DIBDIN'S HISTORY OF THE STAGE.
A COMPLETE HISTORY OF THE STAGE.
WRITTEN BY MR. DIBDIN.
THE PLAYERS CANNOT KEEP COUNSEL; THEY'LL TELL ALL.
VOL. II.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, AND SOLD BY HIM AT HIS WAREHOUSE, LEICESTER PLACE, LEICESTER SQUARE.
THE STAGE.
BOOK III. THE FRENCH THEATRE UP TO THE DEATH OF VOLTAIRE.
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 exhibitions, that it will be necessary to give an account of their establishment in FRANCE to make this description of the drama in that country complete; and as it cannot be denied that music, taken as an embellishment, excites and satisfies curiosity in a more gratifying and delightful manner than any other dramatic amusement, I shall beg the reader's patience for a few pages while I speak of that bewitching art, in order to shew how opera originated, and in what manner it established itself in FRANCE and other countries.
It is impossible to trace the origin of music considered as a science. In its literal and extended idea, which the ancients distinguished by the term Harmonica, 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
So early as the fourth chapter of Genesis, we find JUBAL, who we are told was the father of all such as handle the harp and organ; and if we go into mythology, have we not APOLLO the muses and the music of the spheres?
; 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 invented 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, DEMODOCUS, 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 LYCURGUS 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 ancients 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 instruments, 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 stringed instruments among the ancients which were struck either with the hand or a plectrum; of six or seven wind instruments, particularly the hydraulic organ, the very title of which explains the ingenuity of its construction; and as many pulsatile instruments; it is enough to say that we know these instruments 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 proceeds 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
" From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
" The universal frame began,"
came from the truly lyric soul of DRYDEN; and a lovely and a delicious truth it is. The divine and exquisite beauty of order is music, of which melody 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 decoration 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 individual melody; and a most delightful melody it is. What follows? They are accompanied by an organ which combines all those harmonious principles we have been speaking of, the full organ even to abstruseness. 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 impressive; 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
HESIOD by way of an instrument used to accompany his voice with a switch, or bundle of rods, which by being smartly twitched with the hand produced a sort of whistling sound. I think this instrument might be applied to some of our modern singers with very good effect.
.
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 complained of in the choruses of the ancients.
Opera, however, being in its capability more extraneous and less natural as a vehicle to convey regular 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 probable, though the regular opera had often been attempted, 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 AESCHYLUS in METATASIO.
JOHANNES SULPITIUS, a native of VEROLI, is said to have exhibited operas in the fifteenth century; 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 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 particulars 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
A French writer under the idea of a letter received from the Elysian Fields, gives the following description of LULLY: Upon a sort of litter composed of ordure and rotten laurels, appeared carried by twelve satyrs, a little slovenly ill looking man. He had small red eyes, which could scarcely be seen, and out of which he could scarcely see. They emitted, however, a sort of cloudy fire, in which could be discovered a mixture of shrewdness and malignity. His exterior was all gaiety, but it was perpetually checked with inward inquietude. To servility, bussoonery, and obscenity, he joined arrogance, pride, and presumption; and I was not astonished, upon enquiring who this pussed up manikin could be, to learn that he was nothing more than a drunken fidler.
.
In speaking of the opera, it will be generally 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 MOLIERE's theatre. This with very little difficulty he obtained, and
Cadmus
was the first opera brought out on the theatre of the Palais Royal
Thus there had been three regular theatres:—one at the
Hotel de Bourgogne,
one at
Du Marais,
and one at the
Palais Royal,
and they continued to perform upon separate foundations until the death of MOLIERE, which happened in February 1673. This company, who could not support themselves after the death of their chief, divided, and by incorporating themselves into the other two companies, gave them great additional strength. The theatre
au Marais
soon afterwards quitted that situation, and opened a new house in
La Rue Mazarine,
where the king sent all the scenes and decorations which MOLIERE had used in the
Palais Royal,
being situated opposite
la rue Guenegaud.
This house was callad the theatre
de Guenegaud.
On the twenty-first of October, however, 1680, the king united the two companies, fixed himself the number of actors, allotted their different shares of the profits, according to their respective merits, discharged some, gave others pensions, and regulated the whole economy of this new society, who were besides gratified out of his privy purse with a pension of twelve thousand livres.
, though some contend that
Alceste
was the first, which appeared 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 year
Atys,
one of the most celebrated operas of these associates, in which there is certainly some beautiful lyric writing
LOUIS the fourteenth asked Madame MAINTENON which of all the operas she liked best. She answered
Atys.
"
Atys,
Madam,"
said he,
"is too happy."
. This piece had astonishing success. It was, however, according to custom bitterly attacked by DESPREAUX, of whose judgment, as a critic, I cannot give a better proof than that which follows: When this satyrist went to the representation 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
Incomparable critic! Admire music composed on purpose to give force and expression to those words which he held in contempt.
.
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. CORNEILLE, 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 DEITRICHTEIN, the eldest son of the prince of that name, grand master of his imperial majesty, dance 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
orangerie,
where the disposition of real trees, a fountain, and other natural objects, curiously and judiciously 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 advantage; 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."
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 musketry, 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 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. Immediately 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 execrated after his death
The death of LULLY was caused by an accident. He composed a
Te Deum
on the recovery of the king; and, in the heighth of his enthusiasm, beating time very violently with his cane, he struck it forcibly against his foot, and his frame being at all times, from his debaucheries, in a corrupt and diseased state, a gangrene ensued which carried him off.
Among other instances of LULLY's total want of principle and morality, we are told that fancying himself in extremity he sent for a confessor, who informed him he had no chance of being saved unless he threw his last opera in the fire. This he instantly complied with; but getting apparently better, and being reproached by one of the princes, who came to see him, with having burnt his opera,
"Oh,"
said he,
"I was not such a fool in that business as you imagine. I knew what I was about. I have a copy and so the priest was cheated."
He grew worse however; and finding his death approach he not only burnt his reserved copy, but submitted himself to be laid upon a heap of ashes with a halter round his neck, and to expiate his offence, as he imagined, sung to one of his own airs these words,
"
Il faut mourir, pecheur, Il faut mourir.
"
While he was ill, the Chevalier de LORRAINE came to see him, and in an affectionate way lamented his situation, and made him a thousand protestations of friendship. Oh yes, truly, said the wife of LULLY, you are a very kind friend to him! It was you who made him drunk the last, and will be the cause of his death.
"Hold your tongue,"
said LULLY,
"'tis very kind of the Chevalier. He was the last that made me drunk, and in return he shall be the first that I'll make drunk if I escape this illness."
.
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 success
LULLY the father having had such success, LULLY the son attempted to profit by the family reputation.—Finding, however, no QUINAULT who would permit him to spoil his pieces, the only opera he ever attempted, which was called
Orpheus,
and written by BOULAY, drew on him in derision an epigram, a rondeau, and a song; for he had such influence that the audience were forbid by the court to hiss, therefore they were obliged to damn
Orpheus
through the medium of the newspapers.
. At length many of the best authors adventured in this species of writing, and MOLIERE, QUINAULT, 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
RAMEAU found it very difficult to establish a musical reputation. The French had been so used to the monotony of LULLY, that they had no relish for the diversity of RAMEAU. Thus it happened that he was obliged to compose what words he could get. One of his first attempts was an opera by an anonymous author called
Paladins.
One of the songs was set to such quick music that the words could not be heard.—The singer complained of this. RAMEAU replied he did it out of kindness to the author, for that in rendering the words unintelligible, he had acted towards him with the greatest friendship.
, 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 entertainment of this kind, not succeeding, he asked an Abbe of his acquaintance how he liked it. The Abbe answered 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 contempt; on the contrary, I hold it to be a very respectable 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 comedies, 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.
The variety of difficulties the Italian comedians laboured under to procure leave for their performances, obliged them to exhaust invention for expedients to combat the laws then in force. The first of these expedients was an attempt to evade an accusation of performing regular pieces. This they effected by taking an outline of the plot of the piece, together with all the nicer immediate circumstances; 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
These pieces were the invention of the two RICOBONIES, father and son, and, to say truth, they possessed one very extraordinary merit. The words coming from the actors extemporaneously, they had a vivacity, a glow, a fire, unknown to those dialogues which are studied. This however was not new for it had been done in Spain. The comedians who composed this troop were almost all authors, and through a lively and fertile imagination, they filled their parts with uncommon eclat. The contrary, however, was too often the case, for it is easily seen that a single novice might disconcert the most ingenious essusions of imagination.
.
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 expected they would ever again rally in FRANCE. The Duc D'ORLEANS, however, at that time 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 establishment 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 December, 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,
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
Scaramouch,
the singular figure of PAGHETTI, in old men, and the noble and modest air of Madamoiselle MOLIN, 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, DOMINIQUE, LE GRAND, FAGAN, DELAFOND, PONTAU, VADE, and SEDAINE. The trifles they produced being excellent in their kind, and in a style perfectly different from the general run of dramatic 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 recourse to a number of expedients, if not to suppress the pieces performed at the fair, at least to lessen their value. For this purpose they were perpetually 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
Upon one of these occasions music was absolutely forbidden; in consequence of this they were obliged to supply what they could, in which they were generally, by implication, pretty severe on their oppressors. One night in the middle of a scene an ass was heard to bray—
"Hold your tongue,"
said Harlequin,
"you'll bring us into a scrape. Don't you know we are forbid to have music."
.
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 ridiculed their enemies. They could not hope, however, to perform long in this manner to any great advantage; and, therefore, applied to the sydnies and the doctors of the royal academy of musicians, who permitted them to perform short pieces, partly dialogue, and partly songs, and occasionally assisted 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 motives of revenge, and such were generally parodies of the new tragedies, which no sooner appeared on the theatre, than they were humourously and successfully 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
VOLTAIRE was distressed beyond measure lest his
Semiramis
should be parodied. He wrote a letter to the queen, where he says,
"as he is sure she has no farther intention in sanctioning the stage by her august presence than to countenance only decency and decorum, he conjures her, with the most
lively grief,
not to suffer a violation of decency, in permitting a satire against him. That the tragedy of
Semiramis
is founded from one end to the other upon a subject the most pure and moral, and from that circumstance it demands her protection. Deign,"
says he,
"to consider that I am the king's domestic, and consequently yours. My colleagues, who are gentlemen in ordinary to the king, of whom many are employed in other courts, and many possess the most honourable situations, will find themselves disgraced by this insult, and will deprive me of my charge, and humble me in the eyes of the royal family, if I am forced to submit to this cruel humiliation. I conjure your majesty, by your goodness of heart, by the greatness and liberality of your mind, by your piety, not to deliver me thus to my hidden and overt enemies, who after loading me with a thousand opprobrious outrages, would destroy me, by making me a public laughing stock.
"Deign to consider that these parodies have been long since legally forbidden. Must they then be revived solely to my inj
y? and will your majesty suffer it? No, Madam; your heart is two just not to be moved by my wretchedness and my prayers, not will you suffer an old servant to die with grief and shame.
hope then your humanity will be touched with my sorrowful case, and as in painting you I paint virtue itself, let me hope that v
rtue will be my protection."
Without a comment, I give this as genuine from VOLTAIRE, who pretended to laugh at the malice of all the world.
.
These comic writers, however, drew on themselves, by the severity of their satires, a host of enemies, 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 amusement 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 laconic 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 displayed 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 completely 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 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 perfo
mers at the fair, this memorable era of humour and pleasantry on the French stage, became apparently extract; but it, however, left such traces of real humour, fertile imagination and happy satire, 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 extraordinary set of ingenious men
Even after the Italian theatre had been established in 1716, it laboured under difficulties; for, growing into fashion, the French actors complained that the Italians should perform in any other than their own language. This complaint was carried to the king, who desired to hear both parties. BARON, in the name of the French actors, spoke first. This done the king made a sign to DOMINIQUE, the Harlequin, to speak in his turn.
"In what language may it please your majesty am I to speak?"
said DOMINIQUE.
"In any language you will,"
said the king.
"Oh!"
said the Harlequin,
"if that's the case I have won my cause."
The king would not recal his word, and after that time the Italians continued to perform without interruption.
.
Before we quit the subject of the fair, it is proper to say it began with puppets. After this appeared wild beasts, but it is curious to remark that a lion or a tiger was not considered as the smallest 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 honour of the fair, that it gave birth to the most elegant dancing in FRANCE. Madmoiselle de LISLE, who joined the most refined taste and execution in serious dancing to the most charming sprightliness in demi-character, and the strongest conception 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.
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 supposed 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 indecency on the FRENCH STAGE, which is a circumstance, 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
I copy the following circumstance from a French author.
"Iron Legs had for a partner either his wife, his sister, or his daughter; for so equivocal was the lady's character that no one has been able to ascertain the precise degree of relationship. This nymph was thought to be his sister or daughter, for she was remarkably like him; being a squat, thick, strong figure, and endowed with so much agility and strength that she could break chandeliers almost as well as himself. Thus, as it was well known she cohabited with him as his wife, the remainder of the conjecture—his character being pretty well authenticated—became more probable."
, he began 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 Flanderkins, as he added legerdemain and other tricks to his jumping, thought him some supernatural being
When GRIMALDI was obliged to decamp into FLANDERS, he and his troop were attacked near BRUSSELS by a banditti. The baggage waggon was ransacked, their pockets turned inside out, and, according to their usual custom, the thieves were about to dispatch their prey. It should be known that GRIMALDI wanting money for his expedition, enticed one FLAHAUT, a bookseller, to follow his fortunes. FLAHAUT, having learnt Latin, took it into his head that it would be a good thing to introduce the ancient chorus on the stage, by way of explaining GRIMALDI's dances. GRIMALDI appeared to approve the scheme, but told him as it was a kind of improvement that could only be brought about by degrees, he had better learn to dance first, which would make him immediately useful. FLAHAUT set to work, and GRIMALDI promised to make him a capital dancer. In the end, he got as much money together as he could, left his family, and, as I said, followed GRIMALDI. When the fabres of the banditti were drawn to dispatch the troop of dancers, GRIMALDI, who at the danger of his life would have his joke, whispered FLAHAUT to talk Latin to them.—The enthusiast, FLAHAUT, began; and for a few seconds the sabres were suspended. Presently loudly vociferating
dixi,
one of them aiming a blow at his head, cried
feci
; which blow, had it taken place, must have silenced the orator for ever. But the most extraordinary part of the adventure remains to be told. GRIMALDI's partner, the lady before commemorated, in all the furor of romantic heroism, just as the word dispatch had been uttered, stept forward, and, in a scream of despair, implored the banditti to have pity on her comrades; offering that if they would be merciful, she would yield herself up a sacrifice, and devote herself to their pleasure. She described how many ways she could be useful to them; that she could dance to amuse them, she could cook for them, and, to be brief, intimated, in the language of DEBORAH WOODCOCK, that she had no objection to any work they could put her to. In short, the thieves were appeased, and carried off the lady in triumph, but not till they had stript the whole troop stark naked, leaving them nothing but the refuse of what they had pillaged from baggage waggon, consisting of a few odds and ends of pantomime dresses. GRIMALDI put on an old Harlequin's jacket, poor FLAHAUT contented himself with the trowsers of Scaramouch, and in this plight they begged their way to BRUSSELS.
.
I have said that the regular Italian comedy was re-established in 1716. Such an impression. however, the performances at the fair made, that the Italians 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 began to be established at PARIS, they performed nothing but pieces entirely Italian. The ladies who did not understand that language, no longer frequented the theatre. The gentlemen finding themselves 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.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, they make me play all sorts of parts, and I know many of them ought to disgust you. I hope, however, that which I attempt at present will have the contrary effect; though I confess a Harlequin may be expected to move your laughter rather than your pity. But novelty does much on the stage, and I trust, when you see a kneeling Scaramouch, a weeping Colombine, and an imploring Pantaloon, you will forget their assumed characters, and consider them as so many strangers appealing to your compassion.
"You will be pleased to take into your consideration that, in coming to FRANCE, we had to combat new manners, a new language, and a new species of entertainment. In short, we have only yet been at school, and the public have very properly kept away from us, till we made ourselves perfect. The ladies, without whom the best eloquence languishes and dies, have withdrawn from us their support, and how can we expect any men of gallantry to attend us?
"The pieces we have performed were tasted formerly; but it was folly to suppose that what delighted a barbarous age should please an enlightened one. We mean, therefore, to abandon them, to substitute others more to your taste, and, as the public are always equitable, we fear not your indulgence so much as our own inability. What little merit we have shall be strenuously exerted to give you pleasure; in the mean time, we are producing every day in our children young actors and actresses, who, though they inherit Italian abilities, are yet natives of FRANCE, and may perfect the celebrity of the theatre; all which advantages would be lost if we were compelled to go to our own country.
"Deign, therefore, to consider, at present, our intentions, that hereafter you may applaud our merits. Hitherto you have been indulgent at the expence of your justice; hereafter we slatter ourselves that applause will be sanctioned by propriety."
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 reputation 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 kingdom; but the spirit of the Italians was very remarkable; they erected a most magnificent transparency 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 compliment 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 ornaments, 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
This was effected by rows of lamps placed before reverberators.
, which gave an unspeakable effect. The inside of the temple was entirely transparent, and nobly designed, as well as the rainbow and the figure of IRIS.
In the middle of the temple was placed a portrait of the king, under a figure of APOLLO, surrounded 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 devices 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 admiration of all other nations.
These comedians also gave upon these occasions 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 Troubadours, the Pilgrims, and even the Priests pesonated different characters; and we find them at the head of their respective companies acting, singing, or posturing, according to the nature of the spectacle they undertook to exhibit. In the
Mysteries,
the
Confraternity of the Passion,
were all actors. When the
Mysteries
had yielded to the
Moralists,
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; declamation, however, was all that yet could be expected. 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 particularly by MAROT, who died before JODELLE, that a man, whose epitaph he had written, of the name of SERRE, was the first regular actor
JODELLE did for MAROT what MAROT had done for SERRE. He also published his works on a variety of subjects, in 1
42. The epitaph written by JODELLE on MAROT is so neat that I shall transcribe it.
Quercy, La Cour, Le Piemont, L'Univers,
Me fit, me tint, m'enterra, me connut.
Quercy mon los, la Cour tout mon temps cut,
Piemont a mes os, L'Univers mes vers.
.
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 performers miserable.
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, however, to shew who had the upper hand, complained to the magistrates, and the actor was imprisoned for six months
PONT ALAIS was hunch-backed; and seeing a Cardinal one day in the street, who was built upon the same principle, he ran against him as if by accident. After he had very humbly apologised for his carelessness,
"I beg pardon of your excellence,"
said he,
"but you see two mountains may meet notwithstanding the proverb."
.
We have the names of other actors before HARDY, 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, 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 company, 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 HAUDOIN, 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 facetiously 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 dramatic representation, both in tragedy and comedy, that, followed up by CHEVALIER, GUERON, BRECOURT, and others, mummery and buffoonery soon gave way to truth and nature,
BRECOURT had the misfortune to kill a coachman. He retired into HOLLAND, where he became an actor in a company belonging to the Prince of ORANGE; but being informed that the court of FRANCE had applied to the court of HOLLAND to give up some person who had taken refuge in that country, he suspected he might be the person meant, and therefore returned and threw himself at the feet of the king, reminding him that upon a former occasion he had probably saved his life by killing a wild boar that they had hunted. Your majesty said he even did me the honour to ask if I was wounded. The king smiled, assured him he was not the man whose life he sought, pardoned him, and ordered MOLIERE to take him again into his company.
To these succeeded MONTFLEURY, LA FLEUR, LA THUILLERIE, MONDORY, LA THORRILLIERE, JODELET, DU PARC, and his wife, CHAMPMELE, 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 consideration by persons of rank. The Cardinal de 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
MONTFLEURY considered his profession of an actor so honourable, that when his marriage articles were preparing, and he was desired, being a man of family, to describe in what manner he chose to be distinguished, he answered that it was not in the power of ancestors to confer talents, and that the most honourable title he desired to be known by was that of actor to the king.
.
LA FLEUR, who took the situation of MONTFLEURY 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 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 whenever he appeared he excited loud bursts of laughter, of which he seemed perfectly unconscious. His humour 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 acknowledged; 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 MOLIERE. He had long, however, left the
Palais Royal,
having followed his wife to the
Hotel de Bourgogne,
as we have seen, through the connivance of BOILEAU and RACINE.
CHAMPMELE was a very mediocre performer, 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 character, 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 TONNERRE. 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.
A la plus tendre amour elle fut destinee,
Qui prit long tems RACINE duns son coeur;
Mais par un insigne malheur,
Le TONNERRE est venu, qui l'
deracince.
Madame CHAMPMELE is said to have been endowed with very extraordinary talents, together with a most consummate knowledge of the world. Her manners were uncommonly elegant, and her conversation sweet and amiable. Her house was the rendezvous for men of distinguished merit; but it has been said by way of pleasantry, that notwithstanding so much temptation, except in the instance of her little slip with TONNERRE, she was constant to DESPREAUX, RACINE, LA CHAPELLE, VALINCOUR, 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:
De six amans contens et non jaloux,
Qui tour a tour servoient Madame CLAUDE,
Le moins volage etoit JEAN son epoux:
Un jour pourtant d'humeur un pen trop chaude,
Serroit de pres sa servante aux yeux doux,
Losqu'un des six lui dit, que faites vous?
Le jeu n'est sur avec cette Ribande;
Ah! voulez-vous, JEAN, JEAN, nous gater tous!
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 a piece,
"No,"
said he,
"keep that to pay for my requiem and instantly dropped down and expired."
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.
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 MOLIERE, where calumny is unsparingly dealt out on the head of this poor woman. The French, however 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 reputation. It is true she married four or five years after the death of MOLIERE, but her general conduct 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 enviable distinction, and whose affectionate and friendly attention to her and her family was warm and unremitting 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. CHAMPMELE, 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 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 abjured 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 under the premature necessity of introducing POISSON, D'ANCOURT, and a number of other actors, an account of whom had better come when we have examined 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 understanding; his figure was noble, his voice clear and powerful, his deportment was graceful and majestic, 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."
ROUSSEAU says that BARON gave new lustre to the beauties of RACINE, and threw a veil over the defects of PRADON.
BARON was certainly an actor of most extraordinary 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 attempted, 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 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 variously 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 proportioned to his talents. It was his common observation that every hundred years produces a CAESAR, but that it takes two thousand to produce a ROSCIUS
BARON's coachman and laquais one day being very ill treated by the servants of the Marquis de BIRON, he was determined to demand justice, and for this purpose sought out the Marquis, to whom he preferred his complaint.
"
Monseigneur,
"
said he,
"
vos gens ont battu les miens; je vous en demande justice.
"
The Marquis a little piqued, perhaps, at the familiarity of
vos gens
and
les miens,
answered him dryly.
"
Mon pauvre Baron que veux-tu que je te dise? Pourqoui as-tu des gens?
"
. BARON's father was an actor, and his 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, RACINE 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 BOURSAULT; till, in 1686, D'ANCOURT brought out his
Fonds Predues
D'ANCOURT, whose name both as an author and an actor will by and by merit respectable notice, was supposed to have injured his reputation by bringing out this piece. RACINE called it, in derision, the scaffold of D'ANCOURT. He, however, spoke truth by accident, for it happened to be the scaffold on which he rose to build his reputation.
, so extremely difficult was it to 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 common with a multitude of other mixed productions crushed by the powerful genius of MOLIERE. BENSERADE 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
It is for the world to decide whether the conduct of LULLY or LA FONTAINE was in this instance replete with the grossest folly. The intentions of the two men are out of the question, and it is almost an insult to the memory of LA FONTAINE to couple his name with that musical buffoon. LULLY's conduct in burning his opera in compliaisnce to the priest, when he had a copy in his closet, was full of knavery and impiety; but LA FONTAINE could have no motive in abjuring the sentiments contained in his Tales, but to expiate what he felt as a crime of no less magnitude than having corrupted the morals of youth; and, taken in that point of view, surely nothing could be more meritorious. He assembled the academy, of which body he was a member; and in their hearing, and in that of a priest, at the time he conceived himself near his end, he execrated this incomparable book as an abominable work. He begged pardon of GOD, of the church, of the academy, and of all mankind for having published it, and in particular for having a short time before retouched a new edition, which had sold rapidly throughout EUROPE. LA FONTAINE should have considered, or if he was too modest, the academy should have considered for him, that neither the sentiments nor the circumstances were his own, but that he had merely clothed old Tales from BOCACE and others in poetry, so rare, so neat, and so winning, that the French language had attained nothing equal to it before, nor had it been to the time of this abjuration successfully imitated. Query, therefore, though I hope I am no stickler for immorality, whether reviving these old stories which had been so many years in the mouths of every nurse and midwife, and, I am afraid, of every abbess and nun throughout the kingdom, might not have been pardoned in favour of the advantage on the side of literature in general, and poetry in particular; especially as the French, and above all, the ladies, have been ever remarkable, not only for considering that wit as the most palatable, as most calculated for the tierceness and poignancy of their language, and that it would be prudery not openly to encourage, which is the most highly seasoned with
double entendre.
The fact is, LA FONTAINE was in the season of sickness, and M. POUJET, his confessor, thought it the interest of the church that he should abjure, not what had made the morals of the country worse than they were before, for heaven knows that would have been at any time a difficult task, but what had exposed the intrigues of religious professors.
, would render the indispensible necessity of mentioning him here an irksome duty did it not give opportunity 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 considerable 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 description too weak to cope with those pieces of MOLIERE, 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 author'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 Galant,
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, 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 Comedie 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 theatre. This RACINE considered as a sarcasm, and he, therefore, was never afterwards cordial with CORNEILLE.
Marié Stuart, Phaeton, Meleagre, Mots a la Mode, Esope a la Ville,
and
Esope a la Cour,
make up the remainder of BOURSAULT's works, which being written upon different occasions, and for different purposes, had of course various success. The two
Aesops
are certainly not calculated for interesting effect, being thronged with fabulous applications; 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. Finding 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, determined 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 considered 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. CORNEILLE 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 tragedy 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 year, did not succced so well
T. CORNEILLE could not help expressing his astonishment that this play had so little success.
"Why,"
said he to a friend,
"the scene lies in CAPPADOCIA, and the manners of that people are pictured to the life."
"That's the reason, perhaps,"
answered the friend,
"that it is not relished in FRANCE. I'll tell you how to do. Send it to CAPPADOCIA to be performed."
.
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. CORNEILLE the name of the Younger Brother. CORNEILLE is said to have written this tragedy in seventeen 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 machines and decorations. This answered his expectations for the performance ran forty nights in succession, and was freqently afterwards repeated during the season; and CORNEILLE, determined to strike while the iron was hot, in the same year produced
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 repeated.
La Devinèresse,
performed in 1679, and
Bradamante
in 1695, are all that now remain of the dramatic 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
The subject of this comedy seems to have created its success. It arose from a report that a woman of distinction had poisoned some of her relations to possess their fortune; and Madam JOBIN, the principal character in the piece, recommends ludicrously this method of getting rich, and for that purpose exposes to sale a medicine which the calls
La Pondre de Succession.
.
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; 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;
neither 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 retirement, 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 brother; 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 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 unexpected 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 genius, 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 consideration, 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 education. His taste for poetry led him to PARIS, where RACINE became his guide in his dramatic career. CAMPISTRON became the imitator of his preceptor; but, though he equalled him, and sometimes 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
It is extremely remarkable, and very proper to be mentioned here, that a single trait of private gratitude in CAMPISTRON laid the foundation of the elevated rank and splendid fortune of Cardinal ALBERONI. CAMPISTRON, as he made a tour through ITALY, was wounded, robbed, and stripped near PARMA, in an obscure village where ALBERONI was curate. The charitable priest gave CAMPISTRON an asylum; fed him, cured him of his wounds, cloathed him, and did what he could to set him forward on his journey. When CAMPISTRON sometime after attended the Duke of VENDOME to the wars in ITALY, he drew his master insensibly towards the retreat of his preserver ALBERONI; and, knowing that he could materially serve the Duke by informing him where the country people concealed their corn, of which article the army was in great need, he had no doubt but the generosity of VENDOME would induce him liberally to reward ALBERONI; and thus, by being the instrument of his good fortune, he should not only have an opportunity, of rescuing a man of talents from obscurity, but of giving a noble proof of his own gratitude by making such an ample return for the hospitality he had formerly received at his hands. The sequel every body knows. ALBERONI followed VENDOME to SPAIN, and was there so useful that he was very soon entrusted with secrets of state, and at length became first minister to the king of SPAIN.
.
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 Madame 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 consequence of this
Arminius
was thrust into a corner; CAMPISTRON, therefore, withdrew his piece under the idea of improving it, and having made a few immaterial 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 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 whenever this has been done to advantage, those productions have been uniformly considered as an additional 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 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 polities, 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
Tiridate,
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 introduced 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 public 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:
" Ce grand ACTIUS, fous qui l'univers tremble."
Pompeia.
This tragedy was published in the works of CAMPISTRON, but its original success is not known. His comedies will come more properly hereafter; we have, therefore, nothing now to prevent our leaving the course fairly open to RACINE, 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
The Prince de CONTI meeting PRADON after the first representation of his tragedy of
Tamerlaine,
"Why you have transported in your play,"
said the Prince,
"a town from ASIA to EUROPE."
"I humbly beg your Royal Highness's pardon,"
said PRADON,
"but I don't understand chronology."
.
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 enjoyed 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 BOILEAU; by which means he was perpetually loaded with literary disgrace. In short, had he not vainly and ridiculously compared himself to RACINE, 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
BEAUBOURG, who was remarkably ugly, performed the part of MITHRIDATE. When Madmoiselle LECOUVREUR, who performed MONIMIA, said,
"Signor you changed countenance?"
"Let him, let him,"
said a man in the pit,
"he can't change for the worse."
, and the
Iphigene
of RACINE, conquered the
Pulcherie,
and the
Surene
of CORNEILLE. It will now be proper to speak of the remaining pieces of RACINE, 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 determination to suppress this play of RACINE, but to establish another under the same title written by PRADON. Among this party Madame DESHOULIERES, a celebrated writer, was supported by the Duchess of BOUILLON, the Duke of NEVERS 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 circumstances, 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. Madame DESHOULIERES wrote a sonnet with a view to humiliate RACINE and BOILLAU. They suspecting this sonnet to have come from the pen of the Duke of NEVERS, answered it by another, conserving the same rhimes, in which they treated the Duke with great severity. He replied by a third, still keeping the same rhimes, and finished by a declaration that he would cane them both in the theatre before the public.
However the protection of PRADON might be unworthy the illustrious cabal who lent him their countenance, and in particular Madame DESHOULIERES, it must not be dissembled that RACINE drew it all on his head by the envious, the unworthy, the bitter, the indecent criticisms which he threw out himself, and encouraged in his partizans, against the venerable CORNEILLE. Madame de BOUILLON and her party, however wrong their means of revenge, meant only to support the cause of that great writer against all the coxcombs in literature, who at that time sought every occasion in their power to humiliate him; at the head of which very respectable set, RACINE ought to have been ashamed of placing himself. In protecting PRADON they avenged the author of
Cinna
; and it cannot be denied but employing one dunce in a good cause, was a thousand times more worthy in them than it was in RACINE to countenance twenty dunces in the support of a bad one.
This, however, upon reflection he thought proper 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 conjecture turned out to be well sounded, for the king having noticed this unhandsome treatment to RACINE from first to last, sent for the Duke himself and represented to him that he not only injured the 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 countenance 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 contempt 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 reenter on his dramatic career. He persisted stubbornly 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 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 surpassed 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 of the Huguenots in the proscription of the Hebrews. 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
Whatever RACINE might intend, this is certainly, with M. VOLTAIRE's leave, a striking picture of the proscription and persecution of the Huguenots.
, and who afterwards hanged his favourite 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 exhibit any thing dramatic, even though on religious subjects. Desirious, however, to hear
Athalie,
especially 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 subject, could not possibly succeed to any extraordinary 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 examination 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 rapturous declarations which the world have taken for honest candour, and self denying impartiality. These are his words, on the delineation of RACINE's character 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 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, characteristic, 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 enchantment 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 felicitous variation of the idiom of a particular tongue, it is impossible not to confess that, in all this superficial 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.
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 distinction 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 unfortunately RACINE had no other communication with the Muses. I own that CORNEILLE fails in style and taste; but style and taste are weak and effeminate literary requisites. How such superficial expressions fade away at those more substantial epithets, truth, and nature. I own the writing of CORNEILLE 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 moralist, a philosopher, a legislator, and yet a poet. Love, pity, pride, ambition, cruelty, remorse, repentance, mercy, clemency, are only so many shades which, with the assistance of a thousand intermediate tints, he colours the picture of human nature. RACINE, only a poet, depicts nothing but love in all its various vicissitudes. To love all the other 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
CORNEILLE said to SEGRAIS, who sat near him on the first representation of
Bajazet,
"the personages of this tragedy wear Turkish habits but they utter French sentiments. I shall, however, say this only to you, otherwise it will be taken for jealousy, which I as much disdain as I love to commend the beautiful poetry of RACINE."
.
Whenever CORNEILLE has availed himself of history, he has taken the circumstances and invented appropriate language for his personages. If RACINE wrote
Phedre, Britannicus,
and
Athalie,
he contented himself with versifying EURIPIDES, TACITUS, and the Scriptures. But the great fault of RACINE, 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 religion, 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 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, natural, 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. CORNEILLE an audacious eagle that loses itself in the clouds and seizes the thunder of JUPITER; RACINE 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 excellence, that certainty of superiority necessary to form a great author, upon all occasions failed RACINE. 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 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 immortalized himself by any work which the public received 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, the most contemptible criticism, always gives me more pain than the warmest praise ever gave me pleasure."
Is this a great man, a sublime genuis!
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 attributes to all poets, whom he pleasantly calls the choleric race.
This perpetual discontent and eternal irritability abridged his life. After the business of his improving 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.
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 legitimate portion of commendation, without the necessity 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
It will be my business hereafter to enlarge upon this.
.
Thus RACINE, having neither possessed original genius, nor written epic poetry, cannot generally, nor particularly, be classed otherwise than as a secondary 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 fashionable, 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 properly 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 improvement; for, by aiming at less of the ARISTOPHANES, his satire is more general and less offensive.
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, declared 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 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 occasions when interest renders them callous to generosity 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 characters had been financiers, or procureurs; and, indeed, 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 in love a woman of fashion might be proud to emulate 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 without embarrassment. His dialogue is natural, lively, rapid, full of gaiety, and sparkling with wit; written, five plays excepted
Three of these pieces are
Le Trabison Puni, Madame Artus,
and
Sancho Panco Gouverneur.
The first, which is from the Spanish, was afterwards successfully brought forward by LE SAGE, in prose. The second was a bad imitation of
Le Tartuffe
; and
Sanco
had no effect till it was, in 1762, reduced into one act by POINSINIT, and assisted by the music of PHILIDOR. The other two,
Caphale et Pro
is,
and
La Metempsicose,
are certainly inferior to all the rest of his works.
, 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 interspersed with little songs, masques, and divertisements, which are written very neatly, and which, upon the whole, rank his genius somewhere between PRIOR and VANBRUGH; which last, whatever his obligations were to nature, was, as I shall hereafter particularize, also highly obliged to DANCOURT.
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, colouring 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, admirable in their way, where he has availed himself of any temporary circumstance. Such are
La Loterie
In this piece he ridicules all PARIS for having run after a man of the name of FAGNANI. He was a kind of a picture broker, and dealer in curiosities; and having a large stock of fanciful articles by him, he obtained permission to sell them by a lottery in which there were to be no blanks. This bait induced the public to take all his tickets off his hands; but it was at last found that nine-tenths of the prizes were inconsiderable trifles, and that every thing of value reverted to him through the channel of friends, employed for the purpose, and who were rewarded by him for thus playing booty.
,
Les curieux de Compeigne
This piece was written in consequence of a camp being formed near the town of COMPEIGNE, which was reviewed by LOUIS the fourteenth; before whom a siege, and other military manoeuvres were represented. The jet of the plot is to throw some citizens and their families into situations of whimsical distress, which it must be confessed DANCOURT has managed very adroitly.
,
Le Mari Retrouvé
A very whimsical and extraordinary circumstance, at that time the town talk of PARIS, induced DANCOURT to write this comedy. A person of the name of PIVARDIERE, having absconded, his relations instituted an enquiry into the situation of his affairs; and, in order to possess his property, accused his wife of procuring persons to assasinate him. The matter was going very hard against her when PIVARDIERE, who had merely gone from his family upon a party of pleasure, came back to set every thing to rights. The lawyers, however, determined to make a good profit of it, strained every nerve to prove that PIVARDIERE was an impostor; and they so far succeeded, that his identity was not allowed till he had, at a great expence, brought the business before the parliament; when, having gained their point by filling their pockets, they acknowledged their error, and made a parade of doing both PIVARDIERE and his wife every possible justice.
,
Le Vert Galant
This piece was also a representation of a whimsical fact. A certain Abbe made warm love to a dyer's wife; who, offended at his importunities, without hesitation informed her husband of the honour designed him. It was upon this concerted between them that the husband, in the Abbe's hearing, should inform his wife that he was obliged, through business, to leave her for some time. The Abbe, of course, profitting by this good fortune, no sooner saw the husband set out on his journey but he redoubled his solicitations; and, after a great deal of affected coyness on her part, he prevailed on the wife to let him visit her at supper. He had, however, no sooner sat down than the husband thundered at the door; when, in making his escape, by the lady's direction, through a passage which led to the dyehouse, he fell into a vat, where he floundered for a long time, and at length came out completely green from head to foot.
, and several others. His 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, DANCOURT was to the same degree in farce. Nothing can more clearly prove his good sense than this remark, for that part of MOLIERE's works which approaches nearest to farce, is by infinite degrees his best; and it would have ill suited the bent of DANCOURT's genuis to have attempted any thing of a grander kind. As it is, by diversifying, extending, and, indeed, improving this lighter species of dramatic amusement, his pieces have ever been deservedly 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 of these accusations against DANCOURT it is insisted that, being a manager of a theatre, and constantly 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 representation.
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 Bourge
isis a la Mode
—two comedies of considerable merit in point of construction the latter being almost, 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 was paid for his pains, were considered by the public as most contemptible productions.
Those who can read with judgement will very easily see that the works of DANCOURT are uniformly written by the same person. They are collected 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 publish 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 DANCOURT, certainly not only chose the worst and the most difficult part, but that to which he was unequal. 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 DANCOURT improved, he would have been worse off. VOLTAIRE, who loves to afford left handed praise, 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 himself. Every man should use his own faculties such as they are, and scorn the servility of imitation
When I call imitation servility, I mean that imitation by which a writer condescends to ape a man's style and manner; such was REGNARD's imitation of MOLIERE. That broad principal upon which DANCOURT imitated MOLIERE is a very different thing, for DANCOURT had nothing of MOLIERE in his style but its general vivacity and brilliancy, dressed in expressions of his own. Besides the characteristic of this imitation was that chaste representation of mind and manners, which MOLIERE imitated from the ancients, and the ancients from nature. This is what VOLTAIRE most admirably likens to l
ghting your candle by the candle of your neighbour; which candle, while it lends fire to be fed by the substance of yours, loses nothing of its own. This remark, however, is to be found in CHAUCER.
.
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 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
It will be necessary once more to remind the reader that, before the regular establishment of the Italian theatre in 1716, at the
Hotel de Bourgogne,
a company of Italians performed
au petit Bourbon
alternately with MOLIERE, and continued there, after he had removed to the
Palais Royal,
till 1697, when the theatre was pull
d down to build the entrance to the
Louvre,
and the Italians were entirely dispersed; though they might, it is said, have rall
ed again but for a very singular circumstance. G
RARDI, who was at that time the Harlequin, in one of those pieces, of which he collected a large number, described the character of a prude in such a manner as seemed to point at Madame de MAINTENON. This his enemies in
ously represented to his disadvantage, and his disgrace followed of course.
. 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 reputation of their author, or DOMINIQUE, who produced 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, particularly
Le Joueur de Bal, Le Distrait, Democrite,
and
Les Menechmes;
but even these are full of defects; 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 generally 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 success 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 descended from HENRY the fourth. That king having had an amour with a woman who was called LA BELLE JARDINIERE, the consequence of which was the birth of DUFRESNY's grandfather. LOUIS 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 knowledge 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 critical 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
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 DUFRESNY 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, DUFRESNY 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 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 DUFRESNY
It is DUFRESNY at whom LE SAGE points the following passage in the
Diable Boiteux.
"I'll send you also,"
says the Devil,
"an old bachelor of a good family, who the moment he has a ducat spends it, and who rather than be without one is capable of doing any thing to obtain it. A fortnight ago his washerwoman, to whom he was indebted thirty pistoles, came to dun him for the money, and told him that she was going to be married to a Valet de Chambre, and wanted that sum to make up her portion. What then you are rich, said he; it must be so, for where the devil is the valet de chambre who would take you with thirty pistoles? Rich
ay, to be sure, said she, besides your thirty pistoles I have two hundred ducats. Two hundred ducats! cried he, with emotion, a good round sum. I'll tell you what, send the valet de chambre to the devil, marry me, and we shall be quit all round. Would you believe it? Tempted by the ducats, he has made his washer, woman his wife."
."
Many of his dramatic pieces, only two of which
L'esprit de Contradiction,
and
Le Lot Supposè,
succeeded in his life time, have been revived at different 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.
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 feeble, on the side of invention, they are designed with that intelligence, and executed with that facility, 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 performed himself. Its outline is light pleasantry, insinuating 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 innumerable 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 dedicated to LANGELY, the fool of LOUIS the fourteenth,
Les Faux Muscovites
This piece was written upon a particular occasion. After POTEMSKIN, and ROMANZOFF, ambassadors from MUSCOVY, had made their entrance into PARIS, being the first of their nation that ever visited FRANCE in that capacity, every public place of course made grand preparations for their reception; and, among the rest, the theatres. The
Hotel de Bourgogne,
however, had not the honour of their presence, for, after a variety of promises and appointments, they had their audience of leave without visiting that place of amusement. POISSON in revenge said, that as they could not have the real Muscovites, he would introduce false ones. The idea tickled the public, and the piece had great success.
, 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 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 honorable,
and to be banished for nine years. He appealed 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 handsome, 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 intercourse 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 cunningly 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 leaving 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 account, and obliged LE NOBLE to provide for her and her three children. What degree of ignominious 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 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 FONTAINE, 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, Thalestris,
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 neither have room, nor have I inclination to introduce. I cannot, however, pass by BRUEYS and PALAPRAT, 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 formerly strenuous in their favour. He was, however, ill calculated for disputes of this kind, and, therefore, left theology for the theatre.
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 unoffending. 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, who awkwardly apes courtly manners without understanding them.
Le Force du Sang, L'Opiniatre, Les Empyriques, Les Quiproquo,
and
Les Embarras du derriere du Theatre,
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, MOLIERE had frequently in his eye
The ancient French farces, having a distinct character of their own, and being unlike those of any other nation, will hereafter demand particular notice, especially as they involve a variety of singular and whimsical circumstances.
L'avocat Patelin
is no more than one of those farces modernized. It is a sort of dramatic proverb, and meant to express in action the sense of the old adage,
"the rogue a rogue and a half."
It was originally written in the reign of FRANCIS the first, by PIERRE PATHELIN, to expose on the stage that standing dish the chicanery of lawyers; and, therefore, called by BRUEYS and PALAPRAT,
L'avocat Patelin,
a term signifying a trickster, and no doubt incorporated into the French language from PATHELIN, exactly as we have seen
Turlupinade
from TURLUPIN.
.
These are the most material of those pieces which were brought out by these friends, for friends they strictly were; induced, one would think, by a remarkable parity in their genius, dispositions, habits, 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
They were both remarkably short-sighted, and one day when the king, who was very partial to BRUEYS, asked him how his eyes were; he answered,
"I humbly thank your majesty, my nephew, SIDOBRE, says that I see a little better."
. 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 dramatic 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 tenderness 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.
CREBILLON, determined to chuse a sure road, struck into the path that AESCHYLUS had trod before 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 tremble 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
BOILEAU, who never could be quiet, said, that this tragedy seemed as if written by RACINE when he was drunk.
.
Atree et Thyeste,
produced in 1707, gave CREBILLON's reputation stronger footing. Nevertheless the boldness of his style induced the audience on the first night to pause on its merits. It was impossible to blame, but they knew not to what degree to applaud judiciously
CREBILLON used to relate to his friends, that after the first representation of this piece, he encountered an English gentleman in a coffee house, who paid him many compliments on his tragedy, of which he doubted the sincerity, as the piece was then hanging in a dubious state.
"Sir,"
said CREBILLON,
"I am afraid you are premature in your praises."
"What do you mean?"
said the other,
"because of your irresolute audience of last night? Entirely in your favour, depend upon it. Your play is written for the meridian of LONDON and not of PARIS. Here they learn patriotism, in LONDON they know it by heart."
. It 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 CREBILLON to that height where it has ever since deservedly been placed. It is certainly one of the
chef d'oeuvres
of the French theatre, and the astonishing success it met with was greatly its due
BOILEAU, who was then on his death bed, could not, nevertheless, resist his blended propensity of ill nature and injustice. Having read
Radamiste et Zenobie,
"take away this balderdash,"
said he,
"the race of the PRADONS were eagles compared to the groveling CREBILLONS. Take it away; it encreases my malady."
. 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 circumstance 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 CREBILLON 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 accustomed to produce the terrible.
As
Catalina,
CREBILLON's next piece, was not produced till 1748, at which time he might be considered 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
Sesostris,
was a proof how extremely difficult authors found it to steer, like CREBILLON, wide of CORNEILLIE and RACINE, and yet succeed. Searching 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 CORNEILLE, is full of declamation, cold, unequal, and prolix.
Electre,
from which piece, however, VOLTAIRE has not disdained to borrow some circumstances 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 performed but once, and was never printed
There is a curious anecdote of RACINE relative to this piece. He wrote an epigram—for which the following lines may serve as a translation—immediately after the failure of
Sesostris,
which came out three years after his
Athalie.
EPIGRAM.
The famous SESOSTRIS, that valiant chief,
Who the fates mighty EGYPT permitted to sway;
Who there lived a round age, and then died for their grief,
To the joy of all PARIS, lived here but a day.
It was RACINE's foible now and then to distil from his pen a little of BOILEAU's gall; and, having sancred that he had here made a good hit, he circulated these lines as generally as he could; but hearing that LONGEPI
RR
had written a parallel between him and CORNEILLE, and completely given him the victory, he industriously collected the copies back again, and did every thing in his power to prevent his being known as the author.
.
LA GRANGE CHANCEL, who wrote with considerable 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 rendered 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 AMSTERDAM. There he procured an introduction to 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, knowing 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, favoured, and opulent.
His writings, which are full of genius and inexperience, 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 committed and pardoned, anger is kindled and extinguished, nobody knows why. Soaring after the sublime he seizes the bombast; and studying for the beautiful he is lost in the bathos. His grandeur is burlesque, and his simplicity puerility.
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 impressions, to be so cramped and lamed as to have little power afterwards to exercise its natural functions
"When I had put the finishing stroke,"
says LA GRANGE,
"to this tragedy, I hazarded the liberty of presenting it to the Princesse de CONTI; who in spight of all its faults, found something in it so worthy her attention that she sent for the celebrated RACINE and entreated him to read this essay, these were her words, of a young gentleman who was her page, and to give him his advice without disguise. RACINE kept the piece eight days and then informed the Princess that he had read my tragedy with astonishment; and though it was very defective in many places, if I would permit him to give me a few lessons, he had no doubt but in a short time it would be in such a state as to appear with success. I did not fail to call on him every day for a considerable while, and may fairly say that I learnt more from him than from all the books I had ever read."
Here it is evident that LA GRANGE took leave of nature to study art in the school of RACINE; just as painters become mannerists and are never afterwards capable of improvement. Going on he tells you that the piece came out, that he sat at its first representation with the Prince de CONTI who said that the author's age would silence the tongue of criticism, and that under this influence the piece had wonderful success. The circumstance at any rate is not wonderful, for patronage would at that time do any thing with the public, and we have seen the silly PRADON atchieve greater feats even against RACINE, through influence of a much inferior kind.
.
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 account 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 attacked by LE NOBLE and others, and warmly defended 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 remainder 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 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
Soprionisbe
is remembered by nothing but four remarkable lines
As these lines are said to be worth all the rest of this author's works, and certainly are uncommonly fine, admitting the sentiment they contain, I have transcribed them.
Songez qu'il est des tems on tout est legitime
Et que, si la Patrie avoit besoin d'un crime
Qui puis seul relever son espoir abattu,
Il ne seroit plus crime et deviendroit vertu.
.
LA FOSSE attempted what CREBILLON afterwards perfected. Like him he had a strong mind; full of grandeur and dignity; but probably, fearing 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 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 particular, 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 contain 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 reputation, 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, unless I were to substitute writings for literature, and 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, perhaps, 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 terrible; and these had separately been carried as far as possible by CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CREBILLON. 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 before 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 appropriation 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 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 success of this tragedy was brilliant beyond all example. 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
Many anecdotes are related of the effect this tragedy had on different persons. Marshal VILLARS told VOLTAIRE that he considered
Oedipe
as an obligation he had conferred on his country.
"A very inconsiderable one,"
said VOLTAIRE,
"in comparison with the smallest of those that you have conferred on your country."
Another time, a nobleman, who was handing a lady to her carriage after one of the representations of this piece, said to VOLTAIRE,
"see what you have done. Do you know that you have drawn a torrent of tears from these beautiful eyes?"
"They'll have their revenge my lord,"
said VOLTAIRE. The Duke D'ORLEANS, who had sent VOLTAIRE to the Bastile, on seeing
Oedipe,
sent immediately to release him. The poet went instantly to thank the Prince.
"Be more prudent for the future VOLTAIRE,"
said he,
"and I'll watch over your fortune."
"I humbly thank your Royal Highness,"
said VOLTAIRE,
"and shall consider myself greatly honoured by your generosity, provided you don't furnish me with board and lodging again."
.
Artémire
produced in 1720, had no success, and was withdrawn by its author so suddenly and so completely suppressed, that solicitous as the publishers 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 representation. 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
This piece was the source of the quarrels between VOLTAIRE and ROUSSEAU. ROUSSEAU wrote a letter to a friend which accidently, or, perhaps, by connivance, fell into VOLTAIRE's hand. This was the substance of it:
"I have at last had the pleasure of considering at my ease this marvellous dramatic superfetation, this second delivery of an abortion, taken again into the womb of of its mother to receive fresh nourishment. The formation, however, does not appear yet to me to be regular, and I can discern nothing from the head to the tail but a number of disjointed and monstrous parts instead of a perfect and complete whole. In short it is impossible to reconcile this sarago with common sense.
Mariamne
is an inanimate doll that does not know what it does, nor what it wants;
Varus
is a hairbrain, who takes his measures as stupidly on the Banks of the JORDAN as the DANUBF;
Herode,
with his politics, is the silliest fellow of the whole troop;
Salome,
a miserable rascal who merits exemplary punishment; and
Mazael,
a clumsy rogue who so far from accommodating himself to the intentions of his master so injures and disappoints them, that
Herode,
if he was not as mad as the author, ought to confine him within four walls."
He thus goes on at great length, minutely taking the play to pieces with great humour and ability, and then finishes by saying, that when the construction and the writing are fairly estimated, it is impossible to say whether the author has sinned most against reason or rhime.
.
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
It is very material to notice that when VOLTAIRE brought out this tragedy he had just returned from England; where—spight of his affected indifference for the English poets, his rank and jealous abuse of SHAKESPEAR, whose genius was beyond his comprehension, his unfair judgment of OTWAY, sinking him below RACINE, than whom he certainly wrote infinitely better—he learnt in what way to rise in the dramatic art superior to the best of his countrymen. This remains for subsequent discussion.
. In this tragedy 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 attain, 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 republic, and expected the French to tolerate, under a despotic monarch, what would have revolted the English under a limitted one.
The consequence was that the
parterre
expressed, at the first representation of this piece, the loudest indignation; and, when they heard the following lines from the mouth of TITUS,
Je suis fils de BRUTUS. et je porte, en mon coeur,
La liberte gravee, et les Rois en horreur,
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 VOLTAIRE that he did not recover it till he brought out
Zaire,
which might be called the first complete tragedy 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 VOLTAIRE 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 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
Among many instances adduced to prove that DE LA MOTTE in point of memory was a sort of prodigy, the following is particularly worthy of notice. A young poet repeated in a large company a tragedy which he had written. DE LA MOTTE, who was present, listened with great attention, and, when he had heard it out, told the young gentleman that it certainly had considerable merit, but that he was sorry to find him so great a plagiarist. The poet testified astonishment at this assertion.
"This is well acted,"
said DE LA MOTTE,
"but to convince you that I am right, I will now, repeat to you the whole of the second scene in the fourth act."
This he instantly did; and in a manner as animated as if he himself had written it. The eyes of all the company were now turned on the young poet, who, thrown into a most awkward embarrassment, knew not what to say; when DE LA MOTTE took him by the hand, saying,
"Don't give yourself any concern young gentleman; the scene in question is yours as well as the rest of the piece; but it appeared to me so beautiful, and so afleeting, that I irresistibly got, it by heart as you repeated it."
.
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 reconcileable 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 unnatural 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 tragedy 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 philosopher to answer, though the best of them was infinitely below the worst of his poetry; but I shall wind up his character after I have enumerated his pieces.
The tragedies of DE LA MOTTE are
Machabees,
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
ROUSSEAU was one of those who had been deceived. He excused himself by saying that, as there were no points, no flowery ideas, no flights, no finesse in this tragedy, he had conceived that it was impossible it should be written by DE LA MOTTE. ROUSSEAU probably had forgotten that DE LA MOTTE knowing perfectly the different properties, of lyric odes, and other sanciful poetry, he also knew the properties of tragedy.
.
Romulus
was greatly successful, and excited much curiosity, both from the public and the different 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,
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 tragedy confirmed.
Inés de Castro
had still greater success than
Romulus.
Never piece attracted so many spectators and so much criticism
DE LA MOTTE being one day at a coffee-house, he presently heard a knot of these critics abuse his play; when, finding that he was unknown to them, he joined heartily in abusing it himself. At length, after they were altogether pretty well glutted with decrying its merits,
"What shall we do with ourselves for the evening?"
said one.
"Suppose,"
said DE LA MOTTE,
"we go to the seventy-second representation of this bad play."
. 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 theatre ought to address each other in any other style of language than that in which, according to their rank, they usually speak
VOLTAIRE considered
Oedipe
as his
chef d'auvre
in point of poetry.
"Take care,"
said DE LA MOTTE, one day,
"that I don't put your
Oedipe
into prose."
"If you do,"
said VOLTAIRE,
"I'll put your
Ines
into verse."
This anecdote has given rise to an idea that
Ines
was written in prose.
.
Oedipe,
which piece DE LA MOTTE wrote in 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 politeness, this female ARISTOPHANES reprobated in unqualified 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 performances of merit, for, indeed, it was impossible for DE LA MOTTE to write ill, but they are certainly the most inferior of his works. His operas, twelve in number, are clearly upon the whole 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 incontrovertible proof. DE LA MOTTE's operas were composed 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 instance condescended to flatter
It must not be objected that his odes, which are avowedly panegyric, are flattery. Great men and celebrated actions require from the poet strong and enthusiastic language. The most luxuriant frights of fancy may be permitted, and the most flowery fields of imagination traversed, in search of suitable wreaths for the brows of heroes, philosophers, and legislators. DE LA MOTTE in this has followed PINDAR, and I know not in some instances that he has not equalled him.
.
DESTOUCHES demands our next attention, on whom it will be the less necessary to enlarge, because 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 divertisements and detatched scenes. His first piece,
Le Curieux Impertinent,
appeared in 1710, which was 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
DESTOUCHES when he was in ENGLAND married a young lady of a catholic family; but, as he was in a public capacity, he conceived it proper to keep this marriage a secret. This secret, coming out by degrees in his family, some of whom were offended, the uncle in particular, who wanted to propose to him another wife, makes up the circumstances of the comedy, all the characters of which are drawn from life. It is by much the best of his plays.
, this was succeeded by
L'Envieux,
and
Les Philosophes Amoureux,
which are all that appeared 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 LYSIMON, or GERONTE, like a wild beast-man, play off its singularities and explain its extraordinary qualities.
It must not, however, be denied that in DESTOUCHES 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 introduced, 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 determination 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 acknowledged manners, and, therefore, wander out of of nature's sight.
'Tis too much to attempt to analyze the heart. 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 province of comedy is to command the applause of both. Full of genius, he exposes nothing but ingenuity; 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 probably 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.
Circumscribed as I am I must now take up authors 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 performed 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 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 conjunction, 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 CHAUSSEE, BEAUCHAMPS, DE LA RUE
DE LA RUE, who was DANCOURT's preceptor, and who brought out two plays, had, as we have seen, an aversion to the theatre. It was this that induced him to reprove DANCOURT for his impiety in being an actor.
"Ah father,"
said DANCOURT,
"I am afraid the only difference between us is that I am actor to the king and you are actor to the pope."
, and others, did their best to make a stand at the French theatre against VOLTAIRE, DE LA MOTTE, and 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, resume such points concerning them as I may conceive likely to instruct or amuse the reader.
CHAP. VIII. CONTINUATION OF THE FRENCH THEATRE TO 1745.
AS the works of VOLTAIRE now form the principal 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
L'ABBE DESFONTAINES, an indifferent author, but a troublesome critic, predicted this, and was, therefore, treated by VOLTAIRE in the grossest manner; who, among other things, did not spare to call him an ass, and an ideot, but, when the public voice verified his prediction, VOLTAIRE, who with the greatest pretended indifference was the sorest of all authors, witness his letter to the Queen on the subject of this play when it was parodied under the title of
Semiramis,
was guilty of a thousand meannesses to conciliate the favour of the Abbe, which he at lenth effected.
. It was, therefore, withdrawn and brought forward as we shall see under the title of
Semiramis.
The changes necessary for the occasion 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
When
Zaire
first appeared, a most invidious and contemptible report prevailed, that VOLTAIRE had purchased it for two hundred pistoles of a certain Abbe MACARTY, an Irishman, who was first a Roman Catholic and afterwards turned Turk. Nay, even a certain notary was said to have drawn up an obligation for the sum. I confess, when I first heard of this circumstance, knowing the imbecility and irresolution of VOLTAIRE's mind, I dreaded he would have betrayed something like apprehension, but was charmed to find that, standing fairly up against the infamous calumny, he treated it with the sovereign and inestable disdain it merited.
. 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 produced under the title of the
Duc de Foix
One of the characters was called
Coucy,
to whom another addressed himself thus:
"Et tu content, Coucy?"
A man in the
parterre
instantly cried out,
"coussi, coussi,"
a provincial admission of the Italian cosi, cosi, which signifies so, so, an expression particularly well adapted, because, on the Italian theatre by way of buresque, it was often used by Harlequm.
.
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 instructed 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 proportion as he should be obliged to applaud the merit of the piece.
"I shall always adopt this conduct,"
added he,
"for I don't like paper wars.
A man of genius, being told that VOLTAIRE was not the author of
Alzire,
"I should be heartly glad if it were so,"
said he,
"for in that case the nation would boast of one more great poet than it had bargained for."
"
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 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, consequently 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 General, and it was kept back till 1751, when it came forward with most extravagant success, and has always been considered by the French as the best written play in all the works of VOLTAIRE
VOLTAIRE asked FONTENELLE one day, who was then upwards of ninety, what he thought of
Mahomet
?
"Il est horriblement beau."
said FONTENELLE.
.
Merope
came out in 1743. This subject had been treated by GILBERT in 1643, by CHAPELLE, 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 unnecessary 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, which was called
Annibal,
many of which succeeded with persons of taste and discernment, but were generally 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
The preliminary discourse of DE LA MOTTE was answered by Monsieur de COLLIERES, director of the academy. After congratulating him on his filling the situation formerly occupied by the great CORNEILLE, and since devolved to his brother, who had by his dictionary and other works of utility proved himself worthy him who had been the admiration of the age in which he had lived, Monsieur de COLLIERES, in the liveliest terms, assured DE LA MOTTE that his works spoke their own eulogium, and that it was not more by the suffrages of the academy than by the general wish of the nation, that he was called to hold the honourable situation the world were so well convinced he would adorn.
DESTOUCHES was replied to by FONTENELLE, who delivered a most masterly and eloquent harrangue, certainly the eulogium of the King and the Cardinal de POLIGNAC, rather than DESTOUCHES. It was, however, wound up very powerfully, and the academy were congratulated on receiving, in their new member, a substitute in comedy for what CAMPISTRON had been in tragedy.
MARITAUX was addressed by the Archbishop of SENS, who most delicately and adroitly excused himself for having been enticed out of the regular path of literature, in which it had been his custom and his duty to walk, by the fascinating inducements thrown out by the writings of the new academician. He recapitulated the beauties in his works, warned him against painting love too voluptuously, and finished by giving him that tribute of praise which warm and sincere as it was, he said,
"was but the echo of the multitude."
.
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 circumstances 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 requisite, 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 characters uttered those sentiments with which nature inspired them, and uttered them in nature's language; 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 particularly 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 theatres, 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 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 particulars concerning it as may serve to assist my future account of it when I come to speak of its establishment 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 VOLTAIRE, to LE ABBE PELLEGRIN, BERNARD, MONDORGE, 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, MONTECLAIRE, and many others who were, at length, completely eclipsed by RAMEAU. It should not, however, be forgotten that the celebrated PHILIDORE, 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 improvement to visit ITALY very early in life
It is not my intention to speak of music at length till I treat of its progress in ENGLAND. I shall then show how it took root and grew in every country, and that it always arrived to the truest perfection whenever it was transplanted from the garden of ITALY.
. 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 listening 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 that dull monotonous style of music introduced by LULLY, that it was with the utmost difficulty RAMEAU 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 PELLEGRIN, 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 rather the ears of the nation, that a new character was from that hour given to the musical taste of the French.
This second representation was in a great measure owing to the noble conduct of PELLEGRIN, the author, and CAMPRA, RAMEAU's professional rival. PELLEGRIN, struck with the effect of the music, tore the instrument to pieces which RAMEAU had given him as a security for his money, saying he pitied the taste of the French, and that he was but too happy to fall in such company; and CAMPRA being asked what he thought of the music, said there was good music enough in
Hypolite
to serve for ten operas. This was told to the Prince de CONTI, who asked if these were really his sentiments? He answered, that the declaration was no more than truth and justice, for that RAMEAU was certainly born to eclipse their whole tribe. This prediction was completely verified, for no other musician had brilliant success after this event. The consequence was that those who happened to possess good sense and honesty like CAMPRA, gave way without murmuring; but the rest, among whom were MONTECLAIRE, and MOURET, became a prey to envy and despair. MONTECLAIRE attacked RAMEAU on his violating the rule of harmony; but, happening, by way of shewing his candour, to praise the only passage in the opera of
Les Indes Galantes
written by FUZELIER, in which the rules of harmony were actually violated, he was so completely laughed at that he never ventured afterwards to speak of RAMEAU or his music. As for poor MOURIT, it is a literal fact that he went mad and employed himself during his highest paroxysms in singing a chorus in the second act of
Castor et Pollux,
written by BERNARD, and composed by RAMEAU, begining with these words:
Qu'an feu du tonnerre,
Le feu des enfers
Declare la Guerre.
After this, authors were solicitous enough to write for RAMEAU. MONDORGE, BRUERE, CAHUSAC, 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
Pygmalion,
written by DE LA MOTTE, and composed 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 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
A celebrated English dancer called on the famous MARCEL at PARIS, who desired to have a specimen of his abilities. The Englishman could not please MARCEL. Every thing was tried and all to no purpose. At last,
"
tenez mon ami,
"
said he,
"
en voila assez;
"
"the fact is, you jump very well in LONDON, but as to dancing, my good friend, it is only to be found in PARIS."
.
The performances at PARIS derived great respectability 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 inspector general. That a school for music and dancing should be established where all performers should be taught gratis.
That the different merits of the performers being ascertained and by them acknowledged, they should receive such parts as were provided for them without murmuring, upon pain of being deprived of a month's pay for the first omission, and of being discharged for the second. Their duty both towards one another, and towards the public, is next very properly 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 divided 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 performers, 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 without 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 the opera; the accounts of all denominations to be constantly settled the last day of every month.
Persons were, in consequence of this new regulation, 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 principal male singers were GELIN, LARRIVEE, DURAND, LE GROS, MUGUET, TIROT, and LAINEZ; the principal female singers were LARRIVEE, ARNOULD, DUPLANT, BEAUMESNIL, ROSALIE, DURANC, 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 supernumeraries amounting to about fifty. The list was closed by the names of those who performed in the orchestra to the number of sixty-four, so that the whole company, including all descriptions of persons employed, 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 circumstances which grew out of it after its establishment in 1716.
It has been seen that the actors at the fairs, having 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, CAROLET, GALLET, and L'AFFICHARD, and he had influence enough to obtain from the musical academy 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 persecutions, a parody of a bad tragedy, in short any temporary whim, dramatized by LE SAGE and his followers, 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 consequence was they became too formidable; and, in 1742, were suppressed, with this qualification, however, 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 employment 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 exercised as their proper profession.
Among these the famous NICOLET, so well known upon the
Boulevards,
cut the most conspicious figure. This man fairly took up the ancient farces, of which I shall not have a better opportunity to give an account than this. They were certainly the origin of that prodigious number of proverbs, and pieces in one act, which have spread themselves 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 imitate 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 GUILLAUME, 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 account, were exhibited during any recess, or whether 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 exhibitions 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 Bourgogne
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 performance
The subject of the farce they were said to have performed before the Cardinal was as follows: GROS GUILLAUME, who is represented to have been as thick as he was long, and who often, by means of a dress with hoops stretched across, formed himself into the figure of a hogshead, was in this farce supposed to be the wife of TURLUPIN; who, jealous of GARGUILLE, is determined to cut her head off. He seizes her by the hair with a drawn sabre in his hand, while, she upon her knees conjures him by every thing dear to him to abate his anger. She reminds him of their past loves, how she rubbed his back when he had the rheumatism, and how charmed she had always been when he wore his flannel night cap, but all in vain. Will nothing move thee? cries this amiable female in the last despair. Oh cruel! Think on the bacon and cabbage I fryed for you yesterday. Oh the sorceress! cries TURLUPIN. I can't resist her. She knows how to take me by my foible. The bacon! the very fat's now rising in my stomach. Live, fry cabbage, and be dutiful.
. This so emboldened them that they grew more and more scurilous and personal; till GROS GUILLAUME, in one of their farces, counterfeited a certain magistrate so perfectly that he issued a warrant to take them all up. GROS GUILLIAUME was put in prison, where he shortly afterwards 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 certainly they have ever thrown about pretty profusely
The most indecent nonsense of our merry Andrews and puppet shew men may give some idea of it.
.
The names of Harlequin, Pantaloon, Scaramouche, and the rest of the pantomime characters, are supposed to have been either the real or adventitious titles of those who first performed them. The original Harlequin is said to have been a young performer 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 Italian custom of giving the master's name to the servant, Arlequino; a name that DOMINIQUE, GHERARDI, 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, whatever 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. CAMILLE, 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 in her praise."
She was an actress as well as a dancer, and admirable in both capacities. CLAIRVAL 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 Colombines 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 admirable singers. THOMASSIN was a good Harlequin, OCTAVE, who acted, danced, and played upon eight 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 forward, 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 gentlemen of his chamber. The organ, through which all applications, reports, and appeals are to be conveyed, to be composed of three performers called
Semainiers,
or weekly inspectors, chosen by a majority 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 disbursements, 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 company, 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 discharge of their duty; to see after the state of the decorations, to take care at performances and rehearsals, that every decorum is observed, and that nothing is neglected by actors, singers, dancers, painters, 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 proceedings of the company are approved or disapproved 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 resolutions taken as to their future plans and operations; at all times strictly adhering to these regulations.
Distributing of parts, forseits, recompences over and above the common appointments, and first appearances 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, however, pass by the treatment of authors.
All authors, who think proper to send pieces to the theatre, are to direct them to the second semainier, who is to report the instructions which those authors shall think proper to send with their performances to the company. If the author wishes to be concealed, they are to observe inviolable secrecy. 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, 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
When the pieces were musical, the profits were still the same but they were shared between the author and composer.
.
In 1773, the principal performers where, men, CARLIN, ZENNUZZI, COLALTO, LA RUETTE, CLAIRVAL, CAILLOT, VERONESE, TRIAL, CAMERANI, and others; women, DESGLANDS, LA RUETTE, BERARD, BEAUPRE, TRIAL, ZANERINI, BILLIONI, COLOMBE, and others. Actors, retired on pensions from the king, DESBROSSES, THOMASSIN, TOUVOIS, GAILLARD, DEMERY, ROUSSEL, DESORMERY, MOREL, and LECLERC. Actresses, BACELLI, GAULT, LEFEVRE, GAILLARD, and DU FAYEL. Ballet master DE HESSE. Principal 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 protection 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 reputation
Whenever the younger CRIBILLON was in company he made a point of decrying his father's works, even to his face.
"How now,"
said a friend one day,
"shall you who have been able to produce nothing but fairy tales, and other frivolous rhapsodies, pretend to criticise a man who has done honour to the age he lives in? who has written so many tragedies and other works equally meritorious and ingenious."
"Well,"
said young CREBILLON,
"and which are the best of his productions?"
"It would be difficult"
said the friend,
"to ascertain which is the best, but it is easy to see that you are the worst."
. 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 ordered 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, MERCIER, DE MORAND, and a variety of others, and at the Italian theatre FAVART, ANSEAUME, SEDAINE, and many more.
FONTENELLE, whose arduous and meritorious labours did so much service to the cause of literature in FRANCE, was the nephew of the great CORNEILLE. 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 sentiments 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, because 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 deservedly 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 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 reputation. His first pieces, after a time, were generally reduced to farces, and sometimes to one act
The actors took this liberty so mercilessly with BOISSI, that he was not always very much satisfied,
"Why zounds,"
said he one day,
"if my plays are to be hacked and hewed in this manner, what shall I do to have a piece represented in five acts?"
Write it in eleven, said an actor.
; 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 author in very handsome terms, and praises him in particular for his pieces called
La Double Extragance,
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 natural 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 manners with great truth of colouring, but as there is in genteel company generally too much vapidity, he often wants force, humour, and interest
About the time that MOISSY brought out his comedy of
Les Deux Freres,
BRET produced another called
Les Deux Saeurs.
Neither of these plays had great success.
"What shall I do,"
said BOISSY to a friend,
"with my two brothers?"
"Why,"
said the friend,
"I think you can't do better than marry them to BRET's two sisters."
.
PALISSOT was a writer of considerable eminence. 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 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 appeared 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 and dangerous doctrines of ROUSSEAU, VOLTAIRE, and other authors of that stamp
PALISSOT, in his Memoirs, says, that being honoured with the countenance and support of two ladies of high rank, to whom he dedicated a work, finding those ladies libelled because they protected him, and seeing very plainly that it was the intention of the libellers to compromise the matter with the ladies by inducing them to transfer their favour, under an idea that his arguments ought not to be rated in opposition to theirs; he conceived it his duty to take the matter up. For this purpose, as the flanderers were public characters, indeed VOLTAIRE is supposed to have been concerned in it, he thought he could not more completely do public justice than by bringing them on the stage, and offering up their dark opinions and their invidious philosophy, as a sacrifice to truth, to reason, and to decorum.
. 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, however, 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 excited so many cabals as this single play
VOLTAIRE wrote PALISSOT several letters upon this occasion in which, through an affected gaiety, appeared the most poignant chagrin. A literary man said upon this occasion that VOLTAIRE would never forgive PALISSOT for throwing off his livery; by which it should seem that PALISSOT enlisted under VOLTAIRE, and would have remained his disciple had he not been so greatly
ed, against him.
. It being clearly discovered, however, that the parties against it were interested persons, or suborned at their instance, 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 confessed 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 PALISSOT, gave like him one piece of uncommon 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 resemble the times in which he wrote, but the personages
The Marshal BRISSAC was aimed at in one of the principal characters of this piece, and he was very proud of the distinction. The part was performed by BRIZARD; and the Marshal meeting him one evening cried out
"BRIZARD, if you should happen to be ill let your comrade, send to me to play your part."
. This tragedy had such astonishing success that the author was called for four times on the first night of its representation, and once on every other during its run
It is curious to remark that this rage was carried to a most ridiculous height. Whenever the author was called for, the whole theatre received him with shouts of applause, and never dismissed him till they cr
ed out with once voice,
Vive le Roy et Monsieur
DE BELLO
.
. 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 controller 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 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
TITUS who is renowned for saying, whenever any day passed that he had not the happiness of doing some benefit to mankind,
"I have lost a day,"
has the very same expression in this tragedy, on which a wag remarked when the piece was damned,
"
Titus perdit un Jour. Un Jour perdit Titus.
"
,
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 himself of the genius he possessed, produced for the French theatre, the Italian theatre, and the fairs, 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 warfare 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 Madmoiselle 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.
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 accommodates 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.
MERCIER was certainly a wonderful writer
The reader must not confound this MERCIER with the author who wrote
Le Bonnet de Nuit.
They are brothers, and as I understand both valuable characters, but, a little like the two CORNEILLE's, very distinct from each other as writers.
, and particularly for the stage. His knowledge of effect is perfect and critical, and he has no character, 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 considered as reformers, and the stage is a dangerous spot to attempt at innovation. I shall have occasion 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 himself 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 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 variety of admirable subjects. His tragedies, though respectable, are by no means equal to his other plays
In MARMONTEL's tragedy of
Cleopatra,
which was a good deal hissed, a famous mechanic had constructed an asp so artfully that it seemed perfectly alive. As it approached CLEOPATRA the eyes sparkled like fire and it began to hiss. After the scene was over, one of the auditors asked a person who sat near him how he liked the piece;
"Why faith, Sir,"
said the other,
"I am of the same opinion of the asp."
.
Venceslas,
which, as we have seen, was only an alteration from ROTROU, seems to have determined MARMONTEL to stick to comic subjects
The regard the public retained for an old author of eminence prevented their receiving this piece from the hands of MARMONTEL with the warmth that had been expected. To encourage this indifference a variety of circumstances concurred, the source of which seems clearly to be traceable to VOLTAIRE, who was, probably, jealous that MARMONTEL should write tragedy. LE KAIN, VOLTAIRE's firm and intimate friend, stirred up the actors to reject the corrections of MARMONTEL; who, among all the company, had no support but Madmoiselle CLAIRON. On her LE KAIN was instructed by his principal how to be revenged; and, when the piece was performed
vious to its public appearance, he got his whole part altered by a Mons. COLARDEAU, so that, though the speeches retained the sense originally given them, the expressions were so different that CLAIRON, whose great excellence was an attention to those who were speaking to her, was quite thrown out. On the other hand the audience supposed the fault to be with MARMONTEL and threw all the odium on him. He appealed, however; LE KAIN was reprimanded and ordered to expunge all that COLARDEAU had written▪ Egged on by VOLTAIRE, who rejoiced that the prohibition had gone no farther, he determined to abide by this injunction to the letter. When, therefore, the piece came to be performed on the theatre, he took out certainly all that had been introduced by COLARDEAU; but, instead of substituting MARMONTEL's alterations, he supplied the deficiencies from ROTROU himself. The consequence was that CLAIRON was as much at a stand as ever, and MARMONTEL hissed once more for what he had not written. Being then author of
Du Mercure,
he appealed to the public and inserted a letter, written by one of the actors, which was answered by LE KAIN, who was again accused of somenting the whole quarrel; and thus appeal succeeded appeal till the public were tired of the subject and MARMONTEL, certainly ill treated, though many of the arguments were greatly to the honour of ROTROU, of whose reputation his advocates affected to be very tender, resolved never again to tread tragic ground.
, for which 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.
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 critically true, too accurate for the multitude. The situations 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 account that he is less skilful in the construction of his pieces; for while MERCIER introduces no incident, 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 absolute 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'Esprit,
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 productions 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 Jardinier 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 VOLTAIRE 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
PIRON pretended not to like
Nanine,
or, perhaps, did not really like it, for heaven knows it is dull enough, VOLTAIRE asked him why he did not hiss it;
"'Twas impossible,"
said PIRON,
"a man cannot hiss and yawn at the same time."
, though it must be confessed he has treated the subject very insipidly.
Semiramis
was first performed in 1748. This tragedy, having been stolen from CREBILLON, and once before, as we have seen, brought forward without 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 spectators 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
VOLTAIRE did himself no service in this business by introducing the ghost of NINUS after he had ridiculed the ghost in
Hamlet.
.
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 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
In one of the public prints of that year, are these words:
"We understand that Monsieur VOLTAIRE has sent the actors a tragedy, in his manner, called
Les Scythes
; and informed them, at the same time, that he wrote it in twelve days. The actors, to be even with him, have returned it with an humble request that he will take twelve months to correct it."
. His next piece,
Les Triumvirs,
was damned, owing, it is alledged, to his keeping back his name. Certainly it did not deserve so severe a
ate, and it is probable that had he, according to custom, acknowledged its faults and corrected them, it might have been made an acquisition to the theatre.
The last piece but one, by VOLTAIRE, was
Sophonisbe,
performed in 1768. This tragedy was nothing 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 novelty to recommend it, that its success was inconsiderable, 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 theatre in GENEVA. These are of different discriptions, but many of them have great merit,
Les Guebres
is written with astonishing force and grandeur,
Samson,
an opera, is most admirably designed, and charmingly written
"A comedy called
Samson,
says VOLTAIRE, was a great while performed in ITALY. It was translated in FRANCE by a man named ROMAGNESI. This piece was brought out at a place which was anciently the palace of the Duke of BURGUNDY. It was printed and dedicated to the Duc D'ORLEANS, Regent of FRANCE. In this sublime performance HARLEQUIN, SAMSON's valet, keeps a turkey-cock at bay while his master takes the gates of the city of GAZA upon his shoulders. In 1732 this subject was attempted to be revived at the opera, embellished by the music of RAMEAU; but it was not permitted; for as the turkey-cock had no place in the piece, it was considered as a very serious business, and improper to be represented; and, in other respects, they were glad enough to mortisy RAMEAU, who had too much merit not to excite envy. Nevertheless, at the same time, they made no scruple of performing
Jeptha
from the Old Testament, and the
Prodigal Son
from the New."
; and, in
Socrate,
there is some of the sweetest prose, particularly the love scenes, that can be conceived.
There was, however, another piece which VOLTAIRE 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 theatre, 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, indeed, afflicted some time before
At this time VOLTAIRE himself was acting a most miserable farce. On his arrival in PARIS, he was visited and enquired after with more solicitude than if he had been an ambassador, or a minister of state. Nothing was spoken of but VOLTAIRE. Nothing that could flatter his excessive vanity was omitted. Every syllable he uttered was cherished like the prophesies of an oracle. His bon mots, his sallies, his most trifling expressions were retailed in all the journals and in all public companies. Happy they who caught from him a complacent glance, a condescending nod, or a gracious smile. In the mean time, some individuals, who also knew how to act farces, resolved to make his folly contribute to their interest. Among these was a certain Abbe GAULTIER, a namesake at least of a farce actor already spoken of. This man, who formerly had been a Jesuit, thought he could not better ingratiate himself with the Archbishop of PARIS than by bringing about VOLTAIRE's conversion to the church after he had been so long considered as a notorious aposlate. For this purpose he determined to enter the lists with the actors and the philosophers, and combat with them lustily for the soul of VOLTAIRE. He pestered him with letters; and the more he was tormented with bodily and mental infirmity the more he harrassed him; till, at length, the poor poet, with all his fear of eternity before him, was reduced to the most pitiable state of pusillanimity and irresolution. One minute he sent for the priest, the next he denied himself to him. Now he wrote a recantation of his errors, presently he retracted it. The Abbe in the mean time was under the necessity of putting every art in practice to carry his point, for he had DIDEROT, D'ALEMBERT, MARMONTEL, and others to manage, who wanted the poor philosopher to die in peace. In proportion, however, as the patient's apprehensions encreased, he gained the ascendancy. A full and complete abjuration of all the crimes VOLTAIRE had committed against the christian religion was drawn up, couched in terms equivalent to a confession that all that he had ever written was full of lies, a terrible prohibition for an author; to destroy the credit of a long life of study and its fruits contained in an hundred volumes by the single dash of the pen! This recantation was to be published in all the newspapers in EUROPE, and it contained in particular a very artful condition; which was, that, as it had been reported that every precaution would be taken when he should be near his end, either by threats or denunciations to make him confess and sign whatever might privately serve the purposes of the church, or its ministers, and that, therefore, all he said or did under such restraint ought to go for nothing, he not only abjured all knowledge of these or any other similar insinuations, but protested that whatever he should confess, and whatever he should sign, would be the unbiassed effect of full conviction and a due sense of the manifold crimes he had committed, together with a necessity for a sincere, a contrite, and an unequivocal repentance. The conditions were hard, and it required as much management to get them accepted as boldness to propose them; but nothing could intimidate the Abbe. He found he had hooked his fish, and it was his business to play with it properly in order to bring it safely to his hand. He enjoyed his amusement, however, with rather too much wantonness; for just as he was on the point of gaining the reward of his dexterity, death broke the line and away went his prey to the bottom. In short, just as VOLTAIRE had manifested an apparent consent, for an absolute one he never manifested, to these hard terms, he fell into a delirium and died, before he had received extreme unction, or done any other thing necessary to his being considered as a christian; and, therefore, though statues and mausoleums were erected to his memory, and he was deified at the theatre, the church refused him the rights of sepulture; nay, what is very extraordinary, they refused to take their fees for fear of contamination.
. 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 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 overwhelm me? Will you kill me with excess of 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 followers of his doctrines on the other, who were solicitous 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 accelerated his end. Pride, weakness, vanity, mortification, 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 consecrated 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 CHAMPAIGNE to which place the news of the prohibition had not reached. The bishop of TROYES, however, 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
A wit upon this occasion wrote a distitch which may be thus translated:
Here, of grave monks among a holy nest,
Rests he, who never suffered monks to rest.
.
To go over the large field of VOLTAIRE's productions 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 dramatic productions. These, though there is scarcely any thing original in them, are the best his country can boast: a strange but a true declaration. VOLTAIRE's judgment was strong, faithful, and penetrating, 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 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 nothing but judicious imitation."
He moulded CORNEILLE, RACINE, and CREBILLON 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
The critics of his own country have gone farther and advanced that in the
Mort de Caesar
he has excelled SHAKESPEAR, but as this would open a new scene of contention for which I am not sufficiently forward, I shall dismiss the subject till I have an opportunity of letting SHAKESPEAR speak for himself, when I may, probably, shew that close application to the be
uties of SHAKESPEAR enabled VOLTAIRE, in great measure, to excel his countrymen.
. 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 proportion and value.
"My rivals,"
said he,
"accuse me without 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 involve these observations in a review of the numberless 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 opportunity 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, artful, 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 frequenter of the comic opera, and every passer-by in the streets, began to assume something like melody; and, while the style of the more important works of PERGOLESI, GALLUPPI, and their cotemporaries, made up the grandeur of French music, regulated by RAMEAU, the Venetian Ballads and the other lighter music of the Italian Serenatas, and Intermezzos, changed the complexion and gave a delicacy to the Vaudvilles.
DUNI, following the example of RAMEAU, improved the comic opera as RAMEAU has improved the serious opera. He was afterwards followed, among many others, by MONSIGNY, by PHILIDORE, and, at length, by GRETRY, at which time French music had gone beyond its strength, and the string was stretched till it cracked.
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 PHILIDORE; till unfortunately meeting with his counterpart 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 comparison with the English actors, I shall content myself at present with saying that, though they call BARON the French ROSCIUS, and speak with rapture 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 recitative, and acted with almost the regularity of a minuet. If a character was to be saved from a precipice, 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 represented, threw into her face all the agony of a despairing mother; and, darting across the stage, cried out, in a frenzy of tenderness and apprehension,
"Barbarian he is my son."
But we shall have leisure to speak of their general merits; at present let us talk briefly of them particularly.
From BARON sprung, either immediately or collaterally, many of the best French actors. He married 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 performers 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 considering in what manner he might render the actors respectable in the eyes of their fellow citizens
LOUIS the fourteenth paid DANCOURT particular attention. He frequently read his pieces to the king in his closet; and one day as he exerted himself a good deal, the room being very warm, he felt himself suddenly ill; on which the king ran instantly to the window and threw it open to give him air. Another time, having some suit to prefer to the king, he encountered him as he was coming from high mass, and, retreating as the king advanced, he nearly tumbled down a staircase that he had forgot was behind him; at which the king caught him by the arm saying,
"I applaud your zeal for your company, and think your demand so reasonable that I shall comply with it, especially as you plead their cause so respectfully, but I don't see why your complaisance should make you break your neck."
The president HARLAI did not think DANCOURT and his company entitled to so much consideration. When at the head of the troop he went to carry alms for the poor he acquitted himself handsomely of his commission and made a brilliant speech. HARLAI was at the head of the Bureau. DANCOURT took the opportunity of enforcing that the charity of the actors ought to exempt them from excommunication, but he was cut short by HARLAI,
"DANCOURT,"
said the President,
"we have ears to hear you, and hand, to receive your alms, but we have not tongues to answer you."
.
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 excommunicated
The pride of DUFRESNE was insufferable.
"I am,"
said he to a friend,
"blindly followed, extolled, adored. How? Only on the stage. Is this happiness?
"A popular error, Sir."
"Why I would prefer the state of being a gentleman of an ancient race, living comfortably in his family mansion, even with no more than twenty thousand crowns a year, and surrounded with but a dozen servants.
. It is said that in the hands of BEAUBOURG and others, who succeeded BARON, the art of acting had degenerated; but that, when DUFRESNE 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 COUVREUR, 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 was mistaken for a man, and who sought a duel and set fire to a convent; the three sisters of QUINAULT neither of which was destitute of merit; DUCLOS, who was many years celebrated in tragedy; DUBOIS, who retired with a pension; DANGEVILLE, in whose praise for forty years all the journals, all the histories of the theatre, all the dramatic annals were so lavish even to the quantity of several volumes: these and many more we are constrained 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
AS LE KAIN has been presumptuously by some authors considered as superior to GARRICK, probably out of compliment to VOLTAIRE, who considered himself as superior to SHAKESPEAR, I shall have a better opportunity, when I speak of our ROSCIUS, of condemning those gentlemen through their own words.
. The whole of this 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 characters of which he stampt the reputation, it is impossible to deny but that he had as much good sense as versatility
I am happy to allow this, and shall hereafter allow him much more when in its place, I shall nevertheless shew PREVILLE greatly overmatched by KING.
.
MOLE performed in hard, honest, blunt characters with great truth and justice. He was a different figure, and much more a Frenchman, but those who recollect YATES may, from that recollection, 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
There is some similarity between this actor and BANNISTER, by whom, however, BELLECOUR is infinitely excelled, as will hereafter be shewn.
.
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 correct 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
BRIZARD seems to have been a mixture of BOOTH, QUIN, and SHERIDAN.
. He enjoyed many years a splendid reputation, 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, followed 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 Declamation,
he attained a very high situation in his profession
DUGAZON, though a much more superficial actor, conveys a strong idea of WOODWARD.
.
DESESSARTS seems to have been in comedy something in the style of what BRIZARD was in tragedy; 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 understanding, yet they do not want such power and exertion as the old men in tragedy. There was, however, an amiable and benevolent manner in DESESSARTS 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, 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 interesting, but, under the controul of that mind which actuated 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 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 DUMESNIL. 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 VESTRIS, 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. Madmoiselle HUS was an actress in a more extensive style, but not so excellent as either of the others. She was well received, however, both in tragedy and comedy.
The leading comic actresses were Madame BELLECOUR, Madame DUGAZON, and Madmoiselle CONTAT. Madame BELLECOUR continued on the stage a great number of years, and was always received 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 ABINGTON; 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 characters 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, as well as to the rest of those whose names will presently 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 extremely similar to those of the Italian theatre. In 1757, the king revoked all former laws and established 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 inspection of the king, who took them immediately under his patronage. So that to be further particular 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, DALAINVAL, MONVEL, DUGAZON, and DESESSARTS. Actors retired on pensions. BELLEMONT, PONTUEIL, COURVILLE, SEGUIN, and REYMOND. Actresses. DUMESNIL, DROUIN, BELLECOUR, HUS, PREVILLE, MOLE, DOLIGNY, LUZI, FANIER, SAINTVAL, DUGAZON, VESTRIS, LA CHASSAIGNE, and RAUCOURT. Actresses retired on pensions. BONIOLI, and St. GERVAIS.
Composer and ballet master; DESHAYES, first dancer DESNOYERS, principal dancers GUIARDELLE, 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 attained 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.
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 meritorious 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 consistent French, with the King Queen and Royal Family at their head, shed tears at the same play yesterday 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, ridicule priests on the stage
VOLTAIRE instances this, very humourously, in a letter to the Duke DE LA VALLE: where he insists that the Mysteries, which were performed in the sixteenth century, were not so indecent or so full of impiety as the sermons of the priests, who, under the sanction of preaching in Latin, had opportunity of being as brutal as they thought proper. To prove this he thus translates a passage from a sermon of the CORDILIER MAILLARD, in which the priest means to admonish the fashional le ladies of those times who wore embroidery.
"You say you are dressed out according to your conditions: All the devils in hell fly away with your conditions and you too my fine ladies. You may take it into your heads to tell me that your husbands do not give you all these fine ornaments, and gorgeous trappings, but that you earn them by the labour of your bodies: Thirty thousand devil fly away with the labour of your bodies my good ladies."
. We have seen dancers, 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 distinction and afterwards left to die in extreme indigence, obtain a complete victory over the truly celebrated VOLTAIRE.
Let us now turn our eyes to ENGLAND.
BOOK IV. ENGLISH STAGE TO SHAKESPEAR'S FIRST PLAY.
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 return. The traveller, who has crossed seas and traversed empires to seek for objects of wonder and admiration, cherishes the recollection of the pleasure and instruction he has received, only in proportion 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 transplanted to ROME, and there pining through a sickly and rickety existence; if I have deplored the buffooneries of ITALY, where the heterogeneous faragoes 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 themselves; I have done this to prove, upon a comparative review, the superiority of our theatre at home.
If I held up AESCHYLUS, LIVIUS ANDRONICUS, and CORNEILLE, it was to place SHAKESPEAR upon higher ground; if I instanced ROSCIUS and BARON, it was to shew the pre-eminence of GARRICK; and this motive has been my guide in every instance; nor have I shrunk from the best commendation I could procure for authors, actors, musicians, or any other of those descriptions of enterprizers, who in so many ways are necessary to promote 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 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 propriety 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 elephants. 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
A French dancer, in the reign of Queen ANNE, after he had returned to FRANCE pretty well loaded with the spoils of this country, heard a great deal from report of HARLEY, the famous Earl of OXFORD, and of his being in great favour with the Queen.
"Well now upon my soul,"
said he,
"I am astonished at it. I found him the stupidest fellow I ever met with; why, Sir, I had him ten years under my hands and never could teach him a single caper."
.
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 perfection 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 endeavouring 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
As the authorities from which I shall collect the leading features of this work will, of course, be very numerous, I shall, for many reasons, beg to decline perpetually citing them. They will naturally contain a thousand contradictions, and my business will be, while I divest myself of the prejudices which influenced those authors as they wrote, to form the fairest and most rational conclusions that can be deduced from their arguments. Were I to adopt any other conduct, the names of STOWE, SPEED, MALMESBURY, BEDE, PERCY, PARIS, and I am sure at least fifty others, foreign and English, would be for ever occurring, and the work thus flufled with authorities would wear the appearance of a string of marginal notes, or a column in Doctor JOHNSON's dictionary. The reader, however, sets that it may be necessary, for the sake of elucidation, sometimes to adopt a contrary conduct.
.
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 communication and intercourse with the Gauls, it is abundantly enough to establish a proof that they imported their amusements as well as their merchandize; 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, probably, 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 whether 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 signifies 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, 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 acquired, it was incorporated among the pursuits and improvements of the hardy Britons. They knew geography, which not only comprehends a measurement of the globe itself, but every one of its component parts; which originated in CHALDEA, passed into EGYPT, improved in PHOENECIA, and grew celebrated in GREECE
SOCRATES, to humble ALCIBIADES, asked him to trace his territories in ATHENS upon a map.
. 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 astrologers and the soothsayers did not act their parts as naturally as the buffoons and the musicians? Geometry, 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
The theology of the Druids was that the soul does not die but passes from one to another. To this, and their natural philosophy, LUCAN finely alludes, and accounts for their contempt of death in their belief of immortality, which, by the way, he calls an error.
, astronomy, natural philosophy, and politics.
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 empires, 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 construction 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 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
Forgetting this I suppose, an author, full of ingenuity and intelligence, asks what is become of the music of the ancients and why it is not as manifest to us as their pyramids, their statues, and their writings. Unfortunately music is not a dead language; letters are one thing; notation is another. Poems and chronicles, relative to the actions of heroes and legislators, are interesting and beget emulation; sensations that relate to ideas may be faithfully transmitted from language to language by fixed rules and principles; but which way are sensations, to be transmitted to which no fixed rules can be annexed? Delight undefined, and rapture inexplicable. It can never be forgotten that those great writers, whose works are supposed to be authenticated to a letter, are perpetually speaking of this very music and all its facination. But the glory was to be reserved for a monk and that celestial art which was created with order and coeval with light, instead of instantly diffusing universal pleasure and gladening the smiling world, was doomed to remain a chaos, an imperfect lump, for so many thousands of years, to be awakened into existence and shaped into symetry by a dronish priest in a solitary cloister. Many obvious circumstances purely adventitious which have been instanced, by a variety of authors, will, I am afraid, stigmatize this friar, this father GUIDO, rather as a MARSYAS than crown him as an APOLLO. Put melody out of the quest
on, nature gives us harmony; witness the bantum cock that in crowing tall a perfect fifth; the hen that in
ckling rises a complete sixth; the cuckoo that with the assistance of the bass, which the ear is compelled to supposed, makes an exact common chord. But how this is extended when we consider the properties of foreign birds! Did not the parrot, the minor, and the mocking bird whistle till father GUIDO, like another ADAM, gave them permission? But, after all, what shall be said of the sloth? that, wonderful to relate, to those who have not attended to nature, begins at a key note, repeats regularly every note afterwards in a major key till he includes the sixth, and then sinks gradually to the key note again, going over the very lesson of Sol fa, in the wilds of AMERICA, that musical friars, and other modern harmonists, teach to young ladies, and other novices, in the courts and cities of EUROPE. Oh that Friar GUIDO should allow to the sloth that which he refuses to the ancients!
.
History, both sacred and profane, is full of accounts in which musicians led on troops and animated 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 obtained, 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, particularly, Greek; and it is remarked that they learnt a great number of verses by heart. By whom written? Certainly by HOMER, HESIOD, AESCHYLUS, 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 dramatic art, or at least were in possession of the productions of those who did know it, in as high perfection as any thing it had attained before SHAKESPEAR. How far they exercised it is certainly lest to conjecture. Revolutions annihilate customs and obliterate their records. Were it not for the Scriptures, a knowledge of the early arts and improvements of the Hebrews would probably have been lost when they were led captives to BABYLON
What can give so complete an idea of an Oratorio, certainly a dramatic entertainment, as the Lamentations of the Children of ISRAEL upon the Banks of the EUPHRATES.
; 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.
Having taken bold ground, I shall I hope be pardoned if I go a little farther in searc
of probable argument to bear out, not what I have advanced, 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 gallantry, the intercourse, the intermarriages of this aristocracy could possibly have taken place without poetical celebration.
It is infallible that they had the means of celebrating sacrifices
We are told that the BRITONS had more gods than the Egyptians, therefore their superstition was greater. They sacrificed beasts, and sometimes men; and are said to have augured from circumstances and symptoms so wonderfully that PLINY tells us the Britons were held in such estimation for astrology, it seemed as if the Persians learnt magic from them, not they from the Persians. They determined all controversies, and sung the deeds of heroes.
, 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 knew Latin
Many authors are of opinion that the Greeks landed often in BRITAIN, and particularly in the North. PLINY speaks of BRITAIN as an
freque
tly in the monuments and the records of both the Greeks and the Romans TH
LE, certainly an island in SCOTLAND among the ORCADES, the distance of which island from BRITAIN PYTHEAS describes, as much mentioned and renowned among Greek writers; and we are told, by ATHENEUS, that PHILEAS TAUROMINITES was
BRITAIN, according to the date, about one hundred and sixty year before the coming of JULIUS CAESAR; and this account speaks of it as a recent thing, for it was about a hundred and seventy-nine years before the Christian aera that ATHENEUS was a writer. Many other proofs m
ght be adduced; and, in particular, from SOLINUS, w
o speaks of an altar in CALADONIA on which was to be seen an
ription to ULYSSES in Greek letters. Vestiges of Drudical to
les having also been found in the Scotch islands; the well k
own propensities of the Scotch to conform to their ancient rites, manners and pastimes; the productions of their early bards, some
which that are truly epic, and others that are written in dialogue,
therefore, actually dramatic, leave very little doubt but that
epic and dramatic poetry of GREECE the Scotch bards de
much of their excellence
. These are conjectures, however, not assertions▪ probabilities, not certainties; but since it is difficult to prevent the mind from leaning towards
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 playwright, 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, occasioned visits to ROME, where the sons of the best families vied with each other in Roman accomplishments. With these they returned and became objects 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 encouraged. Strangers flocked to ROME to see those stupendous theatres, already described, and to witness the exhibitions given in them. Britons followed the examples of others; and, though in their continual struggles with the Romans they scarcely secured 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 warlike 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 Romans, and propped the declining reputation of the Druids
The reputation of the Druids began to decline from another circumstance Our SAVIOUR, who was born in the reign of AUGUSTUS, was crucified about four years before the death of TIBERIUS. When the disciples dispersed at the time the Jews were banished from ROME, we are told that both St. PETER and St. PAUL came and preached the Gospel in BRITAIN; which, as far as it relates to St. PAUL, is confirmed by so many authors that it can scarcely be doubted. We have a very particular account of CLAUDIA RUFINA, a British lady, who was married to RUFUS a senator of ROME. This lady was celebrated, particularly by MARTIAL the poet, for correctly understanding the Greek and Latin languages. He says in one of his poems that she might have passed at ATHENS for a Greek, and at ROME for a Roman. But I particularly mention her here because she gave an asylum to St. PETER and St. PAUL at the time of their proscription, and it is said that she was the special cause of St. PAUL's mission to BRITAIN; by whom, as she knew the avidity of the Britons for Roman poetry, she sent the verses of MARTIAL; in consequence of which he says, in another poem, that
"the Britons begin to learn the verses of the Romans"
; a strong corroboration of many things already here advanced.
; 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 the inexperienced Britons. CARACTACUS, betrayed 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 disgrace, lost a battle, in which fell eighty thousand of her adherents, and afterwards poisoned herself
This very occasion affords abundant proof that the Britons not only knew the Roman refinements but practised them in the fullest extent. After the injuries that the house and followers of PRASUTAGUS had sustained from the Romans, they are said to have been inspired from Heaven with hope; for that the image of Victory, at CAMULODUNEM, fell down reversed without any apparent cause. That women ran distracted into the streets and prophecied destruction.
"Strange noises were heard in the court,"
says my author,
"and howlings in the
theater.
"
This is the English orthography; the word spelled
theatre
being French, but they both mean the same thing; and all those figurative acceptations of the word, such as theatre of the world, theatre of war, and others, are nothing more than what time and usage have annexed to it; for never among the Greeks, the Romans, or any other nation, at least that I can trace, was it used to express any thing but a place for the representation of dramatic entertainments. SHAKESPEAR calls the world a wide and universal theatre; but he, who well knew a figure, could not be perfect without all its limbs, proves his position by adding that all the men and women are merely players. But to corroborate this, BOADICEA, in her famous speech at the head of her troops calls NERO, in derision, a fidler, and a stage player; which we knew he was. Nay, she attributes the dissentions, then in BRITAIN, to their licentious imitation of the vices of the Romans, disseminated by the jesters and buffoons, whom she calls ROME's instruments, and BRITAIN's vipers.
But for these,"
says she,
"TIBERIUS, though extremely coveteous, would have foregone his tribute; CLAUDIUS would been glad to have made peace; and NERO would still have followed his fiddling trade at home had not the discords of BRITAIN been caused by his fiddlers here."
But, indeed, the whole of this speech is not only full of eloquence but erudition, and plainly shews the knowledge and information of those Druids from whom she boasted her education. Her noble, yet how feminine in her quoting the examples of SYMIRAMIS, of ASSYRIA, NITOCRIS, of BABYLON, TOMYRIS, of SCYTHIA, and CLEOPATRA, of EGYPT, as proofs that it may be necessary for women to command armies; but what does this prove in her? That she, Briton as she was, at that early period had stored her mind with learning; nay more, that these matters were understood by those to whom she addressed them, otherwise her eloquence would have been useless, and her time thrown away. But this is corroborated in an hundred instances, one of which is the conduct of CARRACTACUS, who, though king of a remote people trained only to arms, astonished the Romans, when he was carried captive to ROME, as much by his eloquence as by his fortitude.
; and the Druids, who had wholly retired to their island of MONA, were surrounded and exterminated.
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 having once made a complete conquest of the island, 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 moment 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 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 ingenuity 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 subjects 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 conquest, these amusements consisted of such poetry and music as they imbibed from the Greeks, as it 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 defenceless 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 variety 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 animated armies. Its fire was smouldering among the embers, but not extinct. A remnant of the luckless Druids still were scattered up and down, particularly in CALEDONIA. These required neither records for their poetry nor notation for their music. Tradition supplied the matter and memory gave it utterance.
These, as the times became less furious, gradually emancipated from their hiding places; and as it had been long customary for every chief to have his bard, for what would have been ACHILLES 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 introduce, even in the rudest state, something like civilization, encouraged these bards to sing those exploits they had atchieved, or to invent for them attributable atchievements to make them respected in the eyes of their dependants, or else to stimulate them to great actions, and their dependants to an admiration 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 opponents, 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 exstinction of the Roman empire, no doubt pervaded BRITAIN; and the Round Table, and the Tournaments in the court of ARTHUR, which were exactly the French entremets, give incontestible proofs of this.
The atcheivements of ARTHUR were sung by the bards, of whom MERLIN is said to have been the chief;
These songs were regularly handed down by the bards to one another. It is not questionable with me whether, in some of the old ballads in honour of the court of king ARTHUR, we may not have the matter, if not in some degree the very expressions, that were uttered in the presence of that Prince. All the authors, who write moderately, speaking of ARTHUR, give fairly to his fame every traceable part of his prowess that can be reconciled to reason, but believe not
"the scandalous fables, poetical fictions, and hyperbolical falsehoods,"
attributed to him by fanciful writers. In the same manner all reasonable men, though they cannot consent to the fables of HOMER, nor to the inventions of SOPHOCLES and EURIPIDES concerning the battle of TROY, do not deny that there were battles at TROY, and that there were many valiant atchievements performed there. It has ever been the custom of bards to call in invention whenever the recital of a simple story was not sufficiently poetical, and, therefore, though we cannot credit all that the Welch bards, who were accustomed to sing to their harps at feasts the noble deeds of their ancestors, have said of ARTHUR; yet, omitting all they have ascribed to his conduct, attributable to supernatural agency, we cannot deny the substance of their song in which they allow his existence and great prowess. I shall relate a remarkable though a well known proof that all the songs of these bards were not merely legendary. The burial place of ARTHUR had been for six hundred years unknown. When HENRY the second, and the first PLANTAGENET, towards the end of his reign, was at PEMBROKE, he was entertained by some Welch bards who sung the deeds of ARTHUR. In their songs were some obscure expressions that related to his burial, which, upon putting circumstances together, convinced the king and his courtiers, for it mentioned a church-yard in which two pyramids were standing, that it must surely be at GLASTONBURY, in SOMERSETSHIRE. Here they resolved to search; and, having caused the ground to be dug up they sound at the depth of seven feet a stone with an inscription which convinced them their search would not be in vain. They persevered and found ARTHUR and his queen, both of whom were afterwards entombed in GLASTONBURY church, and a cross of lead, as it was taken off the stone with the inscription, was to be seen in the Registry of that church till the suppression of that and many other religious places in the reign of HENRY the eighth.
and, if we go forward and come to ALFRED, we shall not only find him an excellent poet but an accomplished musician; and what wonder 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 considerable 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 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 improved 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 completely 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 BERENGER. 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 mimes and actors of most extraordinary merit at the time of the dissolution of the empire, it is impossible but that they spread themselves wherever they could find an asylum, and that, having an immediate 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
It is curious enough to remark that the tuba recta, a kind of double trumpet, is without hesitation said to be the two trumpets of silver which MOSES was commanded to make in the Wilderness. It was certainly very ancient and retained its original form in the sixteenth century. In a picture at WINDSOR, representing an interview between ARDRES and GUISNES, are trumpets exactly like the tuba recta.
and the tympanum, and welcomed the harp and the ribible, during these occasions, 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 music into ENGLAND, certainly to make his mission more welcome, the purport of which was to convert 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
We find that the English ITALY, in the seventh century, was the county of KENT. The clergy made music their study, and disseminated the knowledge of it among the laity. We have the authorities of HOLLINSHED and BEDE, that they sung in the churches the Gregorian chant which we have been told by VOLTAIRE was not improved upon in FRANCE till LULLY. The LULLY of KENT at that time was one PUTTA, who was so little an OEPHIUS to ETHELRED, king of the Mercians, when he invaded KENT, that he was obliged to obtain a privilege from the bishop of MERCIA to go about and teach music to such as would learn it, and get companions to entertain the great for hire. Here we have fairly the troubadours in ENGLAND, and in the seventh century too.
.
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 opportunity 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 industriously encouraged music throughout the kingdom; that he invited musicians into the country, and particularly 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 the lowest to the highest, in the character of a vagabond and a hireling.
From the moment ALFRED sat down in profound 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 consequence of such a succession of struggles, sunk into the grossest ignorance and barbarism. He, therefore, as we have seen, invited celebrated scholars from all parts of EUROPE, and became himself the stimulus for their education. He was a very voluminous 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 AUGUSTUS 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 improvement. 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, whom ALFRED well knew and encouraged, that
"a great city should not only be commodious and serious, but also merry and sportful
In one of his acts there are these words:
"We will and command that all freemen of our kingdom, possessing two hides of land, shall bring up their sons in learning till they be fifteen years of age; at least so that they may be trained to know GOD, to be men of understanding, and to live happily; for of a man that is born free and yet illiterate, we repute no otherwise than of a beast, a brainless body, and a very sot."
;"
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
ALFRED delighted in translating fables, particularly those of AESOP, that instruction might be conveyed through the medium of allegory. Is it possible the drama could escape this great judge of the human mind as a vehicle for teaching social duty.
, and, therefore, with his accomplished knowledge must have been a correct dramatic 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 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 happiness which, not more the greatness than the cultivation of his mind, had, after so many severe conflicts and fluctuating vicissitudes, so nobly established
I cannot here resist my inclination to offer an obvious remark which by the writers of all countries has been overlooked whenever they have supported the cause of the drama. In ENGLAND it may have proceeded from indifference, which, however, I shall not caval at; for it is at last for the public to judge how far the antiquity of the theatre is an object worthy of consideration. My remarks may be thought futile, and those researches which I may fancy meritorious may be considered as impertinent and irrelevant. I am in for it, however, and hope to be pardoned if I endeavour to clinch every nail I can. The observation I allude to is, that nobody since HESTOD has refused unequivocally to accord the province of tragedy to MELPOMENE, and of comedy to THALIA. The Muses were fabulous divinities of the heathens, who certainly knew nothing more of them than their statues created by fancy. Of these originally there were but three. These presided over meditation, memory, and singing, which last taken in its extended sense means recording. At length a sculptor, pleased like PROMETHEUS with his employment, made nine statues instead of three, and they were all placed in the Temple of APOLLO. HESIOD gave to them their names and their attributes, on which account, probably, it is said be was personally acquainted with the Muses. This was about three thousand years ago; the fact has never been disputed; and, however, there may have been trifling variations from it, however the provinces of CALLIOPI, CLIO, and URANIA may have been exchanged or blended together by literary cavil, however POLYHYMNIA may have been sometimes the muse of music, sometimes of dance, and sometimes of rhetoric, however TERPSICHORE may, according to some, have presided over the harp, and to others over dancing, or, in short, however different authors may have wrested authorities to their own purposes by changing the attributes of those muses it was their ambition to invoke, no one attempt has been made to deprive MELPOMENE and THALIA of the sole and exclusive possession respectively of tragedy and comedy. This admitted must it not have been familiar to every writer since HESIOD what the dramatic art actually is and was? Nay, before HESIOD; for how could he have given them supremacy over an art that was not in existence? We cannot reject this unless we reject the ancients altogether; and, if we permit their heroes to have invoked MARS and BELLONA, that great actions might be atchieved we must permit their poets to have invoked the muses that great actions might be recorded; and, as this has never been so effectually done as through the medium of the theatre, can any writer, ancient or modern, have been ignorant of all the requisites of an art so known, so acknowledged, and so defined. ALFRED knew this art. He knew the truth of every word here written. Will it then be easily credited that he did not encourage that remembrancer of same to which so many heroes had been indebted for the perpetuation of their glory? It cannot be believed; and the only reason why we are ignorant at this minute of the nature of what the dramatic amusements then were is the indifference with which all the English chroniclers, as well as those whose works have been their source of intelligence, have
ed a subject on which they have seldom touched, unless when it has involved some more important object, and then they have scarcely d
igned to afford it particular notice.
.
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 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 inclination 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 philosophy and theology.
ATHELSTAN was a king as little likely to promote 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. EDRED, 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, nevertheless, many reasons to suspect that during this and the preceding reign the mysteries, or perhaps miracle-plays, which will be fully described hereafter, originated, 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 education, something in the nature of these miracle plays was performed, in which there had been perpetually 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; especially as St. DUNSTAN himself was a very good actor, particularly in pantomime, witness the unmerciful manner in which he took the devil by the nose.
It is also difficult to disbelieve that the pranks 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 decency, and in justice to their injured king, to expose 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
Various other curious tricks are related of this holy hypocrite; among these his miracle by which he wholly got rid of the secular priests is not amiss. After a variety of warm disputes, in which the laiety were sometimes victorious and sometimes the clergy, it was agreed to refer every thing to a solemn investigation in a Synod to be held in WILTSHIRE. This Synod being met and the controversy propounded, the parties addressed each other in a strain of the bitterest invective; till, as they were on the point of proceeding from words to blows the floor of the room, which was an upper apartment, gave way and came to the ground with the greatest violence; in consequence of which many limbs were broken, and some lives lost. The post, however, on which DUNSTAN's chair was placed stood firm, by which means he escaped the fate of the rest. This was considered as a miracle in favour of the monks, and the secular clergy of course lost their cause. He also played another prank with a post; which, starting from its situation, had very nearly destroyed a whole building. By only, however, making the sign of a cross upon it with his finger, it returned very quietly to its place, and the building became again secure. But why should we wonder that he was so expert at those wooden miracles when has very harp would work miracles of itself; for while it played at his command several hymns untouched by any human hand, the Virgin MARY condescendingly came and sung to it. Then for angels, he had them of all descriptions for his familiar acquaintance, and thus by their assistance he had it so completely in his power to resist the devil, that in all manner of shapes he whipt him away with thongs and cords; nay, when he came to him in the form of a woman, he pinched him by the nose with a pair of red hot tongs, that by destroying his beauty there might be no motive left for temptation.
.
EDGAR, whose own story, including his marriage 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 entertainments, 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 suffered 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 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, profligacy, 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 EDMUND 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 always returned in exultation. He permitted continually a Danish army in the kingdom, and thereby subjected 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 consequence, 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 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 inglorious 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 murdered 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 probabilities of the existence of interludes, or other dramatic 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 embracing that conduct most likely to conciliate the affection of the people, was certainly favourable to amusements. He built churches, endowed monastries, 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 dissipation more than enough into it for a long one. It is not easy to say whether he or his brute of a brother 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 followers; and the other expired amidst his beastly revels through plenitude and drunkenness.
We have upon this occasion clearly a proof of the existence of plays and interludes; for HARDICANUTE 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
These annual sports, of which this play made a part, and which were continued by the English so long that they are not wholly unknown even at this day, have a very early origin. If we trace bullbateing to its source, throwing at cocks on Shrove Tuesday, or any other of those diversions which have been long sanctioned by time, we shall find they all originated from commemorating some national event. This we are at present speaking of was imitated from the Fugalia; a feast celebrated among the Romans in memory of the expulsion of the kings, and the abolishing the monarchical government, originally instituted under the title of the Regifugium, and held on the twenty-fourth of February, on account of the Tarquins flying from ROME on that day. There have been many disputes as to whether these two words mean the same thing; the meaning of one of them is pretty obvious; but St. AUGUSTINE says that in a true fugalia all decency and modesty were banished, which clearly shews the two feasts to be similar. Certainly the Romans had not more reason to rejoice at the expulsion of the Tarquins than the English had at the expulsion of the Danes; and the sports on Hock Holiday, or Hoke-day, which certainly was a solemn festival instituted at the death of HARDICANUTE, when the English were for ever released from the wanton insults and boundless exactions of him and his countrymen, are a positive proof that the inhabitants of this country were not ignorant of those amusements which made up upon public occasions the pleasure of the Romans, among which something theatrical was always introduced. Hoke-day is known as a law term, and signifies a certain period which, indeed, was the second Tuesday after Easter week, when rent became due. There is some tenure of this kind by which Magdalan College at OXFORD hold lands in HAMPSHIRE. As to the term hocking, it was no more than this: Before the spectators arrived at the place where this play and these sports were to be performed they were obliged to pass a rope extended across the road; which, upon their paying money, was let down to give them a safe and an easy passage. If they refused to pay, it was kept up to hurt their skins and resist their coming forward. Hoke-day money, or Hoke-tuesday money, all authors agree was a tribute anciently paid the landlord for giving his tenants and his bondmen leave to celebrate Hock-day, or Hoke-day, in memory of the expulsion of the Danes.
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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, Abbot of RICHENOU, ODO, of CLUNI, GAFFURIUS, 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, 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 ARETINE, who, though he invented nothing of music itself, so regulated it and reduced it to practise, that the art certainly benefited greatly by his improvement
We shall hereafter have good opportunity to shew that EDWARD the Confessor tolerated dramatic entertainments, and particularly at CHESTER, and at COVENTRY, where mysteries, as well as interludes, were certainly performed.
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This being the case, and French manners being every day introduced into ENGLAND, at the very moment too when the troubadours with their sirventes 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 alternately 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 certain 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, 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 company 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
It is not wonderful that RAHERE should be a favourite in the court of HENRY, who loved the arts, and who from his genius and literary merit obtained the title of Beauclere, or the Scholar. Galantry was the characteristic of his court; and, so greatly did he befriend toleration, that he was the first king who granted the city of LONDON a charter, which laid the foundation of their privileges, and may be considered as the origin of English freedom.
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
Lest the employment of minstrel should be considered as merely that of a fidler, let it be once for all recollected that we have both French and Latin authorities to the contrary. It is derived in the French from
Menestrier,
which title distinguished all the provincial poets whom, as we have seen, were actors, and the monkish historians themselves never designate them but by the word
Mimus,
or
Histrio,
or
Joculator,
or some other expression which signifies gesture. It was in this capacity they were received into the presence of the great, and it is very striking that they certainly were with both friends and enemies a priviledged people; for, when ALFRED assumed this character in the camp of the Danes, they must have known him to be a Saxon, but, being a minstrel they gave him an honourable reception; and this fact cannot be got over; for it is not enough to say that ALFRED, being a highly accomplished character, might, perhaps, have passed for a Danc; because a Danish chief, about sixty years afterwards in the face of this fact of ALFRED's having betrayed the Danish camp, made use of the same stratagem to surprize the camp of the Saxons in the reign of ATHELSTAN. Minstress, therefore, were certainly an improvement of the mimes and histrions of the Romans; and their entertainments were the farces that were performed in all countries, and as perfectly dramatic as any of the masques in the reign of ELIZABETH, or the drolls at BARTHOLOMEW Fair, which place after all might have been RAHERE's scene of action, especially as he chose Smithfield to finish his career, where, that he might not deviate, he still continued in the character of an actor.
. It must have taken him some years 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 unnecessary, 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 entertainments certainly were, the priests, who also, perhaps, wished to make fortunes, were very busy in their attempts to establish the mysteries. In the eleventh century, and if early in the eleventh century, before the conquest, GEFFROI, a French monk came over here and was made Abbot of St. ALBANS. This monk, being intrusted with the education 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. ALBANS. He arrived too late and went to DUNSTABLE, 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 entertainments all over EUROPE. Nothing can be stronger than this. We have seen that the priests in FRANCE performed sacrilgeous farces full of the grossest indelicacy, and so offensive against religion and all decency, that CHARLEMAGNE was obliged to suppress 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 troubadours.
St. AUSTIN by the same token might have introduced some irregularities into this kingdom, especially as many of his monks were Italian singers, a description of characters which even to this moment have never been remarkably celebrated for having imported much virtue among us. It must be recollected that he came here with extreme reluctance, 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 appealing to their understandings, lends great probability.
The idea of L'EXTANT, therefore, that GEFFROI'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 conformed to decency and morality, or grew into licentiousness, 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.
But this was not the case with HENRY the second, his successor, who, being sole monarch of ENGLAND, and possessor of more than a third of FRANCE, did not fail to transplant here those amusements 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 repudiated 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 presently 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 subjects, 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 nothing 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 nonsense. No man needed any such information. He might mean that these mysteries which at that time continued to be performed had, when they were revived, 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.
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 interludes, 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 representations; clearly alluding to RAHERE and GEFFROI.
Of what materials those interludes were composed, or on what sort of theatre they were represented, it is not very easy to determine; nor, indeed, is it very essential. The theatre, however, implies some regular place, some well known situation, 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 inculcating 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 promulgate 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 circumstances, they were sometimes sacred and sometimes 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 performer, and so was his brother GEOFFRY. We have a great variety of authorities for this, corroborated 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 PROVENCE, probably in the court of GISBERT the second Count
It has been asserted that RICHARD lived in the court of RAIMOND BERENGER, and that he married one of his daughters. Both these assertions are false. RICHARD died in 1199, at which time BERENGER was but a year old, for BERENGER died in 1245, at the age of forty seven.
, 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, FAVINE, BEAUCHAMP, and many others; who, however they may vary in immaterial particulars, all agree upon the general fact
An ancient bard, called GUILHEM BRITON, has the following distich, speaking of RICHARD:
Coblas a tiera faire adroitement,
Pon vos oillez enten dompna gentilz.
which may be thus translated:
Stanzas he invented neat
Upon the eyes of ladies sweet.
But RYMER gives us the following extract and its translation from a song RICHARD wrote when he was prisoner in AUSTRIA.
Or sachan ben mos homs & mos barons;
Anglez, Normans, Peytavins, & Gascons,
Qu' yeu non ay ja si paure compagnon,
Que per aver lou laissess en preson.
Know ye, my men, my barons all,
In England, and in Normandy,
In Poictiers, and in Gascony,
I no compan on held so small
To let him thus in distance lie.
This translation is bad enough certainly; but it helps strongly to corroborate that RICHARD was one of the Provincial poets.
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From FAVINE, we have the interesting intelligence 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 diligence 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 recollecting perfectly the voice of BLONDEL, sung the other half himself that their intelligence might be mutual. This hint was enough for BLONDEL. He, returning 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 authorities 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 contain the rudiments of regular tragedy, which PARASOLS afterwaids is said to have perfected, came to ENGLAND with RICHARD, and it was immediately 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 necessitated to retire
FAIDIT was certainly a dramatic writer of considerable eminence. BEAUCHAMP, who, by the way, has in many instances refuted the errors of other authors, speaks positively of the tragedies and comedies of FAIDIT; and does not hesitate to say that he got prodigious sums by them in quality of manager; which wealth, being a great voluptuary, he dissipated as fast as it came. All this must have been when he was very young, for it was in consequence of the difficulties into which he was driven by these excesses, that he entered into the service of RICHARD, and it is very probable, though all authors do not agree in this, that it was before he came to ENGLAND he stole a nun whom he made his wife, and afterwards exhibited her as a singer and an actress, in which capacities she is said to have been excellent. She served him, however, a great many slippery tricks, and, at the death of his patron, he returned to PROVENCE, having first written a funeral poem in honour of RICHARD. There, it is probable, the friends he acquired being very powerful, he obtained his pardon, for we find him again very celebrated and greatly protected. His comedy called
L'Heregia dels Preyers,
procured him the patronage of BONIFACE, Count of MONTFERRAT. He must have died about 1230, at between fifty and sixty; for it must always be remarked that the dates placed against the names of the provincial poets are not those of their births, but either of their deaths, or the times they were in the highest reputation.
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From this time these amusements were not only tolerated in the capital, but they were encouraged throughout the kingdom; for, though these minstrels 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 protection 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
The occasion of this exemption is curious enough; but perhaps I should pass it by did it not tend to corroborate what I am labouring to prove. In the reign of king JOHN, RANDLF, earl of CHESTER, being shut up by the Welch in the castle of Rothelent in FLINTSHIRE, sent to ROGER DE LACEY, or, as others say, ROBERT, constable of CHESTER, to come instantly to his assistance with any and every kind of force he could muster. It being then the Fair-time when, of course, all kinds of sports were going forward, LACEY gathered together a large multitude of fidlers, stageplayers, shoemakers, and other debauched persons, who assailed the Welch and rescued the earl from prison. RANDLE out of gratitude gave LACEY authority over the fidlers, stageplayers, and shoemakers of CHESTER. He, however, availed himself only of his power and donation to him and his heirs over the shoemakers, but consigned the remainder of his privileges to his steward, JOHN DUTTON, whose heirs have ever since enjoyed it; as may be seen by the Vagabond Act, in the seven teenth year of GEORGE the second, which contains a proviso in favour of that family, giving licence to them and their heirs to tolerate minstrels and players of interludes at CHESTER in exclusion of all other authority.
, and ever since JOHN of GAUNT, in favour of those of TUTBURY, in STAFFORDSHIRE
When the ancient earls and dukes of LANCASTER, who were always of the blood royal, kept their abode at TUTBURY, musicians and performers of masques, interludes, and other entertainments, came to amuse the great concourse of people that flocked thither from all parts. The performers, being very numerous, many quarrels happened among them; in consequence of which many laws were made for regulating their conduct, and a governor was appointed over them by the title of their King. The first of these charters granted to a king of the minstrels was by JOHN of GAUNT, in the fourth year of RICHARD the second's reign.
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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 inevitably 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 ENGLAND, lavished on them costly and extravagant presents, manifested the greatest fondness and affection for them, gave them places of trust and emolument, and married them to sons and daughters of the English nobility
There is a circumstance relative to the fortune of that extraordinary man, RAYMOND BERENGER, which may not be unentertaining. His court was frequented by literary characters of all descriptions. Among the rest came a pilgrim named ROMEO. At this time, owing to his imprudent liberality and profusion, the affairs of BERENGER were so deranged that he had been under the necessity of mortgaging his possessions. Struck with the extraordinary wit and good sense of ROMEO, who had returned from a visit to the church of St. JAMES at COMPOSTELLA, he singled him out as his adviser and confidential friend upon this occasion. ROMEO undertook, by reducing his expences and getting him out of the hands of usurers, to restore to his patron, his estates, and revenues; and, being trusted with unlimitted power and controul, be even effected more than he had promised, for he not only redeemed but improved his friend's affairs. His next project was to marry BERENGER's four daughters, his only issue, to four kings; which he also as we have seen effected. This has particular relation to the subject we are now upon, for ROMEO was indefatigable, through these various and splended connections, to extend not only the influence of BERENGER but the cause of poetry, of which he was a professor and an admirer; and thus we account for the prodigious number of provincials invited over to ENGLAND by HENRY the third, who married ELEONOR, the second daughter. The Count, however, as much a bard as he was, did not seem in this instance to understand poetical justice, the great persons with whom he now became connected, jealous that he should shew such extraordinary attention to an utter stranger, raised so violent a clamour against him that they induced BERENGER to call his administration to account, assuring him that such transactions would transpire as would induce his dismission. ROMEO submitted to a strict enquiry which triumphantly redounded to his honour. BERENGER, ashamed of his conduct, entreated that what had passed might be forgotten.
"Count,"
said the pilgrim,
"I have long had your confidence, and I have raised your very moderate fortune to a prodigious one. You have ungratefully listened to my enemies, who are confounded at my integrity. I came into your court poor; you relieved me and my fidelity requited you; I have nothing I can call my own but my mule, my staff, and my ponch. Return me these, and farewell for ever."
In this resolution he persuted. He departed and left BERENGER in dispair and sorrow for having abused the truest and most disinterested friend he had ever known. In vain did he attempt to recal him; every perquisition proved fruitless. The honest injured creature was never after heard of. This fact is incontestible. Many authors have given it without any
alteration; and FONTENELLE was so affected with it that he intended to have made it a work of itself if his avo
ations had permitted him. Nay, DANTE in a poem places ROMEO, for his virtues, in Heaven.
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He made a Poictevin bishop of WINCHESTER, 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 internal 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 completely 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 harrassed 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.
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 unfortunate 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 plundered by the peasantry, who had permission to commit these outrages with impunity.
Thus neither sacred nor profane actors stood much chance of encouragement. Dramatic amusements, 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 busfoonery. Each company had its particular play.
The Creation
was performed by the Drapers;
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 privileged place for these dramas, the different companies 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 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
These interludes, in honour of RANDLE, obtained without interruption till RICHARD the second; but there are writers who strongly contend that the privelege granted by RANDLE was no more than a revival of one which had been given by LEOFRIC, earl of CHESTER, in the time of EDWARD the Confessor; which seems, indeed, to infer that the Whitsun plays were performed at that early period; for the grant was for three days during the Fair, and, so devoted were those days to sport and pleasure that, even if a known thief came there, so he committed no depredation on the spot, he was to be privileged during that time from being apprehended.
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If EDWARD, the first, gave but little encouragement 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 afterwards by the SPENSERS, he went to the other extreme and encouraged every thing that was licentious. In this strange, irregular, unquiet, and dissolute reign, however, nothing could be expected to the honour of any human pursuit. Both ENGLAND 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 atchievements on their return, knew not, whether in their pleasures or their cruelties, how to be barbarous enough. The Queen's unbridled passion for MORTIMER encouraged the profligacy of both; and, after the mutual abandoned pleasures and merciless butcheries which were finished by the king's shocking 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, arrived, at length, to such a profligate pitch, that, exactly as in ROME and in FRANCE, it was thought expedient to suppress these representations altogether; 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 scandalous things in little alehouses, and other places where the populace assembled."
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. Interludes upon profane subjects were either performed, by slealth or in private families, upon certain festivals, 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 retinue, who were prisoners in ENGLAND, every improvement 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 benevolence, 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 indispensibly necessary as a stimulus towards a conquest at a tournament, a politeness and an attention to the fair would have but little marked the conduct of the court of EDWARD. Nay, perhaps, that provocation 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
All this is neither more nor less than the entremets. The interludes complained of in this reign were relieved by various sports. Exercises of warlike feats on horseback with unarmed lances, battles on the water curiously performed with shields and lances, fighting of boars and bulls, hunting and hawking. In short, we trace back to ALFRED so strong a similitude of this mixture of amusements, that it is impossible to suppose they seldom existed separately. In summer, leaping, dancing, shouting, wrestling, casting the stone, and practising the shield. In winter, bull and bear-beating, feats on the ice, or setting the boars together to fight which were intended for brawn. All which sports the maidens accompanied with their timbrels. But there was a sport in particular which prevailed greatly about the middle of the thirteenth century, when the entremets were the rage in FRANCE, it was called Running at the Quinten, at which game, exactly as in FRANCE, whoever won was rewarded with a peacock.
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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 panegyrist of the most celebrated troubadours, and whose writings have a polish unknown before his time; PETRARCH, the scholar of DANTE, whose poetry, thanks to love and LAURA, had an inimitable tenderness 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 imbibing 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 whatever he thought requisite of their refinements to his own admirable talents. But this would be extraneous did it not tend to prove something dramatic; to do which we have only to instance the
Decameron
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 BOCCACE wrote.
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 faithful could avoid, though he had never read CHAUCER, 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 productions. 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 whether those characters are personated, the only distinction is that both are dramatic, but that only one is dramatized. and, therefore, that either possesses 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 interludes at that time must have availed themselves of such models, especially as those authors were so numerous, 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 nothing could be wiser than to suppress scandalous things performed in alehouses, the clergy of ENGLAND, feeling like the clergy of all other countries, that instruction comes more welcome to the mind when it is received through the medium of 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 religious 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, 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 prohibit these opponents; and this right of theirs must also have been pretty stable, otherwise such a peremtory 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 company 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 performed 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 performed 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 jealous eye on the clerks of the Bazoche; for we shall see that no longer than twelve years after this petition, these mysteries were not only performed at Clerkenwell, but attended by all the nobility and gentry.
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-brothers 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 graduates and choirmen, by which union we have instantly a number of performers whose habits of education 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.
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 footing, 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 public 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 social duty by appealing to the affections of the mind
It is a very singular coincidence, that, when the clerks of the Bazoche placed themselves under the protection of PHILIP LE BEL, he regulated their community and chose from among them a head, or director, to whom he gave the title of their king, exactly answering to our title of king of the minstrels.
.
These moralities were not, however, at times, 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 HAYWOOD, HENRY the eighth's jester, and his adherents, like the children of Sans Souci, introduced interludes 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 people 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.
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 Enlish rhime.
There is a manuscript in the Cottonian library from which we learn the arguments of forty pageants 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 circumstance which will clearly shew that these mysteries were performed very early when we compare them to those written by BALE, SANDYS, and others who wrote in the sixteenth century.
These various performers were called wastors, 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 commoiths 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, probably, 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, literature 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 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 exaltation 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
The characters in this curious spectacle were St. EDWARD, supposed to be the godfather of EDWARD the CONFESSOR, St. JOHN the Evangelist, and St. MARGARET. St. EDWARD tells Dame MARGUERITTE that he shall pray for her and his ghostly child; and he gives St. JOHN a ring that he may pray for her also; who apor this tells her that he'll be her bedeman, and that, to use his own words,
The vertuous voice of prince EDWARD shall dayly well encrease,
St. EDWARD, his godfader, and I shall pray therefore doubtlese.
.
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
Upon the second occasion, St. EDWARD had another very fine speech, and so had St. GEORGE, and the book further tells us that
"also, upon the Condite in the Cross Cheping, was St. GEORGE armed, and a king's daughter afore him with a lamb, and the sader, and the moder, being in a towre aboven, beholding St. GEORGE saving their daughter from the dragon, and the condite renning wine in four places, and minstralcy of organ playing, and St. GEORGE having this speech under writted.
O mighty GOD our all succour celestiall,
Which this Royme has given in dower
To thy moder, and to me, GEORGE, protection perpetuall
It to defend from enimys fer and nere,
And, as this mayden defended was here,
By thy grace from this dragon's devour,
So, Lord, preserve this noble prince and ever be his socour.
, and there were many more 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 occasioned by the marriage of prince ARTHUR, eldest son of king HENRY the seventh, to the princess CATHERINE of SPAIN, whose entrance into LONDON 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
When the speaking was ended,
"she held on her way,"
says an old manuscript,
"tyll she came unto the standard in Chepe, where was ordeyned the fifth pagend made like an hevyn, theryn sytting a personage representing the fader of hevyn, being all formyd of gold, and brennying beffor his trone vii candyilis of wax standying in vii candy lstykis of gold, the said personage beyng environed wyth sundry hyrarchies off angells, and sytting in a cope of most rich cloth of tyssu, garnishyd wyth stoon and perle in most sumptuous wyse. For again which said pagend upon the south syde of the strete stood at that tyme in a hows wheryn that tyme dwellyd WILLIAM GEFFREY habyrdasher, the king, the quene, my lydy the kingys moder, my lord of Oxynfford, wyth also certayn ambassadors of FRANCE lately sent from the French king: and so passying the said estatys, eyther guyving to other due and convenyent saluts and countenances, so sone as hyr grace was approachid unto the said pagend, the fadyr began his speech as folowyth:
I am begynyng and ende, that made ech creature
My sylfe, and for my sylfe, but man especially
Both male and female, made aftyr myn aun fygure,
Whom I joyned togydr in matrimony,
And that in paradyse, declaring opynly
That men shall weddyng in my chyrch solempmze,
Fygurid and signifyed by the erthly paradyze.
In thys my chyrch I am allways recydent
As my chyeff tabernacle, and most choysn place,
Among these goldyn candylstikkis, which represent
My catholyk chyrch shynyng affor my face,
With lyght of feyth, wisdom, doctryne, and grace,
And mervelously eke enflamyd toward me
Wyth the extyngwible syre of charyte.
Wherefore, my welbelovid dowthyr KATHARYN,
Syth I have made yow to myne awn semblance
In my chyrch to be maried, and your noble childryn
To reign in this land as in their enherytance,
So that ye have me in speciall remembrance:
Love me and my chyrch yowr spiritual modyr:
For ye dispysing that oon, dyspyse that othyr.
Look that ye walk in my precepts, and obey them well:
And here I give you the same blyssyng that I
Gave my well beloved chylder of Israell;
Blyssyd be the fruyt of your bely;
Yower substance and frutys I shall encrease and multyply;
Yower rebellious enimyes I shall put in yowr hand,
Encreasing in honour both yow and youwr land.
Though the forgoing speech is to the last degree profane and indecent, I could not refrain from giving it at length to shew what was tolerated in those times, not only by the king, but by priests and philosophers; for bishop Fox had the management of this extraordinary spectacle, who, lord BACON tell us, was upon that occasion a good surveyor of works, and a good master of ceremonies; and BACON himself says that
"whosoever had those toys in compiling were not altogether pedantical."
.
Though these strange faragoes wore very little however 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 encouragement 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 afterwards 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 every proceeding against priests, this very act served to check the moralities and encourage the interludes; for the priests, or representers of moralities, were now called stage players, and it is probable these performances would have been from that moment 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 encourage 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 HEYWOOD 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 interludes into plays. But this was not all; for dramatic 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 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 monasteries, 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 singing 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 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 celebrated 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 represent 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, like so many timid hares to cover, to escape from those inquisitorial blood hounds, who, perhaps, might have thought proper to misconstrue their representations 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 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 citizens, 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 tacitly 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 any words, examples, or doings of unchastity, sedition, 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 allowed by the lord mayor and court of aldermen.
3. That no persons should be permitted to perform 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 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 religion, to the morals of the people, and to the state. The theatres were so crouded that they were supposed to promote infection in times of confluent sickness, therefore, after much debate upon the subject they were wholly suppressed.
Upon a representation, however, of the queen's players and the players of noblemen and gentlemen, 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 audience, but not in public assemblies; but this toleration was soon extended again in favour of the queens players; who were, however, to be restricted 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 immediately 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 theatres promoted infection. No plays were to be performed on a Sunday, or a holiday till after evening prayer, nor then after dark; nor to continue 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 treasurer's letters to the lord mayor, and the justices of MIDDLESEX and SURRY, and even those her majesty'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 different 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 authority, 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.
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, interludes, and histories, both true and feigned; and it is reasonable to suppose that after this last prohibition they pretty well conformed to the regulations enjoined 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 fencers, 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 beggars, 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 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 mythology, from mythology to allegory, and from allegory 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 miracles, 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 improvements introduced by the English and French society 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 adventure 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 buildings 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 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 Abbey 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. However, on that nobleman's death, he took shelter in HOLLAND, where he wrote, or probably translated, most of his dramatic productions. He was recalled 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 effects. From HOLLAND he retired to SWITZERLAND, 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 Impostures
of Thomas Becket, Against those who adulterate 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 ancients, for it is not in five acts, a number which, if we are well informed, the ancients never used but 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
ARISTOTLE, who stole as judiciously as VOLTAIRE, observes by way of a discovery in the words of PLATO, by the bye, who would probably have told us with great simplicity that the observation had been long an axiom, that an action should consist of beginning, middle, and end, and this, no doubt, is certainly true of all literary conpositions whatever, from an epigram to an epic poem. The ancients, therefore, not because it was ARISTOTLE's advice, for many of them wrote before him, in general either divided their plays into three acts or six; but, as the middle action was sometimes intricate, for from its nature it ought to involve the piece in that perplexity which leaves the spectator in doubt as to how it shall finish, they took the third, fourth and fifth acts to have a wide field, by which means the first and second were found fully sufficient for the first action which opens the plot and excites the spectators curiosity, and the sixth and seventh for relieving him from that pleasant embarrassment into which the middle action has worked upon his mind, by a gradual, a happy, and a natural catastrophe. It is on this account they totally rejected fi
e acts which the French and the English have adopted, because it was recommended by HORACE. Reason, however, who after all knows more than all the critics who ever wrote or cavilled, which is the same thing, says that if there are three distinct actions there should be no more than three dis
nct divisions, and if the middle, in point of interest, should require to be more heightened than the rest, gave the second act a little extension, and there is an end of the business. If any should doubt this let him acconcile himself by reading the operas of METASTASIO.
.
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 performance; at the same time there is something shocking 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 another which I have by me as it was originally printed with a preface and dedication, a good deal illustrative of this probable fact that most of the ancients translated, or imitated from something still more ancient. This piece is a mystery written by SANDYS, and called
Christ's Passion.
SANDYS, who we are told was a very accomplished gentleman, was youngest son of EDWIN, archbishop of YORK, and born in 1577, this mystery, therefore, that he translated was of course never performed, but I mention it to shew the antiquity of that kind of spectacle. In his dedication, which is to the king, he speaks of it as coming immediately to him from the pen of GROTIUS, and to GROTIUS from APOLLINARIUS and NAZIANZEN, two ancient fathers of the primitive church. In this preface are these words
I know of nothing so hurtful to literature as the present fashion of suppressing prefaces and dedications; in which writers always express their strongest and happiest thoughts. There are hundreds of instances that when literary compositions become the property of all mankind, the reputation of authors is sacrificed to the profit of the booksellers. Compression is become as much the study of Paternoster Row as the theatre, and every nerve is strained to cram the author at one place into a nutshell, and at the other into a pocket volume. The prefaces and dedications of DRYDEN are full of beautiful prose conveying interesting and elegant instruction. The mind of a great man like this, developed in a succession of opinions, the result of his feeling and the confirmation of his judgment, is a treasure of which the world ought not to be deprived.
:
"The tragedy of
Christ's Passion
was first written in Greek by APOLLINARIUS, of LAODICEA, bishop of HIEROPOLIS, and after by GREGORY NANZIANZEN."
Though this now extant in his, is, by 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 argument: 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, especially 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 acquired 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 AESCHYLUS, which contained the main action, nor after when they only relieved the main action. They seem rather what SOPHOCLES introduced, and EURIPIDES afterwards altered; for, though they are not primary objects, they certainly were composed of characters which had relation to the principal 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 monologues, the historical facts attending upon that event and the situation of the characters, particularly 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 authors, 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 existence 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
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 Italian 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 unknown, were entered at Stationer's Hall. There is scarcely, however, a play but manifests from some circumstance or other that it came from something written antecedent to the time in which it appeared; and, as I shall hereafter be able more particularly 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 mysteries by giving a short specimen of their language.
In BALE's mystery of
God's Promises
is the following colloquy between the CREATOR and ADAM. I take the passage at hazard.
Adam primus homo.
Mercyfull Father, thy pytiefull grace extende
To me carefull wretche, whych have me sore abused,
Thy precept breakynge. O Lord, I mynde to amende,
If thy great goodnesse wolde now have me excused,
Most heavenlye Maker, let me not be refused.
Nor cast from thy syght for one pore synnefull cryme,
Alas I am frayle, my whole kynde ys but slyme.
Pater coelestis.
I wott it is so, yet art thou no lesse faultye,
Than thu haddyst bene made of matter moch more worthye.
I gave the reason, and wytte to understande
The good from the evyll. And not to take on hande,
Of a braynelesse mynde, the thynge whych I forbad the.
Adam primus homo.
Soch heavye fortune hath chefelye chaunced me,
For that I was left to myne owne lyberte.
Pater coelestis.
Then thu art blamelesse, and the saulte thu layest to me.
Adam primus homo.
Naye all I ascribe to my own imbecyllyte.
No faulte in the Lorde, but in my infirmyte,
And want of repect in soche gyttes as thu gavest me.
Pater coelestis.
For that I put the at thyne owne lyberte,
Thu oughtest my goodnesse to have in more regarde.
Adam primus homo.
Avoyde it I cannot, thu layest to me so harde.
Lorde, now I perceyve what power is in man,
And strengte of hymselfe, when thy swete grace is absent,
He must nedes but fall, do he the best he can,
And daunger hymselfe, as apereth evydent;
For I synned not so longe as thu wert present;
But whan thu wert gone, I fell to synne by and by,
And the dyspleased. Good Lorde I axe the mercy.
Pater coelestis.
Thu shalt dye for it, with all thy posteryte.
Adam primus homo.
For one faulte, good Lorde, avenge not thyselfe on me.
Who am but a worme, or a flesheyle vanyte.
Pater coelestis.
I saye thu shalt dye, with thy whole posteryte.
Adam primus homo.
Yet mercy swete Lorde, yf anye mercy maye be.
Pater coelestis.
I am immutable, I maye change no decre.
Thu shalt dye (I say) without anye remedye.
Adam primus homo.
Yet gracyouse Father, extende to me thy mercye,
And throwe not awaye the worke whych thu hast create
To thyne own image, but avert from me thy hate.
Pater coelestis.
But art thu sorye from bottom of thy hart?
Adam primus homo.
Thy dyspleasure is to me most heavye smart,
Pater coelestis.
Than wyll I tell the what thu shalt stycke unto,
Lyfe to recover, and my good faver also.
Adam primus homo.
Tell it me, swete Lorde, that I maye therafter go.
Pater coelestis.
Thys ys my covenaunt to the and all thy ofsprynge.
For that thu hast bene deceyved by the serpent,
I wyll put hatred betwixt hymn for hys doynge,
And the women kynd. They shall herafter dyssent;
Hys sede with her sede shall never have agrement;
Her sede shall presse downe hys heade unto thu grounde.
Slee hys suggestyons, and hys whole power confounde.
Cleave to thys promyse, with all thy inwarde powre,
Fyrmelye enclose it in thy remembraunce fast;
Folde it in thy saythe with full hope day and houre,
And thy salvacyon it wyll be at the last.
That sede shall clere the of all thy wyckednesse past,
And procure thy peace, with most high grace in my fyght.
Se thu trust to it, and holde not the matter lyght.
In SANDYS's tragedy of
Christ's Passion
will be found this passage, the first that came in my way.
A sight so full of pity may assuage
The swiftly spreading fire of popular rage.
Look on this spectacle? his arms all o're
With lashes gall'd, deep dy'd in their own gore!
His sides exhausted, all the rest appears
Like that fictitious scarlet which he wears!
And for a crown, the wreathed thorns infold
His bleeding brows! with grief his grief behold!
Away with him: from th
s contagion free
Th' infected earth, and
il him on a tree.
What! crucifie your king!
dominion can
No rival brook. His rule a law to man,
Whom ROME adores, we readily obey:
And will admit of none but CAESAR's sway.
He CAESAR's right usurps, who hopes to ascend
The Hebrew throne. Thy own affairs intend.
Dost thou discharge thy master's trust, if in
Thy government a president begin
So full of danger, tending to the rape
Of majesty? Shall treason thus escape?
The tumult swells: the vulgar and the great
Joyn in their votes with contributed heat.
Whose whisperings such a change of murmur raise,
As when the rising wind's first fury strays
'Mong wave beat rocks; when gatherings clouds deform
The face of heaven, whose wrath begets a storm;
The fearful pilot then distrusts the skies,
And to the nearest port for refuge flies.
To these rude clamours they mine ears inure;
Such sharp diseases crave a sudden cure.
You, my attendants, hither quickly bring
Spot-purging water from the living spring.
Thou liquid chrystal from pollution clear;
And you, my innocent hands, like record bear,
On whom these cleansing streams so purely run;
I voluntarily have nothing done.
Nor am I guilty, though he guiltless dye;
Yours is the crime; his blood upon you lie.
Rest thou secure. If his destruction shall
Draw down celestial vengeance, let it fall
Thick on our heads, in punishment renew:
And ever our dispersed race pursue.
From these specimens the reader will easily form an idea not only of the two writers but of the manner in which these subjects were generally treated. BALE's mystery, written clearly by a divine, was 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 Reformation; sometimes, especially when they were written for families. they recommended an attention to the ordinary pursuits of life, and illustrated the advantages of social duty; of this class were
The Disobedient Child,
by INGELAND, a very early writer, 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
Acolasius,
which came from the celebrated play of RUTEBEUF, from which so many authors have pillaged, and among them VOLTAIRE. PALSGRAVE, however, who was chaplain to HENRY the eighth, seems to have had a Latin play written by FULLONIUS, 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 instruction illustrates many points of natural philosophy 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 performances, 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 perfectly well acquainted with the ancients, we instantly observe, whatever other requisites they may want, 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 Theology, Science, Art, Money, Adulation, Godly Admonition, 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 purpose 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, Knowledge, Strength, and Beauty. Before this morality we find the following advertisement:
"Here begynneth a treatyse how the hye Father 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 performed before HENRY the seventh and his nobles 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 SENECA 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 indignation, and swears that she shall be fried and roasted in sulphur with MAHOMET, PONTIUS PILATE, 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 CANTERBURY, who wrote a morality called
Nature;
GASCOIGNE, who translated a morality from ARIOSTO, called
Supposes,
and wrote another called
The Glasse of Government;
WOODS, who produced
The Conflict 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.
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 impiety 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 admonition, 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, enforced 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 duty, and cheated into virtue. The stern vizor of rigour falls off and the face of reason appears chearful 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 mildness 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 fellowship, the whole has been stage effect, and, therefore, virtually an encouragement of the dramatic art.
Will it be insisted that if there had been no amusements of that kind which we now call tragedies and comedies, the theatre, properly speaking, would have had no existence? No such thing can be advanced. Mysteries and moralities were tragedies and comedies as far as they went; for, though the mind accommodates itself better to imitate 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, therefore, 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 applied 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 intervals at feasts; therefore, when it came to have a fixed and determinate signification, it had not the smallest resemblance to what was originally understood 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 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 considered according to their original sense of religious and pastoral, the Fescennines of the Romans, the Jornadas of the Spaniards, the Canvasses of the Italians, the Sirventes and Tensons of the French, and the irregular mixture of them all among the English, were interludes; a term meaning pieces performed 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 religion 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.
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 rewarded, 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 interludes some particulars concerning the men who wrote them, among whom the name of JOHN HEYWOOD 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 mysteries and moralities; but, his mind being too extensive, and his genius too volatile to buckle to the trammels of a university education, he neglected to polish those talents which, nevertheless, he was certainly endowed with, and, therefore, probably he was not considered as a person of sufficient consequence to effect a complete reform.
His abilities were, however, held in considerable respect, and he became by his pleasant and agreeable 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
Sir THOMAS MORE, whose extraordinary talents, whose unshaken rectitude, and whose brilliant wit and amiable manners, made him the admiration of the good and wise, and the envy of the deceitful and malignant; who ornamented the state, dignified the laws, delighted society, and gave a polish to manners; and who suffered death through the ingratitude of a master whom he had too honestly served for his own safety. This sir THOMAS MORE was both the patron of HEYWOOD, and the Macaenas of the age he lived in. The stage, however, was his most favourite object of protection, for he was himself an actor, indulged this propensity very early in life. MORE was educated in the family of Cardinal MERTON, bishop of CANTERBURY, whose chaplain, MEDWALL, wrote moralities which were assisted both by the pen and the acting of MORE, we are told that it was his custom to mix with the players when he was not previously expected; and, let the subject be what it might, he made out his part extempore in so entertaining a manner that, not only the matter he delivered was the best in the piece, but as POLLONIUS says,
"he was accounted the best actor."
whom he became the jester and so much the favourite of king HENRY the eighth, that he highly rewarded him says an author, for the mirth and quickness of his conceits."
HEYWOOD, however, was not a sincere adherent of HENRY, for he was a bigotted Roman Catholic, and, therefore, in his heart attached himself 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 honourable 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 detect his hypocricy and so procure for him a merited punishment, thought it prudent to quit the kingdom. He died at MECHLIN, in BRABANT, about 1565, the year after SHAKESPEAR was born. His pieces, though they were called plays, are all interludes, 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 Wakefield.
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.
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 received 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 partic
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,
This is a very singular fact. PALSGRAVE was the first that reduced the French language to grammatical rules. His works which he published in LONDON, called
L'Eclaircissement de la Language Francois,
is a very ingenious and sensible work; so much so, that many ingenious French authors have willingly acknowledged that all the elegance and spirit for which the French tongue is so celebrated, and which has made it so universal, would never have pervaded their language had they not received a promethean influence from English genius and judgment; and this generally applies to what I shall particularly insist relative to plays; which certainly would not have come to any perfection so early as they did in FRANCE, had not the English authors, and particularly SHAKESPEAR, given them a merit and a perfection unknown to any nation since GREECE.
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 soon after his marriage, and PALSGRAVE attended MARY to ENGLAND; where, through her influence, he became so useful in teaching French to the English nobility, that he obtained good church preferment, and was made one of the chaplains in ordinary 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 between 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 voluminous 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
Gammer Gurlon's Needle
they contained, it is more rational 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 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 attention; 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 introduced. 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 confidence 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 comedy. Their tendency, however, being always to 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 temerity; for, having severely attacked the dignity of WOLSEY, that powerful and vindictive minister determined to make him a severe example. SKELTON, 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 GLOUCESTER. He was Knight of the Garter, and Constable of WINDSOR CASTLE under EDWARD the fourth, and became popular for quelling an insurrection 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 conjunction with PALSGRAVE, and what was very remarkable 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
From this nobleman, by his marriage with CATHERINE, the daughter of the duke of NORFOLK, is descended the present lady baroness BERNERS; whose right to that title had long lain in obscurity, till, at length, it was clearly made out and recovered by PETER NEVE, esq. NORROY.
.
Of the rest of the interlude writers, some of whom also wrote plays, there is nothing that can be collected remarkable enough to merit particular attention. WAGER, WAYER, WAPULL, UPTON, WOODS, PEELE, and others were writers of this class, and their interludes were generally controversies concerning the reformation, which it may be easily conceived always tended to some conclusion 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 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, unless it be allowed that it was written many years before 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 incomprehensible nonsense could never have been permitted so long after SKELTON, JOHN HEYWOOD, MEDWALL, lord MORLEY, PALSGRAVE, and JASPER HEYWOOD, produced pieces much better written; the last of whom translated three tragedies from SENECA.
STILL, however, though he seemed extremely 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 GURTON's loosing the needle with which she was mending 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 catastrophe, gradually relieving their fears by the recovery 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 particularly 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 nothing 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 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
I mean nothing more in this than to reconcile the jarring opinions of different authors, some of whom think nothing valuable that is not ancient, and others that is not modern. It is as ridiculous to value a coin for its rust as it is to overlook that historical intelligence it may happen to convey. All extremes are contemptible. Prudent reasoners will think thus: Great and enlightened writers have started in all ages and in all nations, and though literary productions, which, by the bye, are not always works of genius, were not multiplied to such a degree, or so cut out and constructed by square and rule before printing was invented as they have been since, yet it does not at all imply that letters begat poetry but rather that genius begat letters. What shall we say to oral tradition which has transmitted from age to age those many sublime and exquisite ideas, invented, or rather imbibed by poets, who could not read, which modern writers and those celebrated for erudition have been obliged to adopt. We know by this that the measure of invention was full before the regulations of literature were agreed upon. At the same time we know that when nature is left to herself, her productions, however luxuriant, are not so beautiful, nor so vigorous as when skilfully pruned, arranged, innoculated, and grafted; but it must, indeed, be with skill that this is attempted, otherwise destruction would be the consequence instead of preservation; and after all it must be remembered, that, though cultivation may improve nature, without the productions of nature there could be no cultivation at all. Wise men, therefore, though they laudably encourage every attempt to polish the beauty and bring out the lustre of poetry, will always chuse that simplicity which brings nature home to the heart, rather than see it rounded by a period, or dressed in an idiom.
.
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 success 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,
translated from SENECA by JASPER HEYWOOD,
Jack Jugler,
a strange heterogeneous attempt at a comedy, 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 tragedies and comedies, which seem to have been translations from the ancients, and indeed many more; some of which rank in no determinate class, not being regular plays but rather something generally dramatic.
At the beginning of the sixteenth century, however, many plays of various descriptions were performed; and, among the rest, I find, from HOLLINGSHED and other authors, one of which is RICCOBONI, who seems to have picked up good theatrical 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, 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 comedies from PLAUTUS and TERENCE, and the tragedies 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 uninteresting to piece out this volume with such circumstances 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 introduced 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 licentiousness of the court and the corruption of the clergy, that he was not only stript of all his emoluments, except 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 representation of the person held up to ridicule was so like that it was instantly known for some profligate 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 philosopher, which had been denied to him in the world as a courtier and a poet.
JASPER HEYWOOD, who has been already mentioned as the translator of three tragedies from SENECA, was son to the famous HEYWOOD the interlude writer. JASPER seems to have been as strange a character as his father. He studied at 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 executed 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 humanity, ordered them all to be shipped away and sent out of ENGLAND. HEYWOOD went first to ROME and then to NAPLES, where he became acquainted with JOHN PITSEUS, a zealous and bigoted 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 particulars. 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 Temple, 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 acquisition 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 BUCKHURST. 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 inconvenience, 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 ambassador to CHARLES the ninth, to congratulate that prince on his marriage with the daughter of MAXIMILIAN, and on other state affairs
As this was just after the massacre of the Haguenots on the feast of St. BARTHOLOMEW; it is more than probable that those other state affairs were some prudent conditions for the future safety of the Protestants. Some have argued the very reverse, but this we cannot easily believe of ELIZABETH. She had the highest opinion of BUCKHURST as a man of uncommon penetration and steadiness. He was generally selected out as a proper peson, being a man of profound wisdom, to be consulted in all affairs of life and death. He was one of those, being then in the privy council, who sat on the trial of THOMAS HOWARD, duke of NORFOLK, which lord was executed for being concerned in a plot to recover the liberty of MARY, Queen of Scots. He was also named one of the commissioners for the trial of that unhappy queen; and, though he was not present at her condemnation at FOTHFRINGAY CASTLE, yet, after her sentence was confirmed, ELIZABETH made choice of him as a person of the most insinuating address in her court, and one should think of the
feeling, to reconcile her to her hard fate, and to see the decree put in execution.
. 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 afterwards 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 acquitted himself with great honour and rectitude. There was something in it, however, which provoked 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
This circumstance may serve for a lesson to courtiers who blindly follow the resentment of their employers. BUCKHURST gave neither satisfaction to ELIZABETH nor BURLEIGH. The queen, though she sent him under a colour of justice to rectify these mistakes, rather than vindicate the offender, did not mean that he should act so as to irritate her favourite; and BURLEIGH, though he was glad enough to see BUCKHURST employed in order to keep down the influence of LEICESTER, grew, however jealous of his splendid abilities, and, therefore, prevailed on the queen to connive at injustice rather than give him an opportunity of getting the upper hand.
. 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.
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 negociate with the Senate of DENMARK; and when ESSEX libelled the queen, as to her conduct concerning IRELAND, when the misguided SOUTHAMPTON, 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 nobleman's patent of lord high treasurer. In the following year he created him earl of DORSET, and appointed him one of the commissioners for executing the office of earl MARSHAL, which, however, he did not long enjoy, for he died suddenly as he was sitting at the council table at WHITEHALL, on the 19th of April, 1608, aged seventy-two.
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 sounding 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 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 HOPKINS, and intimate with them, he assisted those notable 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
Cambyses, 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 approbation, she settled a pension on him of twenty pounds a year
This man is supposed to have been an object of envy to SHAKESPEAR: a most strange and improbable conjecture. SHAKESPEAR is said to have ridiculed the circumstance of this annuity in his
Midsummer's Night's Dream
; and, in
Henry the Fourth,
to have laughed at PRESTON's play where he makes FALSTAFF talk of
"King CAMBYSES vien."
The latter tour of pleasantry is natural enough, but there is nothing of envy in it; and, as to the annuity, as it was conferred in the very year that SHAKESPEAR was born, he could neither envy it nor will he be supposed of being such a bungler at his profession, or so ungrateful as to ridicule the queen for a benefit she had conferred on another thirty years before, when, at the very time he is supposed to have written this ridicule, she was heaping favours on him.
.
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 constantly attended and very much admired his productions; 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, that CHAUCER and the other old poets have contributed 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 CHAUCER'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 presence 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 EMILIA was a virgin of uncorrupted purity and unblemished 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 performed 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 presented him with eight guineas. The reputation of EDWARDS was certainly very high during his life which terminated the very year in which he produced with so much success
Palamon and Arcyte.
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 became in LONDON the city poet, and had the ordering of the pageants. He is spoken of as a very voluminous 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 imitation 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 profligate 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 SHAKESPEAR, that the licentious GEORGE PEELE, like his imitators, ROCHESTER and KILLIGREW, is little 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 consummate perseverence, he set himself up as a reformer 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 unfashionable, 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
We have seen many instances where singularity has been so cherished for excellence that authors have made fortunes when they themselves only expected to excite curiosity, and when they actually merited public indignation. As to Mr. LILLY and his anatomy of wit, which he distinguished by the title of
Luphues and his England,
he seems successfully to have laughed at the people he pretended to to instruct. This stupid and extravagant romance vas a quaint and an affected imitation of oriental poetry; which, by a substitution of exotic phrases in the place of vernacular expressions, deprived the English language of all its simplicity to stuff it with every thing that was unnatural. It was like plucking up daisies to plant tube-roses. In short he was a shallow writer but a keen penetrator, and knew how to make up with art and cunning for the deficiencies of nature and genius. An instance or two will shew that, however LILLY was ignorant as to blowing the roses of language in June, he managed pretty well to preserve a faint resemblance of them at Christmas, which is a more extraordinary thing.
Speaking of love he says,
"There must in every triangle be three lines. The first beginneth, the second augmenteth the third concludeth it a figure: so in love three virtues; affection, which draweth the heart; secrecy, which encreaseth the hope; constancy, which finisheth the work: Without any of these rules there can be no triangle; without any of these virtues, no love."
In another place we find this passage.
"Fire cannot be hidden in the flax without smoke, nor musk in the bosom without smell, nor love in the heart without suspicion."
To examine this madness would be to imitate it. It answered the author's purpose; for whatever his merits were as to erudition he had read enough to know that affectation would be sure to succeed at court; and, though we cannot compliment him on having derived his success from his genius, we cannot refrain from giving him some degree of praise for conciliating that credulity he successfully laughed at.
.
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, nevertheless, highly extolled by some writers as a paragon of 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 snatching; and that the lyre he played on had no borrowed 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 imposed 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. 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 consciousness 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 contained 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 impaired the vigour of his mind, he covered the principles of a libertine with the meanness of a sycophant, and the dissimulation of a hypocrite.
GREEN wrote sour plays, and was concerned in several others, all which evince a mind which, had 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 assassination at PARIS during the massacre of the huguenots; at twenty-two he was sent on an embassy to RANDOLPH, 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 marriage 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 violent quarrel which he had with VERE, earl of OXFORD, he was constrained to retire from court.
He was soon, however, recalled, for in 1580 he was knighted; and, immediately bringing his abilities 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 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 surprized 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 atchievements, till his same was so great, and so universal, that he was put in election for the kingdom of POLAND, 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 ELIZABETH's strange conduct in relation to this extraordinary 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 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 differently by different authors; but this is easily accounted 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 forgotten. He is first extolled, afterwards praised, then 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, excellent behaviour, well-digested learning, rare wit, courage, breeding, and other additional accomplishments 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 celebration, 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 admiration.
The other author I allude to who, I hope, as he allows no posthumous fame to others has no expectation of any himself, says of sir PHILIP SIDNEY,
"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. We have,"
says he,
"a tedious, lamentable, pedantic, 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 author 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 authors, 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 employment to which their inclination induce them solely to attend. The works of SIDNEY are full of genius, beauty, and good sense; and, though they 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 progress in learning, and at sixteen associated with the celebrated JASPER HEYWOOD in translating the tragedies of SENECA. In this association, NEWTON, a very learned writer, who was first a schoolmaster, 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 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 SENECA's tragedies were rendered into English, and several others invented; by which efforts the English 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 profligacy 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 anonymous playwrights out of number, whose pieces are entered at Stationer's Hall.
Thus out of a very large mass of materials I 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 SHAKESPEAR 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 description, even from the time of the Roman conquest 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 material 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 posthumous 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 capacity sprung the victory over the Danes.
The similarity of the progress of acting in ENGLAND and FRANCE has been already noticed. In FRANCE we find no actors celebrated by name till we get at TURLUPIN and his companions introduced 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 all actors. The most conspicuous in the groupe is TARLETON, whose history contains some whimsical particulars. He was brought to town from SHROPSHIRE 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 ELIZABETH 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 Bishopgate-street, and performed originally in the play of
Henry the Fifth,
from which SHAKESPEAR is supposed 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, PISTOL, the HOSTESS, or any of those excellent characters which we know to have been SHAKESPEAR'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, TARLETON was made a sort of manager. An old author says,
"that for the clown's part he never had his equal.
Even BEN JOHNSON, who libels actors, could not refrain from applauding TARLETON. Indeed, by all accounts, his humour was of an irresistable 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 stratagem he contrived to be conveyed at the expence of the government 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 ordered 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, TARLETON 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.
."
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
In Bishop HALL's Satires we find these words:
" To sit with TARLETON on an ale post's 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
LORD OXFORD had a portrait of TARLETON with his tabor and pipe certainly taken from the print in the front of this jest book. He is there represented in his Clown's dress, playing on his pipe with one hand and beating the drum with the other. This print is said to have been so well cut, that a flatness appears upon the nose which was occasioned by a wound he got in parting some dogs and bears. This misfortune he turned into merriment by noticing that it did not affect him, for that he had still sagacity enough to smell a knave from an honest man.
.
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 escaped 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 imbecility, folly, and irresolution.
SCOGGAN, according to the most probable accounts 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 ribaldry of PEELE; but he had a cunning that gave him abilities to cope with them all. He would attack every man's darling foible and appear to be his master in his own art, by which means, though always needy, he always got praise, confidence, and a good bellyful. If TARLETON laughed at his paucity 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 NORTHUMBERLAND, SCOGGAN topic care, though he got into all their scrapes, to keep himself clear of the consequences 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
The young scholars bred up under EDWARDS, are very warmly celebrated as excellent actors. In the play of
Palamon and Arcyte,
I have already noticed the youth who performed the part of the Princess, and that he was son to the Dean of Christ Church, which will shew that acting at that time was by no means thought disgraceful; but we shall see that not only acting, considered as a picture of human manners, but that mimickry was then performed to admiration; for we are told, that in the play in question, a cry of hounds was so perfectly acted that the queen and all the court could not credit but that it was real.
. Indeed as to their particular merit 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 testimony 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 alternately 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 disgrace 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 subject 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 curiosity; for, though the intelligence I have been able to offer is too often shrouded with doubt and obscurity, a misfortune, by the bye, constantly attendant on every review of lives and actions, yet if it produce no other literary benefit, the national incidents that are naturally interwoven with dramatic narrative must inevitably give it some interest; 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 man, the more he will be induced to allow that the sanction of ages will confirm and establish the importance of every thing avowedly and meritoriously constituted for the instruction and delight of the world, and the medium and criterion for the regulation 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 important, I have gained my end. It were in vain to argue that it is not to be credited because it is conjectural. 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 imbibed 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.
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 decidedly 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 dominion 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 countenance 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 SHAKESPEAR 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 antiquity 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 distinction 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, implying 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 represented ending in general fatally
This definition has set the poets together by the ears upon the most natural ground in the world; because a term, established from a principle totally different, has, through their filtration of its sense, obtained another meaning. Those who originally invented tragedy, in which was intended nothing more than a hymn in honour of BACCHUS, little dreamt that this word would be used to signify the great and warlike actions of heroes and legislators, and that this commemorating the death of a goat should afterward record the death of emperors. ARISTOTLE, very gravely and with the consent of his partizans, tells us,, that
"tragedy is the imitation of one grave and entire action of a just length,"
an observation that could belong to nobody but ARISTOTLE,
"which, without the assistance of narration, by raising of terror and compassion, refines and purges our passions"
Now it is scarcely possible to insist on worse non-sense than this. My author says very gravely that this definition has thrown the critics into great perplexity; and no great wonder: for
"the just length, the existence of a tragedy without narration,"
a a thing which is actually narration in action, and
"the terror and compassion which ought alone to be excited by tragedy,"
is a crust for the critics which ARISTOTLE alone knew how to digest. Many opinions have been upon this subject rendered inexplicable by pedantry; and even CORNEILLI, whose mind was rather firm, jnd whose opinion was pretty decided, modesty urges
"that he cannot reconcile ARISTOTLE with himself; for that his reasons defeat his definition."
Nay, he even denies the purging of our passions to be the end of tragedy. As to the general sense of every definition of comedy it is extremely different to torture it into any thing but its vernacular meaning; but, with all this self evident truth staring him in the face, poor ARISTOTLE chuses to cavil here; for he will not allow any thing to be comedy but an exposition of the worst and lowest kind of men by way of ridicule. What then becomes of all that successful humour by which characters in high life have been laughed at and exposes Those who should be our imitation and who degenerate being, surely the most eligible food for fair criticism; what becomes of WYCHERLY, GAY, FARQUAR, VANBURGH, and CIBBER, and what becomes of that very CONGREVE who writes a libel against himself by supporting ARISTOTLE in this strange and inconsistent assertion.
; which is much nearer the matter, a representation of actions in private life, generally holding up the follies of our neighbours to ridicule to deter the spectators from imitating absurdities which these pieces expose. 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 established one of our own; but that, as the world has become more polished, we have availed ourselves 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 antiquity of the drama or reject it altogether. Every thing improves as human intelligence grows and expands. 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, 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 ARISTOTLE stole all his knowledge from AESCHYLUS and his cotemporaries; and, if AESCHYLUS, who imitated 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 erudition 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 dramatic 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 detracted 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 deserved no more to be considered in a state of perfection that it did several centuries past, my observations 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 circumstances which, though highly probable, I cannot positively prove, let me in common with all historians and biographers claim the privilege of availing myself of every thing positive and collateral that could possibly make out my reasoning, of joining admitted facts with rational conjecture, of corroborating 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 agreeable objects that cheat the way on a rugged road, 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 computed; and, if there were ever any direction posts, they have been long ago broken down and destroyed. 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 radiance, 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, having 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 distortion 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
Sir PHILIP SIDNEY says, speaking of the stage in his time,
"Our tragedies and comedies observe rules neither of honest civility, or skilful poetry. Here you shall have ASIA of the one side, and AFRICA of the other, and so many other under kingdoms, that the player when he comes in, must begin with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived. Now you shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden. By and by we hear news of a shipwreck in the same place, then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave: while in the mean time two armies flie in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and then what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched held? Now of time they are much more liberal. For ordinarily it is that two young princes fall in love, after many traverses the lady is got with child, delivered of a fair boy, he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is ready to get another child; and all this in two hours space: which how absurd it is in sense, even sense may imagine."
.
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, began 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
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 licentiousness 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 dispute, 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 WALSINGHAM, 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 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 sublime, 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 engendered. 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 assistance, 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 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 bewildered, 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 appeal 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 sweetness of SOPHOCLES, the philosophy of EURIPIDES, the wit of ARISTOPHANES, and the truth of MENANDER, to reconcile so many jarring opinions and to perfect this chaos into a world.
SHAKESPEAR was this genius; and so well by 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 satisfies the mind, or indeed that so completely triumphs 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 giving light to the theatrical world, might snatch the epitaph from the tomb of NEWTON.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.