteenth gave him many proofs of his favour and liberality. POISSON had two ſons who performed with ſome reputation. One of them left behind him two volumes of plays, ſome of which had tolerable ſucceſs.

DUFRESNE was an excellent actor, but he was a curious character. By always ſancying himſelf the king or the ſtateſman he repreſented, he was miſerable when after pulling off his trappings he could diſcover nothing but an actor, born for the contempt of the public, and fated to be excom⯑municated^*. [206] It is ſaid that in the hands of BEAU⯑BOURG and others, who ſucceeded BARON, the art of acting had degenerated; but that, when DU⯑FRESNE appeared, be reſtored all its excellence with added graces of his own.

We will paſs by among the men LA NOUE; who, though he inherited but few requiſites from nature, was an actor of great general merit; LE GRAND, who, though a good actor, and by no means a bad author, was neither a BARON nor a MOLIERE; MONTMENY, who was merely carreſſed as the ſon of LE SAGE, and QUINAULT, who as well as a good actor, was a paſſable muſician, and many others; and we will hurry over, among the women, the names of JOUVENOT who retired with a penſion; GAUSSIN, who was the original ZAIRE; LE COUV⯑REUR, an elegant and accompliſhed woman, and an admirable actreſs in tragedy; MAUPIN, who was an excellent actreſs, who in partiality to her own ſex was a perfect SAPPHO; who frequently [207] was miſtaken for a man, and who ſought a duel and ſet fire to a convent; the three ſiſters of QUIN⯑AULT neither of which was deſtitute of merit; DUCLOS, who was many years celebrated in tra⯑gedy; DUBOIS, who retired with a penſion; DAN⯑GEVILLE, in whoſe praiſe for forty years all the journals, all the hiſtories of the theatre, all the dra⯑matic annals were ſo laviſh even to the quantity of ſeveral volumes: theſe and many more we are con⯑ſtrained to paſs by that we may take a view, a very tranſient one however, of that celebrated ſet of actors and actreſſes who kept up the reputation of the theatre during the reign of VOLTAIRE, and who were upon its eſtabliſhment in the year 1775.

LE KAIN, who was the dramatic eleve, and the intimate friend of VOLTAIRE, had many difficulties to ſurmount before he ſtood a chance of ſucceſs. Both his figure and his voice were againſt him; but by a moſt extraordinary and lively ſenſibility, after a greal deal of art and perſeverance he overcame all theſe natural defects. His acting was like a well painted ſcene; the touches were mere daubing but the effect was aſtoniſhing^*. The whole of this [208] actors life was conſecrated to VOLTAIRE; nay, that he might be complaiſant to the laſt, though but forty-nine years of age, the actor left the world within a few weeks of the poet.

PREVILLE was certainly an admirable actor through all the round of comedy; and it is natural to ſuppoſe, by all the accounts we have of him, that he was the beſt the French ſtage ever knew. It was ever the cuſtom to keep a French performer cloſe to his role; and as we ſay, once a captain always a captain, ſo one might ſay of a French actor, once CRISPIN always CRISPIN. But PREVILLE performed every kind of comic part, and always happily. His merit alone was the cauſe of their reviving almoſt all the comedies of MOLIERE; and to the new characters which were written, whether FREEPORT in L'Ecoſſaiſe, FIGARO in Le Barbier De Seville, MICHAUD in the Partie de chaſſe, D'Henry IV. or any other of theſe various cha⯑racters of which he ſtampt the reputation, it is im⯑poſſible to deny but that he had as much good ſenſe as verſatility^*.

MOLE performed in hard, honeſt, blunt cha⯑racters [209] with great truth and juſtice. He was a dif⯑ferent figure, and much more a Frenchman, but thoſe who recollect YATES may, from that recol⯑lection, form an idea of MOLE's acting. I do not ſuppoſe the Miſanthrope, Le Homme Singulier, Le Glorieux, and other parts of that deſcription were ever ſo reſpectably performed.

BELLECOUR, who was originally a painter and a ſcholar of WANLOO, left the bruſh for the buſkin. He firſt, however, appeared in tragedy, but his own good ſenſe pointed out the true bent of his talents, and he ſtood high in reputation in 1775 as a comic actor^*.

BRIZARD was an actor of conſiderable merit. The advantages of a noble and graceful figure, and a clear and powerful voice, were heightened in him by a ſuſceptible mind, a ſtrong underſtanding, and a cor⯑rect education. He was born to repreſent the heroes of the great CORNEILLE; and, perhaps, in The Roman Father, and indeed all other deſcriptions of dignified tragedy, no French actor has gone beyond him^†. He enjoyed many years a ſplendid repu⯑tation, [210] and then retired to a beautiful retreat, where he built himſelf an elegant houſe, and filled it with pictures of his own painting.

DUGAZON, an actor of gaiety and addreſs, fol⯑lowed the ſteps of PREVILLE; running, however, more into caricature. When PREVILLE retired with his wife, which happened at the time the theatre loſt BRIZARD, DUGAZON got on wonderfully; and being named Profeſſor at De L'Ecole Royal de De⯑clamation, he attained a very high ſituation in his profeſſion^*.

DESESSARTS ſeems to have been in comedy ſomething in the ſtyle of what BRIZARD was in tra⯑gedy; by no means, however, his equal; for though the Liſimons and the Gerontes of the French are parts that require good ſenſe and a critical under⯑ſtanding, yet they do not want ſuch power and ex⯑ertion as the old men in tragedy. There was, how⯑ever, an amiable and benevolent manner in DESES⯑SARTS that gave great reſpectability to thoſe kind of characters; and, though his acting was not the prominent feature of the picture, yet it was the happy middle tint without which the picture could have had no prominence at all.

DAUBERVAL, AUGE, BOURET, DALAINVAL, [211] and MONVEL, were all actors of reſpectability. Having, however, gone beyond my preſcribed bounds, I ſhall for the preſent let them paſs by and ſpeak of LA RIVE, an actor of the higheſt celebrity, who ſeized the dramatic crown from the head of LE KAIN. LA RIVE, profiting by the inſtructions of the incomparable CLAIRON, and a long attention to the indefatigable labours of LE KAIN, came on the ſtage at once an accompliſhed actor.

Nature that had done but little for LE KAIN, had done every thing for LA RIVE. His figure, voice, manner, were not only correct and engaging, but they were preciſely what thoſe requiſites ſhould be in an actor. They were in themſelves intereſt⯑ing, but, under the controul of that mind which ac⯑tuated them, they were irreſiſtable. LA RIVE with theſe advantages gave an added force to the ſplendor that tragedy had acquired under LE KAIN. LE KAIN, having every thing to acquire, laboured with the inſtructions and aſſiſtance of VOLTAIRE, and his own ſtrong mind and excellent underſtanding, till he attained perfection almoſt in oppoſition to nature; while LA RIVE, inſtructed by CLAIRON, ſtudied and imbibed the perfection of LE KAIN, and truſted to nature to perform the reſt.

In ſpeaking of the principal French actreſſes I [212] ſhall begin with Madmoiſelle DUMESNIL; for, though VOLTAIRE ſays he was charmed with CLAIRON till he ſaw ſuperior merit in DUMESNIL, yet it is certain that the latter performed in PARIS in 1737, and that CLAIRON, except in ſome few trifling parts which ſhe acted at the Italian theatre, was not celebrated till 1743, the very year when DUMESNIL aſtoniſhed the public by a diſplay of extraordinary talents in Merope. DUMESNIL had a ſtronger mind and more nature than CLAIRON; CLAIRON more art and management than DUMES⯑NIL. One declaimed with judgment, the other uttered with feeling. Upon the whole, I know not if the reader can have a better idea of them than by a recollection of Mrs. CRAWFORD and Mrs. YATES, in ALICIA and JANE SHORE.

Madmoiſelle RAUCOURT, and Madame VES⯑TRIS, properly follow DUMESNIL and CLAIRON. The firſt was an impaſſioned and enthuſiaſtic actreſs, who is ſaid to have given to Medea and other bold and violent characters a ſpirit and a warmth that had never before been thrown into them; the other, who was the ſcholar and intimate friend of CLAIRON, kept cloſe to her ſtyle and manner in which ſhe often equalled and ſometimes excelled her. Mad⯑moiſelle HUS was an actreſs in a more extenſive ſtyle, but not ſo excellent as either of the others. [213] She was well received, however, both in tragedy and comedy.

The leading comic actreſſes were Madame BEL⯑LECOUR, Madame DUGAZON, and Madmoiſelle CONTAT. Madame BELLECOUR continued on the ſtage a great number of years, and was always re⯑ceived with the greateſt applauſe and admiration. The names of PREVILLE and BELLECOUR were inſeperable; they conſtantly performed in the ſame pieces and with the ſame reputation. Madame DUGAZON performed incomparably characters of ſimplicity; not that this was her only merit, for parts of more intelligence, where deportment and demeanour were more eſſential, and which were diſtinguiſhed by art and cunning, received at her hands every juſtice the moſt ſanguine author could wiſh; and if in PREVILLE and BELLECOUR, there appeared a faint reſemblance of KING and ABING⯑TON; in DUGAZON and his wife might be diſcerned a likeneſs of WOODWARD and ELLIOT.

As for Madmoiſelle CONTAT, ſhe performed univerſally in comedy, and undertook the cha⯑racters that had been perſonated by Madame PREVILLE, Mlle DANGEVILLE, and Mlle D'OLIGNY; juſt as Mad. DUGAZON ſucceeded Mlle LUZI, and Mlle FANIER. I ſhould with pleaſure pay a more elaborate tribute to her merit, [214] as well as to the reſt of thoſe whoſe names will pre⯑ſently appear upon the eſtabliſhment at the year 1775, but that I have already exceeded the bounds I had preſcribed myſelf for a diſplay of the ſtage in FRANCE.

The regulations of the French theatre were ex⯑tremely ſimilar to thoſe of the Italian theatre. In 1757, the king revoked all former laws and eſta⯑bliſhed new ones more to the intereſt and comfort of the performers; who, in the ſame manner as the Italians, poſſeſſed the property and divided the profits, after ſubmitting to ſuch juſt and neceſſary proviſoes as were very ſenſibly and equitably laid down for them.

Theſe were drawn up entirely upon the ſame principle, and carried into effect in the ſame manner as the others. The ſemainiers, treaſurers, and all who were entruſted with the regulations, were obliged, as before, to ſubmit their conduct to the Intendant Des Menus, to be reported for the in⯑ſpection of the king, who took them immediately under his patronage. So that to be further par⯑ticular would be only to repeat what has been ſeen already. In 1775 the company ſtood thus:

Actors. LE KAIN, BELLECOUR, PREVILLE, BRIZARD, MOLE, DAUBERVAL, AUGE, BOURET, [215] DALAINVAL, MONVEL, DUGAZON, and DESES⯑SARTS. Actors retired on penſions. BELLEMONT, PONTUEIL, COURVILLE, SEGUIN, and REYMOND. Actreſſes. DUMESNIL, DROUIN, BELLECOUR, HUS, PREVILLE, MOLE, DOLIGNY, LUZI, FA⯑NIER, SAINTVAL, DUGAZON, VESTRIS, LA CHAS⯑SAIGNE, and RAUCOURT. Actreſſes retired on penſions. BONIOLI, and St. GERVAIS.

Compoſer and ballet maſter; DESHAYES, firſt dancer DESNOYERS, principal dancers GUIAR⯑DELLE, VICTOR, and HENRI. Firſt female dancer CONSTANCE CHOLET, principal female dancers ADELAIDE, SOPHIE, and NOZIERE. To which were added ſix figurants and ſix figurantes, and ſix ſupernumeraries. The band conſiſted of twenty-five performers.

Thus have we taken a view of the French ſtage from its commencement to the time when it had at⯑tained the higheſt pinnacle of its reputation; from which moment it has ever ſince gradually declined. This ſubject is equal to a much larger ſcope and extent than I have been able to afford it, otherwiſe I might have been more juſt to a greater number of authors, muſicians, actors and others; whoſe various merits and reputations deſerve a more competent though not a more impartial hiſtorian.

[216]We have ſeen, however, enough to ſhew, through a long ſerious of years, genius and merit ſtruggling with every kind of difficulty, and the moſt merit⯑orious exertions offered up as a ſacrifice at the ſhrine of caprice. We have ſeen one Cardinal turn actor, and another fidler. We have ſeen Kings and Princes dancing at the Opera, and we have ſeen the con⯑ſiſtent French, with the King Queen and Royal Fa⯑mily at their head, ſhed tears at the ſame play yeſ⯑terday in the form of a tragedy, at the theatre, and to day laugh at it, in the form of a droll, at the fair. We have ſeen prieſts transform themſelves into actors and uſe nonſenſe and obſcenity in the pulpit, and we have ſeen actors, in good ſound ſenſe, ridi⯑cule prieſts on the ſtage^*. We have ſeen dancers, [217] tygers, and flying horſes, trample upon genius, taſte, and literature. In ſhort we have ſeen LA SERRE, a miſerable book-duſter, triumph over the great CORNEILLE; PRADON, a ſupercilious dunce and a pliant tool, conquer the tender RACINE; and DU BELLOI, who for ſubſcribing to inordinate French vanity, was firſt honoured with every mark of diſ⯑tinction and afterwards left to die in extreme in⯑digence, obtain a complete victory over the truly celebrated VOLTAIRE.

Let us now turn our eyes to ENGLAND.

CHAP. I. TENDENCY OF THIS WORK.

THE Engliſh reader will now ſee that I have ſo long kept him at a diſtance from his native country only that it may be the more dear to him on his re⯑turn. The traveller, who has croſſed ſeas and tra⯑verſed empires to ſeek for objects of wonder and admiration, cheriſhes the recollection of the plea⯑ſure and inſtruction he has received, only in pro⯑portion as it fits him for enjoyment in the boſom of his family.

So, if I have endeavoured in ATHENS to trace the dramatic art from the rude bards at the time of THESEUS to the poliſhed writers at the fall of GREECE; if I have deſcribed exotic manners tranſ⯑planted [220] to ROME, and there pining through a ſickly and rickety exiſtence; if I have deplored the buf⯑fooneries of ITALY, where the heterogeneous fa⯑ragoes of the Romans were caricatured; if I have wondered at the aſtoniſhing fertility and redundancy of the Spaniſh drama, like a tree too luxuriant to be pruned, and charged with too much fruit to ripen; if I have ſmiled at the booriſh farces of the Dutch, and if I have given more at length the origin and progreſs of the French ſtage, in which ſo many men of extraordinary abilities greatly diſtinguiſhed them⯑ſelves; I have done this to prove, upon a compara⯑tive review, the ſuperiority of our theatre at home.

If I held up AESCHYLUS, LIVIUS ANDRONI⯑CUS, and CORNEILLE, it was to place SHAKESPEAR upon higher ground; if I inſtanced ROSCIUS and BARON, it was to ſhew the pre-eminence of GAR⯑RICK; and this motive has been my guide in every inſtance; nor have I ſhrunk from the beſt com⯑mendation I could procure for authors, actors, mu⯑ſicians, or any other of thoſe deſcriptions of enter⯑prizers, who in ſo many ways are neceſſary to pro⯑mote the ſucceſs of a theatre, becauſe I fear not to enter the liſts with them all, clad as I am in Engliſh armour.

But though I intend to diſpute the ſubject point [221] by point, I do not mean to pay my country ſo ill a compliment as to contend for ſuperiority in thoſe ſubordinate requiſites which are the mere trappings, the ſumpter horſes of the drama. While theſe are decorous and keep their ſtation in the back ground, let them relieve, which they will meritoriouſly, the nobler attractions of the ſtage: ſpeaking the pro⯑priety of its conductors, and the good ſenſe of the audience. But when the pageant becomes the object inſtead of the hero, I call it no longer the triumphal entry of ALEXANDER but of his ele⯑phants. Let the ſtage have dances; let it have ſcenery; let it have ſpectacles; but never let theſe trench upon the rational pleaſure and the ſolid inſtruction conveyed by tragedies and comedies. In the firſt let the French excel, be the other the province of the Engliſh^*.

Upon this ground I ſtart; and, ſince it has been aſſerted with great confidence by the writers of other countries, that the dramatic art arrived to no per⯑fection [222] in ENGLAND till it had been perfected by all its neighbours, and ſince our own writers have very tamely acquieſced in this calumny, I ſhall, for the firſt attempt of this kind, begin my taſk by en⯑deavouring to reſcue the Engliſh ſtage from ſo much obliquy, and ſhew that we are in every thing antecedent to the French, and, perhaps, every other people but the Spaniards; and that there are veſtiges of the dramatic art traceable in this country long before the fall of the Roman empire^*.

CHAP. II. CONJECTURES CONCERNING THE DRAMATIC ART IN BRITON BEFORE THE ROMAN CONQUEST.

WITHOUT examining whether this iſland ever was a part of the Continent, or by what other means it became peopled, it is impoſſible not to concur in a belief that the Britons were originally Gauls. But, if it be allowed only that they had a free com⯑munication and intercourſe with the Gauls, it is abundantly enough to eſtabliſh a proof that they imported their amuſements as well as their mer⯑chandize; and, if the Gauls, who were clearly a motley people collected from all nations, adopted the manners, ſtudies, and pleaſures of the Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Romans, how is it poſſible that the Britons could avoid imbibing the ſame propenſities?

It is not pretended that the Druids were originally Britiſh; on the contrary they are conſidered as an itinerant body who inſmuated themſelves among the Gauls, the Germans, and the Britons, and who, pro⯑bably, [224] came originally, from ASSYRIA and EGYPT, into ſuch countries as would harbour them; and, as they have been conſidered in this part of the world in the ſame light with the Gymnoſophiſts among the Indians, the Magi among the Perſians, the Chaldeans among the Assyrians, and the Philoſophers among the Greeks, it is very unlikely that the inſtruction they came to impart was ſo auſtere as entirely to preclude amuſement.

Indeed that this was one part of their miſſion there cannot be a doubt. They conſiſted of four claſſes; prieſts, augurs, inſtructors of youth, and poets. Here we have clearly the bards, who ſung to their harps the acts and atchievements of heroes, and whe⯑ther it was among the Britons they firſt eſtabliſhed this art, or brought it ſooneſt to perfection, it muſt certainly have been in high eſteem, for the word bard, if we may rely on a number of authorities, is purely Britiſh and derived from bardus, which ſigni⯑fies a ſinger.

We have hiſtories of the Welch bards, and the Iriſh bards; and if there were only, by way of authority, that aſtoniſhing ſpecimen of uncultivated genius the poems of OSSIAN, written in the ſecond or third century, who can deny, the eminent poetic talents of the Scotch bards; and, upon a conſideration of this, [225] how naturally will the names of HOMER and HESIOD occur to the mind, ſince the Celtic hiſtory as well as the Grecian had its foundation in poetry.

But to put it another way. The Druids either travelled for knowledge, or it was brought home to them from its parent countries; and, when ſo ac⯑quired, it was incorporated among the purſuits and improvements of the hardy Britons. They knew geography, which not only comprehends a meaſure⯑ment of the globe itſelf, but every one of its com⯑ponent parts; which originated in CHALDEA, paſſed into EGYPT, improved in PHOENECIA, and grew celebrated in GREECE^*. They practiſed aſtrology, an art characteriſtically Egyptian; the pupils of which art have infeſted the world. Had the Greeks or the Romans hardly a ſingle camp where the aſtro⯑logers and the ſoothſayers did not act their parts as naturally as the buffoons and the muſicians? Geome⯑try, which again took root in EGYPT, and afterwards paſſed into GREECE was another of their ſtudies; and to theſe we are authorized to add theology^†, aſtronomy, natural philoſophy, and politics.

[226]Are theſe the probable ſtudies of an auſtere people ſhut up in an obſcure nook at a part of the world far diſtant from that where theſe ſciences originated? What uſe was the doctrine of ſurveying coaſts and harbours, dividing and ſubdividing the world, or the art of prophecying the fall and riſe of em⯑pires, or the principles and elements of extenſion, to men who limited their purſuits to the little iſland of MONA? No. It will not bear any other con⯑ſtruction than that the druids, originally wanderers, after combating ſchiſms in their native countries, ſet up their reſt among other nations, more likely to tolerate their opinions, and venerate their doctrines.

No part of their character, however, concerns the ſubject on which our attention is employed, except as it relates to their having been denominated bards, but in that capacity it is as fair to conſider their hymns in their ſacrifices to JUPITER and MERCURY as perfectly dramatic as the hymns of the ancient Greeks in praiſe of BACCHUS, or the Egyptians in honour of ISIS and OSIRIS.

If it be now allowed me that the Druids came [227] originally from EGYPT my remark is ſo came muſic; ſo came all thoſe arts which have enlighted the world. Drawings, gems, coins, monuments, columns, pyramids retain the forms of inſtruments invented by the Egyptians; the properties and effects of which, with very little variation, are the ſame as many of thoſe now in uſe among Europeans^*.

[228]Hiſtory, both ſacred and profane, is full of ac⯑counts in which muſicians led on troops and ani⯑mated them to victory; and ſcarcely do we find any of theſe in which the ancient Gallic, German, and Britiſh Druids are not mentioned; who are ſaid to have been not only prieſts but muſicians, a part of whoſe profeſſion it was to animate their countrymen to the fight. How far back this ob⯑tained, or to what degree of perfection it arrived, it is not poſſible, or if it were, is it material to trace. Certainly theſe cuſtoms exiſted before the Chriſtian aera. The Druids had ſchools where bodies of ſtudents aſſembled. In theſe ſchools young men were brought up to learn arts and languages, and, parti⯑cularly, Greek; and it is remarked that they learnt a great number of verſes by heart. By whom written? Certainly by HOMER, HESIOD, AESCHY⯑LUS, [229] SOPHOCLES, and EURIPIDES. What then did they learn? Dramatic poems; plays, even from HOMER; for I will not concede that the Iliad and the Odyſſey are any other than dramatic poems in narrative.

This whole fabric then muſt fall to the ground, or it muſt be allowed that the Druids knew the dra⯑matic art, or at leaſt were in poſſeſſion of the pro⯑ductions of thoſe who did know it, in as high per⯑fection as any thing it had attained before SHAKES⯑PEAR. How far they exerciſed it is certainly leſt to conjecture. Revolutions annihilate cuſtoms and obliterate their records. Were it not for the Scrip⯑tures, a knowledge of the early arts and improve⯑ments of the Hebrews would probably have been loſt when they were led captives to BABYLON^*; and, had not the Grecian arms carried the Grecian arts to the remoteſt corners of the earth, the name of that great empire would have been extinguiſhed with the empire itſelf. SPAIN, therefore, when it was overrun with the Goths, and Britons, when it was invaded by the Romans, having been merely imitators of other nations, loſt all the veſtiges of thoſe arts they had learnt in the ſudden wreck of their general fortune.

[230]Having taken bold ground, I ſhall I hope be pardoned if I go a little farther in ſearc [...] of pro⯑bable argument to bear out, not what I have ad⯑vanced, but what I have ſubmitted. BRITAIN, before the invaſion of JULIUS CESAR, was divided into twenty-ſeven ſites or countries, each governed by a king or a queen, among whom were found at that time many famous for arts and arms. Can it be credited that the quarrels, the valour, the gal⯑lantry, the intercourſe, the intermarriages of this ar⯑iſtocracy could poſſibly have taken place without poetical celebration.

It is infallible that they had the means of cele⯑brating ſacrifices^*, victories, and other ceremonies and feſtivals; and, therefore, they did celebrate them; probably in the manner of the provincial poets afterwards in FRANCE; and it is feaſible that their dramatic repreſentations, if there were any, not being yet tainted with the licentiouſneſs of the Romans, were modelled by the purity of the Greeks; ſince they knew Greek long before they [231] knew Latin^*. Theſe are conjectures, however, not aſſertions▪ probabilities, not certainties; but ſince it is difficult to prevent the mind from leaning to⯑wards [...] belief of their ſpirit, if not their letter, they will not by the candid reader be conſidered here as an intruſion.

CHAP. III. FROM THE INVASION OF THE ROMANS TO THE SAXON HEPTARCHY.

AT the time of the Roman invaſion we begin to be more decided. CAESAR, who was himſelf a play⯑wright, hardly invaded BRITAIN without his mimes. His ambition was as much to be conſidered in quality of author as conqueror, and we have ſeen him permit ACCIUS to treat him with indifference that he might the eaſier obtain a place in a literary aſſembly. Nor was this derogatory even to CAESAR. The world at this moment contemplate his writings with more pleaſure than his conqueſts, though his clemency was equal to his courage.

From the inſtant the Britons had an intercourſe with the Romans, they imitated them in every thing. The perpetual diſputes concerning their tributes during the reigns of CAESAR and AUGUSTUS, oc⯑caſioned viſits to ROME, where the ſons of the beſt families vied with each other in Roman accompliſh⯑ments. With theſe they returned and became ob⯑jects [233] of imitation to their countrymen; and, though the Druids ſtrenuouſly interfered, the poiſon was imbibed, and licentiouſneſs ſoon took place of ſimplicity and hardihood.

The very mention of the Auguſtan age ſuggeſts an idea of amuſements, and particularly of theatrical amuſements, which that emperor ſo largely encou⯑raged. Strangers flocked to ROME to ſee thoſe ſtupendous theatres, already deſcribed, and to wit⯑neſs the exhibitions given in them. Britons followed the examples of others; and, though in their con⯑tinual ſtruggles with the Romans they ſcarcely ſe⯑cured themſelves a home and a reſidence, yet they beguiled their misfortunes naturally enough with the ſports and relaxations of their neighbours, and for the performance of theſe they are actually ſaid to have had a theatre.

During the reign of TIBERIUS, at which time they enjoyed more quiet, civilization gained ground; they permitted commercial intercourſe to every part of the iſland, and they imitated the manners of the Romans as faithfully and as ſervilely as we have ſeen the Romans imitate the manners of the Greeks.

In theſe times reigned CARACTACUS, the war⯑like [234] like king of the SILURES, GALGACUS, the worthy king of CALEDONIA, and PRASUTAGUS, king of ICENE, over which province his wife, the famous and unfortunate BOADICEA, afterwards became queen. Theſe and their adherents were now among the few who reſiſted the licentiouſneſs of the Ro⯑mans, and propped the declining reputation of the Druids^*; but the hardy and warlike ſpirit of the Britons was no more. The ſtruggle was in vain. The rapacity, the inſolence, and the corruption of the Romans had too much vitiated the manners of [235] the inexperienced Britons. CARACTACUS, be⯑trayed by CARTISMANDUA, the luſtful wife of VINUTIUS, king of the BRAGANTES, was led a captive to ROME to grace the triumph of CLAUDIUS; BOADICEA, in the reign of NERO, after ſuſtaining with her daughters every poſſibly indignity and diſ⯑grace, loſt a battle, in which fell eighty thouſand of her adherents, and afterwards poiſoned herſelf^*; and the Druids, who had wholly retired to their iſland of MONA, were ſurrounded and exterminated.

[236]If the Britons had any amuſements that bore a likeneſs to the drama before the Roman invaſion, that circumſtance completely overturned them by adding amuſements of a different complexion, which again were prevented from gaining ground from the perpetual wars in which they firſt loſt their dignity as a nation, and afterwards degenerated into poverty and misfortune; for the Romans hav⯑ing once made a complete conqueſt of the iſland, [237] they ſo neglected the means of its internal defence, that after the death of AGRICOLA, it became an eaſy conqueſt to the Picts and Scots, who were, at length, routed by VORTIGERN, when he called in the aſſiſtance of the Saxons who conquered BRITAIN, after it had been five hundred and twenty eight years governed by the Romans, and twenty-eight years after that in a ſtate of complete anarchy.

CHAP. IV. FROM THE SAXON HEPTARCHY TO THE NORMAN CONQUEST.

AMIDST frequent gleams of certain light, we muſt ſtill wander in the gloom of conjecture; yet, if our enquiries are no more than ingenious, they may entertain even though they ſhould not convince; and it may be worth while to cheriſh probability on a theme in which we intereſt ourſelves, rather than let the whole ſink to oblivion and ſo withhold a clue from other enquirers, who by being better in formed may be more ſucceſsful.

The queſtion is whether or not it be of any mo⯑ment to know if the dramatic art exiſted at all in this country prior to the ſixteenth century, before which time it certainly attained no conſiderable degree of celebrity; but we are upon a ſubject in its nature calculated to excite curioſity, and, I fear, if authors were precluded from exerciſing a little conjectural ſpeculation, ancient hiſtory of every ſort would be involved in a very inconvenient predicament; its [239] whole foundation, ſandy as it is, being no more than tradition.

From my own part I am willing to believe and I think this inclination rational enough, that the only reaſon amuſements and their nature have never been faithfully recorded in this country is becauſe no actual government began to be ſettled here till ALFRED; and that even his laws and regulations were not permanently carried into effect till king JOHN. The hiſtory of this kingdom before the conqueſt conſiſts of nothing more than a ſeries of conflicting ſtruggles for power and authority, in the commemorating of which the hiſtorian naturally finds himſelf ſo involved and perplexed, that, had he the pen of HOMER, he could not give it in⯑genuity enough to deſcribe differently the various battles he has to deplore, much leſs the different heroes who fell in thoſe battles; and, admitting this, what accurate account can we expect of the ſub⯑jects of their relaxations whoſe occupations were reſtleſs ambition and deſtructive glory.

Amuſements, nevertheleſs, they muſt have had; it would be childiſh to deny it; and it is clearly within probability that, previous to the Roman con⯑queſt, theſe amuſements conſiſted of ſuch poetry and muſic as they imbibed from the Greeks, as it [240] is evident that after the arrival of JULIUS CAESAR they partook of the dramatic and other ſports and ſpectacles of the Romans.

After theſe wanton plunderers had ſubdued this country, deſpoiled it, defaced it, and left no veſtiges of their inſatiable luſt of power but the miſeries cauſed by its ravages; they baſely forſook its de⯑fenceleſs inhabitants, now enervated by oppreſſion, as a prey to the firſt band of inſurgents that might think proper to invade them. The land became a ſcene of blood-ſhed and confuſion; till, after a va⯑riety of ſanguinary conflicts, it began to lift up its head and flatter itſelf with protection under the Saxon heptarchy.

During all this while, however, neither poetry nor its attendant muſic ſlept. The only difference was that groves and receſſes witneſſed thoſe numbers, and thoſe ſtrains, in terms and ſounds of complaint and lamentation, which before, in ſprightly and triumphant meaſure, had delighted courts and ani⯑mated armies. Its fire was ſmouldering among the embers, but not extinct. A remnant of the luck⯑leſs Druids ſtill were ſcattered up and down, parti⯑cularly in CALEDONIA. Theſe required neither records for their poetry nor notation for their muſic. Tradition ſupplied the matter and memory gave it utterance.

[241]Theſe, as the times became leſs furious, gra⯑dually emancipated from their hiding places; and as it had been long cuſtomary for every chief to have his bard, for what would have been ACHIL⯑LES without HOMER, the Saxon kings, in the midſt of their reſtleſs contentions, by which they at length became united, glad enough to lean to whatever might ſoften the horrors of war and intro⯑duce, even in the rudeſt ſtate, ſomething like civi⯑lization, encouraged theſe bards to ſing thoſe ex⯑ploits they had atchieved, or to invent for them attri⯑butable atchievements to make them reſpected in the eyes of their dependants, or elſe to ſtimulate them to great actions, and their dependants to an ad⯑miration of them, by the ſtories of kings and heroes which for ages had been handed down by tradition.

Nor were VORTIGERN, and thoſe other Britons who after inviting the Saxons became their oppo⯑nents, more averſe to liſten to the poetry of the bard or the muſic of the harp. The carouſels and all the barbarous ſports which made up the cours plenieres of the French, immediately after the ex⯑ſtinction of the Roman empire, no doubt pervaded BRITAIN; and the Round Table, and the Tourna⯑ments in the court of ARTHUR, which were exactly the French entremets, give inconteſtible proofs of this.

[242]The atcheivements of ARTHUR were ſung by the bards, of whom MERLIN is ſaid to have been the chief;^* and, if we go forward and come to [243] ALFRED, we ſhall not only find him an excellent poet but an accompliſhed muſician; and what won⯑der in a prince of his rare talents, who had been bred up at the court of ROME at a time when ITALY grew celebrated for poetry and muſic; more than a hundred years after CHARLEMAGNE had gleaned in that country the materials to found an academy in his own, and only a hundred and about fifteen years before that very GUIDO ARETINE, who is falſely ſaid to have invented muſic, though it muſt be truly acknowledged that he was of very conſi⯑derable advantage to it as far as relates to meaſure and regularity.

But what need to go ſo forward as ALFRED, or even ARTHUR, to ſhew when poetry and muſic were known in BRITAIN? Did not another Prince ſo early as the third century, ſing the wars of the Scotch and the Iriſh with all the beauty and majeſty of HOMER? Where can you find among the Greeks [244] more picture, more dignity, more pathos, than in the writings of OSSIAN, the ſon of FINGAL? Are not thoſe poems full of matter that relate to times long before they were written? And are they not replete with that Grecian ſweetneſs and ſublimity ſo well known to the Druids, and ſo well imparted in the education of their Princes? Nay, are they not full of thoſe greciſms with which the Druids im⯑proved the Celtic tongue; and, finally, are not many of them written in dialogue, and, therefore, perfectly dramatic.

As to ARTHUR, the Knights Companions of the Round Table were warriors and poets; ſo were thoſe of RAIMOND BERENGER, in PROVENCE, to whom they have been often compared; and, ſo com⯑pletely has it been ſettled that the amuſements in BRITAIN and thoſe in PROVENCE were exactly the ſame, that the only diſpute, a matter of no moment to us, has been which has boaſted the pre-eminence; in point of time certainly thoſe in BRITAIN, for ARTHUR lived ſeven hundred years before BER⯑ENGER. I do not effect to deny that the accounts of the provincial poets are full of contradiction and liable to particular objection, but this is rather an eſtabliſhment of the general fact; for, as we know of the dramatic entertainments of GREECE and ROME, and above all that ROME ſwarmed with [245] mimes and actors of moſt extraordinary merit at the time of the diſſolution of the empire, it is im⯑poſſible but that they ſpread themſelves wherever they could find an aſylum, and that, having an im⯑mediate intercourſe with ENGLAND they viſited us as well as their neighbours.

From ARTHUR to ALFRED, by which time upwards of three hundred years had elapſed, and the different kingdoms of the Saxon heptarchy were conſolidated into one ſtate, amuſements, except ſuch as ſtimulated heroes to great actions, of courſe waited on occaſion, and could not be encouraged; but, during thoſe intervals when peace gave pauſe to the tuba recta^* and the tympanum, and wel⯑comed the harp and the ribible, during theſe oc⯑caſions, we hear variouſly of the progreſs of muſic which was, according to circumſtances, ſilenced for a time in different counties.

St. AUSTIN, who it has been ſaid brought choral [246] muſic into ENGLAND, certainly to make his miſſion more welcome, the purport of which was to con⯑vert the Saxons to Chriſtianity, brought with him forty Monks, the greateſt part of whom were fingers; and, ſo well did Pope GREGORY know that this was the beſt medium through which he could effect his purpoſe, that a ſucceſſion of fingers came over, among whom was one of the moſt celebrated in ITALY^*.

All this will abundantly prove, for it is ſeriouſly wrong to inſtance too much extraneous matter, that ALFRED opened his eyes in a country where muſic was well known and generally practiſed, and with this pleaſant circumſtance he ſeems to have been particularly delighted; for, when he was ſent very young to the court of ROME, he omitted no op⯑portunity [247] of improving himſelf in more arts than the art of reigning, among which poetry and muſic ſeem to have been his favourites; and, though his literary productions conſiſt of many volumes, yet muſic was certainly his darling ſtudy. BALE, SPELMAN, and others, tell us that he moſt induſtri⯑ouſly encouraged muſic throughout the kingdom; that he invited muſicians into the country, and par⯑ticularly one GRIMBALD, of whom the French writers have ſpoken very warmly. This muſician had been uſeful to ALFRED in his way to ROME, and he was treated very honourably at the court of that monarch whoſe entertainments he regulated.

It cannot now be denied that ſome of thoſe amuſements muſt have been dramatic, at leaſt as much as any of the maſques and interludes which were written by BEN JONSON, and performed in the court of queen ELIZABETH; for, if they were merely choral what had the harp to do with them? And how could they be any other than works of fancy and variety when the king himſelf was the beſt harper in the band, as it evidently turned out afterwards when he aſſumed the form of a common minſtrel in the Daniſh camp, where he muſt have conformed himſelf to the perſonating every kind of character to avoid detection, ſince he remained many days and was obliged to conciliate favour from [248] the loweſt to the higheſt, in the character of a vagabond and a hireling.

From the moment ALFRED ſat down in pro⯑found peace and perfect ſecurity, he with the moſt indefatigable induſtry began to extend civizilation, and to make his name as famous for arts as it had been for arms. He found his ſubjects, in conſe⯑quence of ſuch a ſucceſſion of ſtruggles, ſunk into the groſſeſt ignorance and barbariſm. He, there⯑fore, as we have ſeen, invited celebrated ſcholars from all parts of EUROPE, and became himſelf the ſtimulus for their education. He was a very vo⯑luminous author, and he founded the Univerſity of OXFORD, or at leaſt reſtored it, where every literary and muſical ſtudy were encouraged. The arts flouriſhed under him. He became their natural and acknowledged patron. The trees and ſtones followed him like another ORPHEUS; and, as AU⯑GUSTUS ſaid he found ROME brick and left it marble, ſo ALFRED might have ſaid he found ENGLAND timber and left it brick and ſtone; which for the country and the time was a proportionable improve⯑ment. Not only the neceſſaries but the luxuries of life were now enjoyed by the Britons, for which, voyages were made even to the MEDITERANIAN, and other ports; but nothing ſatisfied him ſo much as the cultivation of the politer arts. A writer ſays, [249] whom ALFRED well knew and encouraged, that ‘"a great city ſhould not only be commodious and ſerious, but alſo merry and ſportful^*;"’ and this is afterwards quoted by FITZSTEPHEN after the Roman conqueſt when he ſpeaks of the drama at that time.

ALFRED tranſlated from the Greek and thus knew SOPHOCLES and EURIPIDES, ARISTOPHANES and MENANDER^†, and, therefore, with his accom⯑pliſhed knowledge muſt have been a correct dra⯑matic critic. As this is true, and as all authors have been laviſh in the praiſe of his own poetry and muſic, and, indeed, whenever a prince has been held up as an example for the world's imitation ALFRED has been the darling theme, it cannot be queſtioned that he made it his ſtudy to procure inoffenſive [250] amuſements for the leiſure hours of his people, that ſo their minds might more willingly embrace ſuch uſeful purſuits as in following the example of their king, might worthily ſecure that peace and hap⯑pineſs which, not more the greatneſs than the cul⯑tivation of his mind, had, after ſo many ſevere conflicts and fluctuating viciſſitudes, ſo nobly eſta⯑bliſhed^*.

[251]After the death of ALFRED, the liberal arts, and of courſe the ſtage, very ſoon received a violent check, and thoſe improvements, which had been made in every branch of ſtudy during the laſt three years, the only period in the reign of ALFRED that [252] the kingdom enjoyed profound peace, for want of ſuch a patron were neglected. EDWARD's quarrels with ETHELWALD engroſſed his attention too much to give any object place in his mind but arms. Had ALFRED's ſecond ſon, ETHELWARD, who inherited his father's genius for letters, ſucceeded him, 'tis very probable the dramatic art might then have been aſcertained. He, however, whatever his in⯑clination might be, found it probably very difficult to eſtabliſh the arts in ſo turbulent a reign under ſo turbulent a king; he, therefore, retired and ſpent a ſhort life in various ſtudies, and in particular phi⯑loſophy and theology.

ATHELSTAN was a king as little likely to pro⯑mote the arts as EDWARD. He had foreign and domeſtic enemies; and, in ſpight of all his efforts, licentiouſneſs grew to ſuch an intolerable height that EDMUND, his ſucceſſor, who thought he ſhould put a ſtop to it by extending the rigour of the penal laws, was maſſacred for his pains by a thief. ED⯑RED, who was little more than a Regent, and who ſuffered himſelf in the moſt turbulent times to be blindly led by DUNSTAN, by which means the monks ruled the kingdom, and would have turned it into a papal province had he not died, gave alſo poor encouragement to the arts. There are, never⯑theleſs, many reaſons to ſuſpect that during this and [253] the preceding reign the myſteries, or perhaps miracle-plays, which will be fully deſcribed hereafter, origi⯑nated, or rather were revived, for it is extremely difficult to ſay when they originated.

Before DUNSTAN, the monks were ſecular prieſts. They had the education of youth and taught in families as well as in ſchools; and we have always found, that in order to enforce edu⯑cation, ſomething in the nature of theſe miracle plays was performed, in which there had been per⯑petually a contention between the prieſts and the lay brothers. It is, therefore, very probable that, when DUNSTAN in the plenitude of his power eſtabliſhed the benedictine order, and endeavoured to render every thing completely eccleſiaſtical, theſe plays performed by the ſecular monks were put down, or rather ſuſpended, in one form or another; for, as many of theſe lay brothers did nothing more than become monks under monaſtic reſtriction, it is very unlikely, though the place of action might be altered, that the farce itſelf did not go on; eſpe⯑cially as St. DUNSTAN himſelf was a very good actor, particularly in pantomime, witneſs the un⯑merciful manner in which he took the devil by the noſe.

It is alſo difficult to diſbelieve that the pranks [254] DUNSTAN played poor EDWY, and the wanton and unmanly indignities which through him were offered to his innocent and lovely queen, could have paſſed without comment; eſpecially as in ſpight of his power he had not yet extirpated the ſecular clergy, who were both able and willing, for the ſake of de⯑cency, and in juſtice to their injured king, to ex⯑poſe ſuch inſolence and rapacity; and that they did expoſe it by ſome means of this kind is not at all improbable, when we know that not more than eighty years afterwards, as we ſhall ſee in its place, a play was introduced in the common ſports of the people in deriſion of HARDICANUTE's coronation^*.

[255]EDGAR, whoſe own ſtory, including his mar⯑riage with ELFRIDA after the murder of her huſband, has been more than once made the ſubject of a play, is known to have countenanced magnificient enter⯑tainments, and, therefore, he no doubt encouraged plays. 'Tis hardly to be ſuppoſed that he whom the monks permitted to practice every ſcandalous and treacherous art while they called him the moſt perfect of mankind, had not his minſtrels to feed his vanity. His carrying off the nun, which the prieſts piouſly permitted, and his breach of hoſpitality, by means of which his miſtreſs, ELFLEDA, was palmed upon him, are of too romantic a caſt not to have called for celebration; beſides he notoriouſly ſuf⯑fered his people to take, in every thing, their own courſe; by which means, though his own reign was undiſturbed, the conſequences fell heavy on his [256] ſucceſſor, the unfortunate EDWARD, whoſe unquiet reign was terminated by his ſtepmother, ELERIDA, who cauſed him to be aſſaſſinated that ſhe might place her own ſon, ETHELRED, upon the throne.

ETHELRED, the offspring of ingratitude, pro⯑fligacy, and murder, ſpoke his origin in all his actions; in conſequence of which, diſſention, folly, and vice ſtalked through the kingdom, and were no doubt reflected by ſatire's mirror. Owing to this the Danes grew ſo powerful that, when ED⯑MUND IRONSIDE ſucceeded to the defence of the kingdom, he had ſcarcely a kingdom to defend.

ETHELRED was another NERO to BRITAIN, He bribed the Danes many times to retire, who al⯑ways returned in exultation. He permitted continu⯑ally a Daniſh army in the kingdom, and thereby ſub⯑jected it to a thraldom ſuch as it had experienced in the hands of the Romans at the time of BOADICEA. The ſame rapacity, the ſame proſligacy, the ſame infamy prevailed. Alarmed, therefore, for the con⯑ſequence, and adviſed by EDRICK, with whom he is ſaid to have ſhared ſome of the money the people gave to bribe the Danes, he cauſed a general maſſacre of them throughout the kingdom.

This of courſe rouſed the Danes, who breaking [257] through all treaties, came ſo powerfully upon him, that he firſt retired to NORMANDY, but returned upon the death of SWEYN, who had occupied the Engliſh crown ſix weeks.

ETHELRED's imbecility, cowardice, and folly, however, had by this time made him an object of deteſtation to his ſubjects; and he finiſhed an in⯑glorious reign, in the midſt of difficulties, which his ſon EDMUND vainly ſtruggled with great courage and perſeverance to diſſipate; till, after a ſingle combat between EDMUND and CANUTE, which was adviſed by the very EDRICK who had been the paraſite of ETHELRED, and who afterwards mur⯑dered EDMUND to preſent CANUTE with his head, the kingdom was by agreement divided in two.

During all theſe contentions we hear of ſports but nothing more. The prieſts ſeem to have been ſilent. I ſhall, therefore, urge no further proba⯑bilities of the exiſtence of interludes, or other dra⯑matic amuſements at that time than the proofs which will be preſently advanced that they were well known at the death of HARDICANUTE.

The reign of CANUTE, which paſſed entirely in reconciling jarring opinions, he at all times em⯑bracing [258] that conduct moſt likely to conciliate the affection of the people, was certainly favourable to amuſements. He built churches, endowed mo⯑naſtries, and appointed revenues for the celebration of maſs. Nay, he made a pilgrimage to ROME, from whence it would have been uſeleſs to return without ſomething to inſtruct and amuſe. Theſe arts, which he uſed to flatter his ſubjects were returned with the groſſeſt adulation; this gave riſe to the well known ſtory of his reproving the tide in the preſence of his courtiers. The nation, however, was immerſed in barbariſm; and, though he was greatly eſteemed for his power and his virtues, he ſucceeded but little in poliſhing the manners of his people.

HAROLD, whatever improvements CANUTE had been able to make, ſoon overturned them. As if conſcious of a very ſhort reign, he introduced diſſi⯑pation more than enough into it for a long one. It is not eaſy to ſay whether he or his brute of a bro⯑ther was the moſt diſſolute and contemptible. One lived hated and diſpiſed three years, and the other but two. The firſt died a prey to remorſe for treachery towards ALFRED, a deſcendant of the Saxon kings, and the murder of him and his fol⯑lowers; and the other expired amidſt his beaſtly revels through plenitude and drunkenneſs.

[259]We have upon this occaſion clearly a proof of the exiſtence of plays and interludes; for HARDI⯑CANUTE was held in ſuch contempt by his ſubjects, that a play was written after his death in deriſion, and it for a long time was annually performed by the title of Hock Holiday ^*.

[260]From this time forward we ſee by every ſymptom that the Engliſh encouraged interludes of various kinds. EDWARD the Confeſſor, who reſtored the Saxon line, having but ſlender and diſtant pretenſions to the crown, and having been bred up in the court of NORMANDY, introduced French manners, and, therefore, facilitated the conqueſt. At no period of the world were there ſtronger contentions for pre-eminence in muſic than at this. BERNO, Ab⯑bot of RICHENOU, ODO, of CLUNI, GAF⯑FURIUS, GLAREANUS, and ten or twelve other writers, whoſe names are now before me, give us long accounts of this emulation which prevailed both in ITALY and in FRANCE. The Abbays, of CORBIE, of RHEIMS, and of CLUNI, were the great ſeminaries for muſical inſtruction in FRANCE. To theſe, young monks were ſent from ENGLAND to be taught by REMI D'AUXERRE, WIGERIC, [261] biſhop of METZ, NOTKER LE BEGUE, and others, who were not only famous muſicians but celebrated writers; till, at length, about the time of the conqueſt of ENGLAND, appeared GUIDO ARE⯑TINE, who, though he invented nothing of muſic itſelf, ſo regulated it and reduced it to practiſe, that the art certainly benefited greatly by his im⯑provement^*.

This being the caſe, and French manners being every day introduced into ENGLAND, at the very moment too when the troubadours with their ſir⯑ventes and tenſons were overrunning NORMANDY, is it poſſible to deny that interludes, ſatires, and farces, of ſome deſcription, were known at that time in ENGLAND? Here then we will halt; for as HAROLD who, if he could be ſaid to have reigned, was merely an uſurper, nothing more can be traced of a new complexion to prove the fact which I am ſtriving to eſtabliſh, and which I have no doubt, by the corroboration of future circumſtances, will be made perfectly clear.

CHAP. V. FROM THE NORMAN CONQUEST TO EDWARD THE THIRD.

WE are now come to a period when it will be leſs difficult to aſcertain the true nature of thoſe dramatic entertainments which were performed early in ENGLAND. The turbulent diſorders that had ſo long convulſed the kingdom having been in great meaſure ſhook off at the conqueſt, amuſements, which no doubt had been at different intervals al⯑ternately diſcontinued and renewed, began to be eſtabliſhed upon a more permanent footing. It alſo became more an object to authors to notice them; and, owing to this, we thereabout begin to get cer⯑tain intelligence that various dramatic pieces were exhibited, and in particular myſteries, ſuch as we have ſeen, though at a much later date, ſo anxiouſly followed in FRANCE.

The NORMAN conqueſt was effected in 1066; and, not more than thirty-ſeven years afterwards, the priory of St. BARTHOLOMEW, in Smithfield, [263] was erected by a man of the name of RAHERE, who was called the King's Minſtrel, and whoſe monument is now to be ſeen in that church in the north ſide of the chancel. This man kept a com⯑pany of fidlers; and, he ſo inſinuated himſelf into the good graces of HENRY the firſt early in that reign, that he gained from the king the manor of AIOT, in HERTFORDSHIRE, where, going from one extreme to another, he became religious and was the firſt prior in his own priory^*

As this priory, which was deſtroyed by HENRY the eighth, was erected in 1103, and after RAHERE had run his career as a minſtrel, it cannot be denied that minſtreſly had been long well known and in great repute^†. It muſt have taken him ſome years [264] to have made his fortune; and then that profeſſion muſt have been pretty well reſpected by which a man could honeſtly make a fortune at all. But comments will become every moment more unne⯑ceſſary, for we ſhall ſoon have facts to bear out our argument.

While RAHERE at the head of his company was making his fortune by the interludes, which his en⯑tertainments certainly were, the prieſts, who alſo, perhaps, wiſhed to make fortunes, were very buſy in their attempts to eſtabliſh the myſteries. In the [265] eleventh century, and if early in the eleventh cen⯑tury, before the conqueſt, GEFFROI, a French monk came over here and was made Abbot of St. ALBANS. This monk, being intruſted with the edu⯑cation of youth, made his ſcholars act this kind of tragedies, one of which was called The Miracles of St. Catherine.

The different accounts of this man, and this fact, agree ſo perfectly that it will be worth while to dwell on the ſubject a little longer. GEFFROI, a Norman by birth, as we are told by French and Engliſh authors, was ſent over by Abbot RICHARD to undertake the direction of the ſchool at St. AL⯑BANS. He arrived too late and went to DUNSTA⯑BLE, where he taught in the Abbey, and ſet about performing this miracle play there. He afterwards got into the ſituation originally intended for him, and his ſcholars at St. ALBANS, acted this and, doubtleſs, other entertainments of the ſame nature, for which purpoſe the ſacriſtan lent them copes from the neighbouring Abbey, at St. ALBANS, to dreſs their characters.

Monſieur L'EXTANT thinks that this was an attempt towards the revival of dramatic entertain⯑ments all over EUROPE. Nothing can be ſtronger [266] than this. We have ſeen that the prieſts in FRANCE performed ſacrilgeous farces full of the groſſeſt in⯑delicacy, and ſo offenſive againſt religion and all de⯑cency, that CHARLEMAGNE was obliged to ſup⯑preſs them in the eighth century. A period more than a hundred years before ALFRED. Does it not appear very feaſible then that they had been known here? Might not ETHELRED, an honeſt heathen, have been ſhocked at the ſhameful mummery of the chriſtian prieſts, and, therefore, have put down PUTTA and his followers? Who certainly underſtood the trade of acting, otherwiſe they would not have ſtrolled about afterwards as trou⯑badours.

St. AUSTIN by the ſame token might have in⯑troduced ſome irregularities into this kingdom, eſ⯑pecially as many of his monks were Italian ſingers, a deſcription of characters which even to this mo⯑ment have never been remarkably celebrated for having imported much virtue among us. It muſt be recollected that he came here with extreme re⯑luctance, the feelings of the Saxon heathens having rather revolted at the Devil's dances performed in the churches, which St. AUSTIN with all his ſanctity, perhaps, was not able wholly to ſuppreſs; to which ſuppoſition his having previouſly determined to gain their hearts by tickling their ears rather than ap⯑pealing [267] to their underſtandings, lends great pro⯑bability.

The idea of L'EXTANT, therefore, that GEF⯑FROI's miracle play, or plays, for it is very unlikely that he performed but one, was a revival of thoſe entertainments is very fair. They had been, not only in ENGLAND and in FRANCE but all over EUROPE, at different times, according as they con⯑formed to decency and morality, or grew into li⯑centiouſneſs, permitted and ſuppreſſed. Nothing, therefore, can be more probable than that they had undergone an interdiction about the time of the conqueſt, either for improper conduct, or owing to the troubles of the times, and that GEFFROI, a Norman, came over with the Normans and revived an amuſement which he thought would be welcome to a people who wiſhed for a little relaxation after the convulſions the kingdom had ſuſtained.

STEPHEN, who ſeems never to have had that truncheon out of his hand which was his only weapon of defence when he was dethroned, had virtue enough to have promoted the arts; but, owing to the turbulence of the nobles, who looked with a jealous eye on that freedom which HENRY had granted the people, his efforts at civilization were like a whiſper in a tempeſt.

[268]But this was not the caſe with HENRY the ſe⯑cond, his ſucceſſor, who, being ſole monarch of ENGLAND, and poſſeſſor of more than a third of FRANCE, did not fail to tranſplant here thoſe amuſe⯑ments which were then the delight of the Continent. Nor was BECKET any more behind hand with him than WOLSEY with HENRY the eighth, for he paſſed through a variety of profligate pleaſures before he wore ſackcloth next his ſkin, and daily waſhed the feet of thirteen beggars.

The unbridled gallantry of HENRY, of which we have many more proofs than that of ROSAMOND, put to death by ELEONOR, who was herſelf re⯑pudiated by her firſt huſband LOUIS the ſeventh for incontinency, and who was daughter of Count VENTADOUR, a provincial poet, was good food for poetry which he certainly encouraged. Nay, his two ſons, RICHARD and GEOFFRY, whoſe undutiful conduct broke his heart, were both, as we ſhall pre⯑ſently ſee, troubadours.

But, to prove that the drama was now not only well known but that it was conſidered a ſubject of ſufficient conſequence for celebration, an elaborate work was written early in the reign of HENRY which ſpeaks, not only of interludes performed at the theatre, but of plays upon more holy ſub⯑jects, [269] in which were repreſented the miracles wrought by Our SAVIOUR's diſciples, and the fortitude and conſtancy of thoſe bleſſed martyrs. Now had this author noticed theſe matters as a diſcovery, a thing that was invented or brought into ENGLAND by the Normans, we might have ground to believe that no⯑thing dramatic, at leaſt nothing worth notice, had been known in ENGLAND before. But this is not the caſe. He does not ſpeak of theſe matters as novelties but only as a part of thoſe amuſements which had been long known and followed.

To ſay that this book was publiſhed to tell the inhabitants of LONDON, or, indeed, any part of the kingdom, that miracles were then performing, and that they then ſupplanted interludes would be non⯑ſenſe. No man needed any ſuch information. He might mean that theſe myſteries which at that time continued to be performed had, when they were re⯑vived, put by the interludes, which was no more than the old quarrel between the prieſts and the laity; but nothing can be more clear than that this work alludes to the interludes of RAHERE, certainly performed during the reign of WILLIAM RUFUS, rigid as his character was, which, when RAHERE retired, were ſuſpended for the miracle plays of GEFFROI.

[270]His words are, ‘"inſtead of interludes performed at the the theatre,"’ from which we are obliged to infer that it had been cuſtomary to perform inter⯑ludes, and at a theatre, for, probably, a long time before the conqueſt, but that at the time he ſpeaks of, thoſe interludes gave way to more holy re⯑preſentations; clearly alluding to RAHERE and GEFFROI.

Of what materials thoſe interludes were com⯑poſed, or on what ſort of theatre they were repre⯑ſented, it is not very eaſy to determine; nor, in⯑deed, is it very eſſential. The theatre, however, implies ſome regular place, ſome well known ſitua⯑tion, frequented and tolerated; and the amuſements were probably a mixture of thoſe performed by the the trouveres and the troubadours in PROVENCE, adopted according to circumſtances to the Engliſh taſte by thoſe minſtrels who ever ſince ALFRED had been encouraged to viſit ENGLAND from ITALY.

At any rate 'tis plain to be ſeen that religion did for ENGLAND what it had done for FRANCE; and, in proportion as WILLIAM aboliſhed the trials by ordeal, the camp ſights, and all thoſe ſavage practices which had been held in ſuch veneration by the Saxons, the prieſts took the opportunity of incul⯑cating [271] morality by dramatic repreſentations of thoſe holy facts, the parade of which has oftener made proſelytes than the doctrine.

This will ſhew in almoſt an indubitable light that thoſe arts which ALFRED protected, and, to pro⯑mulgate which he, like other princes of all times, became a writer and a performer, and which we have traced through almoſt the whole of the Saxon heptarchy, obtained here as well as in ITATY and as in FRANCE; and that, fluctuating according to cir⯑cumſtances, they were ſometimes ſacred and ſome⯑times profane.

RICHARD COEUR DE LION ſucceeded to HENRY the ſecond; who, not more than a hundred and twenty years after the conqueſt, was, as we have ſeen, celebrated in PROVENCE as a poet and a per⯑former, and ſo was his brother GEOFFRY. We have a great variety of authorities for this, corro⯑borated by circumſtances which we cannot eaſily doubt; and which, after all, was not wonderful in RICHARD, for it was only taking after his mother's family.

The whole intelligence concerning this buſineſs is clogged with contradiction and abſurdity; but it is, however, univerſally allowed that he reſided in [272] PROVENCE, probably in the court of GISBERT the ſecond Count^*, and that he wrote ſonnets and other poetry. Some of which are complaints againſt his barons for ſuffering him to remain in captivity. Theſe were addreſſed to the princeſſes of the court, and ſome of them are now to be found in ancient authors. The authorities for all this reſt upon CRESCEMBINI, MATHEW PARIS, RYMER, FA⯑VINE, BEAUCHAMP, and many others; who, how⯑ever they may vary in immaterial particulars, all agree upon the general fact^†.

From FAVINE, we have the intereſting intel⯑ligence [273] of his being releaſed from captivity through the aſſiſtance of BLONDEL, who was bred up in his court, and with whom he had been accuſtomed to ſing ſongs in dialogue. This BLONDEL, who was a native of NESLE, and had been from his infancy a trouverre, followed the fortunes of RICHARD; and, when by the treachery of the duke of AUSTRIA he was confined, he ſought with every poſſible di⯑ligence for his maſter, purſuing ſtill his occupation of minſtrel, in hopes that ſome intelligence by good fortune might reach the king through which he might work out his releaſe. By an unexpected chance he happened to come near the caſtle where his maſter was confined; who, upon hearing without the wall one half of a well known ſong, and recollect⯑ing perfectly the voice of BLONDEL, ſung the other [274] half himſelf that their intelligence might be mutual. This hint was enough for BLONDEL. He, return⯑ing privately to ENGLAND, informed the barons where their king was impriſoned, who immediately ſet about, and at length accompliſhed, his releaſe.

In addition to theſe and other proofs that RICHARD was actually and to the fulleſt extent one of the provincial poets, I have a variety of autho⯑rities that cannot be queſtioned. Nevertheleſs, to ſhew the fact as ſtrong as poſſible, and alſo that his poetical propenſity greatly forwarded the dramatic art in ENGLAND, beſides BLONDEL, FOUQUET, and others, that FAIDIT, of whom we have ſeen BEAUCHAMP the panegyriſt, and whoſe works con⯑tain the rudiments of regular tragedy, which PA⯑RASOLS afterwaids is ſaid to have perfected, came to ENGLAND with RICHARD, and it was imme⯑diately upon this that, not only at the Engliſh court but in all families of diſtinction, interludes and other performances in the ſtyle of ſirventes and tenſons were performed, both by performers hired for the purpoſe and by the great themſelves; which was ſo cuſtomary, ſay BEDE and others, that ſuch as were not capable of joining were ne⯑ceſſitated to retire^*.

[275]From this time theſe amuſements were not only tolerated in the capital, but they were encouraged throughout the kingdom; for, though theſe min⯑ſtrels were conſidered as vagabonds, in common with fencers, bearwards, &c. yet many inſtances of favour were ſhewn to them all, and well it might be ſo; for the gentry conſtantly mixed in their ſports. It is on this account, probably, that they have been on ſo many occaſions entitled to the pro⯑tection [276] of the law. Ever ſince the time of king JOHN to this hour, in all the laws for the regulation of amuſements, there is an exemption in favour of the minſtrels of CHESTER^*, and ever ſince JOHN of GAUNT, in favour of thoſe of TUTBURY, in STAFFORDSHIRE^†.

[277]Though we have plainly ſeen that JOHN, whoſe reign was equally remarkable for wickedneſs and weakneſs, countenanced dramatic amuſements, yet the arts certainly materially declined during that period. HENRY the third, however, muſt have in⯑evitably reſtored them, for he married ELEONOR, daughter of BERENGER, that provincial nobleman and troubadour, who has been already noticed. He invited her relations and friends to reſide in EN⯑GLAND, laviſhed on them coſtly and extravagant preſents, manifeſted the greateſt fondneſs and af⯑fection for them, gave them places of truſt and emolument, and married them to ſons and daughters of the Engliſh nobility^*.

[278]He made a Poictevin biſhop of WINCHESTER, [279] ſent over his mother for other provincial ſtrangers, and at laſt was ſo fond of acting theſe kind of farces, that he ſeverely exaſperated his people againſt him; and, had not his gallant ſon EDWARD towards the end of his long and turbulent reign, checked the unbounded and proffigate licentiouſneſs of his in⯑ternal enemies, it would have been impoſſible for him to have ſat quietly on the throne.

EDWARD the firſt, who conquered the Welch, and afterwards rendered himſelf celebrated by com⯑pletely ſubduing the Scotch, though he had a great and noble ſoul was but little at leiſure to cultivate the arts. The great hinge on which hiſtory turns is war; and thus, eſpecially if they ſhould be har⯑raſſed by internal war, we find the hiſtories of all nations involved in a ſeries of ſanguinary diſputes, while the milder and more beneficent attractions, which ought to characterize human nature, become ſubordinate conſiderations, and it is on this account that the relaxations which nature and reaſon permit are ſo difficult to be aſcertained. Great men, in the exerciſe of that ferocity taught in camps, ſometimes forget that clemency is the warrior's beſt virtue.

[280]So it happened to EDWARD; who, from a miſtaken and miſerable notion that it would be good policy to exterminate with the Welch every trace of their greatneſs, maſſacred every poor un⯑fortunate bard that could be found. Upon another occaſion he paid as little reſpect to the clergy; for, though he had no deſign upon their lives, he had upon the means whereby they lived. When the Pope exonerated them from paying moſt heavy taxes which were levied on them, EDWARD refuſed them his temporal protection, ſo that they were virtually outlaws, and continually robbed and plun⯑dered by the peaſantry, who had permiſſion to com⯑mit theſe outrages with impunity.

Thus neither ſacred nor profane actors ſtood much chance of encouragement. Dramatic amuſe⯑ments, however, certainly at intervals went on and particularly thoſe which were tolerated by JOHN, and performed by the minſtrels of CHESTER. Theſe were played at Whitſuntide, and the different companies of traders were employed three days in the repreſentation of them.

Theſe dramas were taken from the Old and New Teſtament, and were full of the groſſeſt buſ⯑foonery. Each company had its particular play. The Creation was performed by the Drapers; [281] Abraham, Melchiſedec, and Lot, by the Barbers; The Salutation and Nativity, by the Wrights; The Three Kings, by the Vintners; The Fall of Lucifer, by the Tanners; The Purification, by the Blackſmiths; The Deluge, by the Dyers; The ſending of the Holy Ghoſt, by the Fiſhmongers; Moſes, Balack, and Balaam, by the Cappers; The Oblation of the Three Kings, by the Mercers; The Shepherds feeding their Flocks by Night, by the Painters and Glaziers; The Killing of the Innocents, by the Goldſmiths; The Temptation, by the Butchers; Chriſt's Paſſion, by the Bowyers, Fletchers and Ironmongers; Jeſus and the Lepers, by the Corveſaries; Deſcent into Hell, by the Cooks and Innkeepers; Antichriſt, by the Clothiers; The Aſcenſion, by the Taylors; The Blindmen and Lazarus, by the Glovers; The Reſurrection, by the Skinners; and The Day of Judgment, by the Webſters.

If this were taken literally, we ſhould ſee all the inhabitants of CHESTER in the capacity of actors; but it is more probable that, as CHESTER was a pri⯑vileged place for theſe dramas, the different com⯑panies employed certain actors to perform ſuch pieces as were reſpectively allotted to them. But theſe by no means entirely made up all the dramatic performances of the CHESTER actors, for they had [282] interludes upon profane ſubjects; and, in particular, ſeveral which related to earl RANDLE, by whoſe intereſt, as we have ſeen, they originally became a privileged company regulated by a king, or manager^*.

If EDWARD, the firſt, gave but little encourage⯑ment to the arts, his ſon, unlike his father in every other reſpect, was equally unlike him in this; for led about by his favourite GAVESTON, and after⯑wards by the SPENSERS, he went to the other ex⯑treme and encouraged every thing that was licen⯑tious. In this ſtrange, irregular, unquiet, and diſ⯑ſolute reign, however, nothing could be expected to the honour of any human purſuit. Both EN⯑GLAND and FRANCE, familiar with the horrid ſlaughter committed by the Saracens and Chriſtians in the cruſades, and the fantaſtic and extravagant manner in which they celebrated their atchieve⯑ments [283] on their return, knew not, whether in their pleaſures or their cruelties, how to be barbarous enough. The Queen's unbridled paſſion for MOR⯑TIMER encouraged the profligacy of both; and, after the mutual abandoned pleaſures and mercileſs butcheries which were finiſhed by the king's ſhock⯑ing and deteſtable murder, no wonder if ſo many looſe and diſorderly perſons infeſted the kingdom, that it became neceſſary in the following reign to reſtrain all kind of licentiouſneſs, and in particular the licentiouſneſs of actors.

CHAP. VI. FROM THE VAGRANT ACT OF EDWARD THE THIRD, TO THE REGULATION OF THEATRES BY QUEEN ELIZABETH.

THE continual ſtruggles between holy and profane theatricals, fluctuating ſometimes in favour of the clergy, and ſometimes in favour of the laity, ar⯑rived, at length, to ſuch a profligate pitch, that, ex⯑actly as in ROME and in FRANCE, it was thought expedient to ſuppreſs theſe repreſentations altoge⯑ther; not, however, in the Roman manner by the puniſhment of death, nor in the French manner by menacing damnation, but in the true Grecian way by the diſcipline of the carts tail; for, early in the reign of EDWARD the third, and about two hundred and fifty years after the conqueſt, it was ordained by an act of parliament, ‘"that a company of men, called vagrants, who had made maſquerades throughout the whole city, ſhould be whipt out of LONDON, becauſe they repreſented ſcanda⯑lous things in little alehouſes, and other places where the populace aſſembled."’

[285]The neceſſity of this ſhews inconteſtibly that theſe ſcandalous doings had long been common, and that, whatever temporary checks they might have received from former kings, they had now got to ſuch an ungovernable degree of licentiouſneſs that it required that ſerious intervention to ſtop their progreſs. The operation of this interdiction was the ſame in ENGLAND as in FRANCE. Inter⯑ludes upon profane ſubjects were either performed, by ſlealth or in private families, upon certain feſti⯑vals, at weddings, or other ſplendid entertainments. Theſe, we are told, were exhibited ‘"by ingenious tradeſmen and gentlemens ſervants,"’ no doubt hired minſtrels, and that they were ſplendid or otherwiſe, according to the condition of the perſon for whoſe entertainment they were performed; that they were only permitted, and always tacitly, when they expoſed vice or repreſented noble deeds in former times.

And here it will be neceſſary to go a little into the ſpirit of the literature of thoſe times, in order to ſee what thoſe interludes were. During the long reign of EDWARD the third, gallantry and elegance characterized his court; the Order of the Carter was eſtabliſhed, and the repeated victories againſt the French introduced, with their king and his re⯑tinue, who were priſoners in ENGLAND, every im⯑provement [286] that the French had imbibed from their neighbours, or taught themſelves.

The character of EDWARD was to give a poliſh to bravery, and to ſoften the rigour of courage with the mildneſs of generoſity; and, however, ferocious the Engliſh are thought to have been at that time, the ſingle trait of that modeſt dignity, that noble forbearance, that generous ſolicitude in EDWARD the Black Prince, when, though young, ambitious, and enterpriſing, he threw off every quality but beneficence in conſoling and ſolacing his priſoner the king of FRANCE, is enough to ſhew that the Engliſh were then capable of that refined honour which has never, to the ſame pure, diſintereſted, and uncontaminated degree, been the diſtinguiſhing characteriſtic of any other people.

This ſtruggle, however, between valour and be⯑nevolence, engroſſed the whole attention of the times. The arts and ſciences were, therefore, little known. The gallantry of the Engliſh was confined to the exerciſe of open and manly exploits, without a knowledge of the ſtratagems of war; and, if it had not been that the ſavour of ſome miſtreſs was in⯑diſpenſibly neceſſary as a ſtimulus towards a con⯑queſt at a tournament, a politeneſs and an attention to the fair would have but little marked the conduct [287] of the court of EDWARD. Nay, perhaps, that pro⯑vocation lady SALISBURY's garter would have been but a ſlight inducement to the eſtabliſhment of that order, had it not given an opportunity of reviving ARTHUR's round table^*.

This of courſe checked materially the progreſs of literature; nor would it probably have been much regarded had not a memorable combination of talents at that time diſtinguiſhed themſelves throughout EUROPE. DANTE, who was the pane⯑gyriſt of the moſt celebrated troubadours, and whoſe writings have a poliſh unknown before his time; PETRARCH, the ſcholar of DANTE, whoſe poetry, [288] thanks to love and LAURA, had an inimitable tender⯑neſs in it; and BOCCACE, the ſcholar of PETRARCH, who gave the Italian tongue that ſweetneſs and grace which has ever ſince diſtinguiſhed it from all other languages; ſpread their genius, their fancy, and their elegance, to every people capable of im⯑bibing them.

ENGLAND of courſe caught their influence, and CHAUCER, who was certainly a better poet than either of theſe, and who has been held up by the Engliſh in the ſame degree of veneration as HOMER was with the Greeks, and VIRGIL with the Romans, was endowed with every ſuſceptibility to add what⯑ever he thought requiſite of their refinements to his own admirable talents. But this would be ex⯑traneous did it not tend to prove ſomething dra⯑matic; to do which we have only to inſtance the De⯑cameron of BOCCACE, and the Canterbuty Tales of CHAUCER, which contain an inexhauſtible fund for all that can be done in comedy, and unequivocally ſerve to ſhew that the drama was not only always known but always conſidered as the beſt vehicle for deſcriptive poetry; becauſe the ſubjects of the tales in the Decameron, or at leaſt many of them, are taken from authors of former ages and adopted to the times and manners of the country in which BOC⯑CACE wrote.

[289]This is again the caſe with CHAUCER; who, though he took ſubjects from BOCCACE which BOCCACE had borrowed before, has given us a picture of our own times and manners ſo clearly that not a ſingle character has eſcaped him; and the various ſhades and diſtinctions of his deſcriptions are ſo nice, ſo critical, and ſo true to nature, that no poet whoſe delineations of human life are faith⯑ful could avoid, though he had never read CHAU⯑CER, being in ſome degree his imitator; and what leſſon after all do we learn from this but that nature is always the ſame, has been always deſcribed; and, however affections and paſſions, through the modes of times and manners may vary her operations, yet the motives that regulate the mind are conſtant and invariable.

After this it would be folly to ſay that CHAUCER could not have written a comedy, or that BOCCACE could not, or that any of thoſe more ancient writers could not, who furniſhed from writers ſtill more ancient the ſource whence they drew their pro⯑ductions. We have hitherto ſeen that authors have always borrowed of each other, and we ſhall never ſee to the contrary; and, whether the thing itſelf be a vehicle in which characters are introduced and contraſted through the medium of narrative, or [290] whether thoſe characters are perſonated, the only diſtinction is that both are dramatic, but that only one is dramatized. and, therefore, that either poſ⯑ſeſſes all the requiſites of the dramatic art.

If then every thing dramatic was comprized in the works of CHAUCER, and if LANGELAND's Viſions, a celebrated work, and alſo ſome writings of GOWER, both cotemporaries of CHAUCER, were in the ſame ſpirit, it is impoſſible but that the authors of inter⯑ludes at that time muſt have availed themſelves of ſuch models, eſpecially as thoſe authors were ſo nu⯑merous, and in point of merit ſo obſcure; and thus CHAUCER, a courtier, and a great man, GOWER a divine, and LANGELAND a diſciple of WICKLIFF, gave their works that turn which was moſt likely to entertain the great and the erudite, rather than amuſe diſorderly perſons in little alehouſes. But to return.

As the act for the puniſhing of vagrants was not in its ſpirit intended to check any thing that might encourage the growth of morality, for ſurely no⯑thing could be wiſer than to ſuppreſs ſcandalous things performed in alehouſes, the clergy of EN⯑GLAND, feeling like the clergy of all other coun⯑tries, that inſtruction comes more welcome to the mind when it is received through the medium of [291] amuſement, prepared a ſtock of religious tragedies after the model of GEFFROI; which there can be no doubt had continued to be tolerated from the time that the itinerant interludes were ſuppreſſed.

The prieſts who were too cunning to incur a whipping, eſtabliſhed their ſacred dramas exactly as GEFFROI had done his; and, as they were many of them heads of ſchools, their ſcholars naturally became their actors, which it is impoſſible to blame for they were by this means taught at once religion and elocution.

A petition to king RICHARD the ſecond, in 1378, from the ſcholars of St. PAUL's ſchool, puts this matter out of doubt; for it ſhews that the re⯑ligious plays had not only been long performed but that their ſucceſs and celebrity were ſo great as to have induced others to attempt the ſame ſpecies of entertainment. The petition prayed his majeſty ‘"to prohibit a company of unexpert people from repreſenting the Hiſtory of the Old Teſtament, to the great prejudice of the ſaid clergy, who bad been at great charge and expence to repreſent it publicly at Chriſtmas."’

This, as SHAKESPEAR ſays, denotes a ſoregone concluſion. It poſitively implies that theſe clergy, [292] by ſome means or other had obtained an excluſive right to perform theſe myſteries; for upon what other preſence could they petition the king to pro⯑hibit theſe opponents; and this right of theirs muſt alſo have been pretty ſtable, otherwiſe ſuch a per⯑emtory petition might have ſhaken it. But what are theſe perſons they wiſh to put down? Why a ſet of ‘"unexpert people,"’ novices, innovators, who had not like theſe prieſts been long eſtabliſhed and celebrated as performers of myſteries, or, as they call it, of ‘"the Hiſtory of the Old Teſtament."’

Does not this clearly prove that, as this com⯑pany of holy actors were expert at their profeſſion in 1378, the myſteries had been regularly performed in ENGLAND at St. PAUL's ſchool, more, perhaps many more, than twenty years before they were per⯑formed in FRANCE in the Bourg of St. MAUR, where we firſt hear of them in 1398. Nay, is it not very likely that, in 1378, theſe clergy had per⯑formed as long, with as good ſucceſs, and were as firmly eſtabliſhed as the Confraternity of the Paſſion, when as innovators they began to look with a jea⯑lous eye on the clerks of the Bazoche; for we ſhall ſee that no longer than twelve years after this pe⯑tition, theſe myſteries were not only performed at Clerkenwell, but attended by all the nobility and gentry.

[293]The accounts we have of this buſineſs are, that the pariſh clerks of LONDON performed theſe myſteries, firſt at Skinner's Well, and afterwards at Clerkenwell, or Clerk's Well; which place took its name from this circumſtance. This, however, taken literally, is a very ſtrange conjecture. The pariſh clerks of LONDON, I believe, have never been very celebrated for elocution, and then they are by no means a community. It is, therefore, much more feaſible that theſe clerks were lay-bro⯑thers of the church, ſuch as minor-canons, who to this day in cathedrals ſing themſelves into their ſtalls juſt as counſellors eat their way to the bar.

Theſe might have called in the aſſiſtance of gra⯑duates and choirmen, by which union we have in⯑ſtantly a number of performers whoſe habits of edu⯑cation give us a better idea of literary merit than, without offence to the pariſh clerks, who ſeem to have been groſsly libelled in this buſineſs, we ſhould be likely to find in a ſet of old gentlemen, from whom nothing more could be expected than to ſay Amen with a good grace. Nor can any thing impeach the probability of this conjecture, for the deſignation of every clergyman at this moment is clerk from the deacon to the prelate; and, in its extended clerical ſenſe, it implies all chantors.

[294]Theſe gentlemen, being generally in the vigour of life, were very likely to excite the attention that we are told was actually paid them; for, whatever might have been the opinion of the clergy they ſo greatly prejudiced at St. PAUL's ſchool, it turned out at laſt that they were ſo expert as to keep all the dramatic reputation to themſelves.

The clerks of the Bazoche, which were no other than the lay clergy, and the clerks of Clerkenwell will now appear ſo uniformly upon the ſame foot⯑ing, that their conduct and its operation were exactly alike. They continued the myſteries only till they had carried their point; till, in proportion as the pub⯑lic taſte became more poliſhed, and they grew weary of repreſenting miracles from the Old and New Teſtament, they introduced the moralities, in which, by perſonifying virtues and vices, inſtead of ſaints and martyrs, they inſinuated a love of moral and ſo⯑cial duty by appealing to the affections of the mind^*.

Theſe moralities were not, however, at times, [295] without a mixture of religius circumſtances and characters. In ſhort, they were ſometimes wholly religious, ſometimes wholly mythological, and ſometimes both. Innovations, however, of various kinds were attempted, all which were of courſe imitated throughout the kingdom. At length HAY⯑WOOD, HENRY the eighth's jeſter, and his adherents, like the children of Sans Souci, introduced inter⯑ludes repreſenting the manners of perſons in common life. From theſe reſulted ſomething like regular plays which excited ſo much curioſity that the whole kingdom ſwarmed with actors, till, at length, after many fruitleſs attempts to ſuppreſs them, they were entirely put down by queen ELIZABETH with a view to ſelect ſuch parts of this chaos as might form a natural theatrical world.

But to trace the ſteps that led to this regulation. RICHARD the ſecond having countenanced the myſteries at Clerkenwell, HENRY the fourth, his ſucceſſor, who had reaſon enough to keep the peo⯑ple in good humour that they might the eaſier forget by what means he came at the crown, permitted this indulgence to the fulleſt extent, for he was frequently preſent at theſe exhibitions with the queen and all the nobles of his court, and particularly to witneſs a performance which laſted eight days, and which took its ſtory from the creation of the world.

[296]This toleration was, however, of courſe very much abuſed, for the people became ſo mad after theſe myſteries that they were preſently performed all over the kingdom. We hear of theatres upon wheels, exactly like the cart of THESPIS, being drawn about COVENTRY and other places, in which the fairs exhibited ſcenes, and repreſented pageants upon Corpus-Chriſti day; the ſtories always from the Old and New Teſtament, and compoſed in En⯑liſh rhime.

There is a manuſcript in the Cottonian library from which we learn the arguments of forty pa⯑geants or geſticulations, repreſenting all the hiſtories of both the Old and New Teſtament, from the creation to St. MATTHIAS the apoſtle. Among the latter we find The Annunciation, The Nativity, The Viſitation, The Reſurrection, and The Aſcenſion; Nay, The Aſſumption, and Laſt Judgment. All theſe were performed in a ſtyle, of which we ſhall by and by ſee ſome ſpecimens, infinitely unworthy and beneath the ſacred ſubjects they treated; a cir⯑cumſtance which will clearly ſhew that theſe my⯑ſteries were performed very early when we com⯑pare them to thoſe written by BALE, SANDYS, and others who wrote in the ſixteenth century.

Theſe various performers were called waſtors, [297] maſter-rimours, minſtrels, and players of interludes, who had overrun the kingdom and reached even to WALES; and it was enacted that none of theſe, nor any other vagabonds, ſhould be ſuſtained or ſuffered in the land of WALES or elſewhere, to make com⯑moiths or gatherings upon the people; by which it may be underſtood that they gave notice to all within ſuch a diſtrict that they performed for money. Among the appellation, other vagabonds, were, pro⯑bably, included fencers, bearwards, and mummers; which laſt deſcription at different times have been known to infeſt the kingdom. Their cuſtom was to dreſs themſelves in a groteſque manner and to dance, mimic, and ſhew tricks of legerdemain, all which the Engliſh had retained ever ſince the mimes of the Romans, for it is remarked that they went about maſqued and diſguiſed, and were frequently guilty of many lewd and outrageous diſorders.

This interdiction ſeems to have had ſome effect for a time; for we find here, as in FRANCE, when printing was known and books began to multiply, which was in the reign of HENRY the ſixth, litera⯑ture became more refined, and the only deviation from the myſteries and moralities, except among ſuch as choſe to run the riſk of offending againſt the law, was a ſort of revival of the entrements; for we [298] ſcarcely ever hear of the reception of princes or noble perſons but that pageants on ſtages erected in the open ſtreets, made a part of the entertainments. We gather from an ancient manuſcript at COVENTRY, called the old leet book, that on the feaſt of the ex⯑altation of the Holy Croſs, MARGUERITTE, the queen of HENRY the ſixth, with her young ſon prince EDWARD, came there and was welcomed with many pageants and ſpeeches^*.

In the next reign, as the ſame book inform us, the young prince EDWARD, ſon to king EDWARD the fourth, came to COVENTRY, and was received in the ſame manner^†, and there were many more [299] entertainments of this deſcription in various parts of the kingdom that might be noticed; but I ſhall content myſelf with mentioning only one of a later date and in a more magnificent ſtyle. It was occa⯑ſioned by the marriage of prince ARTHUR, eldeſt ſon of king HENRY the ſeventh, to the princeſs CATHERINE of SPAIN, whoſe entrance into LON⯑DON was very grand and ſplendid. The pageants were many and coſtly, and the ſpeakers repreſented various characters, ſuch as St. CATHERINE, St. URSULA, a Senator, Nobleſſe, Virtue, an Angel, king ALPHONSO, JOB, BOESIUS, and others^*.

[300]Though theſe ſtrange faragoes wore very little how⯑ever [301] the reſemblance of plays, the interludes, which had been variouſly performed in defiance of the law, gave no mean idea of them; and theſe, when HENRY the eighth meditated the demolition of the monaſteries, received ſuch ſanction and encourage⯑ment from HEYWOOD; who, being the king's jeſter, was permitted to change the face of theatrical amuſements, as gave the myſteries, and moralities too, a ſevere ſhock, from which they never after⯑wards recovered.

It is true that in the reign of HENRY the eighth there was an act againſt mummers, but it was ſoon underſtood to extend only to ſuch as wore maſks; and, as the diſpoſition of the times was to ſecond [302] every proceeding againſt prieſts, this very act ſerved to check the moralities and encourage the inter⯑ludes; for the prieſts, or repreſenters of moralities, were now called ſtage players, and it is probable theſe performances would have been from that mo⯑ment totally done away had not an attempt been made to revive them in the reign of queen MARY; who, however, gloomy and ſuperſtitious as ſhe was and willing to abet prieſts, did not much encou⯑rage them; nor, if ſhe had done ſo, could ſhe have been materially ſerviceable to them, her reign being ſo ſhort.

In the mean time, furniſhed with what HEY⯑WOOD had written and procured, the interludes grew very much upon the public; till Gammer Gurton's Needle, written not long after the Pageant juſt now deſcribed, which, though low, was very nearly a regular comedy, fairly ſhaped theſe inter⯑ludes into plays. But this was not all; for dra⯑matic writers, who perfectly well knew their art began, upon the fall of the myſteries and moralities to appear. HENRY PARKER, ſon to ſir WILLIAM PARKER, is ſaid to have written ſeveral tragedies and comedies; JOHN HOKER wrote a comedy, called Piſcator, or the Fiſher Caught; but of theſe and others who ſucceeded them, I ſhall hereafter [303] give a particular account; in the mean time I ſhall purſue the hiſtory of the theatre generally.

As the darling wiſh of HENRY's heart was to eſtabliſh the Proteſtant religion, no wonder he did every thing in his power to ſuppreſs the influence of the Roman Catholics; and, as he well knew that by ſtriking at their dominion over the minds of the people by means of theſe amuſements he ſhould complete that reform which, perhaps, would not have been entirely effected by pulling down the mo⯑naſteries, he encouraged all ſuch plays as tended to promote his deſigns and interdicted all others; which very plainly appears by an act paſſed in the twenty-fourth year of his reign, called an Act of Parliament for promoting true Religion, in which there was a clauſe reſtraining all rimours, or players, from ſing⯑ing in ſongs, or playing in interludes, any thing that ſhould contradict the eſtabliſhed doctrines.

This ſtruck at the myſteries at once; which at all times, by repreſenting The Creator, Our Saviour, and the Saints and Martyrs, had been conſidered as profane and blaſphemous. The moralities were alſo weeded of all that had the ſame dangerous tendency, and, therefore, became ſo fame that the interludes, which were ſoon formed into tragedies [304] and comedies, gave the public a truer taſte for the ſtage.

The only evil to be apprehended from this was the increaſe of actors, and the inclination of the public to run after them. It appears evidently that dramatic writers who well knew their profeſſion lived at that time and ſoon after, for among others we are told of EDWARD FERRYS, who was cele⯑brated in the time of EDWARD the ſixth, and ‘"who,"’ ſays his panegyriſt, ‘"was a man of no leſs mirth and felicity than JOHN HEYWOOD, but of much more ſkill and magnificence in his metre; and, therefore, wrote for the moſt part to the ſtage in tragedy, and ſometimes in comedy, or interludes; wherein he gave the king ſo much good recreation, as he had thereby many good rewards."’

The actors now having full opportunity to re⯑preſent any thing even upon profane ſubjects that was not immoral, exactly as it happened ſome time after in FRANCE, became numerous as they became celebrated, and would, perhaps, have eſtabliſhed the drama upon a firm and permanent footing, had not the gloom thrown over the nation during the ſhort but ſanguinary reign of MARY, forced them, [305] like ſo many timid hares to cover, to eſcape from thoſe inquiſitorial blood hounds, who, perhaps, might have thought proper to miſconſtrue their re⯑preſentations of vice and folly into hereſy.

No ſooner, however, did the Engliſh horizon emancipate from that obſcurity with which it had been dimmed by the horrid and ſanguinary bonfires in Smithfield, than all the ſocial bleſſings that the people had ſo ardently panted for were ſought with double reliſh. The reform of HENRY, though meritorious, had been enforced; the reformation of ELIZABETH was voluntary. Never, perhaps, was there ſuch an epoch in the annals of the world. The whole nation was in ſmiles. Their ſovereign, born to bleſs and protect them, was received as a benediction from heaven. Oppreſſion was no more. Moderation was reſtored. Learning and the arts acknowledged their congenial ſoil, and the land in a few years received the poliſh of centuries.

ELIZABETH had too much good ſenſe to reſtrain plays. She did not chuſe, however, to let them run riot; but ſtill they were checked with a very ſparing hand, till the licentious uſe made of this lenity obliged her ſeriouſly to ſet about a reform in [306] the theatre as ſhe had done in the church. We are told that plays became the occaſion of much ſin and evil, that great multitudes of people of both ſexes, reſorted to thoſe plays; and that, on account of their being acted on Sundays, and feſtivals, the churches were forſaken, and the playhouſes thronged.

We are further told that great inns were uſed for this purpoſe which had ſecret chambers and places, as well as open ſtages and galleries; that in thoſe places maids, and the children of good ci⯑tizens, were inveigled and allured to ſecret and illicit intercourſe; that theſe players uttered unchaſte and unworthy ſentiments, and were guilty of many other enormities. In ſhort, after the playhouſes were ta⯑citly permitted, in proceſs of time they became little better than brothels. It was, therefore, thought expedient firſt to ſuppreſs plays entirely; but, as it was evident that amuſements of this nature upon a well regulated plan, might be rendered a benefit to ſociety inſtead of an evil, the lord mayor, ſir JAMES HAWES, by the command of the queen, iſſued an act of common council to this effect:

• 1. That no play ſhould be openly enacted within the liberty of the city wherein ſhould be uttered [307] any words, examples, or doings of unchaſtity, ſe⯑dition, or ſuch like unfit and uncomely matter, under pain of forfeiture of five pounds for every ſuch offence.
• 2. That no inn-keeper, tavern-keeper, or other perſon whatſoever within the ſaid liberties ſhould permit ſuch play to be performed within his houſe, or yard, which ſhould not firſt be peruſed and al⯑lowed by the lord mayor and court of aldermen.
• 3. That no perſons ſhould be permitted to per⯑form but ſuch as were allowed and approved of by the lord mayor and court of aldermen.
• 4. All ſuch perſons to be bound in a penalty to the chamberlain of LONDON.
• 5. No play to be performed on any Sunday, or holiday, under the penalty of five pounds.
• 6. All performers allowed, approved of, and licenced as aforeſaid, to pay for the uſe of the poor in the city hoſpitals, ſuch ſums as the lord may or and the court of aldermen ſhould approve of, or otherwiſe loſe their licence.
• 7. All ſums levied to be applied as above, for [308] which, upon refuſal, the chamberlain of LONDON might ſue in the mayor's court.

Theſe laws, which were made in 1574, were not ſtrictly obſerved; for the licentiouſneſs of plays encreaſed, and they were thought dangerous to re⯑ligion, to the morals of the people, and to the ſtate. The theatres were ſo crouded that they were ſup⯑poſed to promote infection in times of confluent ſickneſs, therefore, after much debate upon the ſub⯑ject they were wholly ſuppreſſed.

Upon a repreſentation, however, of the queen's players and the players of noblemen and gentle⯑men, it was again permitted that they might hold themſelves in readineſs to play at weddings, and other feſtivals; at private houſes, or the lodgings of any nobleman, gentleman or citizen, where no correction of money was to be made from the au⯑dience, but not in public aſſemblies; but this to⯑leration was ſoon extended again in favour of the queens players; who were, however, to be re⯑ſtricted to the laws formerly iſſued in the mayoralty of ſir JAMES HAWES.

They were, however, forbid to commence their entertainments till the deaths ſhould be for twenty days together under fifty a week, and they were im⯑mediately [309] to leave off when they ſhould again amount to more than that number; all which was under an idea as before that the crouds at the the⯑atres promoted infection. No plays were to be performed on a Sunday, or a holiday till after evening prayer, nor then after dark; nor to con⯑tinue longer than to give the auditors time to return home before ſun ſet, or at leaſt before dark; and this indulgence at laſt was extended to the queen's players, but no more of them were to enjoy at than thoſe whoſe names were notified in the lord trea⯑ſurer's letters to the lord mayor, and the juſtices of MIDDLESEX and SURRY, and even thoſe her ma⯑jeſty's players were forbid to divide themſelves into different companies; and for breaking any of thoſe orders their toleration was to ceaſe.

But all this was not ſufficient to keep them within bounds; for their plays were ſometimes ſo offenſive to virtue and morality, and ſo full of abuſe of dif⯑ferent perſons that they were now and then ſtopt and prohibited; till, at length, they ſo completely ſet the laws at defiance that HART, the mayor, in 1589, complained to the lord treaſurer, and by his autho⯑rity, as there were many companies belonging to noblemen, ſent for all the players in town without exception and forbid them to perform till further orders.

[310]Theſe further orders were, however, very ſoon iſſued, for there were preſently three eſtabliſhed theatres, which were known by the names of the Theatre, the Fortune, and the Curtine, where we are told they performed comedies, tragedies, inter⯑ludes, and hiſtories, both true and feigned; and it is reaſonable to ſuppoſe that after this laſt prohibition they pretty well conformed to the regulations en⯑joined them, for only eight years afterwards an act paſſed in which are theſe words.

‘"That all perſons that be or utter themſelves to be procters, procurers, patent gatherers, or collectors for goals, priſons or hoſpitals, or fen⯑cers, bearwards, common players of interludes or minſtrels wandering abroad (other than players of interludes belonging to any baron of this realm, or any other honourable perſonage of greater degree, to be authorized to play under the hand and ſeal of ſuch baron or perſonage) all juglers, tinkers, pedlars, and petty chapmen wandering abroad, &c. Theſe ſhall be adjudged and deemed rogues, vagabonds, and ſturdy beg⯑gars, and puniſhed as ſuch."’

I have given the ſpirit of the whole clauſe to ſhew in what company ſtrolling actors were placed. The exemption in favour of the actors retained by [311] barons and higher perſons, clearly went to all thoſe who performed in LONDON; and, as we know not of any further prohibition, owing, of courſe, to the very rapid improvement of the ſtage under that galaxy of merit which appeared about this time to enlighten literature, no wonder it ſoon attained ſuch perfection as claſſed the Engliſh theatre infinitely forwarder than any other in the world.

CHAP. VII. MYSTERIES AND MORALITIES.

BOTH for the ſake of hiſtorical intelligence and to gratify particular curioſity, I ſhall now look after the myſteries, moralities, and interludes, and ſhew in what way by graduating from religion to mytho⯑logy, from mythology to allegory, and from alle⯑gory to nature, they at laſt improved into tragedies and comedies.

Having given ſo particular an account of the nature of the myſteries and moralities in FRANCE, it will be leſs neceſſary to dwell upon thoſe that were performed early in ENGLAND. They may, however, here as there, be diſtinguiſhed into mira⯑cles, ſuch as were anathematized in FRANCE by SULLI, and brought forward in ENGLAND by GEFFROI, myſteries, which were performed by the Confraternity of the Paſſion, and the boys of St. PAUL's ſchool, and moralities which were improve⯑ments [313] introduced by the Engliſh and French ſo⯑ciety of clerks.

For proof of the miracles and that they obtained very early, we have not only The Miracle of St. Catherine, by GEFFROI, but accounts of others that were performed in different parts of the kingdom, anſwering exactly to RABELAIS's ſtory of VILLON, who the reader may remember had a curious ad⯑venture with the Cordeliers of POITOU. We are told of Guary Miracles which were performed in CORNWALL, and that many people flocked from great diſtances to ſee them, ‘"for,"’ ſays the author, who wrote in the reign of ELIZABETH, and was then giving an account of what he conſidered as antiquities, ‘"they had therein devils and devices as well to delight the eye as the ear."’

Theſe guary miracles, one of which was called The Creation of the World, and another Mount Calverie, were performed upon the principles of the original Grecian amphitheatre, in temporary build⯑ings formed in the open fields, the diameter of the incloſure being generally about fifty feet; and, it is extremely probable, the cuſtom being certainly very ancient, this might be the kind of theatre ſpoken of ſo confidently and in ſo unqualified a [314] manner at the time when, according to BOADICEA, NERO introduced fiddling into BRITAIN.

As to the myſteries, the very titles of them prove that they came from the ſame ſource whence our neighbours derived theirs. The Poſſion of Our Saviour, which the French confeſs to have been written ſo early that they know not with whom it originated; The Conception, The Incarnation, and others, to a very large number, ſhew ſufficiently we were not behind hand in theſe religious farces. There are a great many of them extant, ſome few of which it will be neceſſary to touch upon; but, as it would clog up the narrative to ſeek for thoſe of which we cannot poſſibly know any thing except by conjecture, it will be better at once to come to ſuch as have been acknowledged by well known authors, but who after all appear to have drawn them from a very remote ſource.

Of theſe authors one of the moſt reſpectable is BALE. He was born in 1495, in SUFFOLK, and at twelve years old went to the monaſtery of Carmelites at NORWICH. He afterwards ſtudied at Hulme Ab⯑bey in NORTHUMBERLAND. and was from thence removed to CAMBRIDGE. He became a Proteſtant, and was in conſequence perſecuted by the Roman Catholics, but he was protected by lord CROMWELL. [315] However, on that nobleman's death, he took ſhelter in HOLLAND, where he wrote, or probably tranſ⯑lated, moſt of his dramatic productions. He was re⯑called in the reign of EDWARD the ſixth, and given the living of BISHOP's STOKE, in HAMPSHIRE. He was afterwards named to the See of OSSORY, where he ſtrenuouſly exerted himſelf to reform his prieſts and aboliſh maſs; in conſequence of which ſome of his ſervants were murdered, and his own death was plotted. He, therefore, made his eſcape in a ſmall boat and was taken by the captain of a Dutch man of war, who ſtript him of all his money and ef⯑fects. From HOLLAND he retired to SWITZER⯑LAND, where he continued during the reign of queen MARY. When ELIZABETH came to the throne, he returned to ENGLAND, but could never be prevailed upon to return to his ſee, but preferred rather being a prebend of CANTERBURY, where he died in 1563, the year before SHAKESPEAR was born.

BALE wrote ſeventeen dramatic pieces, of which thoſe under are the titles Of Gods Promiſes, The Baptiſm of Chriſt, The Temptation, Chriſt when he was twelve Years Old, Of the Lord's Supper, Of the Paſſion of Chriſt, Of the Reſurrection, Of Lazarus raiſed from the Dead, Of Simon the Leper, are myſteries; The Treachery of the Papiſts, The Im⯑poſtures [316] of Thomas Becket, Againſt thoſe who adul⯑terate the Word of God, and The Corruptions of the Divine Laws, are moralities; Upon both Marriages of the King, Againſt Momuſes and Zoiluſes, Of John of England, and The Image of Love, are plays.

All theſe performances, except three of the myſteries, are loſt to the world. Theſe, however, are pretty well preſerved, and, as I ſhall preſently inſtance in one of them that BALE was a man of ſound learning, and by no means for his time a bad poet, we have great reaſon to believe that his plays were greatly ſuperior to that inſufferable nonſenſe Gammer Gurton's Needle—which, by the way, though execrably written, is a perfect play, and not without humour—or any of thoſe other faragoes which the human mind can hardly afford belief, were written only forty years before SHAKESPEAR's productions began to illumine literature.

The myſtery I allude to is entitled, A tragedy or interlude manyfeſting the cheſe promiſes of God unto man by all ages in the old lawe, from the fall of Adam to the incarnacyon of Chriſt. This piece holds out a poſitive proof that BALE, and therefore, of courſe, other writers of that time, well knew the an⯑cients, for it is not in five acts, a number which, if we are well informed, the ancients never uſed but [317] ſeven acts in which their pieces were often written; and to make the ſimilitude more perfect, each act finiſhes with a chorus performed as the choruſes of the ancients were by voices and inſtruments; the aggregate length alſo as well as the proportion of the different diviſions is exactly managed upon the Greek model, for their tragedies in ſeven acts do not contain more matter than is generally found in three acts of any Engliſh tragedy. The Oedipus Tyrannus of SOPHOCLES, which is one of the longeſt of antiquity, has not ſo many lines by two hundred and fifty, including the choruſes, as one of our ſhorteſt^*.

[318]As to the writing of this piece it is crude enough, but as it is full of thoſe beautiful ſentiments which every where pervade the ſcriptures, and evidently written by a good man and a philoſopher, it cannot by any means be conſidered as an indifferent per⯑formance; at the ſame time there is ſomething ſhock⯑ing in introducing the Creator threatening ADAM, commanding NOAH. bleſſing ABRAHAM, inſtructing MOSES, promiſing DAVID, encouraging ISAIAH and ſanctifying JOHN the Baptiſt, and yet the whole forms a complete plot beginning with original ſin and finiſhing with man's redemption.

It is very probable, as I hinted before, that this piece was a tranſlation, for I now ſhall ſpeak of an⯑other which I have by me as it was originally printed with a preface and dedication, a good deal illuſtra⯑tive of this probable fact that moſt of the ancients tranſlated, or imitated from ſomething ſtill more an⯑cient. This piece is a myſtery written by SANDYS, and called Chriſt's Paſſion.

[319]SANDYS, who we are told was a very accom⯑pliſhed gentleman, was youngeſt ſon of EDWIN, archbiſhop of YORK, and born in 1577, this my⯑ſtery, therefore, that he tranſlated was of courſe never performed, but I mention it to ſhew the anti⯑quity of that kind of ſpectacle. In his dedication, which is to the king, he ſpeaks of it as coming im⯑mediately to him from the pen of GROTIUS, and to GROTIUS from APOLLINARIUS and NAZIAN⯑ZEN, two ancient fathers of the primitive church. In this preface are theſe words^*:

‘"The tragedy of Chriſt's Paſſion was firſt written in Greek by APOLLINARIUS, of LAODICEA, biſhop of HIEROPOLIS, and after by GREGORY NAN⯑ZIANZEN."’ Though this now extant in his, is, by [320] ſome, aſcribed to the former; by others, accounted ſuppoſititious as not agreeing with his ſtrain in the reſt of his poems: which might alter that particular upon the imitation of EURIPIDES. But HUGO GROTIUS, of late, hath tranſcended all on this ar⯑gument: whoſe ſteps afar off I follow.

As this piece, though much more irregular as to its conduct, is better written than that of BALE, I ſuſpect it to have been of greater antiquity, eſpe⯑cially as this is the ſubject which the French are not able to trace to its ſource. Thus, to reconcile this apparent ſoleciſm, the plot, which is crude and incongruous, has remained without alteration, and the ſtyle, by getting into different hands has ac⯑quired a brighter poliſh. The ſubject is much better calculated for repreſentation than the other, the characters, one excepted, being leſs revolting. The choruſes, however, which are chiefly performed by Jewiſh women, are not managed according to any rule. They are not like thoſe before AESCHY⯑LUS, which contained the main action, nor after when they only relieved the main action. They ſeem rather what SOPHOCLES introduced, and EU⯑RIPIDES afterwards altered; for, though they are not primary objects, they certainly were compoſed of characters which had relation to the principal [321] intereſt of the piece. I mention this to ſhew that all theſe writers had the ancients in view in every thing.

SANDYS, however, ſo far conformed to the faſhion of the times in which he wrote as to adopt five acts in preference to any other given number; and, if the prodigious length of the ſpeeches did not tire the reader intolerably, and more the ſpectator, the whole being little more than a ſucceſſion of mo⯑nologues, the hiſtorical facts attending upon that event and the ſituation of the characters, particu⯑larly of PILATE, who is made to feel as a man while he acts as a governor, would give the piece a conſequence and an intereſt that might not diſgrace later and more perfect productions.

We can trace theſe myſteries to a variety of au⯑thors, moſt of whom appeared to have tranſlated their plays from either the Greek, Latin, Italian, French, or German; but, as the ſubject requires to be no farther treated than merely to prove the ex⯑iſtence and antiquity of theſe amuſements, I ſhall be as brief as poſſible.

JHAN PARFRE wrote, or tranſlated, in 1512, a myſtery called Candlemas Day; or, the Killing of [322] the Children of Iſrael, RADCLIFF wrote Dives and Lazarus, Job's Affliction, The Burning of Sodom, The Delivery of Suſannah, and The Fortitude of Judith. WAGER lived in the reign of ELIZABETH, and is called a learned clerk. He wrote The Life and Repentance of Mary Magdalen. A myſtery, or religious tragedy, was tranſlated from the Ita⯑lian of BOSSENTINUS by HENRY CHEEKE, called Freewill, where is ſet forth, in manner of tragedy, the deviliſh devices of the Popiſh religion. PEELE, of whom it will be neceſſary preſently to ſpeak, wrote The Love of King David and Fair Bathſheba, with the tragedy of Abſalom; and GOLDING tranſlated Abraham ſacrificing his Son Iſaac from BEZA.

Many more authors might be named, and many more pieces, which, though the authors are un⯑known, were entered at Stationer's Hall. There is ſcarcely, however, a play but manifeſts from ſome circumſtance or other that it came from ſome⯑thing written antecedent to the time in which it ap⯑peared; and, as I ſhall hereafter be able more parti⯑cularly to aſcertain the origin of the moralities, and the old tragedies and comedies, and we ſhall then find from circumſtances a full confirmation of this fact, it may not be amiſs to take leave of the my⯑ſteries by giving a ſhort ſpecimen of their language.

[323]In BALE's myſtery of God's Promiſes is the following colloquy between the CREATOR and ADAM. I take the paſſage at hazard.

In SANDYS's tragedy of Chriſt's Paſſion will be found this paſſage, the firſt that came in my way.

From theſe ſpecimens the reader will eaſily form an idea not only of the two writers but of the man⯑ner in which theſe ſubjects were generally treated. BALE's myſtery, written clearly by a divine, was [327] one of that deſcription performed by the prieſts. SANDYS gave himſelf the latitude of a poet, and, therefore, though his piece is on a ſacred ſubject, the characters ſuit the laity. This was one ſhadow of that diſtinction by which the myſteries gradually changed into moralities, a ſpecies of entertainment, however, intolerably dull though frequently well written; for, though allegory requires the powers of a poet, example alone enforces the practice of virtue from the ſtage. A metaphor may convince me through the medium of imaginary characters that clemency is a beautiful virtue, but let me be ſhewn an actual inſtance of it by ſome circumſtance like the introduction of TITUS, and I inſtantly ſee not only its beauty but its practicability.

The moralities were generally written to ſerve ſome temporary purpoſe. Sometimes they enforced public opinions, as the comedy of Good Order, written by SKELTON; ſometimes to promote obedience and conformity to the laws like that called The New Cuſtom, the author not known, written expreſsly to vindicate and promote the Re⯑formation; ſometimes, eſpecially when they were written for families. they recommended an attention to the ordinary purſuits of life, and illuſtrated the ad⯑vantages of ſocial duty; of this claſs were The Diſo⯑bedient Child, by INGELAND, a very early writer, [328] and Acolaſtus; or, the Prodigal Son, by PALSGRAVE. The ground work of which pieces we have ſeen in the early part of the French ſtage particularly Aco⯑laſius, which came from the celebrated play of RUTEBEUF, from which ſo many authors have pil⯑laged, and among them VOLTAIRE. PALSGRAVE, however, who was chaplain to HENRY the eighth, ſeems to have had a Latin play written by FUL⯑LONIUS, in his idea and in his ſtyle he endeavoured to imitate both PLAUTUS and TERENCE.

Others of theſe moralities promoted learning, and the principles of education, ſuch are the nature of the Four Elements, ſuppoſed to be written by RASTALL, which among other branches of in⯑ſtruction illuſtrates many points of natural phi⯑loſophy and necromantia, compiled by SKELTON, firſt in Greek, afterwards tranſlated into Latin, and then into Engliſh, for the uſe of thoſe who might with to learn different languages.

The laudable drift, therefore, of theſe per⯑formances, of which theſe may ſerve as a few proofs, is very apparent, but the world wanted to be amuſed as well as taught, and this led to the introduction of plays; which, being undertaken by ſcholars per⯑fectly well acquainted with the ancients, we inſtantly obſerve, whatever other requiſites they may want, [329] the early comedies and tragedies are aſtoniſhly regular for the time.

But to dwell a little longer upon the moralities. Theſe ſtrange repreſentations were ſo managed, that, though they conſiſted of a great variety of characters, they might be performed by four or five perſons. In one of them called All for Money, which was deſcribed as ‘"a moral and pityful comedy plainly repreſenting the manners of men and the faſhion of the world,"’ the characters are Theo⯑logy, Science, Art, Money, Adulation, Godly Ad⯑monition, Miſchievous Help, Pleaſure, Preſſed for Pleaſure, Sin, Swift to Sin, Virtue, Humility, Charity, All for Money, Damnation, Satan, Pride, Gluttony, Learning with Money, Learning without Money, Money without Learning, Neither Money nor Learning, Moneyleſs, Moneyleſs and Friendleſs, Nychol, Gregory, Graceleſs, Mother Crook, Judas, Dives, William, and the two Wives; but as not more than two of theſe characters, or at moſt three, were ever on the ſtage at once, and when they generally diſappeared they were ſeen no more, ſeveral parts were taken by one perſon without any injury to the piece.

I have inſtanced here one of the lateſt, on pur⯑poſe [330] to ſhew that, as the myſteries became partly moralities, ſo at laſt the moralities became partly plays; for Nychol, Gregory, Graceleſs, Mother Crook, &c. are not allegorical but real characters. On the contrary in thoſe of an earlier date, one of which is called Every Man, we find the Creator in company with Death, Fellowſhip, Kindred, Know⯑ledge, Strength, and Beauty. Before this morality we find the following advertiſement:

‘"Here begynneth a treatyſe how the hye Fa⯑ther of Heven ſendeth dethe to ſomon every creature to come and gyve a counte of theyr lyves in this worlde; and is in maner of a moralle playe."’ But it is extremely difficult to trace the moralities to their ſource. RASTALL, a famous typographer from 1500 onward to 1536, when he died, either wrote, revived, or tranſlated many of them. All thoſe to which no authors' names are affixed, it is natural to ſuppoſe are of this deſcription. SKELTON, poet lauret to HENRY the eighth, is the earlieſt name we can find, who, beſides thoſe that have been noticed, wrote Magnificence, a goodly interlude and a mery. The Negromanſir, printed in 1504, and the comedy of Virtue.

The ſtory of the Negromanſir, which was per⯑formed before HENRY the ſeventh and his nobles [331] on Palm Sunday, greatly to their edification no doubt, was the trial of SIMONY, which is ſuppoſed to be a female. One of the characters quotes SE⯑NECA and St. AUSTIN, and tells this lady to offer the Devil a bribe. The Devil, who enters with a large beard, rejects her offer with the utmoſt in⯑dignation, and ſwears that ſhe ſhall be fried and roaſted in ſulphur with MAHOMET, PONTIUS PI⯑LATE, the traitor JUDAS, and king HEROD. The laſt ſcene is a view of Hell where the Devil dances with the Necromancer till, after tripping up his heels, he leaves him in aſtoniſhment, and diſappears in ſmoke and ſulphur.

After SKELTON we have MEDWALL, chaplain to MERTON, cardinal and archbiſhop of CANTER⯑BURY, who wrote a morality called Nature; GAS⯑COIGNE, who tranſlated a morality from ARIOSTO, called Suppoſes, and wrote another called The Glaſſe of Government; WOODS, who produced The Con⯑flict of Conſcience; TARLETON, author of The Seven Deadly Sins; and others beſides thoſe of BALE already mentioned. But there are many publiſhed by RASTALL which are ſuppoſed to have been of a very early date indeed; among theſe may be reckoned Gentlyneſe and Nobylite, Impacyente Poverte, Manhood and Wiſdome, The Marriage of Wit and Science, and ſeveral others.

[332]Perhaps it may be wrong to dwell ſo minutely on the ſubject of theſe repreſentations. Many of which were miſerable traſh, and the beſt but fanciful and fantaſtic rhapſodies, calculated, one ſhould think, more for drolls and puppet-ſhews than to make up the delight of kings and courts; but, as they ſerved to inſinuate morality under this homely and groteſque form, which alone the people were willing to approve, they ſo far fulfilled the purpoſes of the ſtage, and ſobered the public mind into that degree of diſcrimination which taught the Engliſh to admire perfection on the theatre ſooner than any other nation after the Greeks.

It is impoſſible to conceive any thing fuller of im⯑piety than the myſteries taken literally; but it muſt be remembered that the oſtentateous ceremonies of the church which have pretty well kept pace with them have enſured an attention to the church itſelf, which perhaps, would have been vainly enjoined by ad⯑monition, or compelled by ſeverity. What wonder then the prieſts ſhould act in concert with the play, ers? It cannot alſo be denied that private duty, en⯑forced by either the perſuaſions, or the menaces of a parent, or a preceptor, ſeldom exhibits any other than a melancholy proſpect of ſucceſs; but, when inſtruction wears the lovely form and aſſumes the alluring garb of pleaſure, youth is [...]lattered into [333] duty, and cheated into virtue. The ſtern vizor of rigour falls off and the face of reaſon appears chear⯑ful and complacent.

It is on this account, awkward rude, and booriſh as they have managed it, I cannot find reaſon to doubt that the world at all times, and this of courſe as well as every other country, have adopted ſome inſinuating mode ſimilar to this to enſure by mild⯑neſs an attention to ſocial intercourſe and mutual intereſt which menace could never have effected; and, whether ſports, muſic, dancing, reciting, or ſinging of poetry, relating hiſtories, true or invented, or any others of theſe numerous tubs with which human creatures, as well as whales, muſt be amuſed, have at any time prevented depredations, averted inſurrections, and ſecured the bounds of good fel⯑lowſhip, the whole has been ſtage effect, and, therefore, virtually an encouragement of the dra⯑matic art.

Will it be inſiſted that if there had been no amuſements of that kind which we now call tra⯑gedies and comedies, the theatre, properly ſpeaking, would have had no exiſtence? No ſuch thing can be advanced. Myſteries and moralities were tra⯑gedies and comedies as far as they went; for, though the mind accommodates itſelf better to imitate [334] virtue by a review of the actions of thoſe with whom hiſtory has brought us acquainted, or to ſhun folly through an expoſition of thoſe abſurdities apparent to us in the actions of our common acquaintance, yet the drift of the other amuſements was the ſame; the times, however, were not poliſhed enough to promulgate inſtruction in any other form, and, there⯑fore, they held out ſymbol inſtead of certainty.

CHAP. VIII. INTERLUDES AND REMARKS CONCERNING THEM AND THEIR AUTHORS.

THE term interlude is ſo indefinite, and has been ſo variouſly appropriated, that it has at times ap⯑plied to every ſpecies of dramatic entertainment both ſacred and prophane. There can be no doubt but that its fair vernacular ſenſe is ſome farce, or other ſtage performance, introduced between in⯑tervals at feaſts; therefore, when it came to have a fixed and determinate ſignification, it had not the ſmalleſt reſemblance to what was originally under⯑ſtood as interlude.

In companies it has been the cuſtom to give a ſong and a toaſt alternately; nay, in clubs we ſhall ſtill find telling ſtories, preaching Quakers ſermons, repeating ſcenes from plays, imitating puppets, dreſſing a fiſt like an old woman and make it apparently ſing a ſong in character, and a prodigious number of modes of mumming in this way. Theſe [336] are interludes as far as they go, and fairly give an idea of what were thoſe amuſements performed in little alehouſes which occaſioned the Vagrant Act of EDWARD the third.

Nothing, therefore, of the dramatic kind taken in this ſenſe is ſo ancient as interlude. The tragedies and comedies of the Greeks, as they have been con⯑ſidered according to their original ſenſe of religious and paſtoral, the Feſcennines of the Romans, the Jornadas of the Spaniards, the Canvaſſes of the Ita⯑lians, the Sirventes and Tenſons of the French, and the irregular mixture of them all among the En⯑gliſh, were interludes; a term meaning pieces per⯑formed theatrically to amuſe and inſtruct ſometimes large, and ſometimes ſelect companies; nor were they till HEYWOOD, and thoſe other authors about his time, conſidered in a fixed and diſtinct ſenſe ſignifying a regular dramatic piece one ſhadow only from a play; for, as the m [...]ſteries promulgated re⯑ligion through the medium of impiety, and the moralities taught ſocial duty by the perſonification of thoſe virtues men ought to imitate, and thoſe vices they ought to avoid, the interludes, ſuch as they were underſtood to be at that time, conſiſted of characters which really exiſted, who diſcourſed on ſubjects moſt proper to enforce the duties which prudence, reaſon, and even policy recommended.

[337]So far they were dramatic entertainments, but ſtill they were not plays, for the moral was enforced by precept and not by example. A repreſentation of characters in real life which were immediately concerned in the intereſt of the action that was going forward, which, as they contributed to bring about the ends of juſtice and morality were re⯑warded, and which, as they thwarted and perverted thoſe ends were puniſhed, was a ſpecies of theatrical amuſement, then entirely unknown, though all the eſſential requiſites of it had been always the drift of whatever had been brought forward, yet will this militate againſt any thing already here aſſerted, for it is impoſſible to contend that becauſe an art had not arrived to perfection it had not, therefore, been exerciſed.

It may not now be amiſs to blend with thoſe in⯑terludes ſome particulars concerning the men who wrote them, among whom the name of JOHN HEY⯑WOOD ſtands moſt conſpicuous. He ſeems to have been a man of great wit and pleaſantry, and very well calculated to innovate as he did upon the my⯑ſteries and moralities; but, his mind being too ex⯑tenſive, and his genius too volatile to buckle to the trammels of a univerſity education, he neglected to poliſh thoſe talents which, nevertheleſs, he was cer⯑tainly [338] endowed with, and, therefore, probably he was not conſidered as a perſon of ſufficient conſe⯑quence to effect a complete reform.

His abilities were, however, held in conſiderable reſpect, and he became by his pleaſant and agreea⯑ble wit a great favourite with many eminent men of that time, and particularly with ſir THOMAS MORE, who delighted in his company, and introduced him to the princeſs MARY, through^* whom he became the jeſter and ſo much the favourite of king HENRY the eighth, that he highly rewarded him ſays [339] an author, for the mirth and quickneſs of his conceits."

HEYWOOD, however, was not a ſincere ad⯑herent of HENRY, for he was a bigotted Roman Catholic, and, therefore, in his heart attached him⯑ſelf cloſely to the intereſt of MARY; to whom, when the Proteſtants were burning in Smithfield, he uſed to relate facetious ſtories, even at the time when ſhe was on her death bed, by way of chaſing the gloom that naturally hung on her guilty mind for having wickedly ſacrificed ſo many martyrs; and thus we ſee the difference of the reward of a ſervile and accommodating ſervant and a noble and ho⯑nourable one. HEYWOOD was carreſſed by HENRY for laughing at him in his ſleeve, and treating him with duplicity, while MORE whoſe honour nothing could impeach, and whoſe magnanimity nothing could diſmay, loſt his head in return for his fidelity.

After cajoling HENRY, crouching to EDWARD, and deifying MARY, HEYWOOD, fancying that the generoſity and honeſty of ſentiment, revived by ELIZABETH and the Proteſtant religion, might de⯑tect his hypocricy and ſo procure for him a merited puniſhment, thought it prudent to quit the king⯑dom. He died at MECHLIN, in BRABANT, about [340] 1565, the year after SHAKESPEAR was born. His pieces, though they were called plays, are all inter⯑ludes, ſuch as they have already defined. They here were all of them publiſhed in 1533, and are ſix in number, beſides two others, called Pindar of Wake⯑field. and Philotas, which are attributed to him but not believed to be his.

HEYWOOD's ſix plays are, A Play between Johan the Huſband, Tyb the Wife, and ſir Johan the Prieſt; which ſeems to be taken from one of the Tales of BOCCACE, which is ludicrouſly imiated by LA FONTAINE. A Mery Play between the Pardoner and the Friar, the Curate and Neighbour Prat. The Play called the Four P's; being a new and a very mery Interlude between a Palmer, a Pardoner, a Poticary. and a Pedlar. A Play of Genteelneſs and Nobility. A Play of Love. A Play of the Weather.

Theſe interludes, for ſo they all are, manifeſt the character of the man who wrote them. They ſeem by very ſubtle reaſoning between certain perſonages to try the public opinion, and that under an idea of depicting local and temporary manners, of which CHAUCER's Canterbury Tales ſtand for the outline, and which ever were and ever will be virtually the ſame.

[341]PALSGRAVE, who wrote Acolaſtus, was a man of very extenſive knowledge. He flouriſhed in the reigns of HENRY the ſeventh, and HENRY the eighth. He was born in London, and there re⯑ceived the firſt rudiments of learning. He was afterwards celebrated at CAMBRIDGE for logic and philoſophy; but his own country and his own language did not ſatisfy his thirſt after learning; he, therefore, went to FRANCE, where he became ſo admired, not only for his general talents but his proficiency in par⯑tic [...]lar in the French tongue, which he gave a purity and an elegance to which the natives of FRANCE had till then been a ſtranger,^* but when the treaty of marriage was on foot between LOUIS the twelfth and Princeſs MARY, ſiſter to HENRY the eighth, PALSGRAVE was pitched upon to teach her the French language. LOUIS, however, died very [342] ſoon after his marriage, and PALSGRAVE attended MARY to ENGLAND; where, through her influ⯑ence, he became ſo uſeful in teaching French to the Engliſh nobility, that he obtained good church pre⯑ferment, and was made one of the chaplains in or⯑dinary to HENRY the eighth. When PALSGRAVE was born, or at what time he died cannot now be traced; but the hiſtorical fact of the marriage be⯑tween LOUIS and MARY, will ſhew that he was celebrated ſo early as 1514; and, as he d [...]d not publiſh his ingenious work in the French tongue till the year 1540, he muſt have run a pretty long career of favour and reputation.

HENRY PARKER, lord MORLEY, was born in the reign of HENRY the ſeventh. He was a vo⯑luminous author, and is ſaid to have written perfect tragedies and comedies, taking the ancients for his model; but, as dramatic pieces do not ſeem to have been forward enough for this, unleſs their perfection conſiſted only of their conſtruction and they were neglected for the traſh that, like Gam⯑mer Gurlon's Needle they contained, it is more ra⯑tional to ſuppoſe that the pieces of this author were interludes.

MORLEY, was a firm adherent of HENRY. He was one of thoſe barons who ſigned the memorable [343] letter to CLEMENT the ſeventh, threatening him with the loſs of his ſupremacy in ENGLAND unleſs he uſed every poſſible diſpatch to effect the king's divorce. The king did not fail to return this at⯑tention; for, when MORLEY had a diſpute with lord DACRE, of GILLESTAND, for precedence, he ſo backed his pretenſions that, though we are told MORLEY had not right on his ſide, thoſe pretenſions were confirmed by parliament. He is ſaid to have lived in honour and eſteem to a very advanced age, and to have enlightened that time with many works of celebrity.

RADCLIFF wrote both moralities and interludes; and began about 1538, at which time many of the monaſteries were deſtroyed, to grow celebrated for interlude, which, like thoſe of HEYWOOD, helped forward that toleration which HENRY had intro⯑duced. He took the Carmelite's houſe at HITCHIN, in HEREFORDSHIRE, and converted a part of it into a theatre, where his ſcholars acted Latin and Engliſh comedies that they might acquire confi⯑dence in public ſpeaking. Theſe pieces, by being written upon the model of the ancients, ſeem at leaſt ſome of them, to be nearer to plays than thoſe interludes written by HEYWOOD. The piece called Chaucer's Melebee, is ſaid to have been a perfect co⯑medy. Their tendency, however, being always to [344] ſecond the king's views in his laudable determination to eſtabliſh the Proteſtant religion, RADCLIFF was greatly countenanced and encouraged, and he in conſequence lived reſpected, and died rich.

SKELTON, who among other interludes wrote The Negromanſir, of which we have already ſeen an account, was laureat both at OXFORD and CAMBRIDGE. He was promoted to the rectory of DISS, in NORFOLK; but, having more of the actor in him than the parſon, and being calculated rather to write plays than ſermons, he made the pulpit a vehicle for the moſt pointed ridicule and ſevere farcaſm; but this did not ſatisfy him. He wrote a prodigious number of ballads againſt the hypocricy of the prieſts, and particularly the mendicants, and for theſe irregularities he was ſuſpended by NYKKE, biſhop of NORWICH, a rigid man, from exerciſing the duties of the ſacred function.

This diſgrace, however, giving him notoriety, became only a ſpur to his frolickſome pegaſus, for he vented his ridicule more and with greater ſucceſs than ever. Scarcely any of the religious eſcaped him. At length he had cauſe to repent his te⯑merity; for, having ſeverely attacked the dignity of WOLSEY, that powerful and vindictive miniſter de⯑termined to make him a ſevere example. SKELTON, [345] however, got an intimation of his intentions; and, before the officers of juſtice, who were in purſuit of him, had arrived to ſeize him, he took refuge in the ſanctuary of Weſtminſter Abbey, where he was kindly entertained by Abbot ISLIP, with whom he reſided till the day of his death, which happened in 1529.

JOHN BOURCHIER, lord BERNERS, appears to have been a good author, himſelf, and a patron of many of the wits of his time. He was deſcended from THOMAS, of WOODSTOCK, duke of GLOU⯑CESTER. He was Knight of the Garter, and Con⯑ſtable of WINDSOR CASTLE under EDWARD the fourth, and became popular for quelling an inſur⯑rection in CORNWALL and DEVONSHIRE, which was headed by MICHAEL JOSEPH, a blackſmith, in 1495, and this recommended him to the favour of HENRY the ſeventh.

He was a captain of the pioneers at the ſiege of THEROUENNE, under HENRY the eighth, by whom he was made Chancellor of the Exchequer for life. He was alſo Lieutenant of CALAIS and the MARCHES. He was appointed to conduct the Princeſs MARY into FRANCE on her marriage, at which time he became acquainted and wrote in con⯑junction [346] with PALSGRAVE, and what was very re⯑markable he enjoyed the confidence and continued in the favour of HENRY eighteen years. He wrote himſelf but one comedy called Ite in Veneam, but it was principally owing to his patronage that the ſtage boaſted the celebrity it poſſeſſed at the time of his death, which happened in 1532^*.

Of the reſt of the interlude writers, ſome of whom alſo wrote plays, there is nothing that can be col⯑lected remarkable enough to merit particular at⯑tention. WAGER, WAYER, WAPULL, UPTON, WOODS, PEELE, and others were writers of this claſs, and their interludes were generally contro⯑verſies concerning the reformation, which it may be eaſily conceived always tended to ſome con⯑cluſion in its favour.

Thus HENRY the eighth, who perſecuted prieſts, encouraged actors; and thus HEYWOOD and SKELTON were cunningly employed to enforce toleration and ſtrip off the maſk of hypocriſy from WOLSEY and his dependants. This will preſently [347] ſhew us that plays, properly ſo called, by partaking more of rational manners, obtained no permanent reputation and decided character till the Proteſtant religion cleared away thoſe clouds of bigotry and ſuperſtition in which pure nature and fair truth had been ſhrouded and concealed. Interludes began the work, but it remained for plays to perfect it.

CHAP. IX. PLAYS.

IT is generally believed that Gammer Gurton's Needle was the firſt piece, poſſeſſing the requiſites of a play, that was performed in this kingdom. This, however, is a very doubtful conjecture, un⯑leſs it be allowed that it was written many years be⯑fore it came from the hands of biſhop STILL, who is ſaid to have produced it when he was Maſter of Arts at CAMBRIDGE. A piece called Dyccon the Bedlam, which was entered at Stationers Hall in 1562, ſeems to have ſerved for the ground work of Gammer Gurton, and muſt have been originally written many years before, for ſuch incomprehen⯑ſible nonſenſe could never have been permitted ſo long after SKELTON, JOHN HEYWOOD, MEDWALL, lord MORLEY, PALSGRAVE, and JASPER HEY⯑WOOD, produced pieces much better written; the laſt of whom tranſlated three tragedies from SENECA.

STILL, however, though he ſeemed extremely [349] fond of preſerving as much of the nonſenſe as poſſible, knew very well the true conſtruction of a perfect play; and, though the ridiculous ſtory he had to deal with was no more than GAMMER GUR⯑TON's looſing the needle with which ſhe was mend⯑ing her huſband's breeches, the coil kept up by this terrible accident, and the intrigues of DICCON, by which they are all ſet together by the ears, while he gets good fare and is rewarded all the way round; yet all this is truly dramatic as well as the cataſtro⯑phe, gradually relieving their fears by the re⯑covery of the needle, which is found ſticking in the breeches, to the great annoyance of HODGE, who in putting them on feels a painful proof of the fact.

As to the play itſelf, I ſhould conceive it to be a burleſque of the Roman dramatiſts, and particu⯑larly of PLAUTUS and TERENCE, for it has all the balderdaſh of the firſt and the regularity of the laſt. It is as indecent, as vulgar, and licentious as the one, and as dull, as inſipid, and ſtupid as the other; in which caſe, taking the drift of it, the biſhop deſerves praiſe inſtead of cenſure; for no⯑thing can be more correctly attended to than are the unities; and who knows but by this ſcrupulous care, ARISTOTLE and HORACE might not have been marked as the objects of his ridicule as well [350] as PLAUTUS and TERENCE. We at this moment have forgot to reliſh the admirable humour of the Rehearſal, even though every man of reading knows ſomething of the crude yet valuable plays of DRYDEN. How then ſhall we be able to judge of the merits of a play at ſuch a diſtance of time which we acknowledge to be perfect in requiſites that ſome think of an equal value to all the reſt^*.

[351]As to the play in queſtion it is worthy of but very little contention, nor is it eaſy to be accounted for, why ſo much notice ſhould have been taken of it by a variety of authors, or how it met with ſuc⯑ceſs to the degree which they have aſſerted, unleſs, being in the light of an oppoſition to the interludes, it was conſidered as an innovation; a circumſtance always eagerly caught at in the theatrical ſtate.

That there were ſeveral plays before Gammer Gurton's Needle, however, admits of very little doubt. We have an account of a tragedy called Matilda, which was performed before HENRY the ſeventh, ſixty years at leaſt earlier than that comedy. The Andria of TERENCE, a flat inſipid piece, Hycke Scorner, which ſeems to be ſomething like a perſonification of CHAUCER's Canterbury Tales, and contains a whimſical and humourous diſplay of the vices and follies of the age, interſperſed with moral reflections, and indeed if it were properly divided and digeſted would rank well in the liſts of the drama; Thyeſtes, Hercules Eurens, and Troas, tran⯑ſlated from SENECA by JASPER HEYWOOD, Jack Jugler, a ſtrange heterogeneous attempt at a co⯑medy, [352] and ſeveral others, were written before the date which Gammer Gurton's Needle bears.

The comedy of Piſcator; or the Fiſher caught, written by HOKER, who we are told was a man of fancy and learning, a rhetorician and a poet, alſo came much earlier; ſo did lord MORLEY's trage⯑dies and comedies, which ſeem to have been tran⯑ſlations from the ancients, and indeed many more; ſome of which rank in no determinate claſs, not be⯑ing regular plays but rather ſomething generally dramatic.

At the beginning of the ſixteenth century, how⯑ever, many plays of various deſcriptions were per⯑formed; and, among the reſt, I find, from HOL⯑LINGSHED and other authors, one of which is RIC⯑COBONI, who ſeems to have picked up good the⯑atrical intelligence, that, on the ſeventh of May, 1520, the king cauſed a maſquerade to be prepared, and ordered a ſtage to be raiſed in the great hall at GREENWICH, and the king, the queen, and the nobility came there to the repreſentation of a good comedy of PLAUTUS.

This might have been one of the foregoing plays, for, as the Engliſh ſeemed to emulate the Romans in their courage and their various ſtruggles for freedom, [353] ſo did they in their poetry, witneſs their admiration of MARTIAL in that poets life time; and thoſe plays were the greateſt part of them tranſlations, the co⯑medies from PLAUTUS and TERENCE, and the tra⯑gedies always from SENECA, the pomp of whoſe ſtyle ſeems in all countries to have captivated the early writers.

Yet with all theſe advantages nothing worthy mentioning, except for the purpoſe of exciting the curioſity of the reader, and filling up chronology, can be found before SHAKESPEAR. As, however, when I come to that memorable era, I ſhall have facts enough to bear me out without having any further recourſe to conjectures, it may not be un⯑intereſting to piece out this volume with ſuch cir⯑cumſtances relative to theſe ancient plays and their writers as may ſerve not only to corroborate paſt obſervation, but alſo to elucidate future enquiry.

Sir JAMES LINDSAY, who we are told firſt in⯑troduced plays into SCOTLAND, is ſaid by ſeveral authors to have written tragedies and comedies. He was born late in the fifteenth century. He was honourably employed at the court of JAMES the fifth of SCOTLAND, but his dramatic writings were ſo ſharp and ſo pointed againſt the licentiouſ⯑neſs [354] of the court and the corruption of the clergy, that he was not only ſtript of all his emoluments, ex⯑cept the place of Lion King at Arms, which was conferred on him for life, but it is wonderful, ſaysan old author, ‘"that he eſcaped their bloody hands who were ſo ſkilful and had ſuch power at that time to ſhed the blood of honeſt men and martyrs."’

This author ſeems to have been an imitator of ARISTOPHANES. His humour was cutting and ſevere, as well as droll and ludicrous; and his re⯑preſentation of the perſon held up to ridicule was ſo like that it was inſtantly known for ſome profli⯑gate courtier or corrupt prieſt. The abbot of PAISLEY, who was ſucceſsfully ridiculed in this manner, complained of him to his patron, the earl of ARRON. He, not being powerful enough to reſiſt the influence of the prieſt, gave up LINDSAY, who, at length, in diſguſt retired to his paternal eſtate and ſought there that tranquility, as a phi⯑loſopher, which had been denied to him in the world as a courtier and a poet.

JASPER HEYWOOD, who has been already men⯑tioned as the tranſlator of three tragedies from SENECA, was ſon to the famous HEYWOOD the in⯑terlude writer. JASPER ſeems to have been as ſtrange a character as his father. He ſtudied at [355] MERTON college; where, having been guilty of many unpardonable irregularities, he reſigned his gown to avoid a ſentence of expulſion. After this he entered into the ſociety of Jeſuits at St. OMERS. There he ſtudied for two years and then found himſelf ſo qualified for diſputation, that he did not ceaſe for ſeventeen years to promulgate his controverſies in SWITZERLAND; when, for his love of the mother church and his zeal againſt the heretics, he was elevated to the degree of Doctor in Divinity, and the Four Vows.

Pope GREGORY the thirteenth, in 1581, ſent him at the head of the Jeſuits to ENGLAND; but his intolerable arrogance and pride, in which he affected the imperious conſequence of WOLSEY, running into luxury and magnificence more than his means could allow, ſoon rendered him obnoxious to the court of ELIZABETH; and, perhaps, it is owing to this that he is reported to have been ex⯑ecuted in her reign. The fact however is, that when ſome of the Jeſuits were condemned, and the reſt in danger of the law, ELIZABETH, out of hu⯑manity, ordered them all to be ſhipped away and ſent out of ENGLAND. HEYWOOD went firſt to ROME and then to NAPLES, where he became ac⯑quainted with JOHN PITSEUS, a zealous and bi⯑goted [356] catholic, who ſpeaks of him in the higheſt terms of reſpect and admiration.

Of THOMAS SACKVILLE, lord DORSET, it may not be unentertaining to relate ſome particu⯑lars. He is ſaid, in conjunction with NORTON, of whom I ſhall preſently ſpeak, to have written what is called the firſt Engliſh tragedy. SACKVILLE was a ſtudent of both Univerſities. entered of the Tem⯑ple, and early called to the Bar. His deportment was ſo manly, his manners ſo engaging, and his wit ſo lively, that he was ſoon conſidered as an ac⯑quiſition to the ſtate. His father brought him into parliament, at whoſe death he took poſſeſſion of a very ſplendid inheritance.

Soon after this he was knighted, and immediately promoted to a peerage by the title of baron BUCK⯑HURST. Determined to keep up all the conſequence attached to his new dignity, he launched into ſuch magnificence and profuſion that, notwithſtanding his immenſe fortune, he very ſoon ſuffered material in⯑convenience, but the tide of preferment followed on him ſo faſt that he was quickly enabled to look above his difficulties. In 1573, the queen ſent him am⯑baſſador to CHARLES the ninth, to congratulate that prince on his marriage with the daughter of [357] MAXIMILIAN, and on other ſtate affairs^*. At the court of FRANCE he was received with all the honours due to his own merit and the dignity of his ſovereign.

It ſhould ſeem that ELIZABETH made uſe of BUCKHURST to play off, firſt LEICESTER and after⯑wards ESSEX; for he was ſent ambaſſador to the States General to accommodate ſome differences that had ariſen in conſequence of certain conduct in the earl of LEICESTER, at which they had thought proper to take umbrage. In this commiſſion he [358] acquitted himſelf with great honour and rectitude. There was ſomething in it, however, which pro⯑voked the reſentment of lord BURLEIGH, whoſe influence was at that time ſo great with the queen hat BUCKHURST was recalled and confined to his houſe for nine months^*. On LEICESTER's death, however, his intereſt at court was renewed to ſuch a degree that BURLEIGH, who perhaps, feared to appear his enemy, feigned to become his friend. He was made Knight of the Garter, ſat on the trial of the earl of ARUNDEL, and joined BURLEIGH in negociating a peace with SPAIN, which produced the renewal of a treaty with the States General; which, BURLEIGH having fallen ſick. BUCKHURST had all the honour of concluding; and which, as it eaſed the queen of an expence amounting to a hundred and twenty thouſand a year, a large ſum at that time, brought him of courſe into very great ſavour.

[359]In 1591, he was, at the particular inſtance of the queen, elected Chancellor of the Univerſity of OXFORD, in expreſs oppoſition to her favourite the earl of ESSEX; and, on BURLEIGH's death, ſhe conſtituted him lord high treaſurer. In the following year he was joined in a commiſſion with ſir THOMAS EGERTON, and lord ESSEX, to ne⯑gociate with the Senate of DENMARK; and when ESSEX libelled the queen, as to her conduct con⯑cerning IRELAND, when the miſguided SOUTH⯑AMPTON, fuller of friendſhip and intemperate zeal than prudence and reaſon, joined that unhappy favourite, BUCKHURST was appointed lord high ſteward upon the occaſion.

JAMES, who before his arrival in ENGLAND had heard a great deal of the honeſt ſervices and ſplendid abilities of lord BUCKHURST, ſcarcely mounted the throne when he renewed that noble⯑man's patent of lord high treaſurer. In the fol⯑lowing year he created him earl of DORSET, and appointed him one of the commiſſioners for exe⯑cuting the office of earl MARSHAL, which, how⯑ever, he did not long enjoy, for he died ſud⯑denly as he was ſitting at the council table at WHITEHALL, on the 19th of April, 1608, aged ſeventy-two.

[360]As the annals of this country have ſpoken largely of the character of this nobleman, both as a man and a ſtateſman, in which capacities he ſeems to have conducted himſelf moſt honourably, I ſhall ſpeak no further of him than as a dramatic author, a diſtinction equally reputable to him and to the theatre; for it is a remarkable proof of his good ſenſe, in the midſt of his great variety of important avocations, to conſider the ſtage as an object worthy his attention and it is a high compliment to the ſtage that it received ſuch early improvement from a man of ſuch ſplendid abilities.

The play of Gorboduc, written by SACKVILLE in conjunction with NORTON, which is ſaid to be the firſt Engliſh tragedy, or more properly the firſt regular Engliſh tragedy, is taken from hiſtory and highly ſpoken of by ſeveral authors; out of all which praiſe, however. I ſhall content myſelf with ſelecting the words of ſir PHILIP SIDNEY. ‘"It is,"’ ſays he, ‘"full of ſtately ſpeeches, well ſound⯑ing phraſes, climbing to the height of SENECA's ſtyle, and as full of notable morality, which it doth moſt delightfully teach, and ſo obtain the very end of poetry."’

NORTON, who is ſaid to have written the three [361] firſt acts of Gorboduc, was after all, very likely, only the amanuenſis of SACKVILLE. He was counſel to the Stationer's Company, and received the fees for ſuch literary works as were entered on their books; and, happening to have been a ſtudent with SACKVILLE, was probably aſſiſted in life by that nobleman. His own writings appear to have been not at all dramatic, for he was a ſort of enthuſiaſt. He tranſlated religious pieces from the latin, and being a cotemporary of STERNHOLD, and HOP⯑KINS, and intimate with them, he aſſiſted thoſe no⯑table poets in their curious verſion of the Pſalms. We are told that NORTON wrote twenty-ſeven of them himſelf, and that his initials are prefixed to them; if ſo, the reader may eaſily be ſatisfied as to his poetical abilities.

THOMAS PRESTON wrote a piece called Cam⯑byſes, King of Perſia, which would have been but little known had it not been for the notice taken of it and its author by more celebrated men than PRESTON, who was, according to report, a much better actor than a poet. He performed ſo well in a play called Dido, written by RITWISE, before ELIZABETH in 1564, when ſhe was entertained at CAMBRIDGE; that, as a teſtimony of her appro⯑bation, [362] ſhe ſettled a penſion on him of twenty pounds a year^*.

RICHARD EDWARDS, who was born in 1523, who ran very rapidly through a variety of ſtudies, and was early made Maſter of Arts at OXFORD, was one of the gentlemen of queen ELIZABETH's chapel, and teacher of muſic to the children of the choir. We are told that he had a patent as manager of a theatre royal in that reign. He was certainly very highly in favour with the queen, who con⯑ſtantly attended and very much admired his pro⯑ductions; of which the pieces known to us are, Damon and Pythias, and Palamon and Arcyte, both of which ſubjects are familiar to every reader, and ſhew evidently how much, as we have ſeen before, [363] that CHAUCER and the other old poets have con⯑tributed to the celebrity of the theatre.

Damon and Pythias, one of the moſt affecting and beautiful ſtories of antiquity, is, conſidering the time, very dramatically treated by EDWARDS, but Palamon and Arcyte, taken avowedly from CHAU⯑CER's Knight's Tale, was the greateſt favourite with the court. After the firſt repreſentation of this piece, the queen ſummoned the poet into her pre⯑ſence and paid him very handſome compliments. She remarked that PALAMON was ſo juſtly drawn as a lover, that he muſt have been in love indeed. That ARCYTE was a right martial knight, having a ſwart and manly countenance, yet with the aſpect of a VENUS clad in armour; that the lovely EMI⯑LIA was a virgin of uncorrupted purity and unble⯑miſhed ſimplicity; and that, although ſhe ſung ſo ſweetly, and gathered flowers alone in the garden, ſhe preſerved her chaſtity undeflowered. EMILIA was the only female part in the play. It was per⯑formed by a boy of fourteen years old, the ſon of the dean of Chriſtchurch, dreſſed like a princeſs, and the queen was ſo charmed with him that ſhe pre⯑ſented him with eight guineas. The reputation of EDWARDS was certainly very high during his life which terminated the very year in which he pro⯑duced with ſo much ſucceſs Palamon and Arcyte.

[364]GEORGE PEELE, a moſt excentric character, was on one account or another very celebrated early in ELIZABETH's reign. He took the degree of Maſter of Arts at OXFORD, and afterwards be⯑came in LONDON the city poet, and had the order⯑ing of the pageants. He is ſpoken of as a very vo⯑luminous dramatic writer, and we are told that his works not only ſucceeded very greatly in his life but that they were read with great pleaſure after his death. He is ſaid in particular to have been a good paſtoral poet. Upon the whole, however, as it is too frequently the caſe, he ſeems to have derived his reputation more from having been the object of patronage to a nobleman, than to the muſes, for his merry pranks in which he is claſſed with SCOGGAN, SKELTON, and DICK TARLETON, all bon vivants, with whom the earl of NORTHUMBERLAND, in imi⯑tation of ANTHONY with the Roman actors, very often condeſcended to get drunk, lifted him into a degree of public opinion, which his works do not by any means appear to bear out. In ſhort his pro⯑fligate manners and irregular life but little qualified him for a knowledge of that morality indiſpenſibly neceſſary in the compoſition of a real dramatic entertainment; and it is, therefore, though one of his plays has been ignorantly attributed to SHAKES⯑PEAR, that the licentious GEORGE PEELE, like his imitators, ROCHESTER and KILLIGREW, is little [365] known but by his jeſts, ‘"which,"’ an author ſays, ‘"in literature, may be compared to the tricks or a ſharper in ſociety, for they are falſe, ſpecious and impoſing."’

LILLY was in his time ſo noted a character, for peculiarity is always ſure to be notorious, that he has an indiſpenſible right to be mentioned here. He ſeems as if he had ſet out, not only with a view to reform the ſtage, but the Engliſh language; which, however, he miſerably injured by ſubſtituting quaintneſs for ſimplicity, and bombaſt for wit. His aim was to become maſter of the revels that through the medium of the ſtage he might promulgate his meditated innovation. He miſſed it, however, for queen ELIZABETH did not chuſe to give him that poſt; but this did not deter him, for knowing well the affectation of courts, and being a man of con⯑ſummate perſeverence, he ſet himſelf up as a re⯑former of the Engliſh language under an idea of weeding it of obſolete and uncooth expreſſions; in which taſk he ſo well ſucceeded, that it was as un⯑faſhionable, for a time, in the court of ELIZABETH to be ignorant ot LILLY's Euphuiſme, as it was called, as it would be now to be ignorant of the French language^*.

[366]LILLY wrote nine plays, which have all a ſmack of Euphuiſm, and were therefore celebrated for their day, for they were all Ephemerons. He is, neverthe⯑leſs, highly extolled by ſome writers as a paragon of [367] literature. BLOUNT calls him ‘"the only rare poet of that time,"’ which obſervation, as ſome of his plays were ſtarted againſt ſome of SHAKESPEAR's, will no doubt be univerſally credited. ‘"The witty, comical, facetiouſly-quick and unparalleled JOHN LILLY."’ And in another place matter BLOUNT tells us, inſpired no doubt with beauties of Euphuiſm, ‘"that he ſate at APOLLO's table; that APOLLO gave him a wreath of his own bays without ſnatch⯑ing; and that the lyre he played on had no bor⯑rowed ſtrings."’ Thus LILLY, who paſſed that for wit which he knew to be ſtupidity, like a bouncer who at laſt believes his own lies, was flattered, by the ſame quaintneſs, the ſame baſe coin he had im⯑poſed upon others, into a belief of that merit to which truth and nature vainly laboured to convince him he was an utter ſtranger.

ROBERT GREEN, would have been conſidered as an author of merit and held in ſome eſteem had he not, in company with GEORGE PEELE, and the ſet already mentioned, plunged himſelf into every ſpecies of profligacy and debauchery; leaving a good and beautiful wiſe to laviſh her ſubſtance on libertines and proſtitutes. We are told that he is the firſt Engliſh poet who wrote for bread; having been obliged, whenever his extravagance threw him to diſtreſs, to have recourſe to his pen for ſubſiſtence. [368] This induced him moſt ſhamefully to proſtitute his genius; for, knowing that thoſe writings would be ſureſt to ſell beſt which were the moſt obſcene, he gratified the rakes of that age by every ſpecies of licentious poetry till he obtained by theſe worthy labours a conſiderable income. Penury, however, diſeaſe, the indignation of good men, and a con⯑ſciouſneſs of his own infamy, led him into a gradual termination of his miſerable and profligate life, which after all finiſhed as it had began; for, a voluptuary to the laſt, he died by over-eating himſelf.

Some affirm that he died a penitent, and inſtance, to prove this aſſertion, his having written a letter full of contrition to his injured wife, and alſo two or three publications of the ſame complexion. The manner of his death, however, the hypocrify con⯑tained in his recantations, and above all, his total forgetfulneſs of his wife's diſtreſs till he was in the moſt abject diſtreſs himſelf, are pretty plain proofs that his profligacy was innate and impoſſible to be eradicated; and that, in proportion as diſeaſe im⯑paired the vigour of his mind, he covered the prin⯑ciples of a libertine with the meanneſs of a ſyco⯑phant, and the diſſimulation of a hypocrite.

GREEN wrote ſour plays, and was concerned in ſeveral others, all which evince a mind which, had [369] it been rightly turned, would have lent conſiderable aſſiſtance to the cauſe of literature.

Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, whoſe writings, public conduct, and remarkable fortunes, very peculiarly diſtinguiſhed him, demands to be noticed in this place. He was born in 1554. He was elegantly educated, and very early ſent on his travels. When he was but eighteen, he narrowly eſcaped aſſaſſina⯑tion at PARIS during the maſſacre of the huguenots; at twenty-two he was ſent on an embaſſy to RAN⯑DOLPH, emperor of GERMANY, from which time he took an active and very often a reſolute part as a vigilant ſtateſman. He oppoſed the queen's mar⯑riage with the duke of ANJOU, as it is ſuppoſed at the inſtance of his uncle the earl of LEICESTER. The queen, however, appears not to have been very well pleaſed; for, upon ſome frivolous, though vio⯑lent quarrel which he had with VERE, earl of OX⯑FORD, he was conſtrained to retire from court.

He was ſoon, however, recalled, for in 1580 he was knighted; and, immediately bringing his abili⯑ties into action, he projected an expedition with ſir FRANCIS DRAKE againſt AMERICA, but was again reſtrained by the queen. She, however, made him governor of FLUSHING, which had then been juſt [370] put into her poſſeſſion as one of the cautionary towns, and general of horſe.

After this ſir PHILIP was permitted to purſue his career unreſtrained; for in July, 1586, he ſur⯑prized AXIL, and, by his enterprizing and ſpirited conduct preſerved the lives and the honour of the the Engliſh army at GRAVELINE. From theſe he aſpired to other ſplendid and valorous atchieve⯑ments, till his ſame was ſo great, and ſo univerſal, that he was put in election for the kingdom of PO⯑LAND, which it is ſuppoſed he would have carried but for the interference of the queen, who ſaid ‘"ſhe admired his emulation but could not conſent to loſe his ſervices."’

What could be the radical cauſe of ELIZA⯑BETH's ſtrange conduct in relation to this extra⯑ordinary man, one moment advancing his fortune the next repelling it, is one of thoſe ſtate ſecrets to which different authors give different motives, but are ſeldom able to come at the truth. SIDNEY being the nephew of LEICESTER, it is very natural to ſuppoſe that he partook of the ſmiles and frowns with which, according to circumſtances, the queen ſavoured or threatened the uncle. All we certainly know is that her's was a ſort of an April kindneſs, and that it was ſometimes her cuſtom to lour and [371] ſometimes to ſhine upon her favourites; for, though ſhe loudly lamented the death of SIDNEY, when covered with glory he gallantly fell in the flower of his age at the battle of ZUTPHEN, when ſhe was told ſometime after that her favourite ESSEX had atchieved prodigies of valour, ſhe blamed him for his forwardneſs, and cried out to BURLEIGH, ‘"why we ſhall have him knocked on the head like that raſh fellow SIDNEY."’

The literary works of ſir PHILIP SIDNEY are various, and are allowed to poſſeſs conſiderable merit. His Arcadia, by which he has been moſt celebrated, ran though eight editions, though not publiſhed till after his death. Some eſteem his Apology for Poetry as his beſt performance, and his defence of his uncle, the earl of LEICESTER, has been ſpoken of as a ſpirited and ſenſible production. He wrote one dramatic piece called The Lady of May.

Sir PHILIP SIDNEY has been ſpoken of dif⯑ferently by different authors; but this is eaſily ac⯑counted for. He was profeſſedly a Maecenas, and it is natural that patronage ſhould in great meaſure beget praiſe. This praiſe however beſtowed on the poet has regularly cooled as the man has been for⯑gotten. He is firſt extolled, afterwards praiſed, then [372] commended, and at laſt abuſed. Of SIDNEY it has been ſaid by a writer near his time, ‘"that he enjoyed and deſerved the moſt exalted praiſes of his own age, and would of future ages. That SPENSER reverenced him, not only as a patron but as a maſter. That ſo much ſweet nature, ex⯑cellent behaviour, well-digeſted learning, rare wit, courage, breeding, and other additional accom⯑pliſhments of converſation never before met in any one man. That he was a ſtateſman, a ſoldier, and a ſcholar; but,"’ ſays he, ‘"his pen and his ſword have rendered him famous enough; for he died by the one and by the other he'll live for ever."’

This is not an exact mode of biographical cele⯑bration, nor indeed is it very correct ſenſe; but it is panegyric which may take leave, ſo it be warm and glowing, to be a little abſurd, under an idea of ſhrouding inaccuracy behind the dazzle of ad⯑miration.

The other author I allude to who, I hope, as he allows no poſthumous fame to others has no ex⯑pectation of any himſelf, ſays of ſir PHILIP SID⯑NEY, ‘"that accidents of birth, court favour, and popularity, gild a ſlender portion of merit. He had great valour, but it was an age of heroes. [373] We have,"’ ſays he, ‘"a tedious, lamentable, pe⯑dantic, paſtoral romance, which the patience of a young virgin in love cannot wade through; and ſome abſurd attempts to fetter Engliſh verſe in Roman chains; a proof that this applauded au⯑thor underſtood but little the genius of his own language."’ After going on for ſome time in the ſame ſtrain, he finiſhes with ſaying that ‘"he died with the raſhneſs of a volunteer, after having lived to write with the ſang froid of Madmoiſelle SCUDERY."’

The fact ſeems to be that, like BOLINBROKE, HORACE WALPOLE, and many other noble au⯑thors, who, by their own admirable abilities and their liberal encouragement of cotemporary writers in need of their protection, have left behind them a double claim on the gratitude of poſterity, ſir PHILIP SIDNEY was not only, as FALSTAFF ſays, witty himſelf but the cauſe of wit in others.

The writings of authors of this deſcription are in general more the fruits of their leiſure hours, and a relief from arduous avocations, than a regular em⯑ployment to which their inclination induce them ſolely to attend. The works of SIDNEY are full of genius, beauty, and good ſenſe; and, though they [374] may not merit ſo warm a eulogium as that beſtowed on him by the firſt author I have quoted, they are conſiderably above that mediocrity into which they are attempted to be lowered by the laſt.

Many more authors ought to be enumerated who, though they produced pieces during the reign of SHAKESPEAR, ſtarted originally before him. Of theſe, however, little more can be noticed than that they aſſiſted in preparing the ſtage for that ſtate of perfection towards which it was then verging but which certainly it would never have attained but for the incomparable and unparalleled talents of our immortal bard. It may not be amiſs, however, to remark that ſome of theſe were men of no mean abilities.

ALEXANDER NEVILL made a very early pro⯑greſs in learning, and at ſixteen aſſociated with the celebrated JASPER HEYWOOD in tranſlating the tragedies of SENECA. In this aſſociation, NEW⯑TON, a very learned writer, who was firſt a ſchool⯑maſter, and who, through the patronage of ROBERT earl of ESSEX, became beneficed, NUCE, who is ſaid rather to have attempted plays in the manner of SENECA than to have tranſlated SENECA himſelf, STUDLY, who was a ſtudent at CAMBRIDGE, and [375] afterwards killed at the ſiege of BREDA under the command of prince MAURICE, were all members. Among this fraternity who worked ſeparately as well as in conjunction, almoſt the whole of SE⯑NECA's tragedies were rendered into Engliſh, and ſeveral others invented; by which efforts the En⯑gliſh ſtage boaſted, if not the fancy of GREECE, at leaſt the regularity of ROME.

Beſides theſe were FULWELL, who is ſpoken of as an ingenious writer, and who produced one piece called Like will to like quothe the Devil to the Collier; LUPTON who wrote a play called All for Money; INGELAND, wrote The Diſobedient Child; NASH, who was a companion of GREEN and his diſoliate friends, and who but for his pro⯑fligacy might have ranked well as an author, for he was remarkable for keen and witty ſatire; KYFFIN, who tranſlated one of the comedies of TERENCE, and who was tutor to the children of his patron, lord BUCKHURST; GOLDING, who tranſlated many celebrated works with great reputation; and ſeveral other authors that might be named, beſides anony⯑mous playwrights out of number, whoſe pieces are entered at Stationer's Hall.

Thus out of a very large maſs of materials I [376] have ſelected ſuch particulars as I conſidered fully adequate to illuſtrate all I have advanced relative to the antiquity of the Engliſh theatre. I ſhall now firſt enquire into the merit of the early actors, and afterwards recapitulate ſuch circumſtances as may be yet neceſſary to go over, in order to give SHAKES⯑PEAR a clear ſtage on his firſt appearance.

CHAP. X. ACTORS.

TO ſpeak of the antiquity of Engliſh acting with a view of ſhewing what it particularly was would be impoſſible, and even to take it up generally would be to leave it in a very indefinite ſtate. We might ſay with great truth that ALFRED, RICHARD, COEUR DE LION, and many other princes were actors, that the monks, out of all enumeration, were actors, and that the kingdom at different times ſwarmed with actors, who were always correctly of the ſame de⯑ſcription, even from the time of the Roman con⯑queſt to the vagrant act of EDWARD the third.

The particular merits of theſe men, however, will never be known, and ſome may think it not very ma⯑terial that they ſhould; were it poſſible, however, to get at them I ſhould loſe no diligence in the ſearch; for, though it is certainly true that the man who merely utters cannot ſtand the ſame chance of poſthu⯑mous [378] fame as the man who writes, yet the obligation Was mutual while the actor lived; and I don't ſee why the poet, whoſe works he ſet off, ſhould neglect to celebrate that merit without which he himſelf would never have been celebrated. What pains have been taken to perpetuate the memory of ROSCIUS! Kings, poets, and philoſophers, have written and ſpoken his eulogium. To RICHARD's being an actor, ENGLAND owed the releaſe of that monarch, and to the adroitneſs of ALFRED in the ſame ca⯑pacity ſprung the victory over the Danes.

The ſimilarity of the progreſs of acting in EN⯑GLAND and FRANCE has been already noticed. In FRANCE we find no actors celebrated by name till we get at TURLUPIN and his companions intro⯑duced by the farces of the Children of Sans Souci; and here, though we find a pretty ſtrong contention between the ſtudents at St. PAUL's ſchool and the clerks at Clerkenwell, yet till the interludes of HEYWOOD, in which he himſelf, ſir THOMAS MORE, and others aſſiſted, we learn nothing of the particular merits of an actor.

From this time, however, we begin to get pretty well acquainted with them, and find that, either for pleaſure or profit that knot of bon vivants which were headed by GREEN, PEELE, and NASH, were [379] all actors. The moſt conſpicuous in the groupe is TARLETON, whoſe hiſtory contains ſome whimſical particulars. He was brought to town from SHROP⯑SHIRE by one of the ſervants of lord LEICESTER, who found him in a field taking care of his father's ſwine, and was ſo pleaſed with his anſwers that he introduced him to the earl, who aſtoniſhed at the quickneſs of his intellects, brought him to court where he became a ſort of jeſter to the queen.

We are told that there were times when ELIZA⯑BETH preferred TARLETON to all her favourites; that the courtiers paid him the greateſt homage, and often employed him to pave the wayv for their kind reception. ‘"When the queen,"’ ſays an author, ‘"was ſerious, I dare not ſay ſullen, TARLETON could undumpiſh her at his pleaſure. He told her more of her faults than moſt of her chaplains, and cured her of her melancholy better than all her phylicians."’

TARLETON was an actor at the Bull in Biſhop⯑gate-ſtreet, and performed originally in the play of Henry the Fifth, from which SHAKESPEAR is ſup⯑poſed to have collected the materials for his play under the ſame title. Suppoſing, however, this report to be truth, it could have furniſhed him only with a few hints, for it had neither FLUELLIN, [380] PISTOL, the HOSTESS, or any of thoſe excellent characters which we know to have been SHAKES⯑PEAR's invention, or rather his imitation from nature.

When ELIZABETH, at the ſolicitation of ſir FRANCIS WALSINGHAM, appointed a dozen players to perform at BARN-ELMS, allowing them wages, and liveries as grooms of the chamber, TAR⯑LETON was made a ſort of manager. An old au⯑thor ſays, ‘"that for the clown's part he never had his equal.’ Even BEN JOHNSON, who libels actors, could not refrain from applauding TARLETON. In⯑deed, by all accounts, his humour was of an irre⯑ſiſtable kind, I ſuppoſe ſomething like that of WESTON, for we are told that ‘"the ſelf ſame words ſpoken by another would hardly move a merry man to ſmile, which uttered by him would force a ſad ſoul to laughter"There are many ſtories related of TARLETON, two of which at leaſt appears to be fabrications. Every one knows that RABELAIS, when he had not a ſous in his pocket, contrived to feaſt ſumptuouſly all the way from PROVINCE to PARIS, by wrapping up brickduſt in different papers, and writing on them ‘"Poiſon for the king, poiſon for the queen, poiſon for the dauphin;"’ by which ſtra⯑tagem he contrived to be conveyed at the expence of the govern⯑ment as a ſtate priſoner. A ſimilar ſtory is trumpt up for TARLETON; who, having run up a large ſcore at an alehouſe in SANDWICH, made a ſervant boy accuſe him as a ſeminary prieſt, and ſo contrived that the officers of juſtice when they came in ſearch of him found him on his knees croſſing himſelf. Theſe vigilant miniſters of juſtice, fancying they ſhould make a good thing of this diſcovery, paid his reckoning and conveyed him to London; but when he came before FLEETWOOD, the recorder, who knew him and recognized in this trick one of the well known exploits of TARLETON, he not only diſcharged him but courteouſly entertained him in return for his wit. Another time, when he was in a ſtorm and the paſſengers were or⯑dered to throw their moſt cumberſome luggage overboard, he is ſaid to have requeſted that he might throw his wife into the ſea, which poſſibly might have happened, and that is all we can ſay, for it has been a joke for more than two thouſand years. By the way, TAR⯑LETON is ſaid to have reaſon for wiſhing to be diſencumbered of his wife, for he was a notorious cuckold; nay, they go ſo far as to ſay that Cuckold's Point was ſo named by a waterman as he one day landed TARLETON at that place.."’

[381]TARLETON for ſome time kept a tavern in Paternoſter Row, and afterwards the ſign of the Tabor in Grace Church Street, where his humour operated as ſuch an attraction that it was common to have his portrait as a ſign^*. OLDYS ſays that there was a ſign in the Borough of a man playing on the pipe and tabor with the name of TARLETON written under it, and that this portrait was a copy of a wooden print which was publiſhed at the head of a work called Tarleton's Jeſts ^†.

[382]He wrote one dramatic piece called The Seven Deadly Sins; and this appears to have been when tired of his debaucheries, he, like GREEN and NASH, pretended to repent of his irregularities; at which time his wit ſeems to have dwindled into mere ſcurrility, for, as he grew debilitated with his exceſſes, he became ſour and ſarcaſtic. None eſ⯑caped his virulence, not even LEICESTER, and RALIEGH; till, being diſcarded from court, and growing every day more contemptible in the world's opinion, he died like VOLTAIRE a mixture of im⯑becility, folly, and irreſolution.

SCOGGAN, according to the moſt probable ac⯑counts of him, was a wicked wit. He had none of the humour of TARLETON, the ſterling ſenſe of GREEN, the ſatire of NASH, nor the barefaced ri⯑baldry of PEELE; but he had a cunning that gave him abilities to cope with them all. He would at⯑tack every man's darling foible and appear to be his maſter in his own art, by which means, though al⯑ways needy, he always got praiſe, confidence, and a [383] good bellyful. If TARLETON laughed at his pau⯑city of wit, he laughed at TARLETON by making him a cuckold; if GREEN reproached him with his poverty, he took revenge by helping GREEN off with his money; if NASH provoked him by his ſatire he warded off the ſhaft by callous indifference; and if PEELE made him uſeful in the city pageants, he not only feaſted well at his expence, but he ſnacked the fees and pawned the ornaments. Thus his acting was more ſerviceable to him off than on the ſtage, where his abilities are ſaid to have been but mediocre. With the aſſiſtance, however, of thus playing upon his companions, and now and then on their common patron, the earl of NORTHUMBER⯑LAND, SCOGGAN topic care, though he got into all their ſcrapes, to keep himſelf clear of the conſe⯑quences of them.

Concerning ſome of the other performers of that time I have already ſpoken. PRESTON was very celebrated, ſo was SKELTON, and ſo were many of the company that performed under the direction of EDWARDS^*. Indeed as to their particular merit [384] it is extremely difficult to arrive at any critical knowledge of them. The ſpecimen I have given of TARLETON's celebrity will, however, prove that the profeſſion of an actor was completely known at that time, for nothing can depict the true merit of comic acting better than the teſti⯑mony of the different poets and critics who have particularly ſpoken of their admiration of his talents, a very ſmall part of which admiration I have quoted.

This account, however, will ſerve to ſhew that actors were at that early period very profligate characters; that they debauched the morals of young noblemen and inexperienced youths of every deſcription; and that whatever morality they might diſſeminate by their precepts, they cut it up by the roots by their example. This occaſioned thoſe decrees of ELIZABETH which were ſo often al⯑ternately enforced and broken, and eſtabliſhed a neceſſity for the moſt vigilant attention on the part of the ſtate leſt what was intended to improve and poliſh public manners ſhould corrupt and diſ⯑grace [385] them. As dramatic amuſements gained ſtrength on the ſide of genius, truth, and morality, the profeſſion of an actor became more reſpectable, till, at length, during the epoch to which we are haſtening, the theatre was ſo firmly eſtabliſhed that it was never ſhaken again till the troubles in the reign of the firſt CHARLES.

CHAP. XI. A SUMMARY RECAPITULATION, FROM THE DRUIDS TO SHAKESPEAR.

UPON a review of what I have hitherto written on the Engliſh theatre, though many may think the ſub⯑ject unimportant before the birth of SHAKESPEAR, yet I cannot repent of having explored a field full of circumſtances material to the elucidation of a popular theme, even at the riſk of being cenſured by cavillers for exciting rather than gratifying curio⯑ſity; for, though the intelligence I have been able to offer is too often ſhrouded with doubt and ob⯑ſcurity, a misfortune, by the bye, conſtantly at⯑tendant on every review of lives and actions, yet if it produce no other literary benefit, the national incidents that are naturally interwoven with dra⯑matic narrative muſt inevitably give it ſome in⯑tereſt; and, though it is not to be expected that rational men ſhould value this or any other theme merely for its antiquity, yet, the more rational the [387] man, the more he will be induced to allow that the ſanction of ages will confirm and eſtabliſh the im⯑portance of every thing avowedly and meritoriouſly conſtituted for the inſtruction and delight of the world, and the medium and criterion for the regu⯑lation of its manners.

If all I have collected of the bards with the Druids at their head, and have thereby ſhewn that every thing lyric is in its eſſence dramatic, is im⯑portant, I have gained my end. It were in vain to argue that it is not to be credited becauſe it is con⯑jectural. Conjecture from deduction ſwells into reaſon, and reaſon upon ſuch ground grows into truth. If, therefore, the Druids exiſted, if the Welch bards exiſted, if OSSIAN led on the Scotch bards, or imitated what in his infancy he had im⯑bibed from oral tradition, or even if he had never written, but on the contrary, if all that is attributed to him was gathered from Scotch elders and nurſes, who, though perfect in the beauties of that poetry they ſung, the oldeſt of them had not the remoteſt clue to its origin, yet the whole is a maſs of ſuch fair probability that no ſophiſtry can ſhake it; and, therefore, the taſk, if novel is worthy curioſity, if probable is entitled to attention, and if intereſting will be conſidered as meritorious.

[388]If the Mimes of the Romans came over with JULIUS CAESAR, and that they did, I do not ſee the ſmalleſt reaſon to doubt, ENGLAND muſt de⯑cidedly have then known the dramatic art, or elſe PACUVIUS, ACCIUS, and LIVIUS ANDRONICUS were ignorant of it. BOADICEA tells us it did, nay, indeed, ſo does MARTIAL, ſo that we have both Engliſh and Roman authority for it.

After the Romans, the chain is ſo regular from ARTHUR to ALFRED, and ſo on through the do⯑minion of the Saxons, that in the celebration of great actions, carouſals, tournaments, and other feaſts, we clearly lead the provincial poets, the drift of all whoſe writings was dramatic. Theſe the rulers, and principal perſonages of the land, took a delight in encouraging. Public rites, exerciſes, and amuſements, all received the ſanction and counte⯑nance of the great, and were conſidered of ſo much advantage to manners, that the prieſts were content, as in all other countries, to imitate the ſtage in order to enforce the doctrines of the pulpit.

Had the prieſts never taken the matter up, and they certainly did take it up from St. AUSTIN forwards, the ſtage moſt probably would never have been known at all in ENGLAND till SHAKES⯑PEAR [389] for, however, the vivacity and perpetual curioſity of the French might induce them to ſearch for every poſſible minute circumſtance to give pompous accounts of an amuſement in their country, in which they have ſo greatly delighted, the more indolent and incurious ſpirit of Engliſh writers, who are pleated more to perform than to celebrate, have, I ſee not why, certainly paſſed it by as a matter of little moment, and thereby loſt to poſterity what made up, and if the remnants of an⯑tiquity which have been ſaved from the general wreck may ſtand as a proof, meritoriouſly made up the rational delight of our anceſtors.

But the grand objection will be, that, however I may ſpeak of dramatic entertainments, nothing ought to be conſidered in that light but tragedy and comedy. In this enthuſiaſm in favour of a diſ⯑tinction which originally was very indefinite, the one being in GREECE The Song of the Goat, and the other The Song of the Village, one, therefore, im⯑plying a particular event, and the other a general amuſement, we ſet up a diſtinction of our own, and we define tragedy to be a dramatic poem in which ſome ſignal action of illuſtrious perſons is repre⯑ſented ending in general fatally^*; [390] which is much nearer the matter, a repreſentation of actions in private life, generally holding up the follies [391] of our neighbours to ridicule to deter the ſpectators from imitating abſurdities which theſe pieces ex⯑poſe. Therefore we have not invented what was unknown to the ancients, but have merely improved upon their inventions; and in conſequence we have not to brag of having rejected their art and eſta⯑bliſhed one of our own; but that, as the world has become more poliſhed, we have availed our⯑ſelves of an art belonging to them, which we might probably ourſelves have otherwiſe been ignorant of.

Under this idea we are obliged to admit the an⯑tiquity of the drama or reject it altogether. Every thing improves as human intelligence grows and ex⯑pands. This, however, does not alter the original principle. The original principle of the drama was to repreſent manners in action; and, as far as this point was effected, it ever exiſted and never altered nor degenerated, but in obedience to times and circumſtances.

Let us not, therefore, becauſe dramatic pieces were not written in ſome peculiar ſtyle or manner, [392] becauſe they were not divided into acts, becauſe they were not meted by the ſame meaſure, nor poiſed by the ſame weight, deny that there is any diſtinction in the ſpirit of them anciently, and now. AESCUYLUS knew what they ought to be, and he knew it in full as great perfection as ARISTOTLE, becauſe ARIS⯑TOTLE ſtole all his knowledge from AESCHYLUS and his cotemporaries; and, if AESCHYLUS, who imi⯑tated HOMER, was poſſeſſed of this knowledge, it is folly and ignorance to deny that the dramatic art was known at any period in which men of eru⯑dition exiſted.

It is upon this principle I inſiſt that the dramatic art exiſted or was known in this country as early as the Druids, for the Druids ſtudied the Greeks, and who among the Greeks ranked ſo forward as the dramatic poets?

Thus far have I argued in favour of the dra⯑matic art on the ſcore of its antiquity; it muſt be remembered I have not argued on the ſcore of its perfection; but if I had it would not have de⯑tracted from the value of my reaſoning; for, ſince SHAKESPEAR, we have ſeen the ſtage degenerate moſt miſerably; and, if I were inclined to inſtance periods when the theatre within the laſt century de⯑ſerved no more to be conſidered in a ſtate of per⯑fection [393] that it did ſeveral centuries paſt, my obſer⯑vations might be thought invidious but they could not be eaſily attached. Nay, were I put to it, I might avail myſelf of arguing that a degenerate fall from the pinnacle on which SHAKESPEAR and his cotemporaries placed it in, is more degrading than the imperfect ſtate in which it is ſuppoſed to have been ſunk before it had the advantage of ſo great and ſo ſhining an example.

If none of theſe arguments will exculpate me from the heavy charge of venturing hiſtorical cir⯑cumſtances which, though highly probable, I cannot poſitively prove, let me in common with all hiſto⯑rians and biographers claim the privilege of avail⯑ing myſelf of every thing poſitive and collateral that could poſſibly make out my reaſoning, of joining admitted facts with rational conjecture, of corro⯑borating what we believe with what we know, and of gaining credit for having eſtabliſhed ſome little authenticity on a vague and uncertain, though by no means an unimportant, ſubject, by the aſſiduous and induſtrious care with which it has been explored.

Over and above this, let the collaterally hiſtorical facts which have ſprung from the ſubject, like agree⯑able objects that cheat the way on a rugged road, [394] afford ſome amuſement in relief of that jolting which I have given the reader's imagination. I did not profeſs to go on a turnpike road. There are no mile ſtones, the way is not meaſured, it is com⯑puted; and, if there were ever any direction poſts, they have been long ago broken down and deſ⯑troyed. It was, nevertheleſs, a road, and we have come ſafely through it; and the few veſtiges that prove it was formerly frequented, though there may not be much beauty and ſymmetry in them, have nevertheleſs an intereſting and a pictureſque effect. An effect like the productions of CLAUDE, whoſe ruins ſeem to aſſume a venerable complacency communicated by the richneſs of the ſetting ſun that ſoberly glows behind them.

By way of companion to this picture, let us turn our eyes to a grey morn full of aerial effect, and giving a cheering promiſe that the ſame ſun which ſet ſo ſerenely ſolemn the evening before, ſhall again diſplay its comforting influence till by a gradual and invigorating encreaſe of power and ra⯑diance, it at length gather into a burſt of the moſt dazzling ſplendour.

In this idea we ſhall have a fair reſemblance of the theatre from the time of HEYWOOD and the interludes. The myſteries, and the moralities, hav⯑ing [395] gradually declined and, at length, ſunk into oblivion, manners in action began to exhibit a dawn of that day in which the objects of nature were at firſt faintly diſcerned, afterwards more perfectly ſeen, and at laſt acknowledged in all their charms, through the reſplendant genius of SHAKESPEAR.

The chaos into which the dramatic art was then crumbled began to ferment and diſtend itſelf. BUCKHURST aſſiſted the proceſs; ſo, with the help of SENECA, did NASH, NEVILLE, NEWTON, STUDLY, NUCE, and the reſt, who ſeem to have been to JASPER HEYWOOD ſomething like what CHAPLAINE and his worthy companions were to RICHELIEU; the tranſlators of TERENCE made the atoms dance a little more, EDWARDS, by the help of CHAUCER and BOCCACE, began to arrange them, PEELE drilled them as well as he could but he gave them too volatile a motion, LILLY led them forward in a kind of minuet but miſtook diſ⯑tortion for grace, PRESTON put them into ſtilts, NORTON made them ſing pſalms, LINDSEY held up a mirror to ſhew them their deformity, SIDNEY made them courtly, and others did what they could to move the monſtrous heap, ſeperate it, and mould it into form^*.

[396]Still, however, the work was very imperfect. The rugged and miſhapened fragments, as they took all manner of monſtrous and diſtorted forms, ran about in all directions, exhibiting every appearance but nature. By continual and ſteady perſeverance, however, the artificers that had the work in hand began to mould it into better faſhion; till, at length, to keep up the alluſion, Envy, like the Devil, be⯑gan to be jealous of this dramatic approach towards order, for we find a book, dedicated to ſir PHILIP SIDNEY, by STEPHEN GOSSON, called The School of Abuſe, a pleaſant invective againſt Poets, Pipers, Players, Jeſters, and ſuch like Catterpillars of the [397] Commonwealth; and another called Plays confuted in five Actions. This book, which is dedicated to ſir FRANCIS WALSINGHAM, labours very hard to prove that plays are calculated to promote licen⯑tiouſneſs and immorality, and, therefore, ought not to be ſuffered in a commonwealth.

Theſe publications begat a long controverſy which was very warmly taken up againſt GOSSON by LODGE and THOMAS HEYWHOD, which laſt, we ſhall hereafter ſee, according to his own report indeed, wrote, or had a hand, or at leaſt a main finger, his own expreſſion, in two hundred plays. At the time, however, of his entering the liſts with GOSSON, he was very young, and it ſerved to help him forward in much the ſame manner, though the circumſtances are not alike, as the diſpute with MOLIERE which brought BOURSAULT into notice. GOSSON was attacked very ſucceſsfully. The diſ⯑pute, however, did general ſervice; for, as there was much to expoſe in the conduct of the ſtage and its adherents, ſo the appeal to ſir FRANCIS WAL⯑SINGHAM, and ſir PHILIP SIDNEY, ſo far called forth their interference, that they examined the abuſes, and occaſioned them in material points to be rectified.

Thus the labourers in this meritorious work [398] went on in the moſt ſtrenuous and animated manner, and wrought the better for being watched. If a poet thought he had made a perfect form in a play, a biting and ſevere ſatire convinced him, or at leaſt the world, that it was monſtrous and unnatural. However he might fancy that his ideas were ſub⯑lime, and his verſes flowing and eaſy, ſome critic was ſure to poſſeſs the world with an opinion that his ſubject was the bathos, that his ſtyle halted, and that his meaſure limped.

Theſe were, however, good ſymptoms. The warmer the ſunſhine the more the flies are engen⯑dered. Crouds of authors begat crouds of critics. Thoſe, therefore, who had written crudely began now to try at writing elegantly. The great difficulty was to ſhape invention, which many of them had, into regularity. To do this they called in the aſſiſt⯑ance, as we have ſeen, of SENECA and TERENCE; for, however, in a much earlier period the genius of the Greeks might have pervaded the Engliſh taſte, we ſee no viſible traces of it at this particular time; nor is there any ſoleciſm in this. The prieſts knew the Greek poets and moſt carefully choſe them for their models; but this continued no longer than during the continuation of the myſteries; for at the moment the Engliſh authors improved in one hand into plays, they on the other hand miſtook the [399] road as to conſtruction and ſtyle; and, therefore, followed the unintereſting and phlegmatic Romans inſtead of imitating the great and original Greeks.

In this labyrinth were the poets of that time be⯑wildered, or rather, to keep on with my firſt figure, in this chaos were they overwhelmed and enthralled. Some fancied that the inflated SENECA would open to them all the arcana of tragedy, and others than in the tame TERENCE conſiſted all the merit of comedy. Under this influence they forgot the language in which they wrote, the manners of their countrymen, and the particular ſtyle in which to ap⯑peal to their paſſions and their hearts.

Thus the unwieldy maſs they had to move, to concoct, to form, to animate, was too mighty a taſk for their exertions. It remained that the literary glory of GREECE ſhould be born anew in the bard of ENGLAND. It remained for a genius, great, powerful, and commanding, with the majeſty of HOMER, the judgment of AESCHYLUS, the ſweet⯑neſs of SOPHOCLES, the philoſophy of EURIPIDES, the wit of ARISTOPHANES, and the truth of ME⯑NANDER, to reconcile ſo many jarring opinions and to perfect this chaos into a world.

SHAKESPEAR was this genius; and ſo well by [400] him were theſe jarring intereſts reconciled, that all the poets with the aſſiſtance of all the critics cannot, up to that time, nor perhaps ſince, except in his own works, find any tragedy and comedy that appeals ſo forcibly to the heart, ſo perfectly ſa⯑tisfies the mind, or indeed that ſo completely tri⯑umphs over all candid objection, as Othello, and The Merry Wives of Windſor.

The genius of SHAKESPEAR then was the power that formed this chaos into a world. SHAKESPEAR; who, for his perfecting the dramatic art, deſerves the ineffable reverence of ages; and who, for giv⯑ing light to the theatrical world, might ſnatch the epitaph from the tomb of NEWTON.