LECTURE XIII.

Two periods of the English theatre;-the first the most important.-The first conformation of the stage, and its advantages.-State of the histrionic art in Shakspeare's time.--Antiquities of dramatic literature.-Lilly, Marlow, Heywood.-Ben Jonson.-Criticism of his works.-Masks.-Beaumont and Fletcher.-General characterization of these poets, and remarks on some of their pieces.--Massinger and other contemporaries of Charles the First.Closing of the stage by the Puritans.-Revival of the stage under Charles the Second.-Depravity of taste and morals.-Dryden, Otway, and others.Characterization of the comic poets from Wycherley and Congreve to the middle of the eighteenth century.--Tragedies of the same period.-Rowe.Addison's Cato.-Later pieces.-Familiar tragedy: Lillo.-Garrick.—Latest

state.

THE great master of whom we have spoken in the preceding Lecture forms such a singular exception to the whole history of art, that we are compelled to assign a particular place to him. He owed hardly anything to his predecessors, and he has had the greatest influence on his successors: but no man has yet learned from him his secret. For two whole centuries, during which his countrymen have diligently employed themselves in the cultivation of every branch of science and art, by their own confession, he has not only never yet been surpassed, but he has left every dramatic poet at a greater distance behind him.

In a sketch of the history of the English theatre which I am now to give, I shall be frequently obliged to return to Shakspeare. The dramatic literature of the English is very rich; they can. boast of a considerable number of dramatic poets, who possessed in a distinguished degree the talent of original characterization, and the means of theatrical effect. Their hands were not shackled by prejudices, by arbitrary rules, and by the anxious observance of conveniences. There has never been in England an academical court of taste; in art as in life, every man decides for what pleases him best, or what is most suitable to his nature. Notwithstanding this liberty, their writers have not however been able to escape the influence of varying modes, and of the spirit of different ages.

We remain true to our principle of merely dwelling at length on what we consider as the highest efforts of poetry, and of taking brief views of all that merely occupies the second or third place.

The antiquities of the English theatre have been sufficiently cleared up by the English writers, and especially by Malone.

The earliest dramatic attempts were here as well as elsewhere mysteries and moralities. Still however it would seem that the English distinguished themselves at an earlier period in these productions than other nations. It has been recorded in the History of the Council of Constance, that the English prelates, in one of the intervals between the sittings, entertained their other brethren with a spiritual play in Latin, such as the latter were either entirely unacquainted with, or at least not in such perfection, (according to the simple ideas of art of those times). The beginning of a theatre, properly so called, cannot however be placed farther back than the reign of Elizabeth. John Heywood, the buffoon of Henry the Eighth, is considered as the oldest comic writer: the single Interlude under his name, published in Dodsley's collection, is in fact merely a dialogue and not a drama. But Gammer Gurton's Needle, which was first acted about the year 1560, certainly deserves the name of a comedy. However antiquated in language and versification, it possesses unequivocal merit in the low comic. The whole plot turns on a lost needle, the finding of which is pursued with the utmost assiduity: the poverty of the persons of the drama, which this supposes, and the whole of their domestic condition, is very amusingly portrayed, and the part of a cunning beggar especially is drawn with much humour. The coarse comic of this piece bears a resemblance to that of the Avocat Patelin; yet the English play has not, like the French, been honoured with a revival on the stage in a new shape.

The history of the English theatre divides itself naturally into two periods. The first begins nearly about the time of the ascension of Elizabeth, and extends to about the end of the reign of Charles the First, when the Puritans gained the ascendancy, and effected the prohibition of all plays of whatsoever description. The shutting up of the theatres lasted thirteen years; and they were not again opened till the restoration of Charles the Second. This interruption, the change which had taken place in the mean time on the general way of thinking and in manners, and lastly, the influence of the French literature which was then flourishing, gave quite a different character to the plays written afterwards. The works of the older school were indeed in part sought out, but the school itself was extinguished. I call the dramatical poets of the first epoch a school, in the sense in which it is taken in art, as with all their personal diversities we may still perceive on the whole a common direction in their productions. Independently also of the language or contemporary allusions, we should never be disposed to take a play of that school, though ignorant of its author, and the time when it was produced, for a production of

the more modern period. The latter is susceptible of many subdivisions, but these may also be dispensed with. The talents of the authors, and the taste of the public, have fluctuated in all manner of directions, sometimes the most opposite, foreign influence has gained more and more the ascendency, and, to express myself without circumlocution, the English theatre has in its progress become more and more destitute of character and independence. For a critic who seeks everywhere for originality, and who troubles himself much less about what has arisen from imitation, or the avoiding of imitation, the dramatic poets of the first period are by far the most important, although with the exception of Shakspeare they may be reproached with great defects and extravagances, and although many of the moderns are distinguished for a more careful polish.

There are periods when the human mind makes all at once gigantic strides in an art previously almost unknown, as if during its long sleep it had been collecting strength for such an effort. The age of Elizabeth was in England such an epoch for dramatic poetry. This Queen, during her long reign witnessed the first infantine attempts of the English theatre, and its most masterly productions. Shakspeare had a lively feeling of this general and rapid developement of qualities, not before called into exercise; in one of his sonnets he calls his age, these time bettering days. The predilections for the theatre prevailed to such a degree, that in a period of sixty years, under this and the following reign, seventeen play houses were built or fitted up in London, whereas the capital of the present day with twice the population* is satisfied with two. No doubt they did not act every day, and several of these theatres were very small, and probably not much better fitted up than Marionette booths. Still however they served to call forth the fertility of those writers who possessed or supposed that they possessed, dramatic talents; for every theatre must have had its peculiar repertory, as the pieces were either not printed at all, or at least not till long after their composition, and as a single theatrical company was in the exclusive possession of the manuscript. However many feeble and lame productions might have, in this manner, been called forth, it was however impossible that such an extensive competition should not have been advantageous. Of all the different species of poetry the dramatic is the only one in which experience is necessary: and the failure of others is, for the man of talents, an experiment at their expense. Moreover, the exercise of this art requires vigorous determination, to which the great artist is often the least inclined, as in the execution he

The author might almost have said six times.-TRANS.

finds the greatest difficulty in satisfying himself; while, on the other hand, hisgre atest enjoyment consists in embodying in his mind the beloved creation of his imagination. It is therefore fortunate for him when the importunity of those who, with trifling means, venture on this difficult career stimulates him to put fresh hand to the work. It is of importance to the dramatic poet to be connected immediately with the stage, that he may either himself guide it, or learn to accommodate himself to its wants; and the dramatic poets of that day were, for the most part, also players. The theatre still made small claims to literature, and it thus escaped the pedantry of scholastic learning. There were as yet no periodical writings which, as the instrument of cabal, could mislead opinion. Of jealousy and bickerings among the authors there was no want; this however was more a source of amusement than of displeasure to the public, who decided without prejudice or partiality according to the mass of its entertainment. The poets and players, as well as the spectators, possessed in general the most essential requisite of success: a true love for the business. This was the more unquestionable, as the theatrical art was not then surrounded with all those foreign ornaments and inventions of luxury, which serve to distract the attention and corrupt the sense, but made its appearance in the most modest, and we may well say in the most humble shape. For the admirers of Shakspeare it must be an object of curiosity to know what was the pearance of the theatre in which his works were first performed. We have an engraving of the play-house of which he was manager, and which, from the symbol of a Hercules supplying the place of Atlas, was called the globe: it is a massive structure destitute of architectural ornaments, and almost without windows in the outward walls. The pit was open to the sky, and they acted by daylight; the scene had no other decoration than wrought tapestry, which hung at some distance from the walls, and left room for several entrances. In the back-ground there was a stage raised above the first, a sort of balcony, which served for various purposes, and was obliged to signify all manner of things according to circumstances. The players appeared, excepting on a few rare occasions, in the dress of their time, or at most distinguished by higher feathers on their hats and roses on their shoes. The chief means of disguise were false hair and beards, and occasionally even masks. The female parts were played by boys so long as their voice allowed them. Two companies of actors in London consisted even entirely of boys, namely the choir of the Queen's Chapel, and of St. Paul's. Betwixt the acts it was not customary to have music, but in the pieces themselves marches, dances, solo

ap

songs, and the like, were introduced on proper occasions, and trumpet flourishes at the entrance of great personages. In the more early time it was usual to represent the action before it was spoken, in silent pantomime (dumb show) between each act allegorically or even without any disguise, to give a definite direction to the expectation. Shakspeare has still observed this practice in the play of Hamlet.

From the outlay in all theatrical accessaries:-the architecture of the theatre, lighting, music, the illusion of decorations changeing in a moment as if by enchantment, machinery and costume; we are now so completely spoiled that this meager and confined mode of stage decoration will in no manner satisfy us. Many things however might perhaps be urged in favour of such a constitution of the theatre. Where they are not enticed by any splendid accessaries, the spectators will be the more difficult to please in the main thing, namely, the excellence of the dramatic composition, and its vivification by delivery and action. When perfection is not attainable in external decoration, the critic will rather altogether overlook it than allow himself to be disturbed by its defectiveness and want of taste. And how seldom has perfection been here attained! It is about a century and a half since attention began to be paid to the observation of costume on the European theatres; what has been performed in this way has always appeared excellent to the multitude, and yet from the engravings which sometimes accompany the printed plays, and from every evidence, we may easily convince ourselves that it was always characterized by puerility and mannerism, and that in all the endeavours to assume a foreign or antique appearance, they never could shake themselves free of the fashions of their own A sort of hoop was long considered as an indispensable appendage of a hero; the long peruques and fontanges, or topknots, kept their ground in heroical tragedy as long as in real life; afterwards it would have been considered as barbarous to appear without powdered and frizzled hair; on this was placed a helmet with variegated feathers; a taffeta scarf fluttered over the gilt paper coat of mail; and the Achilles or Alexander was then completely mounted. We have now at last returned to a purer taste, and in some great theatres the costume is actually observed in a learned and severe style. We owe this principally to the antiquarian reform in the plastic arts, and the approximation of the female dress to the Grecian; for the actresses were always the most inveterate in retaining on the stage those fashions by which they turned their charms to account in society. However, even yet there are very few players who know how to wear a