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 ~^ 
 
THE 
 
 Pulpit and the Stage. 
 
 j|0itr '§tdnxm, 
 
 REV. J. PANTON HAM 
 
 ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES, 
 
 By FRED. WJIYMPER. 
 
 *' I have derived more practical Christianity from reading Shakespeare's plays 
 and seeing them enacted on the Stage, tlian from any sermon I ever heard 
 preached from the Pulpit." — Canon Kingsley. 
 
 " I have much oftener felt the gracious teardrops of human sympathy and 
 devout pity drawn from my eyes by the vivid impersonations of the Stage than 
 by the most fervid appeals of eloquence ever delivered from a Pulpit."— Pro- 
 fessor Elackik. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 CHARLES HENRY CLARKE, 
 9, St. Bride's Avenue, Fleet Street, E.G. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ** I have always taxed those with impertinence who condemn these entertain- 
 ments . . . Can there possibly 'be allowed a more orderly and regular diver- 
 sion than what is performed in the sight of every one, and very often in the 
 presence of the Supreme Magistrate himself?" — Montaigne. 
 
 These Discourses are the too tardy performance of a 
 duty which for many years past I have been desirous of 
 fulfiUing. I have long been persuaded that the question 
 of the Theatre is one of the gravest social consideration, 
 and have never been able to understand the reasonable- 
 ness of the schism between the Stage, per se, and the 
 healthy religious sentiments of society. That the Pulpit, 
 generally, in the United Kingdom, maintains an attitude 
 of uncompromising, even of fierce, hostility to the 
 Theatre and its associations seems to me to furnish all 
 the more reason why such ministers of religion as do not 
 share this hostility should candidly avow their sentiments 
 on the subject. 
 
 In parts of these Discourses the tone will indicate my 
 conviction that the apologist, or better, the advocate, of 
 the Drama and the Stage has to contend much more 
 with unreflecting traditionary ecclesiastical sentiment, 
 mere popular sectarian prejudice, than with calm, inde- 
 pendent intelligence and genuine religious feeling. Such 
 is my deliberate conviction. The Theatre is not treated 
 with the courtesy of reasonable consideration, but 
 shrieked at with the vulgar clamour of prejudice, led on 
 by a phalanx of clerical i fuglemen. Now, prejudice may 
 be likened to a man who, m the language of the patriarch, 
 " covereth his faci Svith his fatness, and maketh coUops 
 of fat on his flanks," and ensconces his loathsome flabby 
 
PREFACE. iii 
 
 mass behind "the thick bosses of his bucklers." Before 
 such gross inertia even Reason herself must stand with 
 the silence and sneer of irrepressible contempt, and 
 Patience, forgetting her forbearance, must be provoked to 
 the angry argument of severe castigation. I must con- 
 fess to some fellow-feeling with this contemptuousness 
 and indignation, which I did not hesitate to express in the 
 delivery of these Discourses from the Pulpit, and which I 
 have not suppressed, nor in the least toned down, in the 
 following pages. 
 
 The publisher has availed himself of the literary 
 assistance and large Dramatic experience and connec- 
 tions of Mt. Frederick Whymper to annotate the Dis- 
 courses. This gentleman's reminiscences and apropos 
 anecdotes will, I am sure, be welcomed as interesting 
 illustrations of the text, and will enhance the accepta- 
 bility and practical usefulness of the volume. 
 
 Such as are prepared by judiciousness of temper and by 
 fairness and fearlessness of mind to examine the Position 
 and Claims of the Stage in our Modern Society will, I 
 flatter myself, find some things said in these pages not 
 unworthy of their serious meditation. To such I com- 
 mend these Discourses, in the fullest confidence that- 
 whatever may be thought of my personal intrusion into 
 the discussion of the subject — its ventilation cannot be 
 otherwise than desirable, and must subserve the best 
 interests of society, 
 
 J. Panton Ham. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 These pages contain a defence, not an apology; for 
 little or none is needed. The reader will find in them 
 a strong protest against Ecclesiastical bigotry arid clerical 
 ignorance regarding one of the higher forms of literature 
 and one of the noblest of the arts. He will find, also, 
 •a strong appeal to that section of the religious public 
 who have taken their ideas on the Drama and the Stage 
 from their teachers — men ofttimes who know as little of 
 either as do they — the blind leading the blind. He will 
 find presented to him powerful arguments for encourag- 
 ing, rather than avoiding, the theatre ; proving that his 
 presence is needed there, and would be beneficial to its 
 progress in the highest sense. He will discover strong 
 reasons for believing in the moral influence of the 
 acted Drama ; that it is, and might be still more, a 
 grand school of instruction, and that, even in its lower 
 forms, it affords, as a rule, perfectly innocent amusement ; 
 and will find indignant prote.sts against the " Pharisaical" 
 impudence of those who slur the character of the pro- 
 fession, while knowing naught of it. 
 
 The question is a live one, and is absorbing a great 
 deal of journalistic, clerical, and public interest. Only 
 last year, as the reader knows, the Bishop of Manchester 
 warmly defended the Drama and the calling of the actor, 
 and offered some sound advice to the profession. 
 Professor Blackie, Principal of the University of Edin- 
 burgh, has lately, on several public occasions, spoken 
 in defence of the Theatre as a school of positive and 
 high morality. Then, a short time ago the Church 
 Congress at Croydon discussed the amusements of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 people, Canon Money, Vicar of St. John's, Deptford, 
 "leading off with the stereotyped phrases of illogical 
 obstinacy," as a writer in the Era pertinently put it :— 
 Because in the long list of operas there are one or 
 two things which may be open to objection, we must 
 avoid operas ; because promenade concerts are open to 
 the evil a'S to the good — like the London streets — we 
 must shun them ; because some people bet at races, 
 and youths drink beer at cricket, both are under the ban ' 
 of the Church. " With as much logic," says the writer 
 above quoted, " it might be argued that ships and ' 
 railroads should- be avoided because accidents have 
 happened, and that marriage is unholy because the 
 seventh commandment has been known to have been 
 broken by men and women. Canon Money found a 
 zealous companion in the Rev. F. Goe, who was 
 applauded for the irrelevant statement that ' any amuse- 
 ment that indisposed a Christian to engage in devotion 
 afterwards was a questionable amusement,' and that 
 ' parents should endeavour to make home the happiest 
 place in the world for the young people by providing 
 there innocent recreation.' It is astonishing that edu- 
 cated men should indulge in such shallow common- 
 places, and that pious people should stamp their 
 umbrellas over such mild platitudes as these. Mr. F. 
 Goe seems to beg the whole question. This reverend 
 gentleman may, no doubt, be an admirable preacher and 
 eloquent, man, but let us assure him that very many 
 of the discourses flung at the heads of the people do 
 anything but promote a spirit of devotion. They are so ' 
 illogical and so crude that they irritate instead cf soothing. 
 ' With their minds softened and their better feelings 
 chastened after seeing Mr. Jefferson's Rip Van Winkle, Mr. 
 Irving's Charles tlie First, or Mr. C\a.yton's All for Her, 
 people are very much more inclined to say their prayers and ■ 
 think about leading a new life, than after the thunderings 
 and condemnations to eternal burnings by some bullying 
 Boanerges. The reconciliation of Rip to his wife and 
 family, the exquisite tenderness of the parting of a kingly 
 martyr with the companion of his life, and the grand' 
 
Vt INTRODUCnCMl. 
 
 self-sacrifice of Hugh Trevor, are they not more instiact 
 with a true religion and the beauty of Christianity than 
 these firebrand sermons wherein we are told that if we 
 pay a shilling for the pit we secure for ourselves an ever- 
 lasting roasting ! And, as for the ' innocent recreation ' 
 of home, well^ this simple-minded Mr. Goe must be 
 strangely ignorant of the world and its ways if he imagines 
 that his fellow-creatures will be satisfied with 'lotto,' 
 ' tit-tat-toe,' ' spillikins',' ' scripture riddles,' and Bowdler's. 
 ' Shakespeare.' The world is not made up of mild 
 curates and bread-and-butter misses. But the sacerdotalism 
 of Canon Money and the meek mildness of Mr. F. Goe 
 pale before the nonsense which has been written to the 
 papers since these speeches were delivered. Fancy 'A 
 Canon ' honoured with ' leaded type ' in order that he 
 raay protest against a ballet in the K£rmesse seen© in 
 Fcmst !' and such a ballet of old opera hands in faded 
 knickerbockers ! Surely this ' Canon ' who is so shocked 
 at a. legitimate and purely innocent scene must be the 
 ' son of a gun ' who once put the legs of his pianoforte 
 into, trousers. And, as if the Canon had not talked 
 sufficient nonsense, another clergyman writes to protest 
 against Faust altogether, as 'a story of lust, seduction, 
 And murder.' Shade of Goethe, what an impious 
 insult !■" 
 
 Let us turn from all this illogical nonsense to the 
 sound common sense of Mr. Hail, M.P., and to the 
 manly and muscular Christianity of the Rev. J. W. 
 Horsley. " Mr. Hall hit the right nail on the head when he 
 urged that evil was to be found at the play because so many 
 excellent people stayed away, and with undeniable truth 
 lie showed how necessary amusements were, and how 
 much they might be purified by good example. 
 
 "But it was left for Mr. Horsley to blow the arguments 
 of all bis antagonists to the winds. . . He declared 
 it to be his opinion that the Creator 'certainly had no 
 need of flabby invertebrate creatures, who could do nothing 
 but flop down like a pious jelly-fish.' Why, Stiggins,. 
 Chadband and Co., have not had such a setting down 
 since the comical cynicism of Charles Dickens was at 
 
INTRODUCTION. Vll 
 
 rest ' It is the duty of the Church,' says Mr. Horsley, 
 ' to regulate, not to condemn; the amusements of the 
 people. The Church has learned there is a religion of 
 health; it must also learn that there isi a religion of 
 amusement, and that, the calling of cm amuser is a> 
 sacred calling. The attitude of the Church witihi regard! 
 to amusements shoiiLd be that of a guide, philosopher, 
 and friend.' How true all this is, and how it commends: 
 itself to the minds of alli uatainted with the bigotry mis- 
 called religion ! Once more let us listen, to Mr. Horsley, 
 who did not confine his remarks^ to the Theatre, but 
 dealt exhaustively with- all rational an»usements. 'In 
 all bodily and out-door sports let the parson be like the 
 Catholic Church of which he is a minister, at once 
 Tory and Radical — Tory in his conservation of all sports, 
 pastimes, and pursuits, that are manly and pure in 
 essence ; and Radical, in recognising on the field of sport 
 no aristocracy save that of skill; and endurance. In the 
 game of cricket,, for example,, let the country parson be 
 the umpire to his. pacishf team, and thus give a higher 
 tone of language and habit to, the eleven than would 
 otherwise characterise them.' " 
 
 A short time since, the Rev. Stewart D. Headlam de- 
 livered a lecture before the members, of the Common" 
 wealth Club, Bethnal Green (of which parish he was 
 curate), on "Theatres and Music Halls,"* in which he- 
 defended them as places of amusement. The lecture 
 was published, and the Bishop's; attention being' called^ 
 to it, his lordship wBOte recently, as follows, to Mr. 
 Headlam. : — " My Dear Sir, — I have read your letter 
 with great pain. Not for the first time has it caused me 
 to ask pardon of our great Master if I erred, as- 1 ffear 
 
 -* This work contains a defence of thei Theatre, but no^ most 
 assuredly, of the Music Hall of to-day, where low and. suggestive 
 songs; are all the rage, while, as a rule, barring some of the acro- 
 batic performance and ballets, the rest of the entertainment is 
 beneath contempt. The fact is, that the kind of songs generally 
 offered by the " liom comique " need the attention of the Lord 
 Chamberlain infinitely more than any drama whatever, and often 
 contain more vulgarity and coarseness, if not positive immorality 
 than any- dbzen of the worst plays ever produced in these days. 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I did, in admitting you to the ministry. It is, of course, 
 vain to argue with one who prefers so unhesitatingly his 
 own judgment, backed by the approval of actors and 
 proprietors of music-halls, to that of his incumbent and 
 Bishop, neither of whom can well be considered Puritan ; 
 but I do pray earnestly that you may not have to meet 
 before the Judgment Seat those whom your encourage- 
 ment first led to places where they lost the blush of 
 shame and took the first downward step towards vice and 
 misery. My correspondents merely sent me copies of 
 your lecture. — I am, dear Sir, faithfully yours, J. 
 London." Mr. Headlam, in his reply to the Bishop, 
 had the best of it undoubtedly. He holds that the 
 clergy are bound as officers of the Christian Church 
 to consider well the question of public amusements, 
 and that the religious world has done a grievous 
 wrong in refusing to recognise the calling of a dancer 
 or public amuser as a virtuous and honourable one. He 
 finishes by saying : — " That my attempt (to bring out the 
 good of certain public amusements) should be met by 
 your lordship in the way in which it has been, is proof of 
 the deep-rooted prejudices which the clergy have to 
 face who contend for social reform ; but the fact that 
 such prejudice is displayed in this matter, even by your 
 lordship, proves to me more than anything else thati am 
 right in speaking out plainly. I know how bitterly dis- 
 tressing and exasperating your lordship's words will be to 
 many who read them, and how they may still further 
 alienate many from the Church into which they have 
 been baptised. It is, therefore, most painful for me to 
 have to publish them, but they are so terrible in their con- 
 demnation that they leave me no choice but to appeal to 
 the wider verdict of the Church at large." Mr. Headlam 
 has since been suspended by his Chief 
 
 Very recently the Rev. Moncure Conway, of Finsbury 
 Chapel, lectured on the subject at Sadler's Wells Theatre, 
 in the Sunday evening course at which so many 
 distinguished people have assisted, and his powerful 
 defence deserved to be heard or read. 
 
 The Rev. J. G. Wright, still more recently, delivered a 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 discourse at the Free Christian Church, Leicester, on 
 public amusements, operas, and theatres. He said : — 
 " The theatre is a national institution for good. It is 
 doing more, I believe, than ecclesiastical religion itself to 
 raise the masses out of their drunken and savage earthly 
 enjoyments; to rouse the mental and moral forces of virtue, 
 bravery, contempt for all cowardice and trickery ; sym- 
 pathy with all suffering, weakness, and unmerited punish- 
 ment. And for those who can appreciate a Hamlet, 
 personated with masterly power, skill, and physique, what 
 an educator the theatre may be ! Let art combine with 
 ethics, let religion rule over all amusement and pleasure, 
 then has Christianity the world on its side. Avoid the 
 dangers. Beware of undue excitement Our business 
 habits may give us somewhat of ballast against this. But 
 it is only by practical, religious activity in the work-a-day 
 world that we can stand safe against the shocks and 
 snares of unreal emotion. The actor's life is dangerous, 
 for its got-up passion may be destructive to his spiritual 
 life. But is not the business man's life dangerous too ? 
 His habits may harden and sharpen until his heart be- 
 comes indurated, and his capacity becomes mere cunning. 
 And is not the minister's life dangerous ? May not his 
 preaching, and even his praying, crystallise into salaried, 
 customary duties — perfunctory performances ? We are 
 all open, in different degrees and ways, to these dangers 
 that drift us into unreality, unseriousness, and indifference 
 to living religion. What can save us, actors, merchants, 
 mechanics, ministers of Christ ? Nothing but that vital 
 and vigorous religion of the soul. Pray God for strength. 
 Do nothing we cannot ask Him to bless. Go nowhere, if 
 on returning we cannot thank God for having been there. 
 Use God's world, in all things, as not abusing it. Coun- 
 tenance nothing, either in opera or theatre, which we 
 could not bless God for. And let those who have to play 
 never forget their manliness or their womanliness. In 
 Shakespeare's time, men of the Stage were called ' the king's 
 players.' Yes, the king's players let the men and women 
 of our theatres be. Play always for the King of kings ; 
 under His eye ; fit for His eternal throne and august 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 audience ; so that nothing be unseemly, impure ; nay, let 
 nothing be unholy." 
 
 And now to the. gentleman who has done the writer 
 the honour of allowing him to be his annotator. 
 
 There is no occasion to remind the reader of a little 
 church in NewYork, whose pastor, the Rev. Mr. Houghton, 
 volunteered to fulfil the last rites of religion over all' that 
 remained of poor George Holland,, after it had been 
 refused by the priestly bigot of Gracechurch, the Epis- 
 copal cathedral of that city. Nor is there occasion to 
 say how popular the little church and excellent clergyman 
 have, become ; nor how many actors and actresses have 
 given up the Sunday evening at home so dear to them,, 
 just to pay respect to the man who had done honour to 
 himself and a noble profession at one and the same 
 time in that "little church round the corner." That 
 pastor now not merely buries about all of the profession 
 who die in New York, but performs for each of its mem- 
 bers who need it, the holy rites of matrimony, and chris- 
 tens all the theatrical babies. He has even been immor- 
 talized, rather cheaply it must be admitted, in a negro 
 minstrel song ! The writer was irresistibly reminded of 
 these facts as he wended his way from the Strand, round 
 the corner of Essex Street, to a little church where he 
 had learned that a minister of religion would hold forth 
 on the Stage and Drama in a series of Sunday evening 
 lectures. To criticise or praise his chief in the work 
 would, on the part of the annotator, display very bad 
 taste. Fortunately, another and an appreciative hand 
 has done it very pleasantly in the columns of the leading 
 theatrical journal.* The following is a part only of this 
 adtairable article, which commences with a graphic 
 description of the striking contrast between Saturday, 
 afternoon and Sunday in the Strand. 
 
 " The evening church bells were still ringing on Sun- 
 day evening last when I found myself in the flow of this 
 church-going population. The bells asked me to go to 
 St. Giles's, they played hymn tunes tor me at St. 
 
 * Ini the: articlie entitled "A Plucky Parson," published recently 
 in, the Era. 
 
INTRODUCnOJli. xi 
 
 Clement's, they called me to St. Mary's, they summoned 
 me most noisily to St. Dunstan's, they ' tinged ' at me 
 from Burleigh Street, and they ' tanged ' to me from the 
 Savoy Chapel. But being eurioAJsly inclined, I broke 
 away from the tide of church-goers, which made the 
 Strand almost as, impassable as it is on a week-day, and 
 I turned down Essex Street,, which^ as you all know, is 
 a short cut to the Temple. I stood before a neat and 
 comfortable-looking chapel, and, as there were lights in 
 the windows, and I heard the strains of an organ playing 
 a voluntary, I accepted this, as an invitation and walked 
 in. The littki, unpisetentious-looking chapel had evidently 
 been recently done up, for it shone with new varnish and 
 was spotlessly clean. I was ushered to a seat as they 
 were singing a hymn, and then looJced round me. There 
 was no altar or communion-table at all — no railed off 
 sanctuary whatever. In the middle of the centre wall 
 stood a ' two-decker ' — that is to say a pulpit and reading- 
 desk — and towards- this ' rostrum ' the majority of the 
 pews turned. Over our heads was a gallery and a soft 
 organ. The hymn over, a venerable-looking clergyman 
 from the reading-desk read, with excellent enunciation 
 and admirable emphasis, some prayers selected from the 
 Church of Englaind Prayer Book. I have seldom heard 
 better reading or the words of these beautiful prayers 
 brought home with more persuasion to the listener. 
 Many clergymen drawl their prayers in a tedious mono- 
 tone, many neglect the,- punctuation altogether^ many 
 exaggerate them, many act them with offensive point ; 
 but, this intellectuaUooking minister with the persuasive 
 voice and gentle manner read the prayers as if he appre- 
 ciated the grace of their composition, and intended that 
 they should go, home to his hearers. The prayers over, 
 another hymn ' from the Essex Street Selection,' and then 
 the clergyman in his black gown mounted the pulpit. 
 Unless physiognomy deceived me altogether,. I anticipated 
 from the clergyman an able and intellectual discourse. 
 The minister who had prayed so- well could not fail to 
 preach persuasively. But in these surroundings, as. it 
 seemed to me, it could be, little else than the old story, 
 
XU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 warning the congregation against the frivolities and 
 follies of our time, and seeming to forget that practice 
 and preaching were sometimes inconsistent. In this 
 little chapel there would surely come no sympathetic 
 voice understanding our trials and temptations in the 
 world as it is, but scolding us unmercifully for neglecting 
 to see the world as it is not. I accordingly prepared 
 myself for the usual lecturing, and submitted to my fate. 
 "The hymn was over, all was silent, and I awaited the 
 text. And this was the text — ' The Stage 1 and the 
 Moral and Religious Sentiments of Society !' I could 
 scarcely believe my ears. Were these quiet, sober, 
 church-going people, to be instructed on the early history 
 of the Drama; to be told how Christians might encourage 
 the Drama's mission ; to be warned against the cant of 
 Puritanism and the illiberality of religious sects ? Had 
 I found my ' plucky parson ' at last ? Was I for once in 
 my life to hear a minister of religion who would be bold 
 enough to tell his congregation that the thoughts a well- 
 conducted Stage give are good thoughts ; that the 
 essence of pure poetry is religion ; and that playgoers are 
 not altogether worse than churchgoers ? For an instant 
 I feared for the result. The minister underneath whom 
 I sat, might, n£> doubt, intend to use the text of the Stage 
 in order to revile it, and to allude to Society in order to 
 deplore its encouragement of the art I so much loved. 
 But my moment's hesitation was ungenerous to the 
 preacher, was unfair to the Rev. J. Panton Ham. I soon 
 discovered that the preacher was as earnest for the 
 welfare and wel|-being of the Stage as its most ardent 
 supporters, as learned in its history as its ripest scholars, 
 as intolerant of cant as our most liberal playgoers, as 
 generous in his appreciation of art as the best well-wisher 
 to the Drama could desire, and as confident that the 
 Stage is not only a necessity, but a means of serious and 
 atwding good to the community. ... He submitted, 
 with great fairness, that many Theatres were as well- 
 conducted as our churches, and that it was a gross libel 
 on our managers to say they were ' homes of vice.' He 
 asked if it were exercising Christian charity to refuse to 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIU 
 
 recognise the improvements daily occurring at our 
 Theatres, and if it was right in religious people to hold 
 aloof when their influence and presence might surely 
 turn the scale for good and right, and purity and taste. 
 He quoted from Wordsworth's ' Prelude ' to show how 
 a good man and a poet could have sympathy with the , 
 actor's art, and he showed how industrious, painstaking, 
 and hard-worked, the actor really was, instead of being, 
 as religious people assert, idle, dissipated, and careless. 
 Then came that stirring argument which showed the 
 folly of giving the painter, the poet, and the sculptor, a 
 place amongst good men and worthy arts, while the same 
 position was denied to the actor, whose work was more 
 evanescent, but whose effect was more lasting. This 
 learned and most liberal minister shirked no responsi- 
 bility, and he candidly owned that if he, a thinking man 
 and a minister of religion, in that pulpit, and before that 
 congregation, were asked whether he would advise his 
 hearers to go to the Theatre, his answer would emphati- 
 cally be ' Yes.' 
 
 " The earnest manner and eloquent diction of the 
 preacher gave additional weight to the discourse, which 
 was listened . to throughout with profound interest. 
 There was such an utter absence of clap-trap and sensa- 
 tional effect that every word told home, and showed the 
 result of honest and hearty conviction. For many years 
 there has been no more eloquent defence of the Stage ; 
 and coming, as it does now, after the carping criticism of 
 the Church Congress at Croydon, it is more than ever 
 valuable." 
 
 The present writer trusts that the Pulpit will, more and 
 more, ventilate the subject, as nothing but good to the 
 Stage can result. Intemperate attacks on it will exhaust 
 themselves in mere froth and wind, while the calm 
 discussion of the subject will tend to the elevation of 
 the Drama, and increase the number of its adherents from 
 the ranks of more or less educated, though, at present, 
 mistaken people. So strongly has the conviction forced 
 itself upon the minds of many that a crusade is necessary 
 against the attacks constantly made on the Theatre by 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ministers of religion, that in Manchester a society has 
 already been formed for its defence. The writer would 
 like to see something similar in London, and would work 
 for the good cause con amore. Such a society should 
 form a corps of clergymen and ministers, authors, actors, 
 and lovers of the Drama, willing, as opportunity pre- 
 sented, to lecture or write on it in all its phases — in a 
 word, to thoroughly ventilate the subject. Cannot it be 
 done ? 
 
 The illustrative notes to Mr. Ham's lectures have been 
 placed at the end of each, so as not to interfere with the 
 continuity of the reader's perusal. Foot-notes are fre- 
 quently objectionable, as, although they may illustrate 
 and amplify the main text, they disturb the line of argu- 
 ment pursued. They have been gathered from a variety 
 of sources. The Ordinance of the Long Parliament 
 against the players has been unearthed at the British 
 ' Museum, and presented in full, for the sufficient reason 
 that the epoch of its promulgation was a transition period 
 in the history of the Stage. From that time dates the 
 rise of the undying hostility towards the acted drama, 
 which has been displayed by the more rigid religionists c f 
 nearly all sects, and which at times it deserved, but which 
 has been, on the whole, a great injustice. The ordinance 
 has been rarely printed in the most voluminous of stage 
 histories ; even Geneste, a recognised authority, gives 
 merely a few brief extracts from it. In addition to extracts 
 from several standard biographies of noted actors and 
 actresses, the writer is greatly indebted to Mr. Henry 
 Neville's admirable lecture, delivered some years since 
 before the Society for the Encouragement of the Fine 
 Arts. Mr. Neville, both manager and actor, speaks 
 whereof he knows, and his earnest desire for the elevation 
 of his noble profession is most praiseworthy. To Mr. 
 Frank Stainforth, the author of Rank and Fame, The 
 Queen of an Hour, &c., the annotator is indebted for the 
 use of his excellent articles published a short time since 
 in the London Magazine. The writer has received con- 
 tributions in the form of anecdotes from a number of 
 eminent members of the theatrical profession, and these, 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 with his own experiences, constitute the most original 
 part of the notes. As, in all cases, the names of 
 authorities and contributors have been given in the text, 
 it is unnecessary to recapitulate them here. 
 
 The notes should be regarded as a running commentary 
 on the lectures, and should be read after the latter, or 
 they will appear disjointed. An occasional digression 
 may have been made, but it will generally be found to 
 have some, at least, remote bearing on the subject. 
 
 Fred. Whymper. 
 March i, 1878, 
 
CON TENTS. 
 
 PAC E 
 
 Treface iii 
 
 Introduction . iv 
 
 The Drama and the Theatre 17 
 
 Notes on Lecture 1 33 
 
 The Theatre : a Social Fact and Force . . 54 
 
 Notes on Lecture II 69 
 
 The Stage and the Moral and Religious Sen- 
 timents OF Society 100 
 
 Notes on Lecture IIL . . . , , ,121 
 
 The Stage and the State . . . . .155 
 
 Notes on Lecture IV. . . . . ^ ,174 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 I CANNOT imagine that any apology is demanded of me, 
 and therefore I shall volunteer none, for making the 
 Drama and the Theatre a subject of pulpit discourse. 
 As a social fact, and entering as it does into the daily 
 allowances and life of society, the Theatre claims from 
 the minister of religion, quite as much as from the 
 journalist and statesman, a serious and candid consi- 
 deration ; indeed, if the manners and morals of society 
 are among the matters of ministerial solicitude, then it is 
 impossible for the pulpit to overlook, or affect to ignore, 
 those established amusements of the community which 
 are the symptoms of its intellectual and moral tastes and 
 feelirtgs, and which, from their habitual indulgence, may 
 be reasonably considered to exert a powerful influence 
 upon both. 
 
 Ever since the ordinance of the Long Parliament in 
 1648, directed against theatres and stage-plays, an unde- 
 fined persuasion of profanity has more or less permeated 
 English society in reference to the Theatre and theatrical 
 associations — a persuasion which, it must be confessed, 
 has been in no small degree justified by the history of 
 the Stage and the quality of much drajjiatic literature. 
 The Statute-book, moreover, by degrading the profession 
 of the actor, has united with the Puritanic hostility 
 during the Commonwealth and the licentious allowances 
 during the Restoration and since, in giving birth to, and 
 confirming this prevalent sentiment — that the Theatre, 
 with all its associations, is a profane thing, from which 
 
 B 
 
l8 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 even a common decorum, and much more, virtue and 
 religion, ought to stand aloof. But this inveterate senti- 
 ment is, in no small degree, traditional, and what is 
 traditional is not always discriminating and just in its 
 aspect towards existing facts and circumstances. There 
 is nothing so adhesive as a bad reputation ; and religious 
 society, which clings to the faith of propitiation and 
 atonement for the reinstatement of its own soul before 
 God, is generally the last to erase the label of infarny 
 from sinners against itself who are the objects of its 
 censure and odium. It still preaches that the Theatre 
 is unhallowed ground — that it never can be anything else 
 than unhallowed ground. The poet Campbell says : — 
 
 " What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives bhth 
 To sacred thoughts in souls of worth ! 
 Peace ! Independence ! Truth ! Go forth 
 
 Earth's compass round ; 
 And your high-priesthood shall make earth 
 All hallowed ground ! " 
 
 The Theatre has long had the reputation of an offence 
 to the religious sensibiUties of society. I propose, in 
 the interests of intelligence, morals, and religion, to 
 inquire if this be reasonable and inevitable, by offering 
 some observations on the Drama as occupying a recog- 
 nized place in the literature of the country ; and on the 
 Theatre, its natural home, recognized or tolerated as a 
 social institution. 
 
 To say that the religious sensibilities of society are 
 against the Theatre would seem at once to settle the 
 question, and make any discussion about it not only 
 superfluous, but a yet further social offence. We are 
 however forbidden to accept this summary mode of deal- 
 ing with the subject by the observation of the fact, that 
 the existence of the Theatre is virtually justified by the 
 patronage of not a few ot its frequenters who cannot be 
 considered irreligious persons, and who would indig- 
 nantly repudiate such an imputation on themselves. 
 Thus, for example, the author of " The Excursion " 
 reports his own views and feelings towards the Stage; 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 19 
 
 and the Theatre, in Wordsworth's time, had mote to 
 blush for than it has now — 
 
 " Yet was the theatre my dear deli'ight ; 
 The- very gilding, lamps, and pa nted serolls, 
 And all the mean upholstery of the place, 
 Wanted not animation, when the tide 
 Of pleasure ebbed but to return as fast 
 With the ever-shifting figures of the scene, 
 Solemn' or gay. » » • • 
 
 For then, 
 Though surely no mean progress had been made 
 In mediations holy and sublime. 
 Yet something of a girlish, childlike gloss 
 Of novelty survived for scenes like these." 
 
 We find, therefore, that there are differences of religious 
 sensibilities ; that one 'kind dlows, and another disallows, 
 the Drama and the Theatre. Before we can settle the 
 question of the Theatre, in the view of the religious 
 sensibilitres of society, we have to look more attentively 
 into these sensibilities themselves. How comes it to 
 pass that one person's conscience approves, and 
 another's condemns, the Theatre ? Possibly, in pursu- 
 ing our investigation of this phenomenon, we may find 
 that the conscience which is adverse to the Theatre has 
 been nurtured under very pronounced ecclesiastical and 
 dogmatic influences ; and that the conscience which is 
 favourable, knows nothing of these ecclesiastical and 
 sectarian predilections. Now, unless we are prepared to 
 say that there is no genuine religion but that which is 
 ecclesiastical and dogmatic, we must admit that pure 
 religious sensibilities may have something to say in 
 defence of the Theatre: Looking at the matter thus, it 
 would be more strictly correct to say, not that the spirit 
 and voices of religion emphatically condemn the 
 Theatre, but that there is so much contrasted feeling 
 towards it even among persons of equally high character 
 and purity of life, that the position of the Theatre is 
 somewhat equivoml. Equivocal, that is the word, and 
 the- strongest that may fairly be used; and what is equi- 
 vocal is debatable, and claims to be looked into, and, if 
 
 B 2 
 
20 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 possible, purged of every element of moral doubt and 
 uneasiness. 
 
 No one needs to be convinced that the abuse of a thing 
 is no argument against its use. The Theatre has, 
 undeniably, suffered very serious abuse. Not a word of 
 apology can be offered for its historical self-abasement ; 
 and we can only look back on some periods of its history 
 with feelings of surprise and shame. The Theatre has 
 been capable of abuse, and it has yielded grossly to the 
 temptation. But even the very best things are liable to 
 the law of corruption ; and if the corruption of the 
 Drama and the Stage has been very corrupt indeed, 
 we know that the corruption of t he best things is always 
 the worst. What, if we judged the Christian Church, 
 and even Christianity itself, as we judge the Drama and 
 the Theatre ! Have these undeniably holy things suffered 
 no abuses and corruptions ? Are we content that Chris- 
 tian truth, spirit, and life, shall be judged by historical 
 Christianity ? Would we like to think of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, and the Christianity of which he is the founder 
 and exemplar, in the view of the masquerades and 
 mockeries, the mendacity and villainy, the bigotry and 
 tyranny, the debaucheries and lust, the sanguinary 
 cruelties and murders, which have stained the pages of 
 the historical record of the Church, and made the story 
 of the Church and Christianity the most revolting and 
 heartrending of any of our world's annals ? If Jesus 
 Christ is not necessarily at one with the licentiousness and 
 wickedness of the "historical Church of Christianity, why 
 should the Drama and the Theatre be necessarily identi- 
 fied with the moral and social defilements which have 
 confessedly blotted their history? If the Theatre has 
 had its evil development, so has even the religion of Jesus 
 Christ. In neither case were these developments in- 
 herent and inevitable, but purely circumstantial and 
 accidental. The intellectual and moral conditions of 
 society have, in every age, qualified the conditions of 
 both the Church and the Theatre. Not the true Church 
 or true Christianity is responsible for the errors and cor- 
 ruptions of historical Christianity, ,t)ut the ignorance and 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 21 
 
 corruption of the times — that is to say, of the state of 
 society in any given age ; and so the debasement of the 
 Theatre and its associations is to be traced, not to the 
 Drama and the Theatre in the abstract, but to the debase- 
 ment of the times — to the condition of society at any 
 given period. Both the Church and the Theatre have 
 been, and are, just what Church-goers and Play-goers 
 make them. As we do not condemn the Church for its 
 corrupt exemplars, its bad supporters, and its equivocal 
 incidents and circumstances, so we cannot justly condemn 
 the Theatre for the same reasons. The Church has had 
 its corruptions, both clerical and lay, as well as the Stage, 
 and worse corruptions beyond all comparison with those 
 which the Stage has ever exemplified. 
 
 Pursuing, then, our inquiry into, what I may call, the 
 natural history of the Theatre, I must remind you that 
 the dramatic feeling is a human instinct, and dramatic 
 literature is an indigenous product of civilization. 
 Every literature, worthy of the name, comprises that 
 specific difference called Dramatic. The Drama is not 
 the spurious and capricious birth of a luxuriously sated 
 civilization, begotten for the mere indulgence of a people 
 who only cared to look on life, and were too indolent to 
 live themselves ; on the contrary, it is the prompting 
 and passion of life-earnestness, and is, therefore, the 
 legitimate offspring of the genius of humanity. It owes 
 its birth to the reflective observation of the facts and 
 fortunes of human life ; and this reflective observation is 
 prompted by the unquenchable inteJfest which human 
 beings must ever take in the ever-varying condition of 
 their kind, and the lively sympathy they must ever feel 
 with their weal or woe in the eventful experiment of 
 life. If it be natural to observe the feelings and tastes, 
 the manners and customs, the foibles and weaknesses, the 
 virtues and vices of individuals and society, then must it 
 be also natural that the Drama, which is the reflection of 
 all these, should have an existence. In its two broad 
 divisions of tragedy and comedy, we have the portraiture 
 of our humanity in all its contrasted and diversified fea- 
 tures j and no richer 4t(brehouse of intellectual and moral 
 
22 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 refinement and fascinating entertainment can be found 
 than in the classic Drama of our own country. The 
 Drama is essentially imaginative, and is,, therefore, both 
 a moral and religious influence of refinement. " An un- 
 imaginative person," writes Mr. Ruskin (" Fors Clavigera," 
 Letter XXXIV.) " can neither be reverent nor kind. The 
 main use of works of fiction, and of the Drama, is to 
 supply, as far as possible, the defect of this imagination 
 
 in common minds The imaginative power always 
 
 purifies ; the want of it, therefore, as essentially defiles; 
 and as the wit-power is apt to develop itself through 
 absence of imagination, it seems as if wit itself had a 
 defiling tendency. In Pindar, Homer, Virgil, Dante, 
 and Scott, the colossal powers of imagination result in 
 absolute virginal purity of thought ; " while " the defect 
 of imagination and the splendid rational power in Pope 
 and Horace associate themselves with foulness of thought." 
 Voltaire is foul in his wit because he was acute, but 
 destitute of imagination. And it cannot be doubted, as 
 Mr. Ruskin shows, that the tendency to what he euphe- 
 mistically calls the " fimetic taint " in Shakespeare and 
 Chaucer, in Aristophanes and Molibre, in Cervantes and 
 Fielding, was held in powerful restraint by the splendour 
 and force of their unagination, which is always generous, 
 purifying, and ennobling. No class of literature more 
 attracts and enchains our interest, more deeply stirs our 
 passions, excites our humour, and purifies and ennobles 
 our sentiments, than dramatic literature. Closely allied 
 to the Drama, is the literature of Fiction, and so long as a 
 hterature exists, the Drama and the Novel are inevitable. 
 Both are the products, the natural and necessary pro- 
 ducts, of a high state of civilization. 
 
 Now, from the Drama of literature to the Stage of 
 Histrionic Art is but a step, and I venture to affirm, a 
 very natural and inevitable step. The imagination of 
 every reader of the Drama erects the stage, realizes the 
 scenery, and calls for the players. The scenes of the 
 Drama invite the aid of the scenic artist, and its action 
 demands the impersonation of the living actor. Hence 
 the reason and fact of the Theatre. There are persons 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 23 
 
 who ffiiy that from the Dmiiia' tx3 the Stage is by no means 
 inevitable, and that, so far from being desirable, the high 
 class Drama is spoilt by representation. The whole force 
 of this objection to the Stage lies probably in the fact 
 that such readers, as a rule, find^ their own imaginations 
 more competent to deal with the dramatic author's con- 
 ceptions, than what they see on the stage, and that the 
 actor too generally falls short of their ideal. Nor only 
 this : the very incarnation of a really fine drama, by the 
 art of the scene-painter, the machinist, and the actor, 
 distracts, and even destroys its imaginative and moral 
 beauties for some minds. It did so for Charles Lamb. 
 But what is a disturbance to an order of minds like that 
 of the author of "Elia," may be a quickener of the 
 imagination in the majority of minds ; and, probably 
 Charles Lamb himself would have been conscious of less 
 disturbance if he bad been less sensitive to the least 
 suggestions of the incongruous and the gross, and could 
 have fixed his mind less intensely on the necessary 
 realisms, artifices, and accidents of the mimic scene. He 
 lays down the principle that the more excellent the drama 
 the less fit is it on this very account for representation ; — 
 a ptinciple which, if acknowledged in actual moral life, 
 would make all virtuous aspirations for the realization of 
 high moral and religious ideals neither practicable nor 
 desirable. On this principle he would withdraw such 
 dramatic works as Lear, Othello, and Hamlet entirely 
 from the stage. He could only endure their poetical 
 conception ; their realistic expression offended him. His 
 approval and patronage of the Theatre seem to have 
 been on the inferior ground of its faculty of mere enter- 
 tainment. It is, indeed, very commonly said, even by those 
 who have no conscientious objections to the Theatre, 
 that Shakespeare is more appreciable and, enjoyable when 
 read than acted. They quite forget that that was not 
 Shakespeare's own opinion ; and that he did not write 
 for literature but for the stage. He neither printed, nor 
 prepared for the press any of his plays. Gervinus, 
 in "Shakespeare's Commentaries," page 21 (and with 
 him Schlegel and other commentators agree), says: 
 
24 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 " Shakespeare's works should properly only be explained 
 by representation. For that, and that alone, were they 
 written. The separation of dramatic poetry from histri- 
 onic art, through which both arts have suffered, was 
 unknown in Shakespeare's time. The main difi&culty to 
 the understanding of his plays lies thus alone in this, 
 that we read them and do not see them." If we may 
 decide this question by appealing to the Theatre itself and 
 the thousands who nightly throng it, I think we must 
 conclude that the literary drama transferred to the Stage 
 of histrionic representation is immensely more attractive 
 and impressionable than it possibly can be in its purely 
 literary form in the pages of a book. If we go back to 
 the high antiquity of ancient Rome and classic Greece, 
 we see there not only a finished dramatic literature, but 
 also a theatrical home worthy of it. We see, moreover, 
 how exalted was their idea of the worth of the Drama 
 and the Stage. Their theatres were on such a scale of 
 grandeur, in proportion and embellishment, as to vie 
 with, and in some instances to outvie, the temples of 
 religion ; and were as much a recognised State institution 
 as the sacred edifices themselves. Persons of quality 
 did not disdain to become professional actors among the 
 Greeks. Could such a growth have been the mere 
 caprice of the national leaning to diversion ? Is it not 
 something more than a chance form which the natural 
 bias towards relaxation happened to take? National 
 amusements, like national costumes, have rarely any 
 inherent reason and permanence ; they are whims of 
 temporary humour and the fickle offspring of ever- 
 changing fashion. As mere amusements they have no 
 deep foundation in the social soil, and neither ask for, 
 nor obtain, the shrine of an enduring superstructure. The 
 ancient civilizations welcomed the Drama and the 
 Histrionic Art as they welcomed their Gods, and erected 
 their theatres on the same magnificent scale, and with the 
 same enduring materials as they built their temples. I 
 see in this fact a conviction among the ancients, that the 
 Theatre, if an amusement, was not merely an amusement ; 
 that it had in itself an element of natural vitality and 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 2$ 
 
 endurance, because it was one of the natural develop- 
 ments of civilization — a natural offspring of the national 
 culture, — and subserved important ends in the artistic 
 and aesthetic necessities of cultivated society. And has 
 it not endured ? The Theatre can boast of an antiquity 
 many centuries higher than the Christian era, and has 
 come down to the times of our own civilization. 
 
 Permit me, in this place, to emphasize the remark that 
 the Theatre is not a place of mere amusement. I attach 
 great importance to, and shall endeavour to vindicate, 
 the denial of this low popular estimate of the Theatre 
 and theatrical performances. The familiar terms, play, 
 play-house, and players, do not fitly describe the highest 
 legitimate occupations and aims of the Stage. Mere 
 entertainment is, of course, quite legitimate, and may be 
 reasonably sought and enjoyed within the walls of a 
 theatre ; but it is a very serious mistake to accept this 
 phrase and its equivalents as the comprehensive expression 
 of the purposes of the Stage and dramatic representations. 
 The Theatre is, unquestionably, a very great diversion 
 and is properly placed by common consent at the head 
 " of all popular amusements ; but very much more may be 
 claimed for it: and they who see nothing more than 
 mere amusement in the Stage have yet to learn much of 
 its history and natural capabilities. I have a very much 
 higher opinion of the professors of the histrionic art, 
 and much more respect for them, than to think of them 
 as mere amusers of the public, even though their place 
 be in the honourable position of the van of public enter- 
 tainers. But more on this point hereafter. 
 
 When I say that the Theatre has come down to our 
 own times, I do not mean that it has come down as a 
 direct inheritance, as an extra-national legacy ; for, how- 
 ever the French Drama and Theatre may have been in- 
 fluenced by the ancient classical Drama and Stage, and 
 so far has forfeited its originality, those of Spain and 
 England are as native to the soil, and as natural to their 
 particular civilization, as were the Drama and Theatre of 
 Greece. The oak is not more indigenous on British soil 
 than are the Drama and Theatre in our intellectual and 
 
2'6 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 social life. They were neither inherited nor imported, 
 but were purely original and native, and grew up with 
 the national culture and advancement in civilization. 
 Their earliest rudimentary appearance in England was 
 naturally in the Church, not only because the Church was 
 the only home of intellectual culture and refinement; 
 but also because the Drama comes very close to the 
 religious conscience and life, and has everywhere had a 
 religious origin. In ancient times it arose from the 
 Sacred Chorus; in modern times, from the Sacred 
 Scriptures. The Miracle-plays and Moralities, or, as they 
 were called, " Mysteries," were the first British dramas 
 and theatricals. Monasteries were their theatre and 
 stage, and clerics their actors. The Church, because of 
 its culture, was the Alma Mater of the Drama and the 
 histrionic art. When culture extended beyond the 
 Church, and a national literature grew up, the Drama 
 appeared in the wider field of secular culture; and, 
 changing with its freer conditions, grew and flourished 
 rapidly till it reached the apex of its artistic and moral 
 grandeur in the advent of Shakespeare. The golden age 
 of English Literature is the golden age of the Drama, 
 and the period when the Theatre had its deepest foun- 
 dations laid in the soil of English life. And those foun- 
 dations have never been effectually shaken. In spite of 
 the hostility it has had to encounter from religious con- 
 scientiousness or fanaticism on the one hand, and its own 
 suicidal intemperance on the other, the Theatre has 
 survived to this day, and is gaining a stronger hold than 
 ever on the sympathies and affections of the community. 
 Theatres have greatly multiplied, and the lovers of the 
 Drama and frequenters of the Theatre are a considerable 
 proportion of English society. 
 
 Is there nothing suggestive in all this ? Such a history 
 and durability claim something more from society than 
 the neglect of indifference, the sneer of contempt, and 
 the angry execration of religious prejudice. How is it, 
 we may more reasonably ask, that the Drama and the 
 Theatre have always been natural growths of the best 
 civilizations of the world, — that their earliest develop- 
 
THE DKAMA AND THE THEATRE. 27 
 
 ment has always been in thevery bosom of the religious 
 sentiments, and the religious institutions, of society, — and 
 that they have enjoyedsuch a tenacious ajid indestructible 
 vitality ? They are, undoubtedly the product of civiliza- 
 tion, even in its earliest and rudest forms, and are 
 nourished and sustained in vigorous life as long as the 
 civilization itself. 
 
 Considered simply as a stage for dramatic representa- 
 tions, the Theatre only does for human character and 
 life what language does for human thought and feeling. 
 If language is not essentially evil because it is the stage 
 for the play of thought and feeling, why should the 
 Theatre be so reputed because it has a stage and repre- 
 sentative functions? I emphasize the word essential, 
 because if it can be shown that evil does not essentially 
 inhere in the Drama and Theatrical representations, then 
 are they both morally and religiously defensible ; and the 
 fact that the Theatre has been abused is no more reason 
 for its suppression than the fact that language having 
 been often abused, people should never open their lips any 
 more. The condemnation of the Theatre has wholly 
 proceeded from the one-sided view of its abuse. It has 
 contracted defilement, and is therefore affirmed to be 
 incapable of purification. 
 
 Adopting the plea of Lucrece, the Theatre may say : 
 
 ' ' The poisoned fountain clears itself again ; 
 And why not I from this compelled stain ? " 
 
 The Drama, I maintain, may be high classic literature 
 and the Theatre a place of high intellectual and moral 
 refinement ; and, if they are neither, it is not one or the 
 other which is so much to. be blamed, as the low intel- 
 lectwal and moral state of society, whose frivolous or 
 corrupt tastes and sympathies demand from the Stage 
 mere sensuous entertainments of such a quality as they 
 are only capable of enjoying. 
 
 It seems to me a more plausible objection to the Stage, 
 that it never can be more than a reflection of the moral 
 tastes, humours, and manners of society— that its func- 
 tion is exclusively photographic. This view of the Stage 
 
28 THE DRAMA AND 'I HE THEATRE. 
 
 very materially detracts from its dignity and social 
 importance, and reduces it to the level of a place of mere 
 public entertainment. It would indeed be very far from 
 despicable even with this limitation ; but, being capable 
 of better things, it would abdicate its ideal function for 
 a realism that might amuse, but rarely instruct, and as 
 rarely refine and elevate. Shakespeare's dramatic works 
 certainly do not give us this narrow view of the Stage 
 and the actor's art. If they exhibit human character and 
 life as they commonly are, they also set forth in the 
 most elevated moral delineations, and force and charm 
 of language, what human character and life ought to be ; 
 and these dramatic compositions are model theatrical 
 works, and the richest treasure of the British or of any 
 Stage. His Hatnlet expresses his idea of the true Drama 
 and true acting : " With this special observance," he 
 says, "that you o'erstep not the modesty of Nature : for 
 anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, 
 whose end, both at the first and now, was and is to hold, 
 as 'twere, the mirror up to Nature ; to show Virtue her 
 own feature ; Scorn her own image ; and the very age and 
 body of the time his form and pressure." He would 
 have the Stage reflect, not merely " the form and pressure" 
 of the time, but " hold the mirror up to Nature " — the 
 ideal as well as the actual Nature — that the mimic scene 
 might be a high moral representation, and a noble, moral 
 study of the beauty of virtue and the deformity of vice. 
 This comprehensive dictum of the Master on the ends of 
 Stage plays and the aims of the player's art, has been 
 often but scantily heeded both by dramatists and actors ; 
 and the Theatre's high function, as a mirror of Nature, 
 has been often sacrificed for the sake of making it a mere 
 mirror of what society should rather wish to have deli- 
 cately hidden, than rudely and shamelessly exposed. 
 
 To have a just conception of the Drama, and the true 
 Theatre, we must fix our almost undiverted gaze on the 
 greatest luminary of both — the immortal Shakespeare. 
 Between him and his dramatic contemporaries and suc- 
 cessors there is a very wide assthetic, and, especially, ethi- 
 cal gap. Their lurid ethical light, their heated ethical 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 29 
 
 glare, their blotched shadows, must not be suffered to 
 occupy the forefront of dramatic and theatrical truth. 
 They were not true disciples of the great master. " In 
 a number of dramas, which originated contemporaneously 
 with Shakespeare, or after him, we are transported into 
 an infected sphere, among the middle and lower London 
 classes, 'where morals \vere more heathenish,' says 
 Massinger, 'than among the heathens; and crime,' as 
 Ben Jonson represents, ' was more refined than in hell.' 
 ' The society in which we here move ' — thus it is said 
 in a serious Morality of this time (Lingua, 1607) — 'is 
 that of passionate lovers, miserable fathers, extravagant 
 sons, insatiable courtezans, shameless bawds, stupid fools, 
 impudent parasites, lying servants, and bold sycophants.' 
 Yet, even these figures and subjects were not hideous 
 enough for the poets; they had recourse, at the same time, 
 especially to ItaHan society, as it is depicted in the history 
 and romance of the age — a world of corruption, which, 
 with barefaced shamelessness and obduracy, delights in 
 an impudent ostentation of strong and violent crimes. 
 Not satisfied with this characteristic choice of the most re- 
 pulsive matters, they could not even portray it faithfully 
 enough in the coarsest realistic truth without an ideal 
 perspective. Nay, not even satisfied with this photo- 
 graphic image, they chose rather to hold the concave 
 mirror before the age, that the deformity might be yet 
 more deformed. Lingering, with darkened vision, upon 
 these shadow-sides in their plays, which can often only 
 awake the interest of criminal procedures, concealing, 
 by silence, the light side of that luxuriant English race, 
 and their political and religious power, the greater part 
 of these poets adhere, notwithstanding, firmly to the 
 ethical vocation of their art ; but, like Ben Jonson, they 
 fall into a harsh and severe theory of intimidation, which 
 ■nisses its aim in the poet's task still more than in that 
 of the judge. Wherever they more positively tend to a 
 moral idea, as is the case with Heywood and Massinger, 
 they fall into another devious path. Losing that sense 
 of mqderation which in Shakespeare measures human 
 actions according to the pure eternal moral law, these 
 
3© THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 Romanticists of English literature point in idealistic 
 extravagance to conventionally extolled virtues, and 
 bring forward examples of exaggerated ideas of 
 honour and fidelity in the style of the Spanish drama ; 
 and still more frequently these poets, though con- 
 scious of their vocation as elevators of morals, drawn 
 down by the gravitating force of the corrupt con- 
 ditions of life, suffer their hand to sink in convulsive 
 efforts, and even inconsiderately resign themselves to the 
 current of depravity, and sketch, with seductive pencil, 
 the vices of the age, dead to the sensibility of moral 
 feeling. This internal ruin sufficiently explains why the 
 dramatic poetry of England, rapidly aS' it started forth, 
 and luxuriantly as it grew up, just as quickly withered ; 
 why its constant adversary^ Puritanic religious zeal, forced 
 it so soon to relinquish the task for which it had proved 
 itself too weak — the task of purifying society by a moral 
 revolution. We can imagine that this degeneration of 
 the Stage would have been alone sufficient ground for 
 Shakespeare's premature withdrawal from the Stage, 
 from London, and from his poetic vocation. He could 
 no longer recognise his own work in the wild practices 
 of those who believed themselves his most-devoted dis- 
 ciples. For the intellectual extent of his historical • sur- 
 vey of the world, the profound character of his poetic 
 creation, and his moral refinement of feeling were,.tD'the 
 whole race, a sealed letter." ("Shakespeare's Commen- 
 taries," by Gervinus.) 
 
 It may help to decide the question whether the Theatre 
 should be considered as a school of intellectual and 
 moral refinement, or simply a place of amusement and 
 recreation, to note the plain fact that dramatic composi- 
 tions and their representations on the stage involve an 
 intellectual andrnoral element, whichmust befor good or 
 evil in its educational influence on society. The Stage 
 undeniably instructs or perverts the- understanding ; it 
 does more, it appeals tO', and moves forcibly the strongest 
 passions of our nature, and thus acts directly on our 
 moral feelings. The Theatre is, de facto, a Sckml, and 
 takes its place either among the best educational agencies 
 
THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. Jl 
 
 Of society, or among their most active and potential 
 antagonists. The Theatre cannot occupy a mediate place 
 of negation or neutrality. It is a school of virtue or vice, 
 and all the more powerful for either that it has powers of 
 fascination and impression altogether unique, and greatly 
 in excess of any other scholastic agency. Designedly or 
 not, it is inherently an educational force. That it is so 
 regarded is evidenced by the fact of a State Censorship, 
 and still further by the fact that the periodical presshas its 
 Dramatic Critics — a body of literary men who, in greater 
 or less degree, exert an invaluableinfluence on both the 
 Drama and the Stage. The place of dramatic criticism 
 in our journals denotes the belief that themoral irtfluence 
 of the Drama and histrionic performances on the cha- 
 racters and manners of a people is considerable, and 
 that, therefore, both need a vigilant watchfulness and the 
 conscientious award of commendation or censure. 
 Viewing the subject in this important aspect, am I not 
 justified in saying that all the members of society, 
 and more especially the most intelligent and virtuous, 
 ought to regard the Theatre with a sensitive, moral, and 
 religious interest, and useall their influence to refine and 
 exalt it ? Our great dramatist asks with passionate earnest- 
 ness for an audience worthy of the intellectual and refined 
 entertainment he had provided for them ; and bids his 
 actors play to such an audience, and to no other: — "Now, 
 this overdone, or come- tardy off, though it make the unskilful 
 laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure 
 of the which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a 
 whole theatre of others." It would have been an 
 astonishment and a pang to Shakespeare to have observed 
 the absence of "the judicious" from his Stage representa- 
 tions, and none but " the unskilful " present. The care 
 of 'the Drama and the Theatre by the countrymen of the 
 Bard of Avon ought to be a sacred concern and a sensi- 
 tive interest. The slightest whisper of scandal or censure 
 against the Stage ought to be deprecated and jealously 
 guarded against. This grave social duty has been, and 
 still is, most strangely and injuriously overlooked. The 
 only result of your mere censure, or your indifference and 
 
32 THE DRAMA AND THE THEATRE. 
 
 contempt, is to leave the Stage to descend to the low level 
 of the frivolous, and often corrupt, tastes of that portion of 
 the communitywhichoughtleast to be allowed to practically 
 dictate to theatrical managers the quality of the provision of 
 the most popular and influential of the public entertain- 
 ments. You surrender the Theatre to the almost exclu- 
 sive appropriation of a section of the public not the most 
 distinguished for elevation of taste or conscientiousness 
 of moral feeling. You abandon theatrical managers to 
 the tyranny of one dominant consideration — the financial 
 consideration — and put it utterly beyond their power to 
 make the Theatre what, no doubt, many of them, like the 
 late Mr. Macready, would wish to make it — an institution 
 of intellectual refinement, of widespread beneficent 
 influence, and universal social respect. They would say, 
 with Byron, if you would but encourage them : — 
 
 " Then pause and be enlightened ; there is more 
 
 In such a survey than the sating gaze 
 Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore 
 
 The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
 Of art and its great masters 
 
 The fountain of sublimity displays 
 Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
 Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can.'' 
 
 You cannot wisely nor justly place the Church and the 
 School in antagonism to the Theatre ; for the Theatre is 
 as inevitable as both, and as indestructible. Your wis- 
 dom, as those who are interested in the manners and 
 morals of society, your high character as intellectual, 
 moral, and patriotic persons, and, above all, your 
 solernnity and sanctity as religious people, ought not 
 merely to incline, but oblige you to acknowledge the 
 Theatre, and give it a recognised place of honourable 
 reputation among the great educational agencies of the 
 country. 
 
33 
 
 KOTES TO LECTURE No. I. 
 
 The following notes are simply intended to amplify the 
 remarks of the Rev. Mr. Ham, and if an occasional 
 digression be observed, it has been made in the interest 
 of the reader, for the purpose of introducing some good 
 anecdote or eventful episode of theatrical life. 
 
 One of the first modern attacks on the acted drama, 
 prior to the Ordinance of the Long Parliament — whereby 
 the players were interdicted from offering their perform- 
 ances, and by which the theatres were closed for thirteen 
 years — was made by John Northcote in a treatise pub- 
 lished in 1579, wherein "Dicing, Dauncing, Vaine 
 Plays, or Enterluds, &c., are reproved." This was in 
 the same year followed by Stephen Gosson's " Shoole 
 of Abuse; conteining a pleasaunt invective against 
 Poets, Pipers, Plaiers, Jesters, &c." This was answered 
 by Thomas Lodge, dramatist, whose work was imme- 
 diately suppressed by Government. There are bigots 
 yet who would like, no doubt, to do the same for this 
 little work! In 1633, W. Prynne's " Histriomastix " 
 appeared. It is a long and most wearisome book, divided 
 oddly enough into Acts and Scenes. Poor Prynne, a 
 barrister, had his nose slit and his ears taken off as a 
 reward for his temerity. This work was largely the 
 cause of the Ordinance of 1647. That infamous edict 
 has been so seldom given in full, in even the most 
 important histories of the Stage, that the writer deems 
 it sufficiently interesting to present verbatim on this occa- 
 sion. It reads as follows : — 
 
 " An Ordinance of the Lords and Commons assembled 
 in Parliament for the suppression and aboUshing of all 
 Stage-Playes and Interludes. With the Penalties to be 
 inflicted on the Actors and Spectators, herein expressed, 
 
 c 
 
34 NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 " Die Veneris ii Februarii 1647. 
 
 " Whereas the Acts of Stage-Playes, Interludes and 
 common Playes, condemned by ancient Heathens, and 
 much lesse to be tolerated amongst Professors of the 
 Christian Religion is the occasion of many and sundry 
 great vices and disorders, tending to the high provoca- 
 tion of God's wrath and displeasure, which lies heavy 
 upon this Kingdome, to the disturbance of the peace 
 thereof; in regard whereof the same hath beene pro- 
 hibited by Ordinance of this present Parliament, and 
 yet is presumed to be practised by divers in contempt 
 thereof. Therefor for the better suppression of the said 
 Stage-Playes, Interludes and common Players It is 
 Ordered and Ordained by the Lords and Commons in 
 this present Parliament assembled, and by authority of 
 the same, That all Stage-Players and Players of Inter- 
 ludes, and common Playes, are hereby declared to lie, 
 and are, and shall be taken to be Rogues, and punish- 
 able, within the Statutes of the thirty-ninth yeare of the 
 Reigne of Queene Elizabeth, and the seventh yeare of 
 the Reigne of King Ja7nes, and lyable unto the pains 
 and penalties therein contained, and proceeded against 
 according to the said Statutes, whether they be wan- 
 derers or no, and notwithstanding any License whatso- 
 ever from the King or any person or persons to that 
 purpose. 
 
 " And it is further Ordered and Ordained by the 
 Authority aforesaid. That the Lord Mayor, Justices of 
 the Peace, and Sheriffs of the City of London and West- 
 minster, and the Counties of Middlesex and Surrey, or 
 any two or more of them, shall and may, and are hereby 
 authorised and required to pull down and demolish, or 
 cause or procure to be pulled down or demolished all 
 Stage-Galleries, Seates and boxes, erected or used, or 
 which shall be erected or used, for acting, or play- 
 ing, or seeing acted or plaid, such Stage-Playes, 
 Interludes, and Playes aforesaid, within the said City 
 of London and Liberties thereof, and other places 
 within their respective jurisdictions; and all such com- 
 mon Players, and Actors of such Playes and Inter- 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 35 
 
 ludes, as upon view of them, or any one of them, or by- 
 Oath of two Witnesses (which they are hereby authorized 
 to administer) shall be proved before them, or any two 
 of them to have acted or played such Playes and Inter- 
 ludes as aforesaid at any time hereafter, or within the 
 space of two Moneths before the time of the said con- 
 viction, by their Warrant or Warrants under their hands 
 and scales, to cause to be apprehended, and openly and 
 publikely whipt in some Market Towne within their 
 severall Jurisdictions during the time of the said Market, 
 and also to cause such Offender or Offenders to enter 
 into Recognizance, or Recognizances, with two sufficient 
 Sureties never to act any Plaies or Interludes any more, 
 and shall return on the said Recognizance or Recogni- 
 zances unto the Sizes or Sessions to be then next holden 
 for the said Counties and Cities respectively; and to 
 commit to the common Goale any such person or per- 
 sons aforesaid as shall refuse to be bound, and finde such 
 Sureties as aforesaid, untill he or they shall so become 
 bound. And in case any such person or persons so Con- 
 victed of the said offence, shall after againe offend in 
 the same kinde, that then the said person or persons so 
 offending shall be, and is hereby Declared to be, and be 
 taken as an incorrigible Rogue, and shall be punisht and 
 dealt with as an incorrigible Rogue ought to be by the 
 same Statutes. 
 
 " And it is hereby further Ordered and Ordained, That 
 all and every summe and summes of money gathered. 
 Collected, and taken by any person or persons, of such 
 persons as shall come to see, and be spectators of the 
 said Stage-Playes, and Interludes, shall be forfeited, and 
 paid unto the Churchwardens of the Church or Parish 
 where the said summes shall be so Collected and taken, 
 to be disposed of to the use of the poore of the said 
 Parish, and shall from time to time be leavied by the said 
 Churchwardens and Constables of the said Parish, by 
 Warrant under the hands and scales of any two of the 
 Justices of the Peace of the County, City, or Town Cor- 
 porate where the said summes are so taken and Collected, 
 upon complaint thereof to them made, on the Goods and 
 
 c 2 
 
36 NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 Chattels of the person or persons Collecting the same, or 
 of the person and persons to whom the same shall be 
 paid by them that Collect the same, by Distresse and sale 
 of their Goods and Chattels, rendering to them the over- 
 plus upon examination of the said persor.s, or proof 
 made upon Oath before the said Justices of the summe 
 or summes so Collected and received, which the said 
 Justices are hereby authorized to take and examine. 
 
 " And it is hereby Ordered and Ordained, That every 
 person or persons which shall be present, and a Spec- 
 tator at any such Stage-Play, or Interlude, hereby prohi- 
 bited, shall for every time he shall be so present, forfeit 
 and pay the summe of five shillings to the use of the 
 Poore of the Parish, where the said person or persons 
 shall at that time dwell or sojourne, being convicted 
 thereof by his owne confession, or proofe of any one 
 Witnesse upon Oath before any Justice of Peace of the 
 County, City, or Towne-Corporate, where the said offence 
 is committed (who is hereby authorized to take the same 
 Oath) to be leavied by the Churchwardens or Constables 
 of the said Parish, by warrant of the said Justice of 
 Peace, by distresse and sale of the Goods of the said 
 person offending, rendering to him the overplus. 
 
 " And it is hereby further Ordered and Ordained, That 
 all Mayors, Bayliffes, Constables, and other Officers, 
 Souldiers, and other persons being thereunto required 
 shall from time to time, and all times hereafter, aiding 
 and assisting unto the said Lord Mayor, Justices of the 
 Peace, and Sheriffes, in the due execution of this Ordi- 
 nance, upon paine to be fined for their contempt in their 
 neglect or refusall thereof. 
 
 ^ "JoH. Brown, 
 
 " Chr. J'arliameniorum." 
 At the Civil War most of the players joined the 
 King's army, nor was it matter for wonder, that they 
 fought their Puritanical enemies with special zest, and 
 that many rose to be captains and majors. When the 
 wars were over, a few of these " incorrigible rogues " got 
 together, and opened the house, known as " The Cock- 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 37 
 
 pit," in Drury Lane. About the third or fourth perform- 
 ance Cromwell's soldiers interfered, and the plays were 
 stopped. After this, and until the Restoration, they 
 played secretly at the houses of the nobility, more espe- 
 cially at Holland House; while some of the number 
 obtained a living by publishing plays, which had been 
 acted previously, but never printed. The sale of these 
 was enormous, and showed that a large section cf the 
 public did not forget their former amusements, and that 
 many hoped for the restoration of the drama, as of their 
 King, at some period in the not very distant future. 
 
 These hopes were, as we know, realized. 
 
 * 
 « « 
 The Restoration of the Monarchy caused the Restora- 
 tion of the Stage. Charles H., who had dramatists for 
 his friends and players for his companions, was constant 
 in his attendance at the Theatres. " The actors had 
 rendered good service to his father in the civil wars ; and 
 both Thomas Killigrew and Sir William Davenant were 
 with him during his exile. Hart served under Prince 
 Rupert ; Burt was a cornet in the royal forces ; and 
 Alleyn became quartermaster-general to the King's 
 array at Oxford. Shatterel was in the cavalry, and the 
 death of Will Robinson is recorded ; he was slain by the 
 regicide Harrison, who cried out, as he cut him down, 
 ' Cursed be he that doeth the work of the I-ord negli- 
 gently.' Mohun also served, and, afterwards, crossing 
 over to Flanders, rose to the rank of major, by which 
 title he is styled in the bills. His nam.e appears in the 
 oldest existing play-bill, which has been reprinted. It is 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' By His Majesty's Company of Comedians, 
 
 At the new Theatre in Drury Lane, 
 
 This day being Thursday, April 8th, 1663, will be acted 
 
 A Comedy, called 
 
 THE HUMOUROUS LIEUTENANT. 
 
 The King Mr. Wintersii, 
 
 Demetrius , .... Mr. Hart. 
 
38 NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 Selevers (Seleucus) . . .Mr. Burt. 
 
 Leontius Major MoHUN. 
 
 Lieutenant . . , . . Mr. Clun. 
 Celise (Celia) .... Mrs. Marshall. 
 The play will begin at three o'clock exactly. 
 Boxes, 4s. ; pit, 2s. 6d. ; middle gallery, is. 6d. ; upper gallery. Is.' " 
 
 Among the actors of the present day who have dared 
 
 "To win renown 
 Ev'n in the jaws of danger and of death," 
 
 may be mentioned Mr. William Henry Pennington, who 
 was wounded while with his regiment, the i ith Hussars, 
 in the celebrated charge of the Light Brigade in the 
 Valley of Balaclava, on the 25th of October, 1854.* 
 
 " Persons of quality," says the Rev. Mr. Ham, " did 
 not disdain to become professional actors among the 
 Greeks." A man suffered no disparagement by being an 
 actor in Athens, and Aristomedus, an accomplished pro- 
 fessional, was honoured with the office of ambassador. 
 Their station was not equally good in Rome, and the 
 Roman youths, in consequence, loved private theatricals, 
 which was not the case in Greece. They had an im- 
 perial example, however, in Nero, who was, of course, 
 successful. Nero made his debut at Naples. He was 
 not in the least nervous on his opening day, which, as my 
 friend, Mr. Shiel Barry, remarks, is probably a good 
 proof that he was a very bad actor, for earnest and 
 painstaking performers often cannot get rid of that feel- 
 ing after a long professional career. While Nero was 
 singing his first song — for he was a musician as well as 
 an actor, and pmctised the harp as though he had to live 
 by it — an earthquake shook. " Had any of the audience 
 fled at the earthquake," says a clever writer in Temple 
 Bar, " they pivjbably would have been massacred for 
 attending moie to the natural than the imperial j^heno- 
 menon." The Emperor provided the bouquets which 
 were to be spontaneously flung to him. It has been done, 
 it is said, in later days. Nero really invented the claque, 
 
 * From Mr. Frank Stainforth's admirable article entitled "Pepys 
 and the Players," in a late number of the London Magazine, 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I, -39, 
 
 dividing it into three classes — the bo7nU had to hum ap* 
 proval, the more noisy imbrices were to shower applause 
 like heavy rain upon the tiles, and the testas were to culmi- 
 nate the effect by clapping as if their hands were a couple 
 of bricks ; and, with a reputation thus curiously made at 
 Naples, he reached Rome, to find the city mad to hear 
 him. As the army added their sweet voices of urgency, 
 Nero, modestly, yielded." It wa? death to leave the 
 theatre as long as the imperial player was on the Stage. 
 
 In more modern days, what a list might be made of 
 noble and distinguished performers ! Our Richard III. 
 maintained a private company of actors; Louis XIV., of 
 France, was a great lover of private theatricals ; and, in 
 France, private theatres became institutions among the 
 upper ten. The two most celebrated were, perhaps, those 
 of the Duke of Orleans and of Madame de Montesson. 
 None but highly-gifted amateurs trod those boards. The 
 Duke himself was admirable in peasants, and in charac- 
 ters abounding in sympathies with nature. Madame 
 de Montesson was fond of playing shepherdesses and 
 young ladies under the pleasures, pains, or perplexities of 
 love ; but with much talent, the lady was far too stout 
 for such parts. It might be said of her, as Rachel said 
 of her very fat sister, whom she saw dressed in the cos- 
 tume of a shepherdess : " Bergere ! tu a I'air d'une 
 berglre qui a mange ses br'ebis t" From a private Theatre 
 emerged one really great actress, Adrienne Lecouvreur. 
 The Pompadour herself played in sparkling little 
 operettas ; so did Marie Antoinette, when she was allowed. 
 Louis XVI. disKked these representations, and is said 
 once to have hissed the Queen ! It is further stated that 
 the Royal lady stepped to the footlights and informed 
 the house that the dissatisfied individual could have his 
 money back by applying at the door. The writer, for 
 one, does not believe this story. 
 
 Voltaire's private theatre has been immortalised for 
 ever by the pen of Gibbon. The great French sceptic, 
 poet, and dramatist, went in for heavy-business in 
 tragedy. " His declamation," says Gibbon, " was 
 fashioned to the pomp and cadence of the old school ; 
 
4© NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 and he expressed the enthusiasm of poetry rather than 
 the feelings of nature." Gibbon seems to have Hked it, 
 however. 
 
 In England, private theatricals have been common 
 enough at Court ; little Mary Tudor played, with other 
 children, before her father, Henry VIII., at Greenwich 
 Palace ; Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I., was a 
 graceful actress on the boards of Whitehall and Hampton 
 Court ; Betterton, the great actor, taught the daughters 
 of James II., and Quin taught the youth who was after- 
 wards George III. Lord Barrymore, who commenced as 
 a boy by playing in one of his own barns, built a private 
 theatre at Wargrave, in Berkshire, which cost a round 
 _;^6o,ooo. " It was a marvellous edifice. For panto- 
 mime performances, it had traps and springs and other 
 machinery that might satisfy the requirements of George 
 Conquest himself — who practised gymnastics, for exercise, 
 when he was a student at a German university, and 
 who is now the first of gymnastic performers instead of 
 being the profoundest of philosophers, though there is 
 no reason why he may not be both." The Wargrave 
 Theatre lacked nothing in completeness, and between 
 the acts, pages and lackeys, in scarlet and gold, proffered 
 choice refreshments to the guests. Who could be hard 
 on the performers under these circumstances ? The hint 
 is offered to managers, for first nights only. Lord Barry- 
 more, whom Walpole called " the strolling player," was a 
 man of kindly heart, and on one occasion acted a part in 
 public, in order to serve the younger Edwin, whose affec- 
 tion and filial regard for an invalid mother had won hir, 
 esteem. One of our own best amateur actresses was the 
 Princess Mary of Cambridge (now Duchess of Teck). 
 This excellent lady had once to commence the piece (a 
 musical piece written for the occasion by an amateur), on 
 a private stage in one of the noblest of our country 
 mansions. " An illustrious audience was waiting for the 
 curtain to go up ; but the kindly-hearted princess was 
 thinking of some less illustrious folks, who were not 
 among that audience, and whom she desired to see there 
 — namely, the servants of the household^as many as 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 41 
 
 could be spared. They had had much trouble, and she 
 hoped they would be allowed to share in the amusement. 
 There was some difficulty ; but it was only when she was 
 informed that the servants were really ' in front,' that the 
 ' Queen of Hearts ' (her part in the piece) answered that 
 she was ready to begin the play. She never acted better 
 than on this occasion."* 
 
 * 
 
 Mr, Ham's remarks on the terms play, play-house, and 
 players, and their misuse, will meet with general approba- 
 tion from all who know anything of the hard work of the 
 Stage. The writer has seen ladies, who a few moments 
 before were delighting the audience with their well simu- 
 lated gaiety, faint at the wings before they could reach 
 their dressing rooms. Strong men have done the same, 
 and utter prostration and exhaustion is common enough 
 after enacting some passionate and declamatory scene. 
 A friend reminds the writer that the Italians do not use 
 the expression " to play," but apply the more suitable 
 word lavorare, literally, "to work," when speaking of 
 acting a part. 
 
 Any actor who has had a provincial or foreign experi- 
 ence will endorse the writer in the following statements. 
 It is by no means uncommon for the pieces produced to 
 be changed every night or two, sometimes nightly. Let 
 the reader think of what this involves ; constant study, 
 several hours' rehearsal each day, attention to costume 
 and properties, and the actual performances themselves, 
 with dressing, undressing, and redressing. Why there is 
 often hardly time for ordinary sleeping and eating. The 
 " day of rest " was surely made for such as these, and 
 how sweet it is to them the profession and its friends 
 well know. An old friend, Mr. Haining, now playing in 
 Lord Byron's tragedy of Sardanapalus, who served with 
 the writer on the Russo-American Telegraph Expedition 
 in 1866-7, and who played more than once in an Arctic 
 
 * The reader, interested in the matter of private theatricals, 
 will find much readable information in the article on the subject in 
 a recent number of Temple Bar, which has been frequently quoted 
 above. 
 
42 NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 theatre in Alaska (formerly Russian America) in pieces 
 which he had written himself, says that after such a day 
 of work as above described, he has often retired to his 
 room to study a new part till 3 or 4 o'clock a.m., in 
 order to be efficient at the early rehearsal next morning, 
 and his experience is only that of hundreds. The writer 
 lived, while in America, for several years in the family of 
 an actress, who has since made her mark, but who, in 
 London, has not yet had the opportunities she is sure to 
 obtain sooner or later. He has seen her frequently 
 return from the theatre in the evening, so utterly ex- 
 hausted, that she could not touch her supper, and retire 
 to her room, not to sleep — but to study a long new part 
 for the next day's rehearsal. Then, after perhaps a rest- 
 less half night, she would have to hurry off in the morn- 
 ing, and take her breakfast or lunch in the intervals of 
 the rehearsal, which might last till late in the afternoon. 
 The hour or two before dinner and the evening's per- 
 formance would generally be occupied with the costumier, 
 milliner, or wig maker. This class of facts could be 
 repeated to any extent, and they are only inserted for the 
 benefit of that class of the community which the Rev. 
 Mr. Ham is seeking to bring to a knowledge of the truth. 
 One more point : does the reader know what the actual 
 study of a character may involve ? Hundreds of anec- 
 dotes bearing on this point might be obtained from the 
 profession ; let one suffice. It is a sufficiently good 
 example. There is no more thoroughly earnest actress 
 on the London stage to-day than Miss Bella Pateman, 
 who will forgive the writer for telling a little story. Miss 
 Pateman, then leading lady of Booth's Theatre, New 
 York, had come to San Francisco, California, a trifling 
 journey of 3300 miles, in the " off season," to play a six 
 weeks' engagement. The performance opened with, if 
 the writer remembers correctly. The Lady of Lyons, and 
 one or two other pieces of that class. The critics and 
 better class of play-goers (about the only people in the 
 theatre who, by the bye, have the "play") were enthusiastic 
 over Miss Pateman's impersonations, but they did not 
 '•' draw money." What was to be done ? A Californian 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 43- 
 
 playwright — Mr. Buret — had made a dramatic version 
 of Wilkie Collins' New Magdalen, which, as in London, 
 was all " Mercy Merrick," the other parts being very 
 subordinate. The part, one of the longest on the 
 modern stage — about 1400 lines — was handed to Miss 
 Pateman on Friday evening. At the following Mon- 
 day's rehearsal, she was, what is technically known as 
 "dead letter perfect," and the evening of the same day 
 played it as though she had been familiar with it all her 
 life. The writer does not know of a more remarkable 
 example. Think, reader, what it means. . It is not 
 merely learning so many words ; it is sttidying the mean- 
 ing and suitable presentment. Added to all this, there 
 are the " cues " to be considered, the places where 
 others speak in the piece. And yet had the drama 
 not caused a perfect furore, which ended in Miss Pate- 
 man accepting an invitation from the principal theatre to 
 return next season to play a long and profitable engage- 
 ment — had, in a word. The New Magdalen proved a 
 failure, gentle reader, Miss Pateman might have had to 
 study another 1400 lines a, night or two afterwards. Do 
 you think this is play ? Try it yourself 
 
 Mr. Crawford, who was a short time since in India, tells 
 the writer that he played at the Corinthian Theatre, Cal- 
 cutta, eighty-seven different parts in five months. Warm 
 work ! He used to go " on," and especially " off," stream- 
 ing and damp, and the actors who indulged in too much 
 paint soon looked, like Sanger's negroes and Egyptians 
 last Lord Mayor's Day, rather streaky. Mr. Wood, 
 now of the Sardanapalus company, says that in the 
 " long ago " he played parts in four melo-dramas on 
 one single night at the old " Dusthole," the Queen's 
 Theatre, now the Prince of Wales's, the most fashionable 
 and charmingly fitted little house in town, but not 
 exactly so then. My friend, before mentioned, Mr. 
 Haining has, when in the provinces with Mr. Rousby's 
 company, played twenty-one parts, including " doubles " 
 (i.e., two parts in one piece), in the course of a week. 
 He has, in the country, played three parts in one night 
 in Hamlet, 2caA four m. Sardanapalus! Let the reader 
 
44 NOTES TO LECTUEE I, 
 
 think what this implies, not merely knowing the lines, 
 but making the rapid changes of dresses and wigs, 
 "making up" the face, &c., again and again. On 
 another occasion, in Jo (not Miss Jenny Lee's version), 
 he " doubled " the parts of " Krook " and " Sir Leicester 
 Dedlock," and one scene succeeded sharply on the other. 
 Readers of " Bleak House " will appreciate the trifling dif- 
 ference required in ^/zs/rcostumes and general appearances 1 
 Mr. Carlyle, chorus master of the present Sardanapalm 
 company, &c., who has not been in the profession more 
 than six or seven months, certainly earned his spurs 
 when, in one week, with Mrs. Rousby, just after he had 
 joined, he had to " double " " Sir John Bridges " 
 (character part) and " Sir Thomas Wyatt " (first walking 
 gentleman), in 'Twixt Axe and Crown ; " Old Adam " 
 (first old man), and " William " (second low comedian), 
 in As You Like It ; and " Capulet " (first old man), in 
 Romeo and Juliet. The same gentleman relates to me 
 that, while at Huddersfield, ten girls were engaged for a 
 chorus, and after he had copied out the music and words 
 for them, he found that eight out of the number could 
 not read ! He had to teach them the words separately, 
 one by one. In the interests of chorus masters, the 
 writer would gently hint that an active School Board 
 appears to be wanted at Huddersfield. The above in- 
 stances could be multiplied ad nauseuvi from the expe- 
 rience of any actor ; they are only mentioned as 
 examples. 
 
 In these times, when actors often have to play in 
 different theatres on the same day, as, for example in 
 their own regular house, and at the Alexandra or Crystal 
 Palaces, they have enough to do to keep faith with the 
 public. An instance in point is that told of Mr. J. L. 
 Toole, who, having to play in two places in one evening, 
 was so hurried that he had not time to change his stage 
 costume, but jumped into a cab, which, half-way on the 
 journey, broke down. Toole got out, and had to walk, 
 or nearly run, a considerable distance, exposed to the 
 wonderment and jeering of the passers-by, who, doubt- 
 less, took him for an escaped lunatic. The passengers 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 45 
 
 in a first-class Brighton express carriage were similarly 
 astonished a year or so ago, when Mr. Charles Wynd- 
 ham, in the costume of " Charles Surface," in The 
 School for Scandal, jumped in, hot and tired, at the 
 last moment at Brockley Station. He had been per- 
 forming in one of the Crystal Palace plays, of which he is 
 director, and had to act in his great success, Brighton, 
 at the Brighton Theatre the same evening. The first 
 performance was rather later than usual, so there was 
 no alternative. His appearance in the two stations 
 was a sudden surprise, and he also was, no doubt, 
 considered a member of Jules Verne's " Eccentric 
 Club." Mr. John Brougham, long settled in America, 
 played on one occasion a piece in New York and Phila- 
 delphia on the same evening. The cities are a hundred 
 miles apart, but an express train enabled him to perform 
 
 the feat. 
 
 * 
 
 Many of the following details are taken from a learned 
 and interesting article from the pen of Mr. Frank Stain- 
 forth, which appeared in the pages of the London 
 Magazine, entitled " Thespis on Wheels : " — 
 
 The origin of plays is generally ascribed to the feasts 
 of the Grecian shepherds, who assembled to celebrate the 
 worship of Dionysius, or Bacchus, with the sacrifice of 
 goats, tumultuous dances, and dithyrambic chants. 
 
 These performers were disguised much after the manner 
 of the early English morrice-dancers. In the year 5 7 8 before 
 the Christian Era, Susarion and Delon had a company «f 
 actors in Athens, who performed on waggons, or upon a 
 scaffold formed of boards and elevated upon tressels. 
 They smeared their faces with the lees of wine instead of 
 wearing masks, and the chorus, which was of Doric origin, 
 was added about twenty years later ; Thespius, of Icaria, 
 introducing a single actor, who recited the deeds of 
 Bacchus, and carried on a serious conversation with the 
 chorus, B.C. 535. ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, 
 the "three mighty masters of the Grecian Drama, soon 
 followed, and in the next century raised the Theatre to 
 the summit of its glory. 
 
46 NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 ^Eschylus was the first who substituted dramatic action 
 for mere recitation, and is the inventor of the purely 
 heroic Drama. Sophocles, who followed, availed himself 
 of the inventive genius of his predecessor, and was noted 
 for the more artistic construction of his tragedies, the 
 polish of his rhythm, and the purity of his Attic diction, 
 his native sweetness gaining him from his countrymen the 
 title of the Attic Bee, and making him the favourite poet 
 of the age of Pericles. It is said that Sophocles was of 
 the school of ^schylus ; but Euripides, third great genius 
 of this age, was the founder of an entirely new style of 
 dramatic composition. The lovers of the ideal school 
 accused him of not only failing to idealise his heroes, but 
 of dragging down his demi-gods and even his deities to 
 the level of mankind. However, he was amply repaid 
 for these reproaches by the applause of his gratified 
 countrymen, who viewed with awe and admiration the 
 lofty representation of former writers ; while Euripides, 
 with that one touch of nature which makes the whole 
 world kin, won their love by vividly and intimately 
 appealing to their warmest sympathies. 
 
 Comedy was first introduced by Epicharnos, of Cos, 
 about 500 years before Christ. He is stated to have been 
 the first manager who clothed his actors in costume, and 
 adorned his stage with curtains. Of all the Grecian comic 
 writers, Aristophanes is the only one of whom any work 
 remains. He is one of those authors of whose genius it 
 is difficult to judge without reading him in his native 
 tongue. A master of the most elegant diction, he accom- 
 modates his verse to every tone, from the most familiar 
 conversation to the lofty language of the dithyrambic ode. 
 Towards the end of the Peloponnesian war, the Athenians 
 passed a law forbidding the comic poets to introduce real 
 personages into their plays, and the using of masks, which 
 bore a resemblance to their features. 
 
 The Roman drama was imported from Greece to divert 
 the minds of the populace from a pestilence that raged in 
 Rome, and always bore internal evidence of its origin. 
 The actors {histriones) were Etruscans, and their perfor- 
 mance was made up of dances without words or dramatic 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 47 
 
 plot. The oldest plays we read of are the Fabula Atellance, 
 written in the language of the Oscans, and brought from 
 Atelke, a town belonging to that people. These plays 
 were much like our pantomimes, and more like the 
 modern Italian " Commedk dell' arte." The Romans 
 contented themselves with this primitive species of enter- 
 tainment, until Livius Andronicus, a Greek by birth, began 
 in the year B.C. 239, to write in imitation of his country- 
 men; and, in a Grecian dr&ss, palliaia, as it was called, 
 comedy became known in the City of the Seven Hills : 
 the comedies of Plautus and Terence being all of this class. 
 
 With Pagan Rome, ancient art declined, but there are 
 one or two links connecting the old drama with that of 
 the Middle Ages. There still exist some fragments of 
 a play, in Greek Iambic verse, on the Exodus, by a Jewish 
 author, named Ezekiel. The leading characters are 
 Moses, Sapphora, and God in the burning bush ; and 
 Moses, after speaking a prologue of about sixty lines, 
 transmutes his rod to a serpent before the eyes of the 
 audience. When the early Christian fathers denounced 
 the practice of attending stage-plays, the Emperor Julian, 
 about the year 361, ironically promulgated a decree, for- 
 bidding the teaching of Christians in heathen schools ; 
 but, among his principal antagonists, were two learned 
 men, Apollinarius, Bishop of Laodicsa, and his father, 
 a priest of the same city. The elder was the author of 
 tragedies and comedies from portions of the Old and 
 New Testaments, after the maimer of Euripides and 
 Menander. 
 
 Another compiler of Scriptural plays, who lived in this 
 age, was Gregory Nazianzen, the Patriarch of Constanti- 
 nople, who substituted his works for those of Sophocles 
 and Euripides, which still flourished in the Eastern 
 capital, making the ancient tragedy his model, and turn- 
 ing the choruses into Christian hymns. Of all his plays, 
 but one, Chrisfs Passion, remains. 
 
 In 990, Theophylact, the patriarch, instituted the 
 Feast of Fools, The Feast of the Ass, and other so-called 
 sacred farces, with the idea of weaning people from 
 Pagan ceremonies by the substitution of Christian spec- 
 
4? NOTES TO LECTURE I. 
 
 tacles. In this form the rehgious drama was transplanted 
 from Constantinople to Italy, where, in the depths of the 
 Dark Ages, was founded those particular species of 
 theatrical representations called " Mysteries " and " Mira- 
 cle Plays." Thus, as the drama of ancient Greece took 
 its rise in the religious devotion, so the Mysteries and 
 Miracle Plays performed by the priests in the churches 
 on all public occasions of rejoicing, were the precursors 
 of the national drama- in modern Europe. 
 
 The first mention of a dramatic performance in Eng- 
 land occurs in the works of Mathew Paris, who tells us 
 that somewhere about the year iiio, a miracle play 
 founded on the life of St. Katharine, was written by a 
 certain Geoffrey, a lay schoolmaster at Dunstable, and 
 performed by his pupils in that town. Authorities differ 
 as to whether it was written in Latin or Norman-French, 
 but all are agreed with respect to its great popularity. 
 On the first night of its performance, Geoffrey's house 
 was burnt down, and the whole of his wardrobe, includ- 
 ing several jewelled vestments from St. Alban's, proper- 
 ties, and books were destroyed. He looked on this mis- 
 fortune as a judgment on him for wasting his time in 
 writing frivolities, turned monk, and afterwards became 
 Abbot of St. Alban's Abbey, where he died at a good old 
 age. 
 
 The next notice of the kind is to be found in a life of 
 St. Thomas k Beckett, by William Fitzstephen, who lived 
 about 1 1 70. He describes the performance of a miracle 
 play consisting of incidents in the life of k Beckett, and 
 mentions further that such entertainments had long been 
 common in England. 
 
 Dramatic performances of this description were evi- 
 dently introduced into this country by the religious fol- 
 lowers of William the Conqueror, for in Anglo-Saxon 
 times we find no mention of any work even approaching 
 the dramatic form. 
 
 Singular as it may appear, the European drama of the 
 present day is the lineal descendant of the Roman 
 Liturgy. In his " Kirchengeschichte," Hagenbach 
 points out that in the liturgy of the Roman Mass there 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 49 
 
 is a large amount of dramatic action, and that it 
 contains epical, lyrical, and pantomimical elements. 
 The step from the dramatic form of the mass to the 
 theological mystery drama is but a short one. Klein, 
 in his admirable " Geschichte des Dramas," tells us 
 that an ecclesiastic of the loth century relates how he 
 and his brethren were in the habit of performing the 
 offices of the Shepherds, the Holy Innocents, and similar 
 mystery dramas, on Easter Monday, on Christmas Day, 
 and other festivals, the church being the scene of the per- 
 formance, which was always founded on the Gospel of" 
 the day. These mysteries, which were exclusively biblical 
 in their character, soon led to miracle plays, the subjects- 
 of which were taken from the legends of the saints. In 
 England, however, mysteries and miracle plays were both 
 known under the latter title. 
 
 The next innovation was the introduction of perform- 
 ances called moralities, illustrating religious truths by 
 allegorical representations. The lay element was now 
 largelyintroduced. and the greater length of the plays, and 
 the larger amount of paraphernalia required, gradually 
 ■ emancipated these performances from the control of the 
 clergy. There also began to be performed in the vernacular 
 instead of in Latin, a French mystery, entitled La Resur- 
 rection, being the first which was played entirely in the 
 vulgar tongue. The comic element, and with it a large 
 amount of licentiousness, was next introduced, the devil 
 who figured so largely in the original religious mysteries 
 being a very popular character. The clergy soon found 
 that these plays led to great immorality on the part both 
 of actors and audience, and set to work to preach against 
 what they themselves had originated. In the 13th cen- 
 tury, however, the Benedictines made strenuous endea- 
 vours to sanctify to a religious use a popular taste which 
 was partly becoming corrupted. In 1264, Pope Urban 
 IV., at the instance of the Benedictines, instituted the 
 festival of C^^?« Christi, in commemoration of the Lord's 
 Supper. One of the special features of the celebration 
 was a procession, and the performance of mystery plays 
 on Scripture subjects. In England, these exhibitions 
 
.JO NOTES TO EECTURE I. 
 
 commenced at York, it spreading afterwards to Chester, 
 Coventry, and other large towns. 
 
 The following extract from Archdeacon Roger's MSS. 
 presents a curious statement of the manner in which 
 these performances .were presented : 
 
 "Now of the playes of Chester, called the Whitson 
 playes, when the weare played and what occupations 
 bringe forthe at theire charges, the playes or pagiantes. 
 Heare note that these playes of Chester, called the 
 Whitson playes, weare the worke of one Rondoll, a 
 moncke of the Abbaye of Sainte Warburghe in Chester, 
 who redused the whole historye of the bible into englishe 
 storyes in metter in the englishe tounge, and this Monke 
 in a good desire to doe good published the same. Then 
 the firste maior of Chester, namely, Sir John Arnewaye, 
 Knighte, he caused the same to be played ; the maner of 
 which playes was thus : they weare divided into 24 
 pagiarntes according to the copanyes of the Cittie — and 
 every companye broughte forthe theire pagiant w°^ was 
 the cariage or place v/°\ they played in — and before these 
 playes weare played, there was a man w''\ did ride, as I 
 take it, upon St. George's daye throughe the Cittie, & 
 there published the tyme & the matter of the playes in 
 breeife — the weare played upon Mondaye, Tuesday, & 
 Wensedaye, in Whitson weeke. And thei first beganne 
 at the Abbaye gates— & when the firste pagiante was 
 played at the Abbaye gates, then it was wheled from 
 thense to (the) Pentice, at the highe Crosse, before 'the 
 maior, and before that was donne the seconde came — 
 and the firste went into the Watergate Streete, and from 
 thense to the Bridge Streete, & so one after another 'till 
 all the pagiants weare played appoynted for the firste 
 day, .& so likewise for the •seconde & the thirde daye — 
 these pagiantes or cariage was a highe place made like a 
 howse with 2 rowmes, beirge open on the tope — the 
 k)wer rowme theie apparrelled & dressed themselves and 
 the higher rowme theie played, and thei stood upon iv 
 wheeles, & when the had donne with one cariage in one 
 place theie wheled the same from one streete to another ; 
 first from the Abbaye gate to the pentise, then to the 
 Watergate Streete, then to the bridge streete through the 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 5 1 
 
 lanes, and so to the este gate streete, and thus the came 
 from one streete to another, kepinge a directe order in 
 everye streete ) for before thei first carige was gone from 
 one place, the seconde came, & so before the seconde 
 was gone the thirde came, & so till the laste was donne 
 all in order withoute anye stayeinge in anye place, for 
 worde beinge broughte howe every place was neere doone, 
 the came and made no place to tarye till the laste was 
 played." 
 
 Sir William Dugdale, in his account of the plays per- 
 formed in the city of Coventry, on Corpus Christi-day, 
 by the GreyfriaTS, or Franciscans, about 141 6, says : — 
 " Before the suppression of monasteries, this city was 
 very famous for the pageants that were played therein 
 upon Corpus Christi-day ; which pageants, being acted 
 with mighty state and reverence by the friars of this 
 house, had theatres for several scenes very large and 
 high, placed upon wheels,-and drawn to all the eminent 
 parts of the city, for the better advantage of the 
 spectators." Sir WiUiam also cites an ancient manuscript 
 which is in the Cottonian Library, known generally by the 
 title of "Ludus Coventrias." It begins with a general 
 prologue, giving the arguments of forty pageants or 
 gesticulations, representing " all the histories of both 
 Testaments from the creation to the chusing of St. 
 Mathias to be an apostle. The stories of the New Testa- 
 rnent are more largely expressed, viz., the Annunciation, 
 Nativity, Visitation, but more especially all matters re- 
 lating to the Passion, very particularly the Resurrection, 
 Ascension, and the choice of St. Mathias; after which 
 is also represented the Assumption, and Last Judgment." 
 He continues : " All these things are treated in a very 
 homely style, as we now think, infinitely below the 
 dignity of the subject. But it seems the age was not nice 
 and delicate in these matters ; the plain and incurious 
 judgment of our ancestors being prepared with favour, 
 and taking everything by the easiest handle." 
 
 About this time, a new and more artistic species of 
 entertainment, known as a Moral or Morality, came -in 
 vogue, which introduced a certain amount of plot or in- 
 vention — things utterly unknown in the old Mysteries. 
 
$2 NOTES TO LECTUKE I. 
 
 The Moralities even attemi^ted to delineate characters 
 and depict manners; and from this came the gradual 
 transition to real historical personages. However, on 
 the occasion of Prince Arthur's birth, in 1487, Henry VII. 
 was entertained at Winchester Castle, on Sunday, while at 
 dinner, with the performance of a religious play called 
 " Christ's Descent into Hell," represented by the pueri 
 eleemosynarii, or choir boys, of Hyde Abbey and St. 
 Swithin's Priory, two large monasteries at Winchester. 
 The story of this interlude is also used in the Ludus 
 Paschales, or Easter Plays, where it is called " The Har- 
 rowing of Hell." The Old and New Testaments not 
 being deemed sufificiently marvellous by the writers of 
 these Mysteries, they generally selected their materials 
 from books which had a greater air of romance. The 
 one just mentioned is adapted from the " Pseudo-Evan- 
 gelium," or fabulous gospel ascribed to Nicodemus. 
 
 The " Mysteries " were again revived in the reign of 
 Mary, and the Cottonian MSB. make mention of "A 
 goodly stage-play of the Passion of Christ, which was per- 
 formed at the Gray Friars, London, on Corpus Christi day, 
 before the Lord Mayor and the Privy Council, and many 
 great estates ;" but with the advance of civilization, the 
 taste of the people for these rude entertainments 
 declined ; few were exhibited in Elizabeth's reign, and on 
 the 1 6th May, 1559, a proclamation, which is now in the 
 Bodleian Library, was issued, forbidding the performance 
 of all interludes, unless they were licensed by the Mayor, 
 the City or Town Corporate, the Lord-Lieutenant of the 
 Shire, or two resident justices of the peace. The same 
 document forbids any dramatic piece to be licensed 
 " which touches on matters of religion, or the governance 
 of the estate of the commonweal." The last " Mystery " 
 ever played in England was " Christ's Passion," which 
 Prynne says was acted at Elie House, on Good Friday, 
 1620, when Gondomar, the Spanish Ambassador, lay 
 there. 
 
 On the Continent, Mysteries were carried on to a 
 comparatively late date, and, even now, they are given 
 occasionally at the little village of Ober-Ammergau, in 
 the Bavarian Tyrol. These performances were originated 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE I. 53 
 
 in consequence of a pestilence, caused by the wars of 
 Gustavus Adolphus, in 1633, when the inhabitants made 
 a vow to represent the Passion Play once every ten years, 
 and, according to the old chroniclers, " The plague was 
 stayed." The last performance took place in May, 1870, 
 and Mr. Henry Blackburn, who was present, has written 
 a very interesting account of it. He states that the play 
 at Ober-Ammergau is purged of all the absurdities common 
 to the mediaeval Mysteries, and that it is a most artistic 
 and impressive performance. 
 
 * * 
 
 Ober Ammergau is not the only place in Europe where 
 mystery plays are still performed. At many oltht/oz'res 
 and kermesses held in French, Belgian, and Dutch vil- 
 lages, dramatic representations of the incidents of the 
 Passion and Crucifixion of Christ are given. 
 
 Relics of the old mysteries are still to be found in 
 various parts of the Roman Catholic Liturgy. For 
 instance, at high mass on Palm Sunday, the whole of the 
 story of the Passion is chanted, the high priest singing the 
 words of Christ, the deacon intoning those uttered by the 
 Apostles and Jews, while the sub-deacon acts, so to speak 
 as chorus, and chants the narrative portions of the, 
 history. There is also a peculiar service which is per- 
 formed on the evenings of the Wednesday, Thursday, 
 and Friday of Passion Week. In front of the altar is 
 placed a triangular frame mounted on a pedestal. On each 
 side of the triangle are six yellow candles, representing 
 the Apostles, the thirteenth, which is placed at the apex, 
 being white, and representing Christ. Twelve psalms, 
 with suitable collects, are sung, one candle being extin- 
 guished at the end of each psalm. The thirteenth 
 candle, representing Christ, is then taken down and con- 
 cealed behind the altar to represent His burial, the 
 whole of the lights in the church being extinguished, 
 while the Sist Psalm (Miserere) is sung. At the end of 
 the psalm a loud rapping is made, to represent the earth- 
 quake which is said to have taken place at Christ's death. 
 The solitary candle is once more brought from behind 
 the altar and replaced on the apex of the triangle, and 
 the congregation depart in silence. 
 
54 
 
 II. 
 
 THE THEATRE: A SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 
 
 Our subject at the present time confines our attention to 
 two points in connection with the Theatre — its existence 
 and influence in our social midst. I have already said 
 something in the former discourse on the Theatre as the 
 natural objective growth of the Dramatic instinct, and 
 the inevitable social consequence of a National Dramatic 
 Literature. I might have instanced how early this in- 
 stinct is developed, and how every nursery in its story- 
 telling and story-listening passion, and love of mimicry 
 and personation, discovers its sympathy with the his- 
 trionic art and the Stage. These are facts to be taken 
 into consideration, and allowed their proper weight in 
 forming our judgments on the Drama and the Theatre. 
 They, at least, prove this — that the Drama and the 
 Stage are natural spontaneous growths, and have their 
 roots in natural instincts. It may, indeed, be argued that 
 the tastes and usages of the nursery may be reasonably 
 left there when we quit it for the mterests and occupa- 
 tions of youth and manhood. It is, however, a fact of 
 universal observation and experience that the nursery in- 
 stinct is not quenched by our subsequent growth ; but, on 
 the contrary, gathers strength with our years, so that 
 some among us become dramatists and professional 
 players, and all, more or less, dramatic readers, and a 
 very large proportion, frequenters of dramatic perfor- 
 mances. The instinct lives, and the Drama has its re- 
 cognised home in the Theatre. If the Theatre be refused 
 
THE THEATRE: A SOCrAL FACT AND FORCE. 55 
 
 on ecclesiastical, educational, or moral grounds,' the 
 dramatic instinct demonstrates its vitality and selif-asser' 
 tion in other ways. It welcomes the novel because of its 
 dramatic affinities, delights in the charade, is ecstatic in 
 the permission of private theatricals ; and, when all these 
 are severely denied, will seek out the most histrionic 
 church, will run after the graphic or eccentric preacher, 
 will revel in the scandal of lively gossips, and everything 
 personal and picturesque in the daily press, and the civil 
 and criminal courts of the country. The instinct will 
 live and assert itself, it will have its indulgence in some 
 form or other. It must be gratified with passion and 
 plot, with character and incident, with costume and 
 scenery, with dialogue and ' action, for these are its 
 natural aliment. If the Theatre be denied to it, 
 then all the world becomes a stage, and those scenes 
 in human life are most sought after and relished, what- 
 ever their moral complexion or influence, in which the 
 dramatic element is most apparent. Memoirs and 
 literary remains of people who have figured in social life, 
 exciting narratives of adventure and travel, a new novel 
 by an old hand, a racy bit of religious scandal in New 
 York or London, a cause dllbre in the Divorce Court, in 
 a Police Magistrate's Court, or in the Central Criminal 
 Court — how eagerly all these are welcomed by the 
 Dramatic instinct of our nature ! People who are denied, 
 or who deny themselves, under the influence of an arti- 
 ficial and morbid religiousness, the Theatre of Dramatic 
 and Histrionic Art, will, with or without permission, in- 
 dulge themselves to the top of their bent in the thea 
 tricals of fiction, and ecclesiastical and real life. Let me 
 give one illustration of this dramatic sympathy. Open 
 the theatre as a church .for the nonce and the house is 
 crammed, and chiefly by those whose prejudices will not 
 suffer them to enter it when put to its legitimate use. The 
 dramatic instinct in them prompts them to enter, and the 
 pretence of a religious service sanctifies for them the in- 
 dulgence of their natural craving for the atmosphere and 
 surroundings of the Drama's native home. How much 
 better that this natural craving should be honestly in- 
 
SC THE theatre: a 
 
 dulged without resorting to disguises and pretences, and 
 especially under the mask of religion ! Surely these 
 Sunday theatre-goers must be conscious of the dramatic 
 instinct within them, and the pretence they are feigning 
 for its indulgence. Tell them in a humorous whisper, 
 that they have sympathy with the Theatre, that the house 
 and its dedication to dramatic art has charms for them, 
 and they will flatly deny it, and pour out the vials of their 
 righteous indignation over the play-house and play-goers. 
 A play-house is a temple of Belial, and a play-goer, a son 
 or daughter of perdition. Now, all this pious execration 
 is mere rhapsodical fustian — the silly lisping of pulpit in- 
 sipidities — is merely the traditional cant of an artificial 
 conscientiousness. Surely bur consciences have enough 
 to bear without the additional weight of purely factitious 
 sins. This contemptuous sneer at play-goers — let us look 
 into its scornful countenance and endeavour to trace its 
 eminently virtuous lines. 
 
 When society is divided into play-goers and non-play- 
 goers a generic distinction is imagined when there is only 
 a specific difference. The non-play-goers, in fact, go more 
 to the play-house than those who frequent the Theatre, 
 for all the world is their stage, and they are constantly 
 before the scenes of the drama of human life as they are 
 set for them in the scandals and intrigues of the circle of 
 their acquaintance, and in the diurnal and other literature 
 of their habitual perusal. And let them riot boast of the 
 greater purity and refinement of the theatre of their 
 choice, for the dramas they witness and take pleasure, 
 and even part, in are such as no regular theatre would 
 ■dare to present, and no regular play-goers would 
 degrade themselves by tolerating. The genuine mimic 
 theatre is discriminating and decorous in comparison with 
 the actual theatre of human life which affords a stage for 
 every unveiled variety of personal and social defilement. 
 They deceive themselves who say they are not play-goers 
 and give no sanction to the Theatre, They are there 
 whenever the opportunity is afforded them, and appeals 
 are made to the natural instinct which they have neither 
 the power nor the inclination to suppress. I might show 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 57 
 
 what a pestilent social fact and force their stage is, and 
 liow they contribute to establish it and strengthen its 
 influence, not only as audience, but even by occasionally 
 turning players themselves. There are people who 
 believe they would imperil their salvation to see upon the 
 Stage Sheridan's School for Scandal, and yet these very 
 people constitute themselves a most scandalous school 
 all through life. There are " Lady Sneerwells," and 
 " Mrs. Candours," and " Sir Benjamin Backbites," and 
 "Joseph Surfaces," even among the Churchgoers, 
 infinitely more pernicious, and not a tithe so interesting, 
 as their prototypes familiar to all Play-goers. The 
 viciousness of such people is not corrected by their 
 Church-going, but it would be pungently rebuked and, 
 possibly, quite cured by their Play-going. The Theatre 
 would effectually do for some people what the pulpit can- 
 - not or will not do. There are Church-going saints of 
 the "Shylock" and " Macsycophant " vein whose con- 
 sciences are never pricked by the preacher, but who 
 would sit very uneasily before the player in The Merchant 
 of Venice, and The Man of the World. But 1 forbear. I 
 have said thus much to pluck some of the feathers of 
 that self-righteous plumage and to tear away the covering 
 of that vaunting self-deception which prides itself in 
 standing aloof from the mimic theatre. The remembrance 
 that we are all play-goers of some kind or other, and all 
 actors too, not a few of us actors of base parts and for 
 base ends, may possibly bring us all with more discrimi- 
 nation, calmness, and candour to the consideration of 
 the subject before us. 
 
 I wish to emphasize, what is a matter of common, 
 but much too careless, observation, that the Theatre is a 
 social fact, and the histrionic art one of the recognized 
 social professions. I have already spoken of the antiquity 
 of the Theatre and of its natural growth in all the great 
 national soils of the world. I have argued that, as it has 
 its origin in a human instinct, it is as indestructible as 
 the instinct itself. The history of civilization has proved 
 the spontaneous appearance and indestructibility of the 
 Theatre. Every civic community has its Theatre just as 
 
58 THE THEATRE : A' 
 
 naturally as it has its Town Hall, its Literary Institute, 
 its Church and Chapel. Though a purely commercial 
 enterprize it is unlike all other commercial ventures in 
 this,. that it enlists the active sympathy pf multitudes who 
 have no financial interest in it. Communities speak of 
 the Theatre as a social possession just as 'they speak of 
 other institutions in their town ; and its existence is 
 quoted with an air of local pride, as a proof of local con- 
 sideration, population, and intellectual refinement. So 
 necessary is it considered to the completeness of social 
 life that where the population is , not sufficiently large to 
 sustain a permanent house for the acted drama, one is 
 extemporized for occasional performances. Montaigne, 
 writing three hundred years ago, expressed his opinion 
 that the Theatre was an essential institution in every town 
 for its great moral service to the community. " I, for my 
 part," he says, " should think it reasonable that in great 
 and populous cities there might be theatres erected, if but 
 to divert the citizens from worse and more private 
 actions." Regarding it as a mere amusement, Montaigne 
 considered the Theatre a social diversion of high moral 
 value ; and in this respect differed broadly from those 
 persons who, in these days, think it aa amusement to be 
 especially shunned. 
 
 The' fact is the Theatre takes its natural place at the 
 head of all kinds of social entertainments and relaxations. 
 It is preeminently the social amusement. But unlike all 
 other social amusements it is not a mere caprice or 
 fashion. It endures when other sports and relaxations 
 pass away to give place to new inventions, which, in their 
 turn, have their day and are forgotten. Such vitality and 
 permanence, in the midst of constant change and decay, 
 must be accepted as proofs, that the Theatre has its 
 reason in the very nature of the human constitution and 
 condition. Let these thoughts be present with us while 
 we contemplate the Theatre as a social fact ; for that is 
 a very superficial view of it which accounts for its exis- 
 tence and prosperity solely as a commercial speculation 
 on the one hand, and for the gratification of frivolity on 
 the other. It is an institution with foundations deeper 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 59- 
 
 and wider than mere financial considerations have the 
 power to lay, and its superstructure is erected with more 
 enduring materials, than mere frivolity is able to supply. 
 It is unquestionably a social fact; let it also be borne in 
 mind that it is. a very stubborn fact, as inevitable as the 
 play of an irrepressible natural instinct and the indispu- 
 table assertion of a natural habit. The; practical sugges- 
 tions of this, let. me reserve for a while. 
 
 I observe, further, that the Theatre is not. only a Social 
 Fact, but it is also a Social Force. 
 
 I mean by social force an influence on the tastes, 
 character, and manners of society. In whatever point of 
 view we contemplate the Theatre we must, admit that it is 
 not a negative institution but a positive agency for some 
 measure of personal and social good or evil. We are 
 considering the extant, not the ideal theatre — the theatre, 
 not as it may be imagined and desired, but the theatre as 
 it is. Now simply regarded as a place of amusement it 
 can never be a matter of social indifference what may be 
 the amusements of a people, and more especially when it 
 is remembered that the chief amusement is as invete- 
 rately rooted in the social habits and life of a nation as 
 any of the more serious and necessary occupations which 
 engage its attention. That this is the case with the 
 Theatre is apparent in the fact that it calls for, and 
 maintains, a distinct social profession ; and its doors are 
 open as regularly as those of the shop and the counting 
 house. As a permanent amusement, and therefore a 
 national institution, it has a very special claim on the 
 social attention. What kind of force does the Theatre 
 exert is a very serious, and necessary question to be 
 asked, and is certain to be asked when reflection is 
 united to observation, and the thought about society is 
 wider and more earnest than the commercial instinct 
 inspires, or mere sentiment or self-indulgence prompts. 
 The acted drama as an amusement is not more promi- 
 nent and permanent, than it is all-embracing, earnest, 
 and intense. It diff"ers broadly in its essential nature 
 from every other kind of popular amusement, and in 
 nothing more conspicuously than this — that though 
 
6o THE THEATRE : A 
 
 called a play it is less like a play than any other amuse- 
 ment — that it does not ask for mere muscle and pliancy 
 of limb, and quickness and adroitness of movement, and 
 athletic skill, either in the actors or the audience ; but 
 enlists, both before and behind the foot-lights, the whole 
 mental and moral nature, exercises the intellect and the 
 passions, engages the entire soul in all its moods, both 
 grave and gay, displays and touches the inmost feelings 
 and sensibilities of the heart, and lays bare the very 
 arcana of actual life with the fidelity of a photograph. 
 Take, as a familiar illustration of this, one of Hamlet's 
 soliloquies, in which he takes us into the fellowship, a 
 very intimate fellowship, of his own thoughts and feel- 
 ings ; and say whether with the actor on the stage, or 
 the audience in front of it, matter of this kind is mere 
 amusement : — 
 
 " Now I am alone. 
 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
 Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
 That from her working, all his visage wann'd ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing ! 
 For Hecuba ! 
 
 What's Hecuba to him, or he to HIecuba, 
 That he should weep for her ? What would he do, 
 Had he the motive and the cue for passrion 
 That I have ? He would drown the stage with tears, 
 And cleave the general ear with horrid speech ; 
 Make mad the guilty, and appal the free. 
 Confound the ignorant ; and amaze, indeed, 
 The very faculties of eyes and ears. 
 Yet I, 
 
 A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak. 
 Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, 
 And can say nothing; no, not for a king, 
 Upon whose property, and most dear life, 
 A damn'd defeat was made. Am I a coward ? 
 Who calls me villain ? breaks my pate across ? 
 Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? 
 Tweaks me by the nose ? Gives me the lie 1' the throat. 
 As deep as to the lungs ? Who does me this? 
 Ha! 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 
 
 61 
 
 Why, I should take it : for il cannot be 
 
 But I am pigeon-liver'd, and lack gall 
 
 To make oppression bitter ; or, ere this, 
 
 I should have fatted all the region kites 
 
 With this slave's offal : » * * 
 
 Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain ! 
 
 O vengeance ! 
 What an ass am I ! ay, siwe, this is most brave ; 
 That I, the son of the dear murthered. 
 Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell. 
 Must * * * unpack my heart with words. 
 And fall a cursing, like a very drab — 
 A scullion ! 
 Fye upon 't ! foh ! About my brains !" 
 
 Or take a scene from Othello, where the Moor in passion- 
 ate revulsion, for the moment, from his suspicion and 
 jealousy, takes lago by the throat, and says : 
 
 ' Be sure of it ; give me the ocular proof ; 
 Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul. 
 Thou hadst been better have been born a dog 
 Than answer my wak'd wrath. 
 
 Is 't come to this ? 
 Make me see 't ; or, at the least, so prove it. 
 That the probation bear no hinge, nor loop. 
 To hang a doubt on ; or, woe upon thy life ! 
 
 My noble lord ■ 
 
 If thou dost slander her, and torture me. 
 
 Never pray more : abandon all remorse : 
 
 On horror's head, horrors accumulate ; 
 
 Do deeds to niake heaven weep, all earth amaz'd 
 
 For nothing canst thou to damnation add 
 
 Greater than that, 
 
 O grace ! O heaven forgive me ! 
 Are you a man ? — ^have you a soul, or sense ? — 
 God be wi' you ; take mine office. — O wretched fool. 
 That lov'st to make thine honesty a vice ! — 
 
 monstrous world ! Take note, take note, O world, 
 To be direct and honest is not safe. — 
 
 1 thank you for this profit ; and, from hence, 
 I'll love no friend, sith love breeds such offence. 
 Nay,, stay : — Thou shouldst be honest- 
 
 I should be wise ; for honesty's a fool. 
 And loses that it works for. 
 
 By the world, 
 J think my wife be honest, and think she is not ; 
 I think that thou art just, and think thou art not J 
 I'll have some proof » « » 
 
 lago. 
 Othello. 
 
 lago. 
 Othello. 
 
 lag 
 
 Othello, 
 lago. 
 
 Othello. 
 
62 THE THEATRE : A 
 
 /ago. I see, sir, you are eaten up with passion ; 
 
 I do repent me that I put it to you. 
 
 You would be satisfied ? 
 Othello. Would? nay,. and I will." 
 
 Is this a thread of thought and feeling out of which 
 mere amusement is woven? It is a play, but is it not 
 very serious matter ? Is it not more like a profound 
 psychological study than a piece of rhetorical declamation 
 for mere entertainment ? You may call it an amuse- 
 ment, but it is an amusement so searching, and close to 
 the reality of things, that, for the time being, it is all as 
 real as fact and truth. It is an amusement of realistic 
 illusion; and can only play its engrossing game by 
 making a demand in full on all the highest and most 
 sacred elements and instincts of human nature. The 
 word " amusement " is a misnomer for what takes place 
 on the stage when a true drama is the piece, and compe- 
 tent actors are its interpreters. Then, so far from being 
 amusement, it is hard, honest, serious work on both sides 
 of the curtain. In its best condition and circumstances 
 the Theatre is much too close to the "Church, and the 
 private closet and conscience of the audience, to be fitly 
 designated a place of amusement. Amusement the most 
 diverting, and rarely otherwise than accordant with good 
 taste, may undoubtedly be had and enjoyed there. The 
 moral forces of these two kinds of stage representations 
 are, necessarily, different, inasmuch as one is intensely 
 serious, and the other as moving in its mirth. There 
 are, no doubt, people who will find fault with both, 
 because they can tolerate nothing serious but what is real, 
 and nothing humorous because it upsets their artificial or 
 morbid gravity. We are accustomed to say of such 
 people that they are prosaic and incapable of artistic or poetic 
 feeling. They justify their censure of the Theatre on 
 the ground of religious scruples, quite forgetting that the 
 parable of the prodigal son and other graphic parables of 
 the New Testament are purely fictitious and intrinsically 
 dramatic, and that laughter is a natural muscular function 
 and a constitutional and irresistible impulse of human 
 nature. Be this objection as it may, the fault-finders 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 63 
 
 with stage plays of any and every species, if they are 
 really serious and earnest persons, should note the fact, 
 that the Theatre is not a mere place of theatrical amuse- 
 ment, but on the I contrary, is oftentimes a place of serious 
 and even severe moral business, — a place where people 
 are brought face to face with the counterparts of them- 
 selves and their fellows, where they look on a photo- 
 graphic likeness of the reality of the most real things in 
 human nature, and where for the time being they see the 
 most conflicting principles and feelings of human life in 
 vivid personation, and have their own principles and 
 feelings constantly appealed to and excited. Let them 
 note the fact, that, humour, both virtuous and vicious, 
 in comedies, farces, and burlesques, is night after night 
 exerting its contagious energy — that laughter, healthy and 
 innocent, or shameless and contaminating, is indulging 
 its hilarity ; and if the thought of the Theatre does not 
 make them more serious than ever in the view of its 
 immense moral force on the character and life of society, 
 they have a gravity to be conscious of which both their 
 religion and patriotism have yet to infuse into them. 
 
 The force of the Theatre is not a mere entertaining, 
 but an educational force, exferted, moreover, under the 
 most fascinating and agreeable conditions. Music and 
 painting lend their sensuous charms to animate and 
 realize the scenes, to quicken the sensibilities, and inten- 
 sify the illusion. Attention is easily arrested and soon 
 fully engaged ; the feelings of the audience are speedily 
 in the potent hands of the actor, who is a master in his art, 
 and he plays upon them as upon a musical instrument, 
 at his own arbitrary will. The consciousness that the 
 scene is but a mimic show, cannot disenthral us from the 
 actor's, access to all the avenues, and his control of all the 
 sources, of our feelings and passions. At his bidding we 
 laugh and weep, are wrought into indignation, repulsed 
 with the loathing of scorn, , stung, as though the convicted 
 conscience were our own, and filled with a sense of relief 
 and rejoicing, as though the poetical justice which crowns 
 the plot were an actual righteous award in real life. The 
 play has enlarged our knowledge of human character and 
 
64 THE THEATRE : A 
 
 life by means not consciously distinguishable from those 
 of actual personal intercourse and real living experience. 
 The scenic setting of the play, and the masterly delinea- 
 tion of the players, have made the illusion so complete, 
 that the stage for the nonce has been the only real world, 
 and the actors, ourselves identified with them, its real in- 
 habitants. When the fall of the curtain, and the lowering of 
 thelights disenchantus of its illusion, we, nevertheless, carry 
 away with us lively images and memories ; and not only 
 these, but also a mental and moral nature that has been 
 quickened into activity, and that is better or worse for the 
 temporary excitement. So far as this mental and moral 
 excitement is concerned, it matters not that fictitious 
 scenes and actions were its cause ; the fact that the mind 
 and heart could never have been so wrought upon and 
 moved but by the illusion of reality, is indicative of our 
 mental a'nd moral texture, and demonstrative of what we 
 are capable of, and how we should demean ourselves in 
 the similar experiences of actual life. It argues nothing 
 against the practical worth of the mental and moral 
 quickening excited by stage representations to say that it 
 is all merely sentimental — that the sorrow and joy, the 
 virtue and heroism, the revulsion and sympathy, have all 
 been the unsubstantial product of a mere temporary 
 illusion. Sentiment is not to be sneered at, for it is the 
 texture of personal character and the impelling and quali- 
 fying energy of personal conduct ; and, therefore, to 
 excite it, whether by illusory or real means, is not to 
 weaken, but to form, exercise, and strengthen it. To 
 appeal strongly and successfully to the moral sensibilities, 
 to find them a channel for their tidal ebb and flow, 
 to gently ripple their surface and to agitate them power- 
 fully, is to educate and confirm them — to make them sen- 
 sitively responsive and promptly demonstrative. It may, 
 indeed, be said that stage portraiture does not correspond 
 with the moral facts of human life ; that if in tragedy it 
 is often terribly true in the more popular stage exhibitions, 
 those of comedy, the foibles and even vices of mankind 
 are commonly so coloured that they enlist sympathy quite 
 as much as loathing. Cowardice, so odious in real life. 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. (15 
 
 is made diverting on the stage ; the greed and grasp of 
 miserliness, so revolting to generous feeling, is made 
 pitiable ; anger and ill-temper so disturbing in actual 
 experience, are mirthful and amusing. Something might, 
 indeed, be said in moral justification of this treatment of 
 human infirmities and vices, for they certainly have their 
 humorous, as well as their serious sides, and are not so 
 thoroughly unredeemable as to admit of no palliatives or 
 excuses. But be this as it may, the fact still remains that 
 the stage is a place of moral influence for truth or error, 
 for virtue or vice. I maintain that the Theatre has this 
 force and this effect, and therefore affirm that it is a 
 powerful educational agency. It is not a merely senti- 
 mental and frivolous popular amusement, but a very 
 serious and forcible energy in the private and public life 
 of society. 
 
 I might say much of the aims and influences of the 
 high class drama in illustration of the intellectual and 
 moral forces of the Theatre, and claim for this high class 
 business of the stage a place beside the sermon of the 
 Church, with the immense advantage of the visible scene 
 and action over the didactic and even the most graphic- 
 ally descriptive discourse. The eloquence of no sermon 
 however high its finish and powerful its persuasion can 
 vie in moving efiect with a scene of Shakespeare. This 
 is strikingly illustrated when the Puritans, in the time of 
 their political and social ascendancy, unwisely made the 
 Drama and the Theatre a test point of religiousness, and 
 waged an exterminating warfare against them. The 
 people, compelled to choose between the preacher and 
 the player, decided for the player. The theatres were 
 crowded to overflowing and the churches were all but 
 entirely deserted. So strong was the popular passion for 
 the acted drama thatthe utmost diflficulty was experienced 
 to keep the Sunday, during the hours of Divine Service, 
 free from stage representations. This"was in the intensely 
 religious times of Puritan England. Dramatic literature, 
 too, was eagerly sought after and read. Prynne, in his 
 *' Histrioinastix," mentions that in two years 40,000 copies 
 of dramas had been disposed of, as they were more in 
 
66 THE theatre: a 
 
 favour than sermons. (Gervinus, p. 88.) And while I 
 am placing the sermon and the mimic scene in juxta- 
 position, let me remind you of the sneer at the mere 
 sentimentality of stage performances, and ask what more 
 the sermon does than appeal to and excite the sensibilities, 
 and produce a sentimental effect? The argument that 
 denies the practical moral influence of the Stage, and 
 says that it is capable of nothing beyond the awakening 
 of sentiment, must likewise deny the practical moral 
 influence of the sermon. The preacher's highest vocation 
 is to quicken and form sentiment as a principle of moral 
 feeling, a purification of character, and a preparation 
 for the active duties of life : if the actor, whether it be 
 his particular aim or not, actually does the same thing in 
 the mimic action of the pure drama, how can he be 
 denied a potential educational function? The Church and 
 the Theatre are both alike sentimental forces ; and there- 
 fore, if the one is a great social power, the other cannot 
 be less so. 
 
 My purpose in this discourse is not to criticise the 
 acted drama, nor to enter upon a comparative estimate 
 of the pieces which the managers of theatres place upon 
 the stage. There is a good deal to be said on these 
 matters. I pass them by for the purpose of leading up 
 to a practical social conclusion. I want to instruct 
 consciences and correct false judgments and conduct in 
 reference to the Theatre. I wish simply, at the present 
 time, to arouse your minds to the consideration of the 
 fact — that the Theatre is a great social institution among 
 us, and that it is daily exerting considerable intellectual 
 and moral influence in our social midst. I do not think 
 that this two-fold fact is considered with sufficient practi- 
 cal seriousness, more especially by those intelligent and 
 conscientious persons who have the strongest objection 
 to the Theatre and its associations. Their estrangement 
 from the Theatre is very largely sentimental ; and gener- 
 ally both unjust and injudicious. They are satisfied to 
 condemn it by denouncing and standing aloof from it. 
 Now, this appears to me to be a very unreflecti^■e attitude 
 to occupy towards such an institution as the Theatre. It 
 
SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 67 
 
 may be a self-satisfying attitude, but it is not the attitude 
 of social duty. The Theatre claims to be thought about 
 md thought about discriminatingly and justly. As for 
 the sweeping censure of vulgar religious prejudice— the 
 prejudice of mere religious traditionists — that is altogether 
 beneath contempt. But it ought to be confronted and 
 shown to be the foolish thing that it is. The chorus of 
 mere ignorant religious cant ought to be drowned by the 
 loud tones of manly denunciation ; and the pulpit, which 
 has pitched the key-note of this cant, ought in these days to 
 take the lead in exposing its hollowness and insisting on 
 changing the tune. The molluscs of society have long 
 enough trailed their sickly slime over a learned and 
 honourable profession and a great social institution. 
 They should be made to understand, by those who have 
 made molluscs of them, that the law of evolution stays 
 for their vertebrate development. And the only way, 
 unfortunately, in which they can be made to understand 
 is in the Marc Antony manner of dealing with them. 
 They are molluscs and must have mollusc treatment. 
 No doubt such people will be viscous to the end ; but it 
 will be some gain to society to exchange in the case of 
 even its molluscs a foolish prejudice for a wise one. 
 These puerile people will follow in the leading strings of 
 their clerical nurses, and like the sapient citizens of 
 Rome, will soon begin to say, with the same pulpy and 
 impressionable sagacity, — 
 
 "Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.'' 
 
 I have said that the Theatre is one of those stub- 
 born things which we call facts. Here it is, and here 
 it will remain, for it is a natural growth of civilization — 
 not a wild growth like a weed, but a cultured growth, like 
 a flower of the garden, and it will keep and vindicate 
 its place. I have reminded you of the tenacity of its 
 hold upon the soil of our English society, and that as it 
 grew up with the growth of our mental life, and has 
 gathered strength with the enlargement and refine- 
 ment of our intelligence, so it will keep pace with 
 our civilization and live as enduringly. It comes out of 
 
68 THE THEATRE : A SOCIAL FACT AND FORCE. 
 
 a natural instinct, is fostered in the cultivation of the 
 native mind and heart, and will continue to flourish in 
 a natural civilization. The Theatre is inevitable and in- 
 destructible. This is the stubborn, confronting fact. 
 Now, what have you to say to it, and how will you act 
 towards it? These are the practical questions which 
 demand your practical replies. Will you think as the 
 Puritans thought, and act as they, if you have the power, 
 by closing the doors of the Theatre, or razing it to the 
 ground ; or, like Lady Huntingdon, buy it up and con- 
 vert it into a place of religious worship ? History has told 
 you what came of action of this kind. Your observation 
 and experience convince you that the Theatre is not 
 to be so exterminated. It is a vital and ineradicable in- 
 stitution. Accept it we must ; to stand in an attitude of 
 indifference towards it, we ought not. What is our duty 
 towards an institution so inevitable and potential as the 
 Theatre ? This is a large, as well as a crucial, question, 
 and involves too many considerations to be briefly replied 
 to at the end of this discourse. I shall need, and will en- 
 deavour, to reply to this question in the discourse which 
 is to follow on the "The Stage, and the Moral and 
 Religious Sentiments of Society." 
 
69 
 
 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 In reference to the dramatic instincts of the nursery, Sir 
 Walter Scott says : — " A disposition to this fascinating 
 amusement seems to be inherent in human nature. It 
 is the earliest sport of children to take upon themselves 
 some fictitious character, and sustain it to the best of 
 their ability by such appropriate gestures and language 
 as their youthful fancies suggest, and such dress and 
 decorations as circumstances place within their reach. 
 The Infancy of Nations is as prone to this pastime as 
 that of individuals." 
 
 * * 
 
 Macready, in his " Reminiscences," mentions the great 
 
 change for the better in his boyish standing at Rugby, 
 when it was found that he knew more of acting and 
 theatrical management than all the rest of them, and 
 could obtain the loan of costumes and properties from 
 his father, then manager of a country travelling company. 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 Mr. John Forster in his " Life of Charles Dickens " 
 shows how the great novelist reflected himself in " David 
 Copperfield." " I have been Tom Jones (a child's Tom 
 Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I have 
 sustained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month 
 at a stretch, I verily believe. I had a greedy relish for 
 a few volumes of voyages and travels — I forget what, now 
 — that were on those shelves ; and for days and days I 
 can remember to have gone about my region of the 
 house, armed with the centre-piece out of an old set of 
 boot-trees, the perfect realization of Captain Somebody, 
 of the royal British navy, in danger of being beset by 
 savages, and resolved to sell his life at a great price." 
 
70 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 Dickens at five or six years old wrote a tragedy called* 
 Misnar, the Sultan of Lidia, founded on one of the Tales 
 of the Genii. About this time, he told a story off-hand 
 so well, and sang small comic songs so especially well, 
 that he (then a " queer " and delicate " small boy ") 
 used to be elevated on chairs and tables, both at home 
 and abroad, for the more effective display of those talents. 
 The future novelist was taken to the theatre at a very 
 early age. " He could not," says Forster, " have been 
 younger than Charles Lamb, whose first experience was 
 of having seen Artaxerxes when six years old, and cer- 
 tainly not younger than Walter Scott, who was only four 
 when he saw As You Like It on the Bath stage, and 
 remembered having screamed out, ' Ain't they brothers ?' 
 when scandalized by Orlando and Oliver beginning to 
 fight.'' Later, at Wellirjgton Academy, Hampstead Road, 
 Dickens, with Master Beverley, soon to be the celebrated 
 scene-painter, were the leading spirits among the boys in 
 getting up plays. As all readers know, these dramatic 
 instincts stuck to Dickens all his life. We find him in 
 Montreal, Canada, in 1842 (at the termination of his first 
 American visit), playing with the officers of the Cold- 
 stream Guards, and acting in three pieces, A Roland for 
 an Oliver, Past Two O'clock in the Morning, and Deaf as 
 a Post, before a brilliant invited audience, including Sir 
 Charles Bagot, Sir Richard Jackson, all the Government 
 officials and military officers in full uniform. The pieces 
 were afterwards repeated to a paying audience of the 
 townspeople. Lord Mulgrave took a part in the first- 
 named piece. 
 
 « 
 * * 
 
 One of the most interesting chapters in Forster's 
 " Life " is that entitled " Splendid Strollings," — a term 
 invented by Maclise, the Royal Academician — in which 
 Dickens, seconded by so many grand names in literature 
 and art, organized and carried out the Leigh Hunt and 
 Sheiidan Knowles' benefits, and the performances initi- 
 ated to form a fund for the establishment of the " Guild 
 of Literature and Art." In these he was assisted at 
 various times and in various ways by George Henry 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE U. 7 1 
 
 Lewes, John Forster, Douglas Jerrold, Mark Lemon, 
 George Cruikshank, John Leech, Augustus Egg, and 
 Frank Stone. It will be remembered that, in 1848, a 
 committee had been formed for the purchase and preser- 
 vation of Shakespeare's house at Stratford, and the per- 
 formances organized by Dickens were to take the form of 
 contributions to an endowment for a curatorship to be 
 held by the author of Virginius and The Hunchback. The 
 endowment was abandoned upon the town and council of 
 Stratford taking charge of the house, but the sum realized 
 was handed over to Knowles. The Merry Wives of 
 Windsor was played ; Lemon enacting Falstaff, Forster 
 the jealous husband, and Dickens Justice Shallow, while 
 " Dame Quickly " was acted by the lady to whom the 
 world owes the best Concordance to Shakespeare that 
 has ever been published, Mrs. Cowden Clarke. There 
 was also a farce. There were two performances at the 
 Haymarket ; Birmingham and Glasgow had two each, 
 and Manchester, Liverpool, and Edinburgh one each. 
 The gross receipts were ^2551, before the necessary 
 deductions. 
 
 * 
 » * 
 
 At the close of November, 1850, there were three 
 amateur performances held in Lord Lytton's old family 
 mansion at Knebsworth. It was then that the idea of a 
 " Guild " for the benefit of Literature and Art was 
 originated. Lord Lytton was to write a comedy, and 
 Dickens a farce ; one of Lemon's, with much of Dickens's 
 handiwork in it, was subsequently substituted. The 
 Duke of Devonshire offered his house in Piccadilly for 
 the first representations, and in a princely way discharged 
 all expenses attending them. A movable theatre was 
 built and set up in the great drawing-room, and the 
 library was turned into a green-room. Not so Bad as We 
 Seem was played for the first time at Devonshire House, 
 on the 27 th of May, 1851, before the Queen and Prince, 
 and a brilliant audience, Mr. Nightingale's Diary being 
 the title of the farce. The success abundantly realized 
 the expectations formed, and after many representations 
 at the Hanover Square Rooms, strolling began in the 
 
72 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 country, and was continued during that and following 
 year. The company carried with them their portable 
 theatre, as well as the admirable scenes which Stanfield, 
 David Roberts, Thomas Grieve, Telbin, Absolon, and 
 Louis Haghe, had painted as their generous free offering,- 
 and they were thus independent of theatres, and could 
 perform in concert or lecture-halls. At Newcastle, six 
 hundred people, at twelve and sixpence each, were 
 crammed into a space reasonably capable of holding three 
 hundred. At Sunderland, " We had," wrote Dickens, 
 "about twelve hundred— I dare say more- They began 
 with a round of applause, when Coote's white waistcoat 
 appeared in the orchestra, and wound up the farce with 
 three deafening cheers. I never saw such good fellows. 
 Stanny (Stanfield) is their fellow townsmen ; was bom 
 here ; and they applauded his scene as if it were himself." 
 Then he describes his fear that the hall, a new one, was 
 not safe. " Rounds of applause were perfect agony to me. 
 .... I had a palpitation of the heart if anyone stum- 
 bled up and down a stair." Their scenery had been just 
 before upset in a railway van, and the carpenters, after 
 being up four'nights, were lying asleep about the entrances. 
 Dickens says that his anxiety had been so great, that next 
 day he was half dead, and unable to eat or drink anything. 
 Manchester and Liverpool closed this trip with enormous 
 successes. Tenniel and Topham, the artists, and Wilkie 
 Collins, to be later Dickens's son-in-law, played in some of 
 
 the latter performances. 
 
 * 
 * » 
 
 In the " once upon a time " period of the world's 
 existence there was a certain small boy (destined per- 
 chance for a big man) employed in a very subordinate 
 capacity in the office of a well-known solicitor ; he had 
 little relish for the occupation which partially furnished 
 his daily bread, and was only happy when cultivating the 
 tragic muse at his mother's fireside. " Now, do, boy, put 
 away that rubbish," said the mother one night, " and go 
 to bed, or you'll be late at the office in the morning, and 
 get scolded." " Oh, please mother, just one more 
 quarter-of-an-hour, and then I'll go. I've got the King 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE H. 73 
 
 down a trap, and must finish this act," replies the youth- 
 ful dramatist. Many years after, our boy, now a man of 
 matured talent, was selected to complete Lord Lytton's 
 unfinished play, The House of Darnley, and right ably has 
 he accomplished the task. Bravo, Coghlan 1 
 
 « 
 » * 
 
 Hans Christian Andersen says in his " Story of my 
 Life " that while a child he wrote a serious play. 
 " At that time I wrote my first piece, it was nothing less 
 than a tragedy, wherein, as a matter of course, every- 
 body died. The subject of it I had borrowed from an 
 old song regarding Pyramus and Thisbe, but I increased 
 the incidents by a hermit and his son, who both loved 
 Thisbe and both killed themselves when she died. 
 Many of the speeches of the hermit were passages from 
 the Bible taken from the little catechism, especially from 
 the " Duties to our Neighbours ;" the piece bore the 
 
 name of Abor and Elvira. 
 
 * 
 
 "Father Nugent," says Mr. Neville, "heard a little 
 boy, in the street, reciting Richard the Third to his com- 
 panions, and reciting it correctly. After a time, he asked 
 the lad how much he knew. ' All but the last Act, sir,' 
 was the reply ; ' and that I'll learn as soon as I get six- 
 pence ! ' 'Why sixpence?' 'To go to Sadler's Wells 
 with. I learnt it all there, and I know one or two more.' 
 'And can't you read ?' 'No, sir, nobody never taught 
 me.' The stage, you see, was that boy's school." 
 
 * 
 » » 
 
 Professor Blackie, Principal of the Edinburgh Univer- 
 sity, is not ashamed to own that when a boy, his father 
 sometimes leaving him at home when he went to the 
 theatre, he would revenge himself by going into the deep 
 window, and there, where the sunshine was brightest, read 
 through the whole play that was being enacted. " I 
 have never since then," says he, " ceased to feed my 
 soul upon the British Drama, which I think — and I arn 
 sure that all men who know anything of the history of 
 human culture will agree with me— is the noblest mani- 
 
74 NOTES to LECTURE II. 
 
 festation of the human intellect that has ever been paraded 
 
 on the globe." 
 
 » 
 
 * * 
 
 The writer is informed that Mr. Bayle St. John, when 
 a boy of ten, wrote and helped to play a sixteen-act 
 tragedy, which took several nights to perform ! It was 
 apparently modelled after the Chinese dramatists, who 
 take the entire reign of an emperor, and play every 
 detail of his life from the cradle to the grave. Mr. Percy 
 B. St. John, who played in the above, also wrote at the 
 age of twelve a long tragedy founded on Ossian. The 
 writer of these pages, when a boy of ten, delivered Mark 
 Antony's oration over Caesar's body, Brutus and the 
 citizens being played by schoolfellows as young as him- 
 self With his brother Edward, nearly two years younger, 
 he played the old farce of Sylvester Daggerwood at many a 
 Christmas party in that and following year. Anyone who 
 has seen the pantomimes introduced lately to particular 
 notice by Mr. Chatterton, will observe the evident enjoy- 
 ment of the little ones in their own performances. In- 
 deed, to a spectator with any human feelings about him, 
 it is the most pleasant feature of the entertainment. 
 Some of the children are barely able to toddle, whilst the 
 eldest of them can hardly exceed eight or nine years of age ; 
 but they are all full of chic and glee, and many of them 
 are as clever as their elders. Many a soubrette and 
 comedian, many a dancer and singer of the future, will 
 date her or his career from the Children's Pantomimes — 
 the Infant School of Mimic Art. 
 
 * » 
 
 Mr. Ham's remarks on the dramatic cravings and 
 instincts of all — not n^ierely of theatre-goers — could be 
 amplified to any extent. The writer would simply make 
 a few remarks on the amusements which the most rigid 
 permit themselves. 
 
 I. Readings ;— often Dramatic. — If one person in 
 evening dress, with the assistance of a book, a table, two 
 candles, and a glass of water, can so move our sensibilities, 
 how much more will ten or a dozen intelligent men and 
 women, all trained to histrionic art, with the adjuncts of 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE 11. 75 
 
 beautiful scenery and appropriate costumes ! Is it, by- 
 the-bye, the scenery which makes Shakespeare sinful ? 
 
 2. Entertaimnents — such as are, or have been, ofifered by 
 such excellent performers as Mr. and Mrs. German Reed, 
 or Mr. and Mrs. Howard Paul. These are theatrical per- 
 formances, differing only in length, and generally requiring 
 fewer actore. But if the one is good, why not the other ? 
 
 3. Opera Concerts, where the larger part of an opera is 
 performed, the vocalists being in plain clothes. Are Nilsson 
 and Patti, Faure or Santley, rendered into utterly different 
 and inferior beings the moment they put on the costumes 
 of some bygone day ? Is an opera better for having its 
 plot and action entirely eliminated and converted into a 
 mere string of songs and choruses ? Or is it the scene- 
 painter who is to be reprobated ? Or is it a comfortable 
 and handsome house ? What is it ? 
 
 4. Negro Minstrel Entertainments, where songs and 
 farces are offered, snd where the performers, as a rule, 
 belong to the lower, most decidedly not the upper, walks 
 of the profession. These performances are generally 
 harmless enough, rather milk-and-waterish in fact, but 
 cannot be deemed very intellectual entertainments, though 
 they may serve to pass an idle hour. The music, if 
 pretty, is trivial, and the farces usually pointless, depend- 
 ing on practical jokes and grotesque action for their 
 effect. Christian reader, your time would be better 
 employed in a respectable theatre. 
 
 The writer has no need to remind the reader that at 
 
 those excellent institutions, the Crystal and Alexandra 
 
 Palaces, there are theatres. He has heard it whispered 
 
 that many pious people, who would not be seen entering 
 
 a Strand or West End theatre, are to be found among 
 
 the audiences at the Palaces. That which is wrong in 
 
 London is quite right at Sydenham or Muswell Hill ! 
 
 Away with such nonsense. 
 
 * 
 » # 
 
 The hold which the Drama has, even on the rustic 
 mind, is illustrated in the following anecdote, kindly con- 
 tributed by Mr. Charles Wyndham, the indefatigable actor 
 and manager. He was travelling in America with his 
 
76 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 ^^ Divorce Company," from New Orleans to St. Louis- 
 The train came to a piece of the railroad which was 
 broken and flooded, it was impossible to proceed, and 
 they were obliged to stop at the little country town of 
 Jackson, Mississippi. There, a deputation of citizens 
 came to Mr. Wyndham, and, telling him that there was 
 no hope of the road being open that night, asked him 
 whether he would not play in their town. " But where ?" 
 said he; "where is your Theatre?" "Oh, that'll be all 
 right," said they ; " we've got a skating rink, which hasn't 
 been open for some time ; and it's got a scene — a real 
 scene." Mr. Wyndham assured them that the com- 
 pany's wardrobe had gone on by a previous train ; but 
 they told him not to mind that, and he proceeded to in- 
 spect the hall. It was a huge barn of a place, cold and 
 cheerless, with a platform, used formerly for the orchestra ; 
 and true enough there was a scene — a landscape wth 
 snow falling heavily. Mr. Wyndham mentioned to them 
 that a snow scene was not exactly appropriate for Divorce, 
 which requires handsome drawing-room interiors and 
 sets; but they told him not to mind that, they must have 
 the play. " But, where are the seats ?" next asked 
 Wyndham. " Never mind that" said they, with one 
 voice, " we'll have the seats ;" and, true enough, they did. 
 There was not time enough to think of posters and bills, 
 so the bellman was sent through the town, and mounted 
 horsemen conveyed the glad tidings to the farms and 
 villages round — some of them many miles off. In the 
 evening there was a crowded house, and all seated — they 
 had been instructed to bring their own chairs ! Carts 
 and chaises and buggies came in to the town by the score, 
 each loaded with happy and expectant youngsters, their 
 papas and mammas, and with stools, benches, and chairs. 
 There was no curtain, and the performers had to prepare 
 themselves in the room behind the one scene, in instal- 
 ments — the ladies at one time and the men at another. 
 The performance was a grand success, and 'Wyndham 
 smiles to-day as he thinks of playing Divorce in the 
 snow ! The net proceeds were considerable, and but for 
 prior engagements he would have acceded to the ex- 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. yy 
 
 pressed wish of the townspeople to play one more night, 
 but it was impossible. Perhaps they have not had a 
 show there since ! 
 
 * 
 
 Offenbach, who was engaged during the Centennial 
 Celebration in America to conduct a series of concerts at 
 Philadelphia and other cities, writes amusingly* of his 
 experiences in a provincial town. He had acceded to the 
 wish of Mdlle. Aimee {Men aimee in the United States) to 
 wield the baton at one of her opera-bouffe performances. 
 
 "lamved in the morning at X . They were to 
 
 give La Belle Parfumeuse the same evening. I repaired 
 to the theatre to have at least one orchestral rehearsal. 
 
 " I installed myself bravely at my desk. I raised my 
 bow. The musicians commenced. 
 
 " I knew my score by heart. What was my surprise to 
 hear, in place of the airs I expected, something very 
 bizarre, having hardly a family likeness to my operetta. 
 .... The orchestration was different to mine. Some 
 musician of the place had thought fit to compose a new 
 one." Offenbach got up to leave, but the entreaties of 
 Aimee prevailed, and he resumed his seat. " What an 
 orchestra ! It was small, but execrable. Out of twenty- 
 five musicians, there were about eight tolerable, six 
 thoroughly mediocre, and the remainder absolutely vile. 
 To prepare for all eventualities, I asked a second violin 
 to take the small drum, and I gave him some instructions 
 
 quietly What a performance ! You ought to 
 
 have heard it. My two clarionets made breaks every 
 instant — except where they were required. In the comic 
 march of blind men in the first act, I had intentionally 
 placed some false notes, which have always produced an 
 amusing effect. When we got there, the clarionets 
 stopped and counted the bars. The brute who had 
 arranged my music had written this morceau for the 
 
 quartette only As to the hautbois, he was a 
 
 fantaisist who played when he felt like it. The flute blew- 
 when he could. The bassoon was asleep half the time 
 
 * In his " Notes d'un Musicien en voyage." 
 
78 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 The violoncello and second bass did what they liked, and 
 performed a contraband bass. Every moment, while 
 conducting with my right hand, I struck either the bow 
 
 of the second bass or of the violoncello The 
 
 first violin — -an excellent one — was always in a perspi- 
 ration. He raised the temperature around him. The 
 poor fellow was always mopping his face. 
 
 " I said to him in moving tones : — 
 
 " ' If you desert me, my friend, we are lost ! ' 
 
 " He replaced his handkerchief But the sea of dis- 
 cord ! How many false notes ! Happily the first act 
 drew to a termination. 
 
 " An enthusiastic success ! 
 
 " I thought I must be dreaming." In the second act. 
 
 " Having the score I had written always running in my 
 head, I turned to the left to the flute which ought, follow- 
 ing my music, to play a rentree (the notes announcing the 
 entry of a character on the stage). Not at all : it was the 
 trombone to the right who responded 
 
 " The duet between Rose and Bavolet went anyhow, 
 
 but still it went My little harmonious march had 
 
 been scored by the great musician of X- for the 
 
 two famous clarionettes, the hautbois who didn't play, 
 and the bassoon. Hang that bassoon ! He slumbered 
 more profoundly than ever. I made some despairing 
 signs to his neighbour, who stirred him up vigorously. 
 Could I have foreseen, I'd have let him sleep. That 
 animal, instead of sounding A sharp, raised it to five notes 
 higher. The unfortunate artist who played Clorinde 
 naturally followed, and took the air five notes too high. 
 The orchestra, which did not trouble itself with details, 
 continued five notes too low. You can imagine the dis- 
 cord. I leant over my desk, sweating great drops, and 
 making despairing signs to Clorinde and my musicians. 
 Then an inspiration from heaven came to my wearied 
 spirit. I signalled to the drum energetically and despair- 
 ingly. He understood, and he executed a roll. Ah ! 
 that beautiful rolling, fit to break the windows, which 
 lasted the thirty bars to the end of the duet, and disguised 
 heavens knows how many false notes. The public may 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 79 
 
 not have understood why, m the ntiddle of the night, and 
 
 in a mysterious scene, the drum made such a row with 
 
 so much vigour and persistency. Perhaps they saw in it a 
 
 trait of the composer's genius ? It was really that which 
 
 saved the situation. I cannot think without a shudder 
 
 of the anti-musical horrors covered up by that grand roll. 
 
 " After this, I waited naturally for a deluge of abuse in 
 
 the papers which mentioned the performance. Quite the 
 
 reverse : encomiums, nothing but praise for the masterly 
 
 manner in which I had conducted it ! " 
 
 » 
 « * 
 
 Talking of the drama when " rusticated," the writer 
 may be forgiven the insertion of the following : — Some 
 time age, in a small Lancashire town, Richard the Third 
 was played by some very provincial actors. Enter 
 " Catesby " to announce the capture of the " Duke of 
 Buckingham." 
 
 Catesby. My Lord, we'en copped te dook 'Bucknom !' 
 
 Richard. No ! Ye hanna — hen ye ? 
 
 Catesby. Aye, we ev, by Jove ! 
 
 Richard. Then off wi' his chump, and do for Bucknom ! 
 
 Mr. Walter Shelley, the manager, said to Mr. Edward 
 Terry, on one occasion, in a country town, shaking his 
 head : " Business bad; what do these people know about 
 Shakespeare? They think he is something to eat." But 
 in spite of the dialect in which Richard was presented, 
 the rustic audience must have been highly and easily 
 
 pleased to have sat so nearly to its termination. 
 
 « 
 * * 
 
 The mention of Mr. Shelley reminds the writer of 
 another anecdote kindly sent him by Mr. Edward Terry. 
 In the town of Truro the gutters are every morning 
 flushed with a stream of crystal spring water. After a 
 stay in the town for three weeks, playing to very bad 
 houses, and scarcely able to make their salt, the mana- 
 ger, Mr. Shelley, one morning accosted Terry, and 
 pointing to the stream of water, said in a sepulchral 
 voice, " Terry, do you know what that is ? " In doubt 
 as to what he meant, he answered " No." In a still 
 
8o NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 deeper voice Shelley made answer : " The amalgamated 
 tears of actors and managers who have passed through 
 this cussed town ! " 
 
 » 
 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Terry also contributes the followmg — " I remem- 
 ber an occasion when a manager with a company con- 
 sisting of his wife, who was the band, one young boy, 
 and a still smaller boy, aged ten, travelled the country, 
 calling themselves an Opera Troupe ! " 
 
 Mr. Terry's own experiences when, a long time ago, 
 
 he travelled the country. " Three new pieces every 
 
 night, in addition to four comic songs between the acts, 
 
 at a salary of i8s. weekly, which was not always paid. 
 
 Rehearsals from lo a.m. to 4 or 5 p.m. daily; acting 
 
 from 6.30 until 11.30; then studying until 3 or 4 in 
 
 the morning." It takes Terry about twenty minutes 
 
 nowadays to earn the week's salary of those "hard times," 
 
 which can "come again no more." 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Harry Lynn, the well-known comedian, obligingly 
 
 contributes the following, which shows very plainly some 
 possible phases of provincial theatrical life : — 
 
 " Between eleven and twelve years ago, I accepted an 
 engagement at Colchester. I arrived there in the evening, 
 and leaving my luggage at the railway-station, went in 
 search of lodgings, which were more difficult to obtain 
 than I had anticipated, the first question being asked on 
 application ; ' Are you an actor ?' to which I proudly 
 answered ' Yes,' at the same time drawing myself up to 
 look as much like an Edmund Kean as possible. The 
 response was, ' Then" we cannot take you in,' which left 
 an impression on my mind that they had been taken in 
 themselves, and that the show business was not good in 
 Colchester. At every door I knocked the same question 
 was asked, and with the same result. At last, being tired 
 and disgusted, I resolved to deny my honourable profes- 
 sion, and lay claim to one less presuming, although quite 
 as honourable, namely, that of a Sunday-school teacher, 
 which had the desired effect : at the very next door I 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 8l 
 
 knocked I was soon installed in my new lodgings, having 
 cleared all doubts (if any existed) by paying a week in 
 advance. That part of the business being settled, I went 
 to a tavern next door to the theatre, where I met several 
 of the new company. The landlord having learnt we 
 were a portion of the company belonging to the theatre, 
 informed us that he was very sorry to see us, as he 
 generally 'had to assist a portion of such companies out 
 of the town, which remark I felt inclined to resent, little 
 thinking how soon I should find out the truth of his. 
 assertion. My salary for playing first old man and 
 character business was to be thirty shillings per week, but 
 I never dreamed when I made the engagement that my 
 manager meant thirty shillings for one week only. The 
 company was a tolerably good one, and by changing the 
 pieces every other night we did what might be termed 
 pretty good business — so much so, that I was surprised, 
 on going into the treasury at the end of the second week, 
 to hear the manager say, ' I shall not be able to pay you 
 all your salary this week, Mr. Lynn ; but if you will take 
 a pound on account, you shall have the remainder next 
 week.' He was very kind, shook me by the hand, and 
 complimented me on my acting ; and I being a young 
 man of three and twenty, and perhaps prone as most 
 young actors are to flattery, winked at my earnings, and 
 smilingly departed without a word of reproach. The 
 next week arrived, but not my back salary, and on one 
 occasion I only received ten shillings, out of which I paid 
 seven shillings for my lodgings. I could not resist paying 
 my rent, for my landlady was as badly off as myself, having 
 a large family, and being kept short of money by her hus- 
 band, who, by-the-bye, was a broker's man, and used to 
 make it up to her in kicks. I had been two days with- 
 out food, and was looking over my properties (namely 
 dresses), when, to my great joy, I found a sixpenny piece 
 in the pocket of one of my waistcoats, which joyful fact 
 I revealed to a brother comedian, Mr. Robert Nelson, 
 who for the last few days had been living with me, and was 
 almost as hard pushed as myself. We held a consultation 
 how to dispose of the said fabulous sum. At last I 
 
82 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 suggested half a pound of eightpenny steak and half an 
 ounce of tobacco; in high glee we proceeded to the 
 butcher's shop ; the man weighed the steak, and I, in the 
 meantime, dived my hand into my trousers' pocket to 
 feel for the sixpence when, to my horror, I found a large 
 hole in the same, through which the coin had disap- 
 peared. I communicated the horrid fact to my brother 
 in misfortune, who could not help smihng at my chagrin, 
 at the same time slyly creeping out of the shop, leaving 
 me to manage as best I could with the man of meat. 
 My oratory failed to convince the hard-hearted butcher 
 of the truth of my story ; he was not to be done, nor the 
 steak either, at least by us. The next day arrived, and 
 still no food. My companion went out to dine at a 
 friend's ; what to do I knew not ; I was too proud to 
 call on a friend unasked, or I might have had a dozen 
 dinners. I had noticed a fishing-rod upstairs in my bed- 
 room, so I borrowed it of my landlady, and proceeded to 
 the river side to try my hand at angling, of which I knew 
 but Httle. I felt a tug at the line ; oh, joy ! I gave a 
 jerk, and brought to land a middling-sized eel. I dis- 
 connected it from the hook and placed it on the grass, 
 and commenced operations again, when suddenly I 
 heard a splash in the water, and, turning round, I disco- 
 vered my prize had found its way to the water side, and 
 had taken the liberty of popping into its native element 
 again, while I was busy entrapping its fellows. Still my 
 star was in the ascendant, for in less than half an- hour I 
 I had caught seven eels, the sight of which so aggravated 
 my hunger that I resolved to return home at once and 
 confine them to the stew-pan, which I did, quite for- 
 getting to gut them. I have partaken of some splendid 
 spreads, before and since, but no banquet, in my eyes, 
 ever equalled that dish of eels. At last, after four 
 months' starvation and hard study, I consented to be 
 assisted out of the town by the host, who had foretold my 
 misery ; but, before leaving, I could not resist writing 
 over the stage-door of the Theatre — 
 
 " Abandon hope all yc who enter here." 
 
NOTES TO LECTtJRE II. 83 
 
 Mr. William Belford tells the following. When in 
 the country, years ago, the members of the company 
 with whom he was travelling were so poor that at a cer- 
 tain place where they were to play, they had not among 
 them the money to pay for candles for the footlights. 
 At this juncture a boy applied to be allowed to sell 
 oranges, &c., in the theatre. He was told by Mr. Bel- 
 ford that he could do so if he paid sixpence. The 
 money was paid, and Belford rushed back to the com- 
 pany, saying, " All right for the footlights ; I've let the 
 saloons ! " 
 
 * * 
 
 The Forty Thieves was once played in a country town 
 where the resources of the management could only pro- 
 vide two supers for those scamps. In consequence, 
 when " Ali Baba" called them in he said, " Here, you 
 two thieves, come in; the other thirty-eight can stop 
 outside !'" 
 
 *. 
 
 The career of Madame Anna Bishop (Schultz) has 
 been one of the most wonderful in the history of oratorio, 
 operatic, and concert singers ; and that lady may fairly 
 be considered the greatest female traveller in the world 
 now living, if not the greatest that has ever lived, not 
 excepting the late Ida Pfeiffer. Nine-tenths of the 
 members of the Royal Geographical Society might hide 
 their diminished heads in her presence. Soon after her 
 early successes at the Ancient and Philharmonic con- 
 certs, and at the great musical festivals of Gloucester, 
 Worcester, York, and Hereford, she made (between 
 1839 and 184s) a long European tour, visiting not 
 merely all the leading countries, but also Denmark, 
 Sweden, Moldavia, and Hungary. In St. Petersburgh, 
 Madame Bishop, who is a great linguist, took the part of 
 " Alice " in Robert le Diable, singing it in the Russian 
 language. In Italy, she played in all the leading cities, 
 in the language of that country. At Naples she created a 
 perfect furore, so much so that she was engaged for 
 twenty-seven months as, prima donna assoluta. In 1847, 
 after a visit to London, she proceeded to the United 
 
 F 2 
 
84 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 States, Havana and Mexico, and crossed the continent 
 to California, thence to Australia, and thence again to 
 South America. After playing in Lima and Valpa- 
 raiso, she crossed the Andes and the Patnpas, to the 
 eastern side of the continent, where she performed at 
 Parana, Montevideo, Buenos Ayres, and Rio. These 
 were not the days, it will be remembered, of nearly 
 universal railway and steamship communication, but of 
 tedious journeys in waggons or stages, by horse or mule 
 back riding, and ordinary sailing vessels for the most 
 part. Returning to England, she sang in oratorios and 
 concerts (including JuUien's) for some time. Then 
 another long tour in Havana, Mexico, and the States 
 followed ; and early in 1866, we find her at the Sand- 
 wich Islands, shortly after which she was shipwrecked. 
 Madame Bishop sailed on the i8th February, 1866, in 
 the Bremen barque Libelle, from Honolulu, S.I., for 
 Hong Kong. Nothing occurred during the voyage to 
 mar the pleasure of herself and party, until the evening 
 of the 4th of March, when the ship struck on a coral 
 island, known as Wake Island, situated in latitude N. 
 19' 2s\ longitude E. 166° 20'. The passengers and 
 crew remained on board in the greatest peril until the 
 morning, and when a landing was effected the island was 
 found barren, uninhabited, and without water. After 2 r 
 days' stay on the island, they departed with twenty-two 
 souls in a boat 22 feet long,ifor one of the Ladrone or 
 Marianna Islands, a distance of 1400 miles, which they 
 accomplished in 13 days. During this perilous voyage 
 all were exposed to a burning sun and rain, with only a 
 scanty supply of food (consisting of dried fish and birds 
 caught on the island) and a small allowance of water. 
 On arriving at Gaum (which is well known to mariners 
 in the North Pacific as one of the few places of resort 
 in the Ladrone Islands), the whole of the shipwrecked 
 party were kindly taken care of by the Governor of the 
 island, and, during the three months they were compelled 
 to remain, were treated by the few foreign inhabitants 
 and natives with the greatest kindness. 
 
 Madame Bishop lost all her jewellery, dresses, and 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 85 
 
 music, much of it in manuscript, the latter an irreparable 
 
 loss. Undaunted, she opened a series of concerts in 
 
 Manilla, which were very successful. Next we hear of 
 
 her in China, Singapore, India, Australia again, and New 
 
 Zealand; then three years in England. In 1873, she 
 
 started on her third voyage round the world, performing 
 
 in most of the countries before mentioned, even visiting 
 
 on the homeward tack the Cape and the Diamond 
 
 Fields of South Africa. The autobiography of this most 
 
 accomplished and plucky lady is, the reader will be glad 
 
 to learn, to be shortly given to the world. 
 
 « 
 
 * *. 
 A friend, Mr. C. W. Quin, who was for six years 
 
 attached to the staffs of the Levant Herald and Levant 
 Times at Constantinople, where he acted as dramatic 
 critic, kindly sends the following, which very fully 
 displays the hold which the theatre has over the 
 Orientals and semi-Orientals. " There is no capital in 
 Europe in which theatrical performances are so much 
 in favour as in Constantinople. The Turks, Greeks, 
 Armenians, Bulgarians, and Jews, who speak a Spanish 
 dialect, vie with each other in providing theatrical dis- 
 plays for their brethren. In addition to this there are 
 French and Italian plays and operas being constantly 
 performed, and there are occasionally very respectable 
 performances given by the English and German 
 Amateur Dramatic Societies. The Eastern is a born 
 actor. If he simply describes to you his sufferings 
 from rheumatism or tooth-ache en tfte-a-tete, he acts the 
 whole thing from beginning to end. It is no wonder 
 therefore that when he gets upon the stage he feels his 
 feet at once. He is never awkward, stage fright is un- 
 known to him, and no matter how badly he may speak 
 his words, he can never be accused of being a stick. 
 For good acting the Armenians undoubtedly bear off the 
 palm, both on their own and the Turkish Stage. They 
 excel in tragedy, comedy, and opera, and possess a 
 national talent for music. 
 
 The Turks, Armenians, Bulgarians, Greeks, and Jews 
 have, of course, largely adapted and translated from 
 
86 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 English, French, and Italian, but they have'a fair number 
 of excellent original pieces. A Turkish drama founded 
 on the taking of Constantinople in 1453 nearly led to a 
 revolution when performed in 1875. The theatre in 
 which it was played was seized by the Government, and 
 the author, Hemal Bey, a Turkish poet of great merit, 
 was exiled to Cyprus. An original Turkish opera bouffe 
 entitled The Tricks of Aarifi, a Turkish Jeremy Diddler, 
 the libretto of which was written by a Turkish author, to 
 the music of an Armenian composer, had an immense 
 success in 1874-75, ^ven amongst the French, so much 
 SD indeed as to drive Madame Angot out of the field. 
 
 The sojourner in Constantinople may see the 
 Fourberies de Scapin in Armenian ; Shakespeare's 
 /itliit-s Casar in modern Greek ; a Jewish melodrama 
 in Hebrew Spanish ; Les Canotiers de la Seine in 
 Turkish, and the Fall' of Kossova in Bulgarian in the 
 same week ; refreshing himself between whiles with 
 Craven's Milky While in English ; a comedy of Gold- 
 smith's in Italian ; a farce of Grillparze's in German ; 
 finishing up at the French theatre with Orph'ee aux 
 Enfers, in which the ancient Gods are turned into 
 ridicule literally within sight of their old home, the 
 
 Mysian Olympus." 
 
 * 
 
 It has been mentioned that the celebrated composer 
 of La Grand Duchesse and La Perichole was engaged 
 during the Centennial Celebration to conduct a number 
 of concerts in Philadelphia and other cities of America- 
 On his return Offenbach published his impressions 
 of the ' country, and he thus speaks of the theatres of 
 cosmopolitan New York and of dramatic art in America. 
 The following is a free translation — " The Academy of 
 Music is the theatre where they play grand opera. I 
 could not see it, because, during eight months, they only 
 played sixty days. Titiens gave Norma there with a run 
 of a month . . . The most brilliant periods have 
 been during the visits of Nilsson, Lucca, Capoul, and 
 Camposini. 
 
 " At Booth's Theatre they play tragedy, comedy, or 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 87 
 
 opera, according to the will of the manager who rents it. 
 I saw Henry V. given by an artist who is not wanting in 
 merit, M. Rignold. The mise-en-schie was very beautiful. 
 
 " Eight days later they gave on the same stage 
 L'Etoile die Nord, with Miss Kellogg, an English singer, 
 who has a very charming voice. Meyerbeer's opera 
 had not been sufficiently rehearsed, and was lacking 
 most absolutely in ensemble, more especially at the finale 
 of the second act. The chorus and the orchestra ran 
 after each other — cours inutile, they could never catch 
 up with each other. One felt as though assisting at a 
 mediocre work of Wagner's." Offenbach noted some 
 trombone and bassoon players seated with their instru- 
 ments outside the rails of the regular orchestra, as may 
 be sometimes seen in London, and asks whether they 
 were good-natured amateurs who had come, without 
 being asked, to strengthen the orchestra ! 
 
 " At the Union Square Theatre he saw Ferrol in 
 English, played by a good company ; and at Wallack's 
 The Mighty Dollar, with the writer's good friend, W. J. 
 ("affectionately remembered as ' Billy ') Florence, and his 
 wife, ' The first,' says Offenbach, ' recalled our excel- 
 lent Geoffroy, and the lady our Alphonsine. This 
 pair of artists, who have played more than twenty years 
 together, are much liked in America. As to the com- 
 pany in general, they impressed me by the unity and 
 ensemble of their playing . . . (The manager) Mr. 
 d'Entsh has re-engaged Mr. and Mrs. Florence for four 
 hundred nights. He will travel with these artists 
 through all the principal cities of the Union, from New 
 York to San Francisco, playing always the same piece, 
 The Mighty Dollar.' * The Lyceum and (Fisk's) Opera 
 House were closed. At the Fifth Avenue Theatre they 
 were playing Pique, ' of which the deriouements and situa- 
 tions were,' Offenbach says, "piled on not a little.' He 
 adds naively, Le dranu, bieti entendu, est de M. Bouci- 
 cault." There are two German and one French theatres 
 
 * Offenbach's book is full of mis-quotations. Thns, the above 
 is called " The Mighty Bollard, le Puissant Dollar." In another 
 place we learn that " Times is Money 1" 
 
88 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 in New York. Offenbach gives the following exagge- 
 rated but amusing account of his visit to the Minstrels : — 
 
 " There, one finds only negroes. The artists are 
 negroes, the chorus negroes, the scene shifters (!) 
 negroes, the box-office keeper (!), the acting manager (!), 
 the manager (!), all Moricauds. 
 
 " On arriving at the theatre, I noted an orchestrr, 
 negro, cela va sans dii'e, who played some airs more 
 or less bizarres. What was my surprise when I saw thit 
 my presence drew the attention of the musicians. All 
 these coloured gentlemen pointed me out to each other. 
 I could not have believed that I was known by so many 
 negroes, and the circumstance somewhat flattered me. 
 
 " The entertainment was funny enough, as much as I 
 
 saw of it. What was my astonishment when I entered 
 
 the saloon (bar) to notice the same little comedy, that is 
 
 to say, that the musicians again pointed me out to each 
 
 other. This time they were white, as white as the millers 
 
 in La Boulanglre. I was more and more flattered. . . . 
 
 I learned that these same musicians and even the others, 
 
 from the manager to the last machinist, were false negroes, 
 
 who transformed and re-transformed themselves three or 
 
 four times a night according to the exigencies of the 
 
 piece." The writer believes that the Minstrels seldom 
 
 play in Paris or other French cities. Hence, perhaps, 
 
 M. Offenbach's innocence. 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 In even the wilds of Alaska (formerly Russian America) 
 near the latitude of Behring Straits, the dramatic instinct 
 has asserted itself, as it did on so many of the Arctic 
 Expeditions. Mr. Haining supplies the following account 
 of his " make-up," when playing in one of his own 
 pieces while attached to the Russo-American Telegraph 
 Expedition. 
 
 " It may be imagined that to dress a part in the 
 Imperial Theatre, Unalachleet, Alaska, is not the most 
 easy task in the world. This, however, is how I 'faked' 
 the costume of ' Roderick Doo,' in the burlesque of 
 that name, which I wrote and produced, and which you 
 were kind enough to notice in your ' Travels in Alaska.' 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 89 
 
 For head-dress, I purchased one of the Scotch bonnets 
 which our quarter-master, Tommy Dennison, had in 
 store. In this cap I stuck a big wild swan's feather — 
 procured from an obliging Malemute Indian, and in lieu 
 of thistle jewel, pinned on one of the bullion badges 
 pertaining to the Expedition uniform. For shirt I wore 
 one of those picturesque Mexican-like leather coats, 
 profusely ornaiTiented with bead embroidery ; the latter, 
 one of our fellows lent me for the occasion. Tartan, I 
 could not achieve. Nevertheless, I had a sash — open to 
 the objection of being in reality a red comforter, and a 
 kilt which had formerly done duty as a curtain. From 
 Todd (who had been in the Californian cavalry) I got a 
 capital black belt, with buckle. My tights were a new 
 pair of drawers, and instead of sandals I wore the 
 excellent deer-skin mocassins of the country, than which 
 nothing could have been more characteristic. Gauntlets, 
 even I had — for the natives are quite as fond of being 
 Men ganie as is Rotten Row. In my belt were stuck 
 pistols and knives galore, as mine was a burlesque part. 
 The latter were, of course, abundant enough. Lastly, 
 the claymore. Well, it was an army sabre bought from 
 the Russian fort commandant, and broken off 'to the 
 required length. Thus was 'Roderick Doo' sartorially 
 
 done." 
 
 « 
 
 In the latest Arctic expedition, after the Alert had 
 been housed over, and other arrangements made for as 
 reasonably a comfortable existence as is possible in these 
 Arctic winter quarters, a school was organised under Mr. 
 Markham and other officers, where many of the A. B.'s 
 were taught their " A B C." Every exejrtion was 
 made to keep the crews employed and amused. 
 Theatrical entertainments, concerts, and games were 
 freely employed. On the opening night, the bill for the 
 occasion was headed " Royal Arctic Theatre," and stated 
 that the Hyperborean Company would appear " under the 
 distinguished patronage of Captain Nares, the members 
 of the Arctic Exploring Expedition, and all the nobility 
 and gentry of the neighbourhood." The performance 
 
90 NOTES To LECTURE II. 
 
 consisted of a nautical farce, The Chops of the Channel, 
 and a burlesque entitled Villikins and His Dinah. 
 
 Meantime, the men of the Discovery were employing 
 themselves much in the same manner. The Reverend 
 Charles Hodson, chaplain of that vessel, in an interest- 
 ing letter furnished by him to many of the daily journals, 
 says of this period : "As soon as the ice could bear it, 
 we commenced building houses upon it. . . . The 
 Theatre was 60 feet long by 27 broad. It had a green 
 room and a stage. We called it the Alexandra Theatre, 
 in honour of the Princess of Wales, and it was opened 
 on the I St December, her birthday, when we produced 
 the farce, My Turn Next. Some songs were afterwards 
 sung by the men. Mr. Miller, one of our engineers, 
 was one of our best actors, and a great support to our 
 Theatre. From time to time during the winter plays 
 were produced by officers and men alternately. The 
 entertainments were varied by songs and recitations, 
 not a few of these being original. On the sth of Nov., 
 we had a bonfire on the ice, and burnt the ' Guy ' ac- 
 cording to the usual custom. We had rockets, blue 
 lights, and different other things, and enjoyed ourselves 
 in every way." 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 The actual moral effect of the acted Drama upon the 
 audience might form the subject of an extensive work. 
 No one should witness a play of the higher, order without 
 deriving benefit from it, while there are many instances 
 on record of actual reformation. Mr. Henry Neville 
 mentions an example that came to his own knowledge: 
 of the moral power wielded by the Drama. An 
 absconding clerk came to the theatre to see Mr. Tom 
 Taylor's Ticket-of-Leave Man ; his heart was so touched, 
 and his conscience so smitten by what he heard and 
 saw, that, immediately he got home, he sent back the 
 money he had stolen from his employers, and became a 
 better, because a repentant, man. And we know, on the 
 very best authority — 
 
 " That guilty creatures, sitting at a play, 
 Have by the very cunning of the scene 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. _ gi 
 
 Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
 They have proclaimed their malefactions ! 
 For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
 With most miraculous ot^an. " 
 
 * 
 
 * » 
 
 Those who have not witnessed Miss Jennie Lee's 
 touching impersonation of " Poor Jo " can hardly realise 
 the beauty of Dickens's creation. Her realisation of the 
 poor crossing sweeper, whose miserable life is so feelingly 
 portrayed by the great novelist, brings tears to 'the eyes 
 of all who witness it. Her husband, Mr. J. P. Burnett, 
 is the kind-hearted " Bucket " of the piece. An 
 incident occurred during Miss Lee's engagement at the 
 California Theatre, San Francisco, which incontestably 
 proved her power to reach the hearts of her audience, and 
 which was in itself a warm tribute to the truth and 
 pathetic force of her acting. Bleak House was being 
 played, and amongst the audience one night was a man 
 well known in the Western States, who in early life had 
 been a noted duellist, and who, when party spirit ran high 
 in political circles, never hesitated to use his pistol if an 
 opponent was to be disposed of. T*his inan was looked 
 upon as one from whose breast every finer feeling had 
 been crushed out, and whose life of crime and violence 
 had steeled his heart and rendered him callous and in- 
 sensible to human suffering. Yet, as the play proceeded, 
 and scene after scene disclosed the misery and sufferings 
 of the poor outcast, such was the power of Miss Lee's 
 beautiful and sympathetic rendering of " Poor Jo," that 
 this hardened criminal, this man of adamantine heart, was 
 visibly affected, and at last utterly broke down, and cried 
 and sobbed like the veriest child. Let us hope that the 
 impression remained. But if it did not, it would not be 
 Miss Lee's fault, any more than a preacher should be 
 
 blamed if his words jproduce a merely evanescent effect. 
 
 » 
 
 * «- 
 
 Professor Blackie said at the dinner given to a veteran 
 actor, Mr. Wyndham, of the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, 
 " I will only say farther that I have seen no cause from 
 my frequenting of the theatre to depart from my original 
 
92 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 simple faith in the stimulating, elevating, ennobling, and 
 pleasurable influence of the Drama. I have not been a 
 habitual frequenter of the Theatre; but whenever I 
 could spare a free evening I have gone to see what was 
 called the thing that had the run of the season ; and I 
 wish to state this honestly, that when I went to see the 
 play that had the run of the season, I never went to see 
 anything that had anything base or degrading in it. On 
 the contrary, I have seen things there that have moved 
 me to tears, that have elevated me above myself, and 
 kept me upon the highest platform of my moral nature, 
 and above the lowest platform of the brute which is in 
 us all if we don't take care, and I have felt my human 
 instincts vibrate more than I have felt under the sacred 
 preaching of the Word. Don't think this is nonsense. 
 I will tell you what I mean. When I was in London 
 five or six years ago, there were two plays which had the 
 run of the season — the one was called Leah and the 
 other was called The Bells. Well, I say honestly and 
 sincerely — and I want all the clergy in Edinburgh, and 
 especially the clergy in the north-west of Ross-shire and 
 Sutherlandshire, to listen to me — that there never was a 
 sermon, the most ultra-evangelical sermon that ever was 
 preached upon the Christian virtue of forgiveness, that 
 was calculated to have a more perfect moral effect upon 
 the human beings listening to it, than the play of Leah. 
 The whole moral of that play is the evangelical virtue of 
 forgiveness. And if it ever was possible for a preacher 
 using the styles of conventional theology — if it was ever 
 possible for him to make men feel the horror of a 
 violated conscience, he could not preach a sermon more 
 impressive than is exhibited before us in that noble 
 melodrama. The Bells. Leaping from modern to ancient 
 times, I have just this remark to make. Is it not a most 
 strange thing that in modern times, with our high-strung 
 religion, we have made a divorce between the Stage and 
 morality and Religion, whereas, in ancient times, growing 
 out of mere joviality — out of the harvest home, as it 
 were — there came up a Greek tragedy, which became a 
 pulpit from which you have sermons upon conscience, 
 
, NOTES TO LECTURE II. 93 
 
 which go to move the inner strings of the heart as much 
 as any sermon that was ever preached by Dr. Guthrie 
 or Dr. Butler, or the most sanctimonious of Free Church 
 clergymen in the north-west of Ross-shire. Read you 
 the opening chorus of Agamemnon, or read the choruses 
 of Eumenides or the Furies, and tell me if it is not a 
 most monstrous thing for men preaching the Gospel to 
 say that there is anything in these tending to an eternal 
 divorce between the Church and the Theatre. There 
 are in these works great elevating ideas, and yet the 
 modern preacher says of the drama, " Depart from me, 
 for I am holier than thou." What is the consequence? 
 you leave the Theatre to drift ; a:nd depend upon it, that 
 if they who are God's servants do not know how to use 
 it, the devil is far too .clever a fellow not to use it for his 
 own business. If there is anything wrong in the Theatre, 
 it is the fault of the public, and especially of the clergy 
 who have deserted their old and proper mission, who 
 have made a most unnatural and monstrous divorce 
 between the holy and the beautiful. They are fighting, 
 however, against good and against God ; and I will only 
 say, therefore, with old Homer, ' He fights merely to be 
 beaten who fights against the gods.'" — Tht Scotsman^ 
 February 24th, 1877. 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Ham asks, very pertinently, whether we get 
 " amusement " from Hamlet's soliloquy or Othello's pas- 
 sion. The man who would laugh at Lear, mock at 
 Macbeth, haw-haw at Hamlet, and jest at Juliet, is 
 capable of anything bad. " Let no such man be trusted." 
 What nobler train' of thought can be awakened, for 
 example, than by Portia's beautiful description of mercy 
 and its attributes ? 
 
 " The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven, 
 Upon the ground beneath ; it is twice bless'd, — ■ 
 It blessetli him that gives, and him that takes, 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
 His sceptre shews the force of temporal power. 
 
94 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
 
 It is entlironed in the hearts of kings, 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 
 AVhen mercy seasons justice." 
 
 Or take Hamlet's reflections on life, suicide, and death : 
 " To be, or not to be ? " or King Lear on the death of 
 Cordelia : 
 
 "Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha! 
 What is't thou say'st ? Her voice was ever soft. 
 Gentle and low." 
 
 Or take again Wolsey's historical speech : 
 
 " O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 I served my King, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. " 
 
 Why, at such times, an audience is hushed to perfect 
 
 stillness, and the slightest noise made by any one is 
 
 most indignantly resented. Among the " gods " the 
 
 chances would be good for a damaged hat ; in an 
 
 enthusiastic Dublin gallery, a very much damaged 
 
 person. 
 
 * 
 
 Mr. Ham remarks that "The eloquence of no sermon, 
 however high its finish and powerful its persuasion, can 
 vie with a scene of Shakespeare." Canon Kingsley, 
 shortly before his death, said in public, " I have derived 
 more practical Christianity from reading Shakespeare, 
 and seeing his plays enacted, than from any sermon I 
 ever heard." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 Note the enthusiasm of a genuine actor and student, 
 when speaking of Shakspeare, the greatest living drama- 
 tist the world has ever seen. 
 
 " But how," says Mr. Neville, " shall I speak of that 
 wonderful man ? How utter within the limits of a single 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 95 
 
 page the admiration that would fill volumes and still 
 leave much unsaid ? It is like attempting to contain the 
 sea in a shell, or to measure the circumference of the 
 firmament with a span. The only comfort is, that criti- 
 cism of mine is rendered unnecessary by the libraries 
 which have already gathered around his works, while no 
 eulogy can add to the monument of his enduring and 
 universal fame. But though the one is needless, and the 
 other impossible, yet I feel I cannot pass his shrine 
 without pausing a moment to express my reverence, 
 Ihough it be only the silent reverence of a tear. 
 
 " Where found this Prospero the magic wand by which 
 he summoned into view those marvellous creations which 
 embrace such extremes as Caliban and Ariel — the 
 grossest savage that ever dug his nails into his native 
 clay, and the finest spirit that ever danced on a summer 
 moonbeam ? Where learnt he those mighty incantations 
 by which he summonses from the tomb the ' Majesty of 
 buried Denmark' or the ghost of Banquo, and limns 
 them to the vision so shadowy, yet so real ? Who took 
 him through the chambers of the human soul and 
 revealed to his unrevoked gaze the dark corners and 
 tortuous corridors, and vaults foul with noxious vermin, 
 which constitute the baser part of man — ' that quintes- 
 sence of dust ' ? or who led him up to the Sacred 
 Temple that stands above ; with its golden windows and 
 its soaring dome ; and revealed to his comprehensive 
 and impartial vision the essential nobleness and sacred- 
 ness of the soul ? Where learnt he those strange secrets 
 of madness, with their generic likeness, their specific 
 difference — the madness of Lear? of Hamlet? of 
 Ophelia ? Who taught him the fearful history of guilt 
 from its first unconscious step in evil to its fatal immer- 
 sion in a sea of blood, revealed to us in the history of 
 the doomed Macbeth ? Or who sat to his skilful pencil 
 when he painted his Cordelias, Portias, Rosalinds,] 
 Mirandas, Juliets, and Desdemonas— creations equally 
 lovely — yet diversified in their charms as the summer 
 flowers ? As we stand and gaze at the World of Won- 
 ders which Shakespeare has brought into human sight,' 
 
96 NOTES TO LECTURE II. 
 
 we can only feel that he was one of those great and 
 gifted beings whom the Almighty dispatches at long 
 intervals into this fallen planet ; commissioned to utter 
 his divine 'Let Be' amidst the warring elements of 
 tumultuous time ; to renew the face of the earth to men, 
 to inject fresh currents of thought and feeling into the 
 constitution of the world, and to bestow on us an earnest 
 and an instalment of the glory which awaits our entrance 
 into the world beyond. 
 
 "There is none of this fulness, this completeness, 
 this comprehensiveness in the works of the greatest 
 dramatists of Greece. Perfect in their kind, yet they were 
 to these but the early blossoms to the fruit — the pledge 
 and promise of better things to come. And it is the 
 truest and noblest boast of England that by the hands of 
 her great and gifted child she has brought the top stone 
 to that temple of genius whose foundations were laid in 
 ancient Athens, but which neither Rome, nor Spain, nor 
 France, nor Germany — none but herself among all the 
 nations — was privileged or permitted to complete and 
 crown. 
 
 " Next to my astonishment at this extraordinary 
 phenomenon is my wonder at finding men of mark and 
 influence in Literature speaking of him in terms of dis- 
 paragement and abuse. Hume says 'that he cannot 
 uphold for any length of time a reasonable propriety of 
 thought,' while Voltaire goes so far as to denounce his 
 great tragedy of Hamlet as ' the work of a drunken 
 savage.' Is not this amazing? How is it to be accounted 
 for ? We are not astonished that men of incapacity and 
 ignorance should see no beauty in Shakespeare, for all 
 colours are alike to the blind ; but that a historian like 
 Hume, and a poet like Voltaire, should deliberately 
 record such sentiments as the result of a careful and 
 learned investigation ; this, I say, is only less wonderful 
 than the astonishing genius upon whom they have passed 
 so erroneous a verdict. I do not accuse them of malice, 
 but I must charge them with perversity ; and though my 
 reverence for Shakespeare almost compels me to condemn 
 them as wilful libellers of his fame, yet the respect I feel 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II. 97 
 
 for them on other grounds inclines me to sentmients ot 
 charity, and causes me to prefer the milder opinion that 
 an unusual dulness must have settled upon their faculties, 
 and they came to the study temporarily blind. 
 
 "But there is something worse than disparagement 
 and abuse, and that is indifference and neglect. The 
 depreciation of a few individuals is amply compensated 
 by the worship of the million. But we cannot bestow 
 this comfort on our immortal dramatist. We have a 
 reading public, but it is not Shakespeare that is read. 
 His name is one of the luminaries of the world ; but the 
 world, it is well known, thinks little of its luminaries; 
 goes out to gape at a shower of rockets with frantic 
 delight, but forgets to look up at the stately firmament 
 with its majestic sun and everlasting stars. In fact, the 
 printing press has become a kind of intellectual firework 
 manufactory, from which squibs and crackers and other 
 sparkling and noisy combustibles of the gunpowder 
 species are thrown off day by day in immense profusion ; 
 while the great works which were not manufactured, but 
 created, and which shine like the stars for ever and ever, 
 are lost in the glare of this pyrotechnic display, and abide 
 in their profound and measureless altitudes too vast for 
 our littleness and too pure for our delight. Year after 
 year Shakespeare's volumes become more and more 
 dusty. Only about seven of his thirty-seven plays are 
 known on the stage, and when the seven are spasmodically 
 brought out they are not supported or cared for as they 
 deserve.* I cannot blame you though for not liking 
 them sometimes, when I reflect how they are performed. 
 I am afraid I must be hard on some of my brother actors 
 (though ' cruel only to be kind ') ; but really they seem to 
 imagine our dear Shakespeare must be spoken as 
 humanity never yet spoke (except on the stage), with 
 groans, and gasps, and grunts, and bawling ; — the beau- 
 
 * This paragraph was written in 1 87 1. I am glad to observe 
 now a revival of Shakespearean taste in Mr. Irving's " Hamlet." 
 Whatever may be the critical judgments on his performance, there 
 can be but one opinion asto the thoughtful, care and elevated inten- 
 tit)n which suggested and characterises the whole representation. 
 
 G 
 
98 NOTES TO LECTURE 11. 
 
 tiful, soft words have a hard time of it, and the audience, 
 too, I am inclined to think. No wonder you don't like 
 it. I don't. When we get a school we will reform these 
 things altogether. 
 
 " In relation to this matter, I am reminded of a story : 
 — A robustious, perriwig-pated fellow was tearing a pas- 
 sion to tatters — to very rags — and the needy manager 
 shouted from the side, ' Don't ! don't for goodness sake, 
 or they'll hear you outside, and won't pay to come in ! ' 
 
 "I'm afraid 'dining out' sometimes interferes with 
 poor Shakespeare. The most mifortunate instance I 
 remember occurred in Hamlet. The Ghost waddled on, 
 stuck his truncheon on his breast, and said, ' Mark me.' 
 ' Speak, I am bound to hear.' ' So art thou to (hiccup) 
 when thou shalt hear.' 'What?' 'I am thy father's 
 
 spirits — spirits Prompter, what's the word ? Oh ! 
 
 speak up ; never mind the audience.' The prompter 
 gave him the word — ' Father's Ghost, doomed for a 
 
 certain .' 'All right. I am thy father's Ghost, 
 
 doomed for a certainty .' By this time the audience, 
 
 observing his condition, b^an to hiss. He stepped for- 
 ward and said, ' Ladies and gentlemen, you'd better not 
 do that ; you'll only make it worse.' Then, taking his 
 place again, ' I am thy father's doomed Ghost — doomed 
 for a (hiss). Ladies and gentlemen, I give up the 
 
 Ghost ! ' and he retired amidst general derision." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 The -writer well remembers as a very young youngster 
 going to a I^ondon Baptist chapel one Sunday evening, 
 where it had been announced that Sheridan Knowles, 
 both dramatic author and actor, would preach. How 
 well does he recall the breathless interest and curiosity 
 of the congregation when the old gentleman, who had, 
 in his later days more especially, become very serious 
 and earnest, opened the Bible and read the noble lines 
 in Isaiah, commencing, " Comfort ye, comfort ye, my 
 people, saith the Lord." Knowles read with dramatic effect 
 and well-studied intonation, rolling out the words as though 
 he felt them, in sonorous and solemn tones, varied with 
 passages of great tenderness. Then came the sermon, one 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE II 99 
 
 quite above the writer's head. But he r.;members well 
 that at one juncture, Knowles stopped >hort, and said, 
 slowly and solemnly, "Read your Bibles, — and William 
 Shakspeare." It was a daring act in that somewhat rigid 
 and frigid congregation, and tlie writer sus, lects that not a 
 few thought it flat blasphemy to associate the Book of 
 Books with the immortal works of the great dramatist. 
 
III. 
 
 THE STA-GE, AND THE MORAL & RELIGIOUS 
 SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The social position of the Theatre in England is, to say 
 the least, equivocal, and, in a very considerable degree, 
 gravely objectionable. Both the one and the other are 
 entirely attributable to the attitude taken towards it by 
 the moral and religious, or, to speak more accurately, 
 by the traditionary ecclesiastical, sentiments of society. 
 If the Theatre is ever to win for itself the general social 
 recognition, it must be by reconciling itself to the sound 
 moral and religious sentiments of the community. Now, 
 is this possible ; or is there such an essential and invete- 
 rate antagonism between them that reconciliation is 
 entirely out of the question ? In considering this jjoint, 
 I shall have the opportunity, and shall find it necessary, 
 to give an answer to the question raised in the last dis- 
 course, " What is our duty towards an institution so in- 
 evitable and potential as the Theatre ? " 
 
 It is as curious as it is historical that the Church and 
 the Theatre were not originally in this antagonistic atti- 
 tude towards each other. The first dramas and plays in 
 England, if they did not actually originate in the Church, 
 were at once adopted and monopolised by it. The 
 monasteries furnished the stage, and the clergy the actors. 
 The earliest dramas were the Miracle-plays — the Bible of 
 both Testaments being the most available, and considered 
 the best, repertory of dramatic characters and incidents. 
 The impulse which these Church theatricals gave to 
 Dramatic feeling and taste led to an advance in dramatic 
 
THE STAGE AND SOCIETY. 101 
 
 literature, and the next productions of the playwrights were 
 called the Moralities, in which abstract moral qualities 
 were allegorized by personifications of the several virtues 
 and vices. During the reign of these two species of 
 dramatic composition and stage representation, called^ 
 comprehensively, " The Mysteries," the Clergy were the 
 chief exponents of the histrionic art, and the chief caterers 
 of theatrical entertainments ; and the Church was the 
 chief home of the Stage, and its vestries the green- 
 rooms and wardrobes of its theatrical properties. It is 
 relevant to the purpose of these discourses to recall 
 this historical fact to your remembrance. These primi- 
 tive dramas from the earliest time were not considered 
 to be mere amusements, but were valued for their refining 
 and educational value. The earliest stage, in a much 
 ruder civilisation than ours, was, primarily, an educa- 
 tional institution. It would have been profanity then 
 to speak of theatricals as mere amusement. What a 
 contrast is the religious sentiment now, even when the 
 modern stage, in its art, refinement, morality, and piety, 
 too, differs toto cxlo from that of our distant forefathers ! 
 With our modern theatrical notions of artistic and moral 
 propriety we are unable to refrain a smile, when we are 
 not shocked, at what our ancestors looked so gravely, 
 and received so seriously. Plays were in those days very 
 serious matters indeed. One of the Popes granted an 
 indulgence of a thousand days to every person who would 
 diligently attend them during Whitsun Week. City cor- 
 porations paid the expense of them, as a social and 
 pious obligation, out of the Municipal Exchequer ; and 
 society had its reward for this public spirit and interest in 
 ' the Theatre, for, " rude, and even ridiculous," says 
 Warton, "as these stage representations were, they 
 softened the manners of the people by diverting the 
 public attention to spectacles in which the mind was con- 
 cerned, and by creating a regard for other arts than those 
 of bodily strength and savage valour." 
 
 The following is a theatrical programme for Whitsun 
 week at Chester, with the cast for the several parts of the 
 performance of what vv'as called a Miracle Play : — 
 
102 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 The Creation By the Drapers 
 
 The Deluge By the Dyers 
 
 Abraham, Melchisedek, Lot By the Barbers 
 The Purification ... By the Blacksmiths 
 
 The Last Supper By the Bakers 
 
 The Resurrection By the Skinners 
 
 The Ascension ... ... By the Tailors 
 
 The Moralities were dialogues in which the interlo- 
 cutors represented feigned or allegorical personages. The 
 following is a Morality, entitled "The Condemnation of 
 Feasts, to the Praise of Diet and Sobriety for the Benefit 
 af the Human Body." 
 
 The perils of gormandizing form the present subject. 
 Towards the close is a trial between Feasting and Supper. 
 They are summoned before Experience, the Lord Chief 
 Justice !' Feasting and Supper are accused of having 
 murdered four persons by force of gorging them. Experi- 
 ence condemns Feasting to the Gallows ; and his execu- 
 tioner is Diet. Feasting asks for a father-confessor, and 
 makes a public confession of so many crimes, such nu- 
 merous convulsions, apoplexies, headaches, and stomach- 
 qualms, &c., which he has occasioped, that his executioner, 
 Diet, in a rage, stops his mouth, puts the cord about his 
 neck, and strangles him. Supper is only condemned to 
 load his hands with a-certain quantity of lead to hinder him 
 from putting too many dishes on table ; he is also bound 
 over to remain at the distance of six hours walking from 
 Dinner upon pain of death. Supper felicitates himself on 
 his escape, and swears to observe the mitigated sentence. 
 
 Such was the rage for Mysteries, as these Miracle and 
 Morality Plays were called, that R&e d'Anjou, King 
 »f Naples and Sicily, had them magnificently represented. 
 Being in Provence, and having received letters from his 
 son, the Prince of Calabria, who asked him for an imme- 
 diate aid of men, he replied that " he had a very different 
 matter in hand, for he was fully employed in settling the 
 order of a Mystery, in honour of God."* Even a Chris- 
 
 * See "Curiosities of Literature," vol. i. 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. 1 03 
 
 tian King would, in the fervour of his piety, post]jone the 
 most pressing affairs of State to the arranging and casting 
 of a play " in honour of God ! " 
 
 The relations of the Church and the Theatre have, very 
 plainly, not always been what they are at the present 
 time. How came the change? At a later period, when 
 the perfection of dramatic literatuK had culminated in 
 the Elizabethan drama, and draimatic art was cultivated as 
 a profession, the Stage held the mirror up to nature, not 
 only to nature as an ideal and as it ought to be, but as it 
 was ; it became the reflector of the manners and customs, 
 the foibles and vanities, the peculiarities and tastes of the 
 times. For a season this was entertaining and tolerable, 
 despite its occasional probing point and severity. But 
 when the players betrayed their antipathy to the quaint- 
 nesses and affectations of the nascent religious spirit of 
 the age in the form of Puritanism, and held them up to 
 ridicule and scorn upon the stage, then the Puritan 
 Church, roused by the social influence of the Stage, and 
 writhing under the players' shafts, disavowed the Theatre 
 and denounced the actor. The Theatre and the players, 
 from the Puritan point of view, were hostile and offensive 
 to godliness — Puritanism being the type of godliness — 
 and when the Puritans gained political ascendancy they 
 avenged themselves by closing the theatres and degrading 
 the profession of the actors. This was the origin of the 
 religious, or, rather, ecclesiastical, hostility to the acted 
 drama. 
 
 It was neither more nor less than a personal quarrel, 
 embittered, on the Puritan side, by private pique at the 
 liberties taken with their personal peculiarities and affecta- 
 tions; and avenged, in the same purely personal feeling, 
 when the possession of public power enabled them to 
 indulge their spleen. The collision was an unfortunate, 
 though hardly an avoidable one. The Puritans, by their 
 singularities, made themselves fair objects of the raillery of 
 their times. But, in spite of their singularities, they were 
 an honourable body of sectaries, and claim to be spoken 
 of with more of respect than ridicule. The historian, be 
 his creed and ecclesiastical sympathies what they may, 
 
104 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 must ever consider the Puritans of England amongst 
 the sincerest of her sons and the noblest of her 
 patriots. 
 
 No doubt the schism between the religious feeling o» 
 society and the Stage would have been healed with the 
 decline of the extravagances of Puritanism and the suc- 
 cession of a period of intelligence and pure religious 
 sentiments. But the violence of the Puritans was fol- 
 lowed, after thirteen years' triumph over the Stage, by a 
 mischievous reaction under the pernicious influence of 
 the Court of the Restoration. The morals of society, so 
 long drilled according to Puritan ideas and held in artifi- 
 cial restraint, now, licentiously elastic, became extensively 
 depraved ; and the Stage, faithful to its mirror-function, 
 reflected them, not for censure, but for entertainment 
 and sanction. Society, however, was responsible for 
 this, by moulding the Stage to its own moral tastes and 
 humour. The Theatre provoked a mere sectarian hosti- 
 lity in the days of the Commonwealth, but it merited 
 the hostility of every virtuous mind during the time of 
 the Restoration. Genuine moral and religious feeling 
 revolted from the licentiousness which ran riot on the 
 Stage. The Theatre is at the present time suffering in 
 repute from the still large amount of Puritan leaven — a 
 purely traditional prejudice — in the bosom of modern 
 society. This, however, is gradually diminishing under the 
 influence of the modern intellectual culture and religious 
 enlightenment. It is suffering chiefly from the memory 
 of what it was in the days of Charles II,, and what it ha? 
 been since. It has passed through a long period of 
 moral defilement and debasement, enough to ruin it 
 beyond redemption, and which would have infallibly 
 ruined it, if it were not a vital force that is inextinguish- 
 able, and instinct with qualities and capabilities that 
 naturally fit it for a place and service in society. The 
 Theatre is confessedly not what it was. In some 
 instances it is now as well-conducted and irreproachable 
 as any other recognized social . institution ; but it still 
 carries the reputation of its old righteous conviction, and 
 the taint of sins long ago repented of and forsaken, but 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. I05 
 
 which religious society is so inconsistently slow to acknow- 
 ledge and forgive. 
 
 If this brief sketch is the true rationale of the Theatre's 
 reputation— and nothing more can be said against the 
 acted drama itself — then it would be sufficient to remind 
 you that its abuse and corruption are no valid arguments 
 against it, any more than they are against the Church 
 and Christianity, whose historical development have 
 been infinitely more injurious and even corrupt. But 
 more is said against the Theatre by the religious senti- 
 ment of society. I am relieved from noticing a very 
 forcible and just objection, if it can be substantiated — that 
 the Theatre is the rendezvous of infamy ; because, although 
 this was at one time a true indictment, it cannot now, 
 with any show of justice,, be urged against theatrical . 
 management. That it was for a very long time lament- 
 ably too true cannot be denied; and although it suffices to 
 say that such a prostitution of the Theatre is by no means 
 inevitable in the Theatre itself — as well-conducted 
 houses of the present day abundantly testify— neverthe- 
 less the odour of its old reeking corruption floats about it 
 still, and the memory of what it has been is very difficult 
 to erase. In the Theatrical, as well as in the physical 
 sphere of human life, the sins of the fathers are visited 
 on the children. This may be a natural and necessary 
 law, but it involves no real moral transmission, nor 
 inevitable moral inheritance ; and can never be pointed 
 at as a moral stigma, but only as a physical or circum- 
 stantial consequence, in the natural course of things 
 The simple fact is that the Theatre, quoad hoc, has 
 grievously offended the religious sentiments of society 
 and seriously forfeited its character, and it will no doubt 
 be a work of time before it fully retrieves it. Moral con- 
 fidence is always cautiously tentative and slow ; and the 
 reinstatement of a fallen reputation is only brought about 
 after a long trial of sincerity and a large proof of reforma- 
 tion. To this, no doubt, the Theatre has to submit as the 
 condition of its social recognition and rehabilitation. But 
 it may be suitably suggested, especially to professedly 
 religious people, that it is the part of pure religion to be 
 
I06 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 instinctively quick in its moral discernments, and prompt 
 in its recognition and welcome, of even the faintest signs 
 of improvement ; and that a laggard confidence, and a 
 slow and reluctant return to friendly intercourse, are 
 rather the disfigurements of green-eyed suspicion and a 
 hateful implacability, than the duties and adornments of 
 Christian charity. 
 
 The profession of the player is offensive to the religious 
 sentiment of society. Now, in noticing this objection I 
 shall not think it necessary to notice the Pharisaical 
 impertinences about the personal characters of players 
 in general, and the questionable reputation which some 
 have undoubtedly acquired. No sensible person will 
 afl5rm that the profession of acting and laxity of morals 
 are naturally and indissolubly allied. All other profes- 
 sions, not excluding the preaching profession, have their 
 reprobates as well as the theatrical profession. But I 
 certainly must, as a minister of religion, express my utter 
 amazement that persons, calling themselves Christians, 
 should be guilty of the high sacrilege of robbing a con- 
 siderable section of their fellow-citizens of their reputa- 
 tion, and ruthlessly exposing what is so sacred to the 
 general contempt and odium. Is it not written, " Thou 
 shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour " ? and 
 are you not guilty of bearing false witness when, on your 
 own showing, you have no personal acquaintance with 
 the Theatre and the theatrical profession ? In the name 
 of all that is sacred, how dare you have an opinion even, 
 to say nothing of expressing an opinion, on the moral 
 character of actors and actresses ? I stand amazed at 
 the sanctimonious conceit and scandalous temerity which 
 presume to judge other persons' characters without the 
 least personal knowledge, and with even still less charity. 
 " Charity thinketh no evil," and a mighty multitude of 
 the professors of the religion of charity are thinking e\'il 
 continually of the professors of an art about which they 
 know absolutely nothing, but which they have been 
 accustomed to hear villified by their preachers, as crassly 
 ignorant and basely prejudiced as themselves ! I call 
 this broadcast defamation of character simply diabolical, 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. 107 
 
 notwithstanding the chief sowers of it are self-satisfied 
 saints of the pulpit and the pew. My notions of the 
 actor's art are, that it is an engrossingly busy one, and 
 needs sound health of body and mind ; and these are 
 very high presumptions of personal moral excellence, and 
 very solid grounds for crediting the acting profession with 
 everything to its personal honour and untarnished repute. 
 I pass this by. 
 
 That women should adopt the profession is very 
 severely censured as, at least, a great outrage on the 
 modesty becoming their sex. Now, if we consider the 
 case of female players calmly and justly, I think all we 
 can say is this, that their oiTence, if it be really an offence, 
 is one of taste and feeling, or it may be of necessity, 
 certainly not of morals. Women appear prominently in 
 the public walks of literature and art, they are allowed 
 to step on the platform and in the pulpit without moral 
 offence, why not on the stage ? The whole of their sin 
 is publicity ; for, that they perform with the other sex on 
 the stage will scarcely be alleged against them but by the 
 sickliest of masculine and feminine prudes, when women 
 in all ranks of society are every day performing in moral 
 reality with the other sex the very same things, and main- 
 taining actually the very same relations, as those that are 
 histrionically exhibited on the stage. 
 
 How the Stage is to hold the mirror up to nature 
 without reflecting woman-nature, and without woman 
 taking her place in the acting profession, is not easy to 
 understand. There always seems to me to be a moral 
 indelicacy of thought, and an offensive pruriency of feel- 
 ing in the mock modesty which forbids to woman a public 
 place and public action. It is not the virtuous objection 
 of Western purity, but the ill-disguised animalism of 
 Oriental sensuality. The artifices oi privacy — the harem, 
 the veil, and the fan — are not necessarily the outward 
 signs, and actual concealments, of virtue. 
 
 Women mimic in public what they and all their sisters, 
 censors and all, do really in private life. Men and 
 women live and act together in life, they appear and act 
 together on the stage : the difference is one of publicity j 
 
100 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 and, mark you, it is not the public, but the private acting 
 that betrays the vicious taint. I do not conceal from 
 myself that there are details of women's acting, histrionic 
 and real, open to censure, but then they are open to cor- 
 rection too ; and there, for the present, I leave this 
 prudishly fastidious question of sex,Yully confident that 
 when society itself is really virtuous and pure, and when 
 the Theatre takes its proper position in society, these 
 details will be instinctively considered on both sides of tlie 
 curtai7i, and satisfactorily adjusted. 
 
 Now, what is the objection to the profession of the 
 actor ? It is considered a profession of triviality and 
 idle amusement, unworthy the seriousness and necessary 
 practical earnestness of human life. All persons, even 
 philosophical and morally serious persons, are not of this 
 opinion. For example, Wordsworth, speaking of the 
 Theatre in his " Prelude," says : 
 
 "Need I fear 
 To mention by its name, as in degi-ee 
 Lowest of these and humblest in attempt, 
 Yet richly graced with honours of her own, 
 Half rural Sadler's Wells ? * * « 
 * * * Here more than once 
 Taking my seat, I saw (nor blush to add. 
 With ample reconzpense) giants and dwarfs, 
 Clowns, conjurors, posture-masters, harlequins. 
 Amid the uproar of the rabblement, 
 Perform their feats. Nor was it mean delight 
 To watch crude Nature work in untaught minds." 
 
 To the actor himself his professional duties are by no 
 means trivial; and if any regard his impersonations as 
 idle amusements, he, at least, can only take up his his- 
 trionic assumptions as the result of severe intellectual 
 study and unremitting hard work. Probably no profes- 
 sion imposes so severe a strain on the mind and nerves as 
 that of the actor. Triviality, idleness, mere amusement, are 
 most inappropriate' epithets to apply to the actor's art, 
 and can only be ignorantly cast at the player by those 
 who thus ignorantly think of the Stage and its occupa- 
 tions. The acting profession is as defensible — and for 
 virtually the same reasons — as the profession of the poet, 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. I09 
 
 the painter, and the sculptor. Are they not all imitators 
 and interpreters of nature? The poet embodies his 
 imitation in language, the painter in form and colour on 
 the canvas, the sculptor in the hewn stone, the actor in 
 impersonation. They all have a common aim, and only 
 differ from one another in the means they employ. Why 
 should three of these professions be held in honour and 
 one in shame ? Why should three be dignified and pure, 
 and the fourth contemptible and profane ? They are all 
 artists — imitators of nature, idealists, creators — working 
 in one and the same spirit, and for identical objects. 
 Why make any invidious distinction between them ? If 
 one is trivial — an idler, literally and emphatically a mere 
 player and minister to amusement — because he aims to 
 interpret and idealize nature, so are they all. If their 
 art survives them in substantial productions of their 
 genius, and his depends on his personal presence and 
 perishes with him, then so much the nobler his devotion 
 to his art, and he richly earns the compensation which 
 he gets of immediate and more powerful influence, and 
 immediate and louder applause. Because it is in the 
 very nature of the actor's art to perish with his imperso- 
 nation, it does not follow that his art is without profes- 
 sional distinction, and that he does not exert a more 
 than immediate and evanescent personal influence. The 
 meteor has a mission, and is very magnificent, though it 
 is but for a moment. Even human life itself, in all its 
 dignities, interests, and achievements, is but a vanishing 
 show 
 
 " Out, out, brief candle 1 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor player, 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, 
 And then is heard no more : it is a tale 
 ■ Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, 
 Signifying nothing." 
 
 Sj^eaking of these sister arts, the poet Campbell 
 says : — 
 
 " For ill can Poetry express 
 
 Full many a tone of thought sublime ; 
 And Painting, mute and motionless, 
 Steals but a glance of time. 
 
no THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AlID 
 
 13ul by the mighty Actor brought, 
 
 inusioii's perfect triumphs come ; 
 Verse ceases to be airy thought. 
 
 And Sculpture to be dumb." 
 
 The religious sentiment has something further to say 
 in the way of objection to the stage. It depicts folly 
 and vanity, buffoonery, and even vice. This is only 
 saying that the Stage " holds, as 'twere, the mirror up to 
 nature ; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own 
 image, and the very age and body of the time his form 
 and pressure." This is precisely "the purpose of play- 
 ing." As a portrait without shadows would be undistin- 
 guishable as a likeness, so human life delineated on its 
 virtuous side only would be false to the reality. 
 
 " Virtuous and vicious every man must be. 
 Few in the extreme, but all in the degree ; 
 The rogue and fool, by fits, is fair and vi^ise. 
 And e'en the best, by fits, what they despise." 
 
 Art cannot dispense with shadows, and virtue cannot 
 be divorced from vice, either in moral fact or mimetic 
 fiction. The poet, as Wordsworth shows, must mark the 
 shadows as well as the painter. 
 
 "if I oft 
 Must turn elsewhere — to travel near the tribes 
 And fellowships of men, and see ill sights 
 Of madding passions mutually inflamed ; 
 May these," he says, 
 ' ' Have their authentic coiimient. " 
 
 The player, as Hamlet ironically says of himself, would 
 be " too much i' the sun " to be true to the life and 
 tolerable to his audience, if he himself had no motes 
 and flaws in his person, and the shadows of folly and 
 vice never fell across his path. Dr. Johnson, severe 
 moralist as he was, says, "For what is there in the 
 mingled drama which impartial reason can condemn ? 
 The connection of important with trivial incidents, since 
 it is not only common, but perpetual in the world, may 
 surely be allowed upon the Stage, which pretends only 
 to be the mirror of life. ... Is it not certain that the 
 tragic and comic affections have been moved alternately 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. Ill 
 
 with equal force ; and that no plays have oftener filled 
 the eyes with tears, and the breast with palpitation, than 
 those which are variegated with interludes of mirth?"*" 
 Fools and buffoons, intriguers and villains of all dyes 
 and degrees, are, unfortunately, facts of nature, and if 
 these features of character are fit themes for the measures 
 of the poet, and the homilies of the preacher in the 
 pulpit, I see not how they can be unfit for the imper- 
 sonation of the actor on the Sta;ge. If folly and vice 
 strut their hour on the stage without any concealment or 
 extenuation, they, at least, appear what they are, and 
 constrain a verdict according to their desert. We are 
 not decoyed and betrayed by the vicious impersona- 
 tions of the Stage as we too commonly are in the 
 experiences of real life. The actor on the Slage is not 
 like the actor in social life;. he does not cheat us into 
 admiration and reliance by a loo successful dissembling 
 of his villainy, but imparts to us the secret of himself in 
 early and repeated side confidences that we may know, 
 and loathe him as the villain he is. It is not the mimic 
 Stage but the social Stage whose acting is degrading and 
 defiling. There is not often m rsil life, but there is 
 always on the Stage what is called poetical justice, a very 
 necessary moral expedient of dramatic art to save us 
 from the danger of wrong conclusions and false admira- 
 tions. This poetical justice is the dramatist's and player's 
 method of showing what the preacher calls the applica- 
 tion and improvement of the subject. It is the neces- 
 sary sequel, and conies artistically out of the necessary 
 rapidity, condensation, and completeness of the plot. 
 But it is more than a creation of art ; it is the dramatist's 
 and player's homage to the conscience of society, .which 
 demands from the drama and the Stage, what it looks 
 for in its life experiences — a wise and virtuous moral 
 discrimination, and a fair and equitable moral adjust- 
 ment. If the poet and the preacher may 
 
 ' ' Expatiate free o'er all this scene of .man ; 
 A mighty maze ! but not without a plan ; 
 
 * Rambler, No. 156. 
 
112 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous slioot, 
 Or garden tempting with forbidden fruit : " 
 
 "Why should the actor be denied the same freedom ? Let 
 us be just to him ; nay, more, let us be grateful to him 
 for the wonderful skill and force of his impersonations, 
 and joyfully accept his invitation when he says, — 
 
 "Together let us beat this ample field, 
 Try what the open, what the covert yield ; 
 The latent tracts, the giddy heights, explore 
 Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar ; 
 Eye Nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies. 
 And catch the manners living as they rise," 
 
 One more indictment of the Stage I am bound to notice. 
 It is alleged against it that the boards are frequently 
 defiled by exhibitions of indecency. I presume the ballet 
 is more particularly alluded to in this censure. On this 
 subject I will say something more when I come to con- 
 sider the relations of the Stage and the State. I will only 
 say here on the imputation of indecency that, whatever 
 its nature may be, it is all public^ enacted in the glare of 
 a thousand lights, and in the presence of thousands of 
 eyes. It cannot, one would conclude, be very shameless, 
 or the lookers-on must be very shameful indeed. It 
 should suffice to say that the very publicity of so-called 
 Theatrical indecencies is a security against their offensive 
 excess, and an arres* of their demoralising influence. In 
 the face of this indictment one is forcibly reminded of 
 the indignant rebuke, " Thou hypocrite ! cast out first 
 the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see 
 clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother's eye," 
 for the prosecutor of the Stage is, in this instance, not 
 the general public, but the Church. Now I will ask — 
 Are there no indelicacies in general Church allowances 
 and arrangements, that this vulture-eyed keenness of vision 
 for the corrupt may be indulged with so much self-com- 
 placency? Are there no clerical intrusions into the 
 sanctities of delicate privacies, — no wooings of delicate 
 spiritual confidences, even when there is no acknowledged 
 Confessional and no adoption of such a manual of 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. II^ 
 
 insidious lechery as " The Priest in Absolution "? Do 
 so-called Evangelicals, in contrast with Anglicans and 
 Roman Catholics, never listen to agitated confidences 
 which are perilously intimate, and never give counsel 
 which costs a ghostly blush ? Everything in the Church 
 is profoundly secret and private, while everything on the 
 Stage is conspicuously public. What occurs on the boards 
 of a theatre you see and know, but not even a third 
 person is admitted to the spiritual confidences of the 
 Church. I will dare to affirm that there are more 
 insidious moral dangers in Church allowances than in 
 Theatrical performances. " The Priest in Absolution " 
 may be the manual of an ecclesiastical order, but that 
 such a book should come out of the bosom of the 
 Church is something more than a straw to show which 
 way the Church wind blows, and what kind of atmo- 
 sphere seems to be incident to Church life. 
 
 I have said that the actor's art may be justified on the 
 very same grounds that we justify the art of the poet, the 
 painter, and the preacher. Now let me remind you of a: 
 still closer resemblance between the functions of the 
 player and the preacher. The worth of preaching as a 
 social institution is not its defence and dissemination of 
 sectarian dogma ; but its power and privilege of dealing 
 directly and closely with the facts and feelings of human 
 character and life, This function of preaching increases 
 in social worth with the progress of civilization and 
 refinement. Even the most cultured and fastidiously 
 polite, who instinctively shrink from spiritual confidences 
 and demonstrativeness, will permit the preacher in the 
 pulpit to come as close as he pleases, and as he may be 
 able, to their spiritual feelings and experiences. He violater; 
 no canon of social propriety, and invades no personal 
 sanctity, when he addresses himself most searchingly to 
 the conscience and most intimately to the heart. To none 
 but the most intimate friend is this privilege conceded in 
 the intercourses of life ; acquaintanceship confers no title 
 to it ; society would be startled and painfully shocked by 
 its assumption ; but the preacher claims it as his function, 
 and society concedes it to him in the great interests oi 
 
 H 
 
114 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND 
 
 morals and religion. Now, the player shares this privi- 
 lege with the preaiGher,, and uses it with a power beyond 
 that which the most eloquent preacher can command. 
 The audience in the theatre look for precisely the same 
 searching and intimate deaUng with themselves as the 
 congregation do in the church. And they have what 
 they look for with all the point and fidelity of the highest 
 arti.stic delineation. They see all the subtleties and 
 subterfuges o,f moral feeling and conduct ; all the 
 deUcacifis and depths of refined and passionate feeling ; 
 gJJ tjhe expectancies and yearnings of every variety of 
 n^t.ural affection ; all the dreads and repellancies of 
 natural revulsion, and fear." They see the moral con- 
 trasts; of character, broadly defined and boldly conflicting 
 with each other ; and the: most delicate internmture of 
 the widest moral extremes, — 
 
 " Tliough each, by turns, the other's bound invade, 
 As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade, 
 And oft so mix, the difference is too nice 
 Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice." 
 
 The actor is allowed, all this, and is capable of it to a 
 degree which is unapproachable by preacher, painter, or 
 poet. The Stage and the player stand apart and pre- 
 eminent in their force of vivid impression, their minute- 
 ness and delicacy of moral detailj their influence over 
 the sentiments and the passions, and their truly imperial 
 sway over all the int^iUectual and moral, the rational and 
 emotional contents of humanity. 
 
 It would seem, then, that the Theatre and the actors 
 make out a valid tjtle for their existence and social 
 recognition. They put in the plea that they have a 
 natural function and an undeniable social service. It 
 stands against them, that they have abused their function 
 and seriously conrpromised their social service. They 
 adroit tlie impeachment, and reply, in arrest of an indis- 
 criminate and inequitable sentence against them, — that 
 "tO! err is, human and to forgive divine;" and that, as 
 sins, against', God are always mercifully remitted, sins 
 £^g.aiust a society that claims to be godly caimot be 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. 1 15 
 
 indelible and unpardonable. This is their case. We 
 come now to something that has been reserved to the 
 sequel of this discourse. Probably, I cannot conceit 
 myself that you have forgotten the promised answer to 
 the question, as Marc Antony could when, addressing the 
 Romans over the murdered body of Caesar, he said, 
 "You have forgot the will I told you of;" and, possibly, 
 when I give you the answer it may not work in you any 
 corresponding reaction of judgment and feeling; but 
 here is my answer, founded on the best consideration I 
 am able to give to this subject, and frankly communicated 
 in the desire to be just to the Theatre and' the Theatrical 
 profession, and in behalf of what appears to me to be 
 the best interests of society. 
 
 The question is, " What is our duty towards an institu- 
 tion so inevitable and potential as the Theatre ? " I must 
 ask you to give all the emphasis to these two words 
 " inevitable " and " potential " which fact and truth 
 demand. The Theatre will come up and maintain its 
 existence in civilization. The history of civilization has 
 proved that it is indestructible. Give to this fact all its 
 proper weight. That it is potential, is equally indis- 
 putable. Schlegel, writing on the fascination and 
 force of theatrical entertainments, says : " The Theatre, 
 where the whole of the social and artistic enlightenment 
 which a nation possesses, the fruit of many centuries of 
 continued exertion are brought into play within the 
 representation of a few short hours, has an extraordinary 
 charm for every age, sex, and rank, and has ever been the 
 favourite amusement of every cultivated people. Here 
 princes, statesmen, and generals behold the great events 
 of past times, similar to those in which they themselves 
 are called upon to act, laid open in their inmost springs 
 and motives ; here, too, the philosopher finds subject for 
 profoundest reflection on the nature and constitution of 
 man ; with curious eye the artist follows the groups which 
 pass rapidly before him, and from them impresses on his 
 fancy the ger'ms;of many a future picture ; the susceptible 
 youth opens his heart to every elevating ffeeling ; age 
 becomes young again in recollection ; even childhood sits 
 
 H 2 
 
Il6 THE STAGE, AND THE MORAL AND. 
 
 with anxious expectation before the gaudy curtain, which 
 is soon to be drawn up with its rustling sound, and to 
 display to it so many unknown wonders. All alike are 
 diverted, all exhilarated, and all feel themselves, for a 
 time, raised above the daily cares, the troubles, and the 
 sorrows of life." Now, is not this a true statement of the 
 fascination of the theatre, and must it not for this reason 
 be potential for good or evil ? Your reply cannot be other 
 than affirmative. Then it is plain that society has a duty 
 towards itself, and this duty cannot be discharged by 
 turning the back on the Theatre, but by turning the face 
 towards, and dealing with it. Perhaps you say this is 
 done, as sufficiently and effectually as it can be done, by 
 the State censorship and the dramatic criticisms of the 
 press. I answer that both historical fact and present 
 experience prove that they are neither sufficient nor 
 effectual. Society, in all its individuals, must be its own 
 censor and critic. What, do you recommend us all to go 
 to the theatre ? How, let me reply, can you criticise and 
 pronounce upon what you have neither seen nor heard ? 
 But, before I give a categorical answer to your question, 
 let me put an equally straightforward and emphatic ques- 
 tion to you. Are you, as morally sensitive and conscien- 
 tious persons, prepared to leave the Theatre to take its 
 own course and go its own way, utterly regardless of its 
 great-social influence for good or evil ? There is but one 
 alternative presented to you. Either you must do nothing, 
 or do something. If your reUgion and citizenship forbid 
 you to do nothing, then what practical and potential 
 something can you do but go yourselves to the theatre ? 
 You will go there on Sunday, why not on Monday ? I do 
 not forget the proverb about comparisons, but I will ven- 
 ture to say that many a sermon in the theatre on Sunday 
 is a much less beautiful and wholesome thing than many 
 a Drama on the other days of the week. Yes, I would 
 have you go to the Theatre, and for another reason of still 
 greater weight. The presence of the religious and virtuous 
 element of society in the Theatre is absolutely necessary 
 to save it from deterioration and mischie^'ous moral 
 influence. Why is the Theatre in the unsatisfactory state 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. I17 
 
 in which, to some extent, it even still is, but because the 
 very large majority of its patrons regard it solely as a place 
 of mere amusement, and are either indifferent or lenient 
 towards its moral offences. Multitudes go to the Theatre 
 prepared to be amused by trifles and not to take offence 
 at moral liberties. Dramatists know this, and so do 
 managers and actors, and they cater accordingly. They 
 say. We must " please to live," and, therefore, we " live 
 to please." Now, if a fair proportion of people of taste, 
 and culture, and reiined moral sensibilities was known to 
 be nightly before the curtain, would it not have an 
 immense influence for good on all professionally con- 
 cerned in the Theatre ? If; as is quite true, all theatrical 
 persons must "please" in order to make a livelihood, 
 then how, in every way, desirable it is that they should 
 have the very best kind of audiences, that they may "live to 
 please " the very best kind of people. Remember, the 
 Stage, in its intellectual and moral tastes, the quality of 
 its performances, and all its environments, must, and 
 will ever be, what its patrons decide it shall be. Society, 
 in every generation, makes the Theatre, and is responsible 
 for what the Theatre is. And when I say " society," I 
 include the negative, as well as the positive, portions of 
 society — those who are hostile or indifferent, as well as 
 those who patronise the Stage. 
 
 Think you that the British Stage would be deluged 
 with the trivialities and worse prurient adaptations from 
 the French, and the national drama, ancient and 
 modern, be, comparatively, so much neglected, if culture 
 and conscience gave their support to it ? Why does 
 Shakespeare not pay as an acted drama ? Surely not 
 only because of the great pecuniary cost of its mounting, 
 for no expense is grudged now for appropriate stage 
 scenery, dress, and decoration ; but because the taste 
 and culture capable of appreciating it do not, on 
 account of moral and religious scruples, support it with 
 their presence. If I had the power I would send all 
 educated and religious people to the Theatre. Instead 
 of opening theatres on Sunday to preach mere dogmatic 
 religion and to fish for sectarian converts with theatrical 
 
Il8 THE STAGE, AND THE MOEAL AND 
 
 bait, I would send the thousands of the best of our 
 religious congregations openly and interestedly to swell 
 the audiences of the theatres on week evenings. The 
 influence of their presence would be to make dramatists, 
 actors, and managers more discriminating and conscien- 
 tious. Their united concern for the success of a play 
 would, as a natural result, have more conscientious moral 
 thought and feeling in it. A dramatist or an actor would 
 not dare to make a "hit" by bruising a proper delicacy' 
 and wounding a virtuous sensibility. The drama that 
 perpetrated this social affront would be doomed the first 
 night ; and the actor hissed indignantly for his hardi- 
 hood, would hardly dare to reappear on the stage until 
 he had made ample apology. Under such a censorship 
 of the Stage this part of the Lord Chamberlain's func- 
 tions would be abolished as superfluous; and the 
 dramatic critics of the press would find abundant occu- 
 pation in defining and defending true dramatic art 
 against what might then be a false taste and delicacy 
 in the expectations and exactions of a scrupulously 
 severe audience. They would have a larger sphere of 
 wholesome moral instruction and judicious art criticism 
 than merely criticising the work of the dj amatists and the 
 performances of the actors. I have no hope for the 
 rehabilitation of the Theatre itself, and for the social 
 benefits which it is capable of conferring so long as the best 
 portion of society withhold their interest in, and their 
 patronage from it. I will, venture to tell you religious 
 people especially, that the very things of the Theatre 
 and its associations which offend you, you yourselves are 
 in no small measure responsible for. You wrap your- 
 selves up in a mantle of moral indifference and com- 
 placently think yourselves patterns of religious propriety ; 
 but in so doing you are, in fact, neglecting a great social 
 duty by withholding your personal influence where it is 
 eminently needed. You are very gravely mistaken if 
 you think that all the privilege of virtuous censorship is 
 on your side ; the Stage and the actors can make out a 
 very strong case of moral and religious censure against 
 you. What kind of music would be in your concert 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS OF SOCIETY. 1 15 
 
 rooms ? what kind of pictures would hang on the walls 
 of youi^ Royal Academy ? what kind of oratory would 
 be heard in the Legislature of your country ? What kind 
 of 'preaching and worship would you have in youir 
 churches — if taste, refinement, and high moral feeling 
 were to stand aloof from these social interests and obli- 
 gations ? Can refinement and virtue neglect the 'Stage, 
 and the Theatre not deteriorate ? The Stage character- 
 istically, by its very reason, functions, and aims, appeals 
 to the culture, social refinemertt, and moral tone of the 
 community; is this appeal nothing to you as religious 
 men amd women ? Again, I remind you that the 
 Theatre is aii inevitable and indestructible social fact 
 and force; neglect it and society suffers from the negledt; 
 recognize and respect it and you raise it into a beautiful 
 and beneficent institution. In my last discourse I put a 
 question to myself; in this, I put a question to you — 
 "The Theatre claims your consideration and action; 
 how will you think about, and act towards it ? " You 
 cannot be neutral in the view of this great social fact. 
 You are morally and religiously bound to think and act. 
 I leave you for the present on the horns of a dilemma. 
 
 I am confident I may presume to think that no member 
 of the theatrical profession will impute impertinence to 
 me, if, after these utterances, I just say a word or two to 
 the Profession itself 
 
 I may seem to flatter you, but I verily believe that 
 your charity will make a more liberal allowance for the 
 prevalence of the traditionary prejudice against your art 
 than mine, I fear, has done. Very likely you pity it 
 quite as much, perhaps more, than you despise it. 
 Unreasonable and pernicious as such prejudice is, it 
 is in part excusable because it is educational, and 
 necessarily comes out of narrowed circumstances and 
 associations. But if it should happen that you feel as 
 strongly as I do against this vulgar inheritance of reli- 
 gious hostility, I am quite sure you respect, quite as 
 much as I wish to do, the genuine religious sentiments of 
 society. Permit me to say that it is of very great conse- 
 quence to the commendation of your art that you should 
 
120 THE STAGE AND SOCIETY. 
 
 be very demonstrative in this respect. You yourselves can 
 do much to conciliate the public respect and esteem for 
 the Theatre as the home of the Drama, and for your 
 profession as an honourable and legitimate art. Mag- 
 nify both, I beseech you, not only by the cultivation of 
 your literary taste and the enthusiasm of your profes- 
 sional devotion, but also by the delicacy, of your moral 
 conscientiousness and the sensitiveness of your personal 
 self respect. So much before the public eye you are 
 necessarily the " observed of all observers ; " compel the 
 homage of the purest moral feelings of your audience, 
 as earnestly and successfully as you conquer their admi- 
 ration and even their affection. You will need no 
 apologists then in the pulpit or anywhere else ; the 
 reasonable moral and religious sentiments of society 
 will be abundantly satisfied, and the schism between 
 society and the Stage will be healed. Pardon my intru- 
 sion behind the curtain, but as my present subject is the 
 Stage and the moral and religious sentiments of society, 
 it is a subject for serious consideration on both sides of 
 the curtain. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE HI, 
 
 Professor Blackie, late in 1876, addressed the students 
 of the third Greek Class of the University of Edinburgh 
 in the following trenchant and vigorous language. He 
 said : — " The special case of Aristophanes and the Greek 
 comedy, with the revel of wanton licence which character- 
 ized it, leads me to say a word or two generally on the 
 connection betwixt morality and stage plays, or the 
 Church and the Theatre. Last Saturday, from a con- 
 catenation of causes, which it concerns no man. to know, 
 I found myself in the singular position of having been 
 twice at the theatre in the same day ; and on reviewing 
 my conduct at night, according to the pious Pythagorean 
 precept, before I said my prayers, I found that I had 
 done nothing ot which I had any cause to repent, but 
 something rather of which I should look back with 
 thoughtful satisfaction all the days of my life ; and when 
 I state that the two plays which I witnessed on that day 
 were Hamlet and The Bells, in both of which the prin- 
 cipal parts were sustained by that singularly chaste, pure, 
 and finely-feeling tragedian, Mr, Irving, no person, I am 
 convinced, who ever witnessed his performances will 
 have the least difficulty in comprehending the cause of 
 my satisfaction. But whether assisted by the chastely 
 suggestive action of Mr. Irving or not, what I wish to 
 call attention to at present is, that these two pieces are 
 both of a highly moral character and a profoundly 
 religious significance ; and they were listened to by large 
 and crowded houses with a breathless attention and a 
 devout sympathy that I have seldom seen surpassed in 
 any congregation of Christians listening to the most 
 eloquent discourse. It is plain, therefore, that the 
 modern stage — of whose deterioration and degradation 
 
122 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 we have heard so much — is still, on some occasions at 
 least, and in the hands of certain persons, performing 
 nobly its proper function — exhibited so grandly in the 
 ancient Greek tragedy — as practically a pulpit from 
 which the most profound moral truths are taught, in a 
 manner at once the most natural, the most attractive, 
 and the most effective ; and unless it can be shown that 
 the eagerness with which the people run after such 
 representations as those I have mentioned is altogether 
 exceptive, I really do not see how clergymen or any 
 other persons can be justified in condemning wholesale, 
 as they sometimes do, the present state gjid condition of 
 the noblest form of intellectual recreation ever invented 
 by man. I am no great theatre-goer ; but when I did 
 happen — elsewhere, or specially in London — to see the 
 piece which had enjoyed the popular run of the season, 
 I did not find that it was a particularly immoral piece, or 
 an immoral piece at all, but sometimes rather a highly 
 moral and extremely evangelical piece, as this very play of 
 The Bells, and another called Leah, of which the dramatic 
 motive lies in the characteristically gospel virtue of the 
 forgiveness of injuries. I have rarely met with even 
 immoral insinuations in popular plays, much less with 
 essentially immoral plots. On the contrary, I have 
 generally found the floor of the stage occupied by innocent 
 and amusing pictures of amusing manners, such as fill the 
 pages of Thackeray and that great philosopher, Mr. Punch 
 (the true British Aristophanes), or pathetic stories of human 
 suffering, generally springing out of human folly or sin, 
 the contemplation of which could scarcely fail to have a 
 good moral effect on every sound-hearted spectator. I 
 have much oftener felt the gracious tear-drops of human 
 sympathy and devout pity drawn from my eyes by the 
 vivid impersonations of the stage than by the most 
 fervid appeals of eloquence ever delivered from a 
 Scottish pulpit. So far, therefore, as my experience 
 goes — and I have no reason to imagine that I am 
 singular — that class of persons, whether clergy or laymen, 
 who are fond to indulge in declamations against the 
 modern stage, are very far from being altogether in the 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 1 23 
 
 right; rather, according to my feeling, so far in the 
 wrong that, if I were to use the language which flows 
 with such familiar denunciation from their lips, I should 
 consider myself guilty of a great slander against the 
 public, and a gross libel against a most respectable class 
 of ray fellow-citizens, for which, as a Christian and a 
 gentleman, I should consider myself bound to make an 
 ample apology. But there are not a few amongst the 
 clergy with more sense and gentlemanly feeling than those 
 of whom I have been speaking, who content themselves 
 with saying that in general there is nothing particularly 
 bad or immoral in stage plays ; nay, that they are generally 
 good in their tendency, at least innocent, but that the 
 modern stage, through an unhealthy tradition, has 
 become the nucleus round which all moral corruption 
 naturally gathers, and they solemnly advise young men 
 (and old men, too, I suppose) never to enter a place where 
 it is impossible to avoid the contagion of bad company. 
 Now, in reference to this charge also, I wish to give my 
 testimony most emphatically, that neither in Edinburgh, 
 nor in London, nor in Berlin, nor in Weimar, nor in 
 Vienna, nor in Rome, nor in Naples— in all which places, 
 and a score of others, I have, at different periods of my 
 life, witnessed theatrical exhibitions — did I ever meet 
 with bad company in any peculiar sense, either when 
 sitting within the Theatre or when going out of it ; I say 
 in any .peculiar sense, because a man who moves in the 
 world must meet with bad company, in the general 
 sense, everywhere. I have met with bad 'company, and 
 what I call low company — that is, the company of persons 
 with low and sordid ideas, and sentiments that stunk in 
 my nostrils — at the tables sometimes of purse-proud 
 citizens, making an ambitious display of unintellec'tual 
 gullet luxuries and belly dainties, or even on the more 
 elevated platform of big dinners given by the would-be 
 gentihties and the genteel vulgarities of the West End. I 
 have also been more than once unhappily side by side 
 with the most low and coarse and beastly companions in 
 the saloon of the lona steamboat during the week of the 
 Glasgow fair. I have not seldom likewise had to resist 
 
124 NOTES TO LECTURE III, 
 
 the seductive solicitations of bad company in female 
 guise, some thirty years ago, when my hair was not white, 
 returning from a dinner party or other social meeting, and 
 walking quietly along the street, in search of my own 
 respectable domicile, at an hour considerably before mid- 
 night ; but I never did meet with bad company in any 
 sense when seated either in the pit rows or the boxes of 
 any Theatre in Europe. The fact of the matter is, gen- 
 tlemen, that not only with regard to the Theatre, but with 
 regard to the matter of public amusements generally, the 
 clergy of this country have put themselves in a false posi- 
 tion, and they must wheel right about if they mean to do 
 any good. The idea of stamping out amusements — and 
 especially such an intellectual and morally noble amuse 
 ment as the Theatre — is ridiculous." 
 
 * » 
 Mr. Ham's remarks on the personal character of actors 
 and the " Pharisaical impertinence " of many so-called 
 Christians, who assert all kinds of things about them, 
 are certainly dignified and to the point. The fact is, 
 that the personal character of actors or actresses has 
 nothing whatever to do with the subject. You would 
 rather, no doubt, that your doctor, your lawyer, and your 
 favourite parson were as (should be) Caesar's wife, 
 "above suspicion ;" but you don't hesitate to employ the 
 former and listen to the latter, although you are aware of 
 their foibles. Your doctor, partly by his medicines, but 
 more by his kind and soothing words, restored your wife 
 to health when hope was nearly gone. Unfortunately 
 he has a great weakness for gambling, and you know that 
 when the " Oaks " and the " Derby" days come round 
 he will be unavoidably taken into the country. In all 
 else he is that which could be wished, and you take his 
 counsels. Your lawyer is both handsome and eloquent ; 
 he saved your case, and you still employ him, although 
 it is more than hinted he is in private life an unprincipled 
 libertine. Your parson is given to the pleasures of the 
 table (or his nose and his toes sadly belie him) ; but, his 
 words of holy comfort once saved you from despair, 
 when the whole world around looked black and gloomy. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. I25 
 
 Regard, then, the actor in the same Hght : he both 
 amuses and instructs you : even if not always a saint, 
 
 forgive — and pray for him. 
 
 * 
 * « 
 
 The writer would leave the subject entirely alone, but 
 
 there are some very grave misconceptions prevalent 
 
 among Christian people. One is that the actor is almost 
 
 invariably dissipated and leads a loose kind of life. The 
 
 longevity attained by the profession would point to a 
 
 different conclusion. Gallantry would prevent us asking 
 
 the ages of the old ladies of the profession ; but Messrs. 
 
 Buckstone, Webster, and Charles Matthews are " Men 
 
 of the Times," and as such, their ages are known. Mr. 
 
 Buckstone is 76 ; Mr. Webster, 78 ; and Mr. Matthews, 
 
 75 ; Comp ton's age was 70. May you all live as long, 
 
 gentle readers ! In almost any theatrical company you 
 
 will find two or three well preserved men, often of very 
 
 antique appearance off the stage, whatever they may be 
 
 on it. A friend who has made the matter a study of 
 
 "general averages," says that lawyers are the longest 
 
 livers, actors come next, and clergymen third on the list. 
 
 The fact is that the hard work of the profession leaves 
 
 little time as a rule for dissipation. The writer knows 
 
 intimately a lady still playing on the American stage 
 
 who is over eighty years of age, and constantly studies 
 
 new parts. An English actress and equestrienne, Miss 
 
 Bannister (Mrs. AVilson), of ninety years of age, died the 
 
 other day. Mrs. Garrick died at a still greater age. Mr. 
 
 W. A. Donaldson, who died recently, made his debiU 
 
 more than sixty years ago. 
 
 * 
 *. * 
 
 " Actors are extravagant and improvident." From you, 
 Christian reader, " liberal to a fault," or something of 
 that modified nature, would come better. They are cer- 
 tainly not the only people to whom your censure would 
 apply, nor is the writer certain that it applies specially to 
 them at all. A good story like the well-known one about to 
 be related, goes the rounds of the press, and is retailed 
 by ten thousand mouths, and serious people think 
 (Heaven forgive them) that the whole profession is tarred 
 
126 NOTES TO LECTURE III- 
 
 with the same brush. A ■ B — — , a well-known actor, 
 
 was once before a commissioner in bankruptcy, under- 
 going examination, and that learned functionary rated 
 him pretty soundly on his extravagance. " What busi- 
 ness," said he, " have you, sir, in your position, to keep 
 a horse and carriage and coachman, when you can ride from 
 one end of London to another in an omnibus for sixpence, 
 or in a cab for a couple of shillings ? " " Very true," replied 
 the imperturbable comedian ; " but you see, your honour, 
 one doesn't always happen to have a sixpence or a florin 
 in his pocket ! " He knew well that his credit was always 
 good for months at the livery stable. Such stories, how- 
 ever, misrepresent the profession taken as a whole. 
 There is yet another point : actors and actresses live 
 before the world, and their lightest faults are often made 
 
 much of. When Mrs. A , the merchant's wife, or 
 
 Mrs., B- , the tradesman's wife, elopes with some young 
 
 scapegrace or other, few beyond the immediate circle of 
 their acquaintance know anything about it. This is not 
 
 true of the stage. 
 
 * 
 » * 
 
 " Name me no names " in the present paragraph,. 
 Most readers would like much to be able to write the 
 cheques which a good many dozen leading actors can do 
 tOrday. Hundreds more are living in easy circumstances, 
 while the salaries paid to minor people are much better 
 than formerly. The instance of one of our soundest 
 and most respected actors, who has sometimes combined 
 teaching with his work, and is now in addition stage 
 manager of a leading theatre, recurs to the writer's recol- 
 lection. Years ago he purchased a piece of unproductive, 
 unpromising-looking land on the banks of the Thames. 
 He is more than an amateur gardener, and in the precious 
 moments snatched from his avocations, he set to work on 
 that tract, of barren desert, which now literally "blossoms as 
 the rose," and is worth twenty or thirty times its original 
 price. It is a veritable little Eden,, and is the cynosure 
 of all the neighbours' eyes. And yet its owner, although 
 holding an excellent position, is not rich, — except in 
 common sense, contentment,, and health. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. I27 
 
 Does the reader know the possibilities, at least, of in- 
 come for a successful dramatic " star "? While tha 
 writer was in San Francisco, Miss Neilson, Mr. E. A. 
 Sothern (" Lord Dundreary "), and Mr. Dion Boucicault 
 visited that city at different peiiods, and played at the 
 California Theatre — the leading house at that time. It is 
 a large building,, and holds, in money, at ordinary prices, 
 over ;^4oo. Their share of the proceeds was so nearly alike 
 in each case, that the figures were published and generally 
 discussed ; each of them netted for their month's work 
 15,000 dols. (more than ;^3,ooo). With rehearsals, six 
 evening performances, and one matinie each week, they 
 vi^K not able to spend it all just immediately. 
 * ». 
 
 But while actors may have peocadilloes to be forgiven, 
 one of the best traits of the profession is its generosity, 
 and " charity covereth a multitude of sins." Who so 
 ready to aid with purse, or actual work, their brothers 
 and sisters in distress, or any charity that they can assist 
 by giving a benefit, or subscribing to a fund ? The writer 
 remembers one lady abroad; charming and attractive, 
 who was, behind the scenes, considered an angel of light, 
 as much as she was esteemed for her talents by those in 
 front of the footlights. From leading people to supers, 
 she was worshipped. Why ? Because no tale of distress 
 was ever told to her in vain. Was it a scene-shifter's 
 wife who was in sickness ? The flowers, which in beauti- 
 ful California are sho>vered upon a favourite actress, were 
 soon in the poor woman's room, some nourishing oysters, 
 soup, or dish, or port-wine ordered from the very best 
 restaurant, and a personal visit made, which, like the 
 entrance of a sunbeam where all was dark before, did the 
 sufferer more good than all the rest. The " call-boy " 
 had incurred the anger of the stage-manager, and was to 
 be dismissed ; it was to her the poor boy came to ask for 
 her influence in soothing him. A poor member of the 
 company was unable; to buy a suitable dress, and yet her 
 part involved, perhaps, an important step in the profes- 
 sion—it was the first chance she had ever had. There 
 was no occasion to say more ; the best costume in 
 
128 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 the extensive wardrobe of Miss was at her dis- 
 posal. And now the leading man was to take a benefit, 
 and he, deprecatingly and nervously, came to ask her to 
 sacrifice herself in a part unfitted for her. The sacrifice 
 was made. Her life was in all things in accordance. 
 There was " a daily beauty " in it, and to no one could 
 Shakespeare's words more fittingly be applied : 
 
 " Women will love her, that she is a woman 
 More worth than any man ; men, that she is 
 The rarest of all women !" 
 
 While such extreme instances of goodness may be 
 scarce, the writer knows some, and has heard of scores 
 more examples of genuine, hearty, and unaffected liber- 
 ality in the profession than in any other whatever. 
 
 Many, many years ago, a ragged, half-fed " super " lad 
 was dismissed from Drury Lane Theatre. Very young, 
 very hungry, still very hopeful, he was asked by Mr. 
 Nollikin, the stage carpenter, if he had had his dinner. 
 "No, sir," he replied. "Then come along, boy, and I'll 
 stand a beef-steak and a pint of porter." The viands 
 discussed, Mr. Nollikin questioned the youngster. " Well, 
 boy, what are you going to do now ?" " Oh, please, sir, 
 I'm going to Liverpool to try my fortune." " To Liver- 
 pool ! why, how are you going ?" " Please, sir, I'm going 
 to walk there." " But you can't walk there in those old 
 boots, boy." " Oh, yes, sir, I think I can ; at any rate, 
 I shall try." " Well, well ; sit here till I come back. I'll 
 see if I can't find you another pair of boots." Presently, 
 he returned with a new pair, which he gave the boy, 
 together with a sovereign — the first the lad had ever 
 possessed. So furnished, young Edmund Kean set off to 
 seek his fortune. 
 
 Some years after this, an old stage-carpenter called one 
 morning on a great " star " to ask him to play for his 
 benefit. He found the popular actor in splendidly- 
 furnished chambers, robed in a Persian dressing-gown, 
 sipping coffee and Curagoa. Timidly he explained his 
 errand. " Oh, yes ! old Noll, I'll play for you, and for the 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 1 29 
 
 sake of old times you may choose your own part. Of 
 
 course you know my terms, Noll — fifty pounds. When 
 
 is the benefit?" " It's on Thursday, sir, and if you would 
 
 play Sir Giles Overreach, sir, thank you very much. I'll 
 
 bring the money the day after, and thank you again." 
 
 True to his word, on Friday, he returned to the chambers 
 
 with the money in a bag. He placed it on the' table, 
 
 and, reiterating his thanks, was about to withdraw, hat 
 
 in hand, when he was stopped by a choking shout : 
 
 " No, by heaven, old Noll, I can't take your money. 
 
 Here, take it back — ^stop a moment; here's a cheque 
 
 for another fifty to put along with it." Such stories as 
 
 the foregoing could be gathered by the score — aye, by 
 
 the hundred. 
 
 # 
 
 Is there anything nobler in the records of disasters at 
 sea than the conduct of G. V. Brooke, the great tra- 
 gedian, at the terrible wreck of the ill-fated London, then 
 on a voyage to Australia. The following is literally 
 transcribed from the Times of January 19th, 1866 : — 
 
 "Down into the waves with 269 others has sunk 
 Gustavus V. Brooke, the famed tragedian, who was 
 bound for a country which had been the scene of a re- 
 verse of fortune to him, but previously of many brilliant 
 successes. He will be well remembered as a tall man, 
 of powerful build, and he is stated by the rescued pas- 
 sengers to have exerted his strength to the utmost in 
 helping to keep the ship afloat. The Dutch portion of 
 the crew, 2 1 in number, refused to work ; and, according 
 to the English sailors who were saved, these men went to 
 their berths and remained there, so that the passengers 
 had to work at the pumps for many hours with the 
 English seamen. Mr. G. V. Brooke exerted himsdf in- 
 cessantly. Attired only in a red Crimean shirt and 
 trousers, with no hat on, and barefooted, he went back- 
 wards and forwards to the pumps until working at them 
 was found to be useless, and when last seen, about four 
 hours before the steamer went down, he was leaning with 
 grave composure upon one of the half-doors at the com- 
 panion. His chin was resting upon both hands, and his 
 
 I 
 
I JO NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 arms were on the top of the door, which he gently swayed 
 to and fro, while he calmly watched the scene. One of 
 the passengers who saw him has said, " he had worked 
 wonderfully, and, in fact, more bravely than any man on 
 board of that ship." To the steward, who made himself 
 known, Mr. Brooke said, "If you succeed in saving 3'our- 
 self, give my farewell to the people of Melbourne." His- 
 sister also went down ; and, in fact, only a handful were 
 saved out of the entire number on board. 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 The writer approaches another point with considerable 
 
 diffidence. Pious people too often " cast the stone " at 
 the ladies of the theatrical profession. Knowing nothing 
 whatever about them, they yet dare to aver that the 
 character of actresses will seldom bear inspection. Tiiis 
 is a terrible and a gratuitous insult to thousands of hard- 
 working, earnest, and honourable women. 
 
 Christian brother, you share that belief in common 
 with a class of people with whom you would certainly 
 not like to be associated — the snobs, the prigs, the cads of 
 London. When you hear a young man, say, in some 
 public place, speak lightly of an actress, the chances 
 are that he has never shaken hands with one, and 
 knows nearly as little about them as do you. If he 
 claims more — that his irresistible attractions were too 
 much for her — there is a great probability that he is a 
 liar. Do you like your company ? 
 
 No one who knows anything about the stage ever 
 denies that there are temptations to be found there, 
 albeit in well-ordered theatres— and the majority are 
 well-ordered — they are reduced to a minimum. Those 
 temptations are nearly as strong in private life, given 
 ladies of equal attractions and talents. But temptation 
 does not necessarily weaken ; on the contrary, it often 
 strengthens. It is well to know what is evil, that 
 it may be avoided. The writer will try to illustrate this 
 by two or three anecdotes. The first was related to him 
 by the lady concerned, and all who know her, profes- 
 sionally or other^vise, know her to be the soul of truth 
 and candour. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 131 
 
 Miss Minnie Walton (Mrs. Fred Lyster) was at the 
 time engaged at the Haymarket Theatre,, but a matinee 
 performance occurring in which she had no part, she. 
 went with a lady friend to witness it in front, among the 
 audience. At its termination, wishing to get home 
 quickly to dinner, she bade adieu to her companion in 
 the lobby, and, being a rather impulsive young lady, 
 almost ran up the Haymarket, to get a cab. Several 
 dandies were standing on the pavement, watching the 
 people leaving the Theatre, and one of them seeing so 
 pretty a girl as Miss Walton unmistakably is, threw away 
 his cigar, and, running after her, raised his hat, and 
 asked whe.ther he might get her a cab. She assented, 
 a hansom was obtained, and she stepped into it. The 
 next query from our young buck was : " Where shall we 
 drive to?" Miss Walton told him, giving her correct 
 address, and then, quick as lightning, slammed the two 
 doors in front of her, dived her hand into her pocket, 
 and handed our swell a penny, saying : " There, my 
 good fellow, there's your money !" The cabman heard 
 it, roared with laughter, and, whipping up his horse, 
 left Mr. Dandy standing gazing at a penny in his hand, 
 to be unmercifully chaffed, no doubt, by his companions 
 afterwards. Miss Walton's presence of mind, sense of 
 humour, and dexterity were, doubtless, partly due to her 
 stage education. A young lady in private life would not, 
 probably, have thought of this mode of snubbing a snob, 
 
 until it was too late. 
 
 * 
 * « 
 
 It was not very long after the occurrence above- 
 named, that the writer accompanied some professional 
 friends home to supper. Scarcely had the party entered 
 
 the house, when a double knock was heard. " Is 
 
 at home ?" said a rather diminutive, but well-dressed 
 man, of Asiatic appearance. " Oh !" said the landlady 
 to the actress concerned — a married lady with a profes- 
 sional husband — " it's that little Japanese again. He's 
 been here two or three times, wanting to see you." He 
 was, of course, denied, and went away, but returned 
 shortly afterwards, making the same inquiries. This 
 
132 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 was " the last straw," and the writer had the pleasure of 
 seeing a Japanese prince — a. student in London, as he 
 was afterwards found to be — propelled rapidly into the 
 street by the foot of an irate husband, but not faster than 
 his hat, which he had to pick up, dripping, out of a 
 muddy gutter. But then he was only a Jap, and travellers 
 tell us that morality is not at a high standard in his 
 
 country. 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 One more case. There is in the cemetery of Pfere la 
 Chaise, in Paris, a monument, which covers all that is 
 mortal of a once famous actress, equestrienne, and 
 poetess. On its face it bears a brief inscription^two 
 words only — "Thou knowest." What tale of mental 
 suffering and recollection of wrong those words cover, 
 never, perhaps, will be known. Professional friends will 
 know who is meant. Whatever could be said for, or against, 
 that lady, there is but one proper course to take here : 
 De mortids nil nisi bonum. The following story is told 
 on the authority of her one-time acting manager, Mr. 
 F. R. Rutt, the well-known theatrical agent. 
 
 All the world who v/itnessed her performances were 
 raving about her ; hence it is not wonderful that an Exalted 
 Personage, who shall be nameless, became greatly fasci- 
 nated also. But all the world went quietly home, while 
 the Exalted Personage persisted in expressing a wish to be 
 introduced to t'A'e lady. This was refused on several 
 occasions, but one night, after many urgent requests, he 
 was admitted to the green-room. After a few compli- 
 ments, the Exalted One stated that he had ordered supper 
 in a West End restaurant for two ; would she presently 
 partake ? She consented, provided her acting manager 
 was also invited ; but this did not agree with the distin- 
 guished young man's views, and the subject was dropped. 
 After a little conversation, he quietly produced a pocket- 
 book, and taking out five ten-pound notes, laid them 
 down gracefully by her side. " Ah !" exclaimed she, 
 " now I see what you want ;" and, handing him back ten 
 pounds, continued ; " I am told that what you seem to 
 wish can be obtained for this : the rest will do to treat 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 1 33 
 
 the company to champagne and drink your health." The 
 Exalted One looked rather sheepish, but put a good 
 face on it, and retired, simply requesting that the 
 company should know nothing of the donor. As soon 
 as the performance was over, there was a sound of 
 
 revelry in that house, you may be sure. 
 
 » 
 » * 
 
 Reader, the true secret why such very uncharitable 
 things are said of many of the ladies of the profession 
 is as follows. When you have perused this statement — 
 which any actor will confirm — you will note how wicked 
 and unjust it is to ninety-five per cent, of our actresses. 
 
 You see that well-dressed, but rather bloated old 
 gentleman toddling down Pall Mall to one of his clubs. 
 
 That is , and a gay old boy is he. He is 
 
 wealthy ; he has a town house, and a country mansion, 
 which he never visits; he has a yacht, which he keeps 
 exclusively for the benefit of his friends, as a trip out- 
 side the river would shake him to pieces ; he has a fine 
 race-horse, on which, it is needless to say, he never rides, 
 and on which he never bets (having been rather severely 
 bitten in early life), but keeps apparently for the benefit 
 and amusement of the public. On the same principle, 
 
 he protects Miss , of the — Theatre. There 
 
 is no doubt that his taste in female beauty is good, and 
 when that lady — a blonde of the blondes, as fair as crime 
 de lis and aureoline Robare can make her — stands before 
 the public with glittering diamonds, priceless lace, and 
 exquisite dress, a thrill of pleasure animates the bosoms 
 of not a few. It is only when she opens her mouth 
 that the spell is broken. Affected enunciation, bad de- 
 livery, and not a few slips in grammar, indicate that 
 
 Miss was never intended by nature for high art. 
 
 Her protector thinks differently, however, and benevo- 
 lently lends her to the public. 
 
 Reader, it is a few of these women — and the promi- 
 nent examples in London could be counted on the 
 fingers of one hand — who are the bane of the profession, 
 and bring disrepute on their honest sisters in it ; it is a 
 burning shame that such things exist; but is it con- 
 
134 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 fined to the theatre i Shades of St. John's Wood and 
 Pimhco ! 
 
 But it does not follow that because honest, hardwork- 
 ing, earnest actresses have occasionally to play by the 
 side of incompetent, and not too moral beauty, that they 
 are any the worse for it, or that they make friends with 
 the " Mammon of Unrighteousness " when he toddles 
 about the wings or green-room. Neither does the mimic 
 cordiality of the play necessitate friendship among the 
 
 players. Miss , the virtuous, good and poor, has 
 
 a right to " cut " Miss , the beautiful, rich, and 
 
 bad, and cut her she not unfrequently does. 
 
 * * 
 There have been, no doubt, in days gone by — let us 
 hope for ever — managers who allowed their theatres to 
 become little better than houses of ill-fame. This could 
 not be said of a single London house to-day with any 
 degree of truth, while nine-tenths of them are very 
 
 rigidly conducted. 
 
 * 
 
 That women should adopt the profession shocks some. 
 It is not so very long since all female characters were 
 played by men. In Shakespeare's day they were 
 invariably. Kynaston (or Kinaston) has left a name as 
 the best male performer of lady parts. 
 
 Kynaston when young made a complete stage beauty, 
 performing some parts so well, especially " Arthiope" in 
 the Unforttmate Lovers, that it was disputed whether any 
 woman that succeeded him ever touched the audience so 
 sensibly as he had done. Pepys says in his diary : 
 "August 1 8. — Captain Ferrers took me and Creed to the 
 Cockpitt play — the first that I have had time to see since 
 my coming from sea — ' The Loyal Subject,' where one 
 Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the 
 loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life." Again, 
 " 7 January, i66i. — Tom and I and my wife to the 
 theatre, and there saw the 'Silent Woman.' Among other 
 things here, Kinaston, the boy, had the good turn to 
 appear in three shapes ; first, as a poor woman in ordinary 
 clothes, to please Morose; then in fine clothes as a 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 135 
 
 gallant, and in them was dearly the prettiest woman in 
 the whole house ; and, lastly, as a man, and then likewise 
 did appear the handsomest man in the whole house." 
 Dibdin remarks that "Kynaston, who performed the 
 parts of women in his youth, of lovers in his maturer 
 age, and of genteel old men later in life, is said not only 
 to have possessed a grace and an ease that nothing ever 
 surpassed, but to have thrown a peculiar dignity into every 
 thing he performed. We are told that, though Betterton 
 and Kynaston both observed the rules of truth and 
 nature, they were each as different in their acting as in 
 their form or features." And that old gossip, Colley 
 Cibber, in the history of his life, gives the following 
 account of the young actor : " Though women were not 
 admitted on the stage till the return of King Charles, yet 
 it could not be so suddenly supplied with them but that 
 there was still a necessity, for some time, to put the hand- 
 somest young men into petticoats, which Kynaston was 
 then said to have worn with success, particularly in the 
 part of Evadne in the ' Maid's Tragedy,' which I have 
 heard him speak of; and which calls to my mind a 
 ridiculous distress that arose from these sort of shifts 
 ■which the stage was then put to. The King, coming a 
 little before his usual time to a tragedy, found the actors 
 not ready to begin, when his Majesty, not choosing to 
 have as much patience as his good subjects, sent to them 
 to know the meaning of it; upon which the master of the 
 company came to the box, and rightly judging that the 
 best excuse for their default would be the true one, fairly 
 told his Majesty that the Queen was not shaved yet; the 
 King, whose good humour loved to laugh at a jest as well 
 as to make one, accepted the excuse, which served to 
 
 divert him till the male queen would be effeminated." 
 
 # 
 * * 
 
 The received tradition is, that Mrs. Saunderson was the 
 first English actress. She afterwards married Betterton 
 and was remarkable for performing the female characters 
 of Shakespeare's plays with greater success than any other 
 actress before or perhaps since. Colley Cibber says that, 
 " Time could not impair her skill, though it gave her 
 
136 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 person to decay. She was to the last the admiration of 
 all true judges of nature and lovers of Shakespeare, in 
 whose plays she chiefly excelled without a rival. She 
 was the faithful companion of her husband, and his 
 fellow labourer for five and forty years, and was a woman 
 of unblemished reputation and sober life." She had the 
 honour to teach Queen Anne, when Princess, the part of 
 Semandra, in Mithridates, which was acted at Court in 
 Charles's time, and after the death of her husband the 
 Queen ordered her a pension of five hundred pounds a 
 year for life, but she only lived to receive the first half 
 year of it. 
 
 » * 
 Nell Gwynne quitted her country home at an eaily 
 age, and, on arriving in London, applied to Betterton 
 with the intention of coming out on the stage. 
 Having heard her recite he advised her to give 
 up all ideas of becoming a performer, although he 
 admitted that her genius pointed in that direction. 
 Her scheme thus frustrated and her money greatly 
 diminished, she began to fear that poverty would 
 overtake her ; so she abandoned her gay apartments, 
 dressed herself as an orange girl, and went to the theatre 
 to sell her wares. From selling oranges in the pit she 
 soon rose to eminence on the stage, as we learn from 
 the following verses written by Lord Rochester : — 
 
 " The orange basket her fair arm did suit 
 Laden with pippins and Hesperian fruit ; 
 This first she praised, to the wond'ring pit she sold 
 The lovely fruit, smiling with streaks of gold. 
 Fate now for her did its whole force engage, 
 And from the pit she mounted to the stage ; 
 There in full lustre did her glories shine, 
 And long eclips'd, spread forth their light divine." 
 * 
 .* * . 
 
 Mrs. Montague Clarke kindly contributes the following : 
 
 " As want of sympathy generally proceeds from a lack 
 of the imaginative faculty, which enables us to put our- 
 selves in the place of others, and feel their joys and 
 sorrows, it follows that those in whom the imagination is 
 enlarged by cultivation, will, all other things being equal. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. I37 
 
 have more sympathy than those in whom it is allowed to 
 lie dormant. Experience proves the truth of this theory. 
 The many instances given of the kind-heartedness of 
 actors and actresses, are only specimens of what is true 
 of the whole guild. But the very quality that leads to 
 the developnient of this virtue leads also to temptations 
 of which unimaginative people know little. A man or 
 woman of fervid imagination has less control over pas- 
 sion than those whose even pulses are never stirred by 
 the merital images they conjure up for themselves. A 
 true artist must feel the passions he simulates, and the 
 very habit of mind engendered by the practice of his art 
 tends to weaken the self control, without which there 
 can be no true dignity of character. An actor will, in 
 the very nature of things, be more excitable, more 
 headstrong, more sensuous than other men; and actresses 
 will be more hysterical, more impulsive, more swayed 
 
 by the feeling of the moment than other women 
 
 The high moral_ standard attained by a Macready or a 
 Siddons may also be attained by those who can never 
 hope to compare with them in intellectual gifts. By 
 steadfastly resisting temptation and living lives of so- 
 briety and piety and domestic virtue the meanest player 
 in the smallest provincial company may help to elevate 
 his profession, and aid in removing the stain that has 
 rested upon it so long." 
 
 * « 
 *. 
 If women had been denied the Stage, one of the 
 
 greatest actresses that ever lived would never have de- 
 lighted thousands. Listen to Mr. G. H. Lewes' defini- 
 tion of her powers : " Rachel was the panther of the 
 Stage ; with a panther's terrible beauty and undulating 
 
 grace she moved and stood, glared and sprang 
 
 Those who never saw Edmund Kean, may form a very 
 good conception of him if they have seen Rachel. She 
 was very much as a woman what he was as a man. If 
 he was a lion, she was a panther. 
 
 " Her range, like Kean's, was very limited ; "but her 
 expression was perfect within that range. Scorn, triumph, 
 rage, lust, and merciless malignity, she could represent in 
 
138 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 symbols of irresistible power ; but she had little tender- 
 ness, no womanly, caressing softness, no gravity, no 
 heartiness. . . By the side of Pasta, she would have 
 appeared like a beautiful devil beside a queenly woman ; 
 with more intellect, more incisive and comprehensive 
 power, but with less soul, less diffusive and subduing 
 influence. 
 
 " In her early days nothing more exquisite could be 
 heard than her elocution — it was musical and artistically 
 graduated to the fluctuations of meaning. Her thrilling 
 voice, flexible, penetrating, and grave, responded with 
 the precision of a keyed instrument. Her thin, nervous 
 frame vibrated with emotion. Her face, which would 
 have been common had it not have been aflame with 
 genius, was capable of intense expression. Her gestures 
 were so fluent and graceful that, merely to see her would 
 have been a rare delight. The ideal tragedies of Racine, 
 which ignorant Englishmen call ' cold,' were, by her 
 interpretation, shown to be instinct with- passion and 
 dramatic effect." 
 
 * 
 
 The restoration of the Drama under Charles II. is 
 remarkable for the introduction of the French practice 
 of allowing ladies to play the female characters. Mr. 
 Neville beautifully remarks on this : 
 
 " Ah, what a world of power and pathos did this intro- 
 duce into Dramatic Art ! Even Shakespeare could not 
 shine in his perfect splendour till woman arose in the 
 fulness of her charms, and shed upon the stage her 
 softer light. It was impossible that youths, to whom 
 the task had been committed of impersonating the 
 female character, could throw into the representation the 
 trembling tenderness of a woman's love, or the tragic 
 fury of a woman's hate, with all those modulations and 
 changing phases of thought and feeling which so strangely 
 distinguish this fair, frail counterpart from the being of 
 whom she is the beautiful reflection — infinitely like, yet 
 infinitely different. Then it was that the profound depth 
 and marvellous beauty of the female mind — of the female 
 heart — were first embodied in living power ; and woman, 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 139 
 
 SO long depressed by the selfishness of men, so long 
 kept in the background and the shade, so long regarded 
 as an inferior being — made a plaything for an hour and 
 an outcast for ever — then it was that woman rose to her 
 true position, and claimed her lawful honours on the 
 stage ; completing another round in her steady progress 
 towards the goal which she is destined ultimately to 
 reach — to share the dominion of the world with man, 
 and to shine so close beside him on the throne that 
 they shall make between them but ' one light.' 
 
 " Womanhood is indebted to Shakespeare, above all 
 other men, for his ideal portraits of female excellence, 
 purity, and beauty. Nor is it possible to estimate the 
 degree in which they have contributed to the fund of 
 universal reverence and admiration by which woman- 
 hood maintains its modern independence ; and which, 
 mingling with other powerful influences, have worked 
 beneath the surface of English society to make her rights 
 the problem of philosophers, and herself the cynosure 
 and blossom of the time. He it was, in fact, who first 
 presented female character in its feminine perfection. 
 Others had painted woman in her resemblance to man. 
 To Shakespeare belongs the honour of painting woman in 
 her difference from man ; and the w^hole of womanhood is 
 indebted to him for the exhibition of her nature to the 
 world as well as the revelation of herself to herself, and 
 thus setting before her the brightest mirror in which 
 God's fairest creature ever contemplated her divine and 
 incomparable charms. Nor can lovers of the Dramatic 
 Art look back with too much gratitude on that legal 
 innovation which made it possible for woman to appear 
 upon the stage, and to embody before the world those 
 ethereal characters which in her hands alone could shine 
 
 with the lustre of their created light." 
 
 « 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Ham speaks of the severe intellectual study, 
 and strain on the mind and nerves, incident to the pro- 
 fession of an actor, and has before noted the frequent 
 misuse of the words " amusement " " play," &c., in 
 connection with the acted drama. Think of that _firs( 
 
140 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 night, when an important \ piece is to be produced, 
 when the house is filled with the representatives of 
 literature, art, and cultivation. Think what it means- 
 to the actor. He looks before him, and he recognizes 
 half the dramatic critics, two of the greatest novelists of 
 
 the day, several artists, including one R.A., old D 
 
 the scientist, young S the lion of the day, a great 
 
 traveller, several of the nobility who believe in dramatic 
 art, including the Premier, and a miscellaneous 
 collection, among whom he knows there are many more 
 of the classes he has recognized. There is a slight 
 movement and rustling about the lobby; the Prince of 
 Wales enters the royal box. And that eminent actress 
 who fills the leading rdle is very far from well, having 
 risen from a bed of sickness to attend the rehearsals. 
 Her illness has shaken her faith in herself; and her 
 nervousness — little guessed at by her admirers — is some- 
 thing painful to her companions behind the scenes. 
 Think what that first night means to the author of the 
 piece ; think what it means to the manager. It is not 
 quite " play " to all these. 
 
 Those who would understand the feelings of an actor 
 or actress on that dreadful " first night " cannot do better 
 than read Percy Fitzgerald's charming description of 
 Mrs. Siddons's first London " night of triumph."* Almost 
 rejected by the critics on her first appearance, for years 
 afterwards obliged to perform on provincial " circuits," 
 she returned to make a success, which, among the female 
 representations of the histrionic art, has never been ex- 
 celled. 
 
 Her fate, and that of her little family, to use almost 
 her own words, hung upon the result. " I had quitted 
 Bath," says she, " where all my efforts had been success- 
 ful, and I feared lest a second failure in London might 
 influence the public inind greatly to my prejudice in the 
 event of my return from Drury Lane disgraced as T had 
 formerly been." She gives a graphic and pathetic picture 
 of her feelings at the rehearsals : " Who can imagine 
 
 * "The Kerables," &c. 
 
NOTES *T0 LECTURE III. I4I 
 
 my terror ? I feared to utter a sound above an audible 
 whisper ; but, by degrees, enthusiasm cheered me into a 
 forgetfulness of my fears, and I unconsciously threw out 
 my voice, which failed not to be heard in the remotest 
 part of the house, by a friend who kindly undertook to 
 ascertain the happy circumstance. The countenances, no 
 less than tears and flattering encouragements of my 
 companions, emboldened me more and more; and the 
 second rehearsal was even more affecting than the first." 
 Then comes the details of alarming hoarseness, of unre- 
 freshing sleep ; then the morning dawn and the bright 
 sunshine, which invigorated her. At one of the re- 
 hearsals, "an incident occurred, which, though trifling 
 enough, must have afforded her infinite encouragement. 
 Her little boy, who was to be her little child in the piece, 
 was so affected by her acting, that he took the whole 
 for reality, and burst into the most passionate floods of 
 tears, thinking he was about to lose his mamma. This 
 satisfactory proof of effect deeply impressed the actors 
 and managers, and Sheridan had the story conveyed to 
 friendly newspapers." 
 
 The piece selected was Isabella, a play of the most 
 tragical nature. There was a grand house. " Though 
 she had been acting now for years, her nervousness was 
 only natural ; it was a very different thing from the small 
 Bath Theatre and its friendly audience. As she found 
 herself on the stage, she felt, she said, ' the awful con- 
 sciousness that one is the sole object of attention to that 
 immense space, lined as it were with human intellect from 
 top to bottom, and all around ; it may be imagined, but 
 can never be described, and by me can never be for- 
 gotten!'" ' 
 
 " She had no need," says Mr. Fitzgerald, " to be appre- 
 hensive. It was one continued triumph. As the pathetic 
 piece moved on, there was one central figure taking 
 enthralling possession of the audience. The tenderness 
 and exquisite sweetness of her tones went to every heart, 
 the agony and grief filled all present. At times, she 
 had all men's eyes suffused with tears, and many women 
 in actual hysterics. Towards the last act there was 
 
142 NOTES TO LECTURE IH. 
 
 scarcely a speech of hers but what was interrupted by 
 tumultuous and passionate bursts of applause, until the 
 whole house seemed swept away in transport. From that 
 moment her success was assured in the most triumphant 
 way." 
 
 This was the incompetent, shrinking, feeble exponent 
 of high art of a few years before ! 
 
 Listen to her own pleasant and grateful description of 
 home that night : " I reached my own quiet fireside, on 
 returning from the scene of reiterated shouts and plaudits. 
 I was half dead ; and my joy and thankfulness were of 
 too solemn and overpowering a nature to admit of words, 
 or even tears. My father, my husband, and myself, sat 
 down to a frugal, neat supper, in a silence uninterrupted 
 except by exclamations of gladness from Mr. Siddons. 
 My father (Roger Kemble) enjoyed his refreshments ; 
 but occasionally stopped short, and, laying down his 
 knife and fork, lifting up his venerable face, and throwing 
 back his silver hair, gave way to tears of happiness. We 
 soon parted for the night ; and I, worn out with con- 
 tinually broken rest and laborious exertion, after an hour's 
 retrospection, fell into a sweet and profound sleep, which 
 lasted to the middle of the next day. I arose alert in 
 mind and body." 
 
 There have only been three of those dazzling " first 
 ilights " in modern times — Garrick's, in 1741 ; Mrs. Sid- 
 dons's, 1782; Edmund Kean's, 1814. 
 
 Macready says of his first appearance in an important 
 part, which he had the honour of playing with Mrs. 
 Siddons : "There was a mist before my eyes. I seemed 
 to see nothing of the dazzling scene before me, and, for 
 some time, I was like an automaton moving in certain- 
 defined limits. . . Every sound of applause acted like 
 inspiration on me. I ' trod on air,' became another 
 being, or a happier self." Macready laboured under 
 great disadvantages — his face was homely, and his body 
 ungraceful. "Mr. Macready,'' said one, "is the plainest 
 and most awkwardly made man that ever trod the stage." 
 He once, in Covent Garden Theatre, overheard a man 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 1 43 
 
 and woman talking of him. One said to the other that 
 
 he was " an ugly portrait of Liston." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 The writer's friend, Mr. J. A. Cave, the well-known 
 actor and manager, kindly contributes the following : — 
 
 "You say, perhaps, that a man of nervous tempera- 
 ment should never be an actor. Nonsense, my friend, no 
 man ever makes any great stand as an actor who is not 
 of a nervous disposition, and, what is more, no matter 
 how many years he has been before the public, that 
 nervous excitement never leaves him. I can give you a 
 circumstance that came under my notice, to verify my 
 assertion. When quite a lad I was at a rehearsal at the 
 old Surrey Theatre, then under the management of 
 Davidge ; they were preparing the piece for the return 
 that evening of the most popular low comedian the Surrey 
 ever had — the celebrated Sam Vale — who was returning 
 to the scene of his many triumphs, after an absence of 
 some time, having been engaged by Osbaldistone for his 
 Covent Garden Theatre company. Everyone knew 
 there would be an overflowing house to welcome him 
 back, and his reception would be of the most demonstra- 
 tive nature. The rehearsal being over, he joined a friend 
 who was waiting for him at the side, and said, wiping his 
 forehead with his handkerchief, ' I'd give any money if 
 this night was over.' 'Why,' said his frieud, 'you are 
 surely not nervous ?" 'Indeed, I am,' he replied, ' and I 
 alw9,ys am and ever have been on first nights.' ' And 
 after being on the stage so many years and knowing how 
 you will be received to-night !' ' Yes,' said he ; ' and until 
 the night is over of a new part or a first appearance I 
 can't rest, nor have I any appetite.' 
 
 " I could enumerate other instances of a similar nature. 
 However, I prefer to relate an instance of an opposite 
 nature. Being engaged some years ago at the Theatre 
 Royal, Weymouth, a young and handsome lady, widow 
 of a colonel, with the view of making the stage her pro- 
 fession, arranged with the manager to appear as Lady 
 Teazle. Great expectations were entertained by her 
 friends as to her success, for she really was, by all reports. 
 
144 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 the life and soul of every drawing-room she entered. She 
 recited admirably, her conversational powers were extra- 
 ordinary, and, in fact, the Theatre Royal, Weymouth, was 
 about to introduce to the stage an actress quite equal or 
 even superior to most professionals. The evening came, 
 the house was crowded, the boxes filled by the principal 
 gentry of the country round — the lady was dressed charm- 
 ingly and looked beautiful. While waiting for her scene, 
 the manager said: 'Well, how do you feel — very nervous, 
 I suppose ? ' She laughed and said, ' Why, dear me, no ; 
 I am no more nervous than I am in my own drawing- 
 room ' — with this she went on the stage. The manager, 
 turning to me, said : ' That lady will never be an actress.' 
 ' Why ?' said I. ' She is not nervous,' he replied. The 
 lady received a great reception, and although word per- 
 fect, there was no vivacity — in fact, it was a flat perform- 
 ance altogether, and, believing she could succeed better 
 in a play, she appeared a short time after as ' Julia ' in The 
 Hunchback, in which she created less effect, if possible, 
 than in the comedy. Well, she abandoned the idea of 
 interfering with Mrs. Nisbett's position, and quitted the 
 stage for ever." 
 
 * 
 
 * » 
 
 One of the trials of an actor's life is sometimes his 
 manager. Some few months ago, an American actor was 
 rehearsing at a transpontine theatre, and made a number 
 of complaints about the absence of the needed " props; " 
 (most readers know that "properties" are the smaller 
 things needed on the stage ; thus a speptre, a dagger, a 
 cup, a box, or what not, are so called). He was assured 
 by the manager that they should be forthcoming at the 
 proper time. At the last rehearsal, the Transatlantic 
 tragedian growled out — " The acoustic properties of this 
 Tiouse are very bad." His manager hastened to reassure 
 him by saying — " My boy, don't worry yourself about 
 the properties ; they'll be all right to-night ; I'll send and 
 get 'em j rely on me ! " 
 
 * 
 
 * » 
 
 The writer provided for an occasional digression from 
 the beaten path, by assuring the reader that he would 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III, 145 
 
 occasionally do it in his interests. One of the severe 
 trials of a young actor's life is that he is frequently 
 obliged to shave off his pet moustache. Mr. J. P. Burnett 
 kindly writes as follows ; — " One slightly funny thing hap- 
 pened to me when I first went on the stage, and for some 
 little time I always wore my moustache. Sothern ("Lord 
 Dundreary ") came to the Prince of Wales' Theatre, 
 Liverpool, and I was cast ' Binny ' in Our American 
 Cousin. You can guess my delight, as it was the first 
 ' fat ' part I had had the chance of. Of course, I kept 
 my pet moustache on till the last moment, However, off 
 it came. The same night Sothern had promised to play 
 a scene for T. C. King's benefit, and asked me to play 
 ' Lieutenant Vernon,' at the Amphitheatre. After 
 playing ' Binny ' I dressed quickly and went down to the 
 stage door. Sothern came, and Miss Ada Cavendish, and 
 the former began to fidget and look at his watch. 
 • Bother that Burnett ! ' said he ; ' why can't he come ? ' 
 There was plenty of time, and so on, and I stared hard at 
 him on hearing myself cursed, and thought he must be 
 joking. At last he turned to me, and said, ' Do you 
 know where Burnett dresses ? Be so kind as to bring him 
 here.' I burst out laughing, and then he recognised me 
 ut I thought the idea of being sent to fetch myself was, 
 slightly funny." 
 
 * * 
 
 The admirable American actress, Mrs. D. A. Bowers, 
 Figaro informs us, "has a play called The Woman in 
 Red, and the other night she couldn't make out why 
 the house was so extraordinarily large, until she found 
 that in the advertisement ' Red ' read ' Bed.' Since the 
 bill has been corrected the houses have not been quite 
 so full." 
 
 There was once an " Othello " so excessively con- 
 scientious that, in spite of the inconvenience of the 
 ceremony, he blacked himself all over ! Ordinary actors 
 only darken their faces and hands, or wear dark gloves. 
 
 * * - 
 
 Mr. Ham speaks of the dramatic critics. They form a 
 
 K 
 
146 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 corps more potential than any Lord Chamberlain can ever 
 be, in keeping the stage pure and decorous, while they 
 also aid in elevating the literary and artistic tone of 
 the Drama, which he cannot. With such men as G. H. 
 Lewes, Tom Taylor, Charles Reade, Palgrave Simpson, 
 Mr. J. Tomlins (dead some years), the Jerrolds and 
 Mayhews, the late John Oxenford, John HoUingshead, 
 G. A. Sala, W. Moy Thomas, Clement Scott, Dr. Doran, 
 Dutton Cook, Percy Fitzgerald, E. L. Blanchard, Mr. 
 Howe, Tom Purnell, J. Knigt, Edward Ledger, Mr. 
 Edwards, J. Mortimer, Mr. Bendall, Sydney French, 
 Mr. Heraud, the late John Thomson, Mr. Frost, the Mac 
 Kays, Mr. Laitie, G. Manville Fenn, and many others, 
 nearly all of them distinguished in other branches of 
 literature, watching all that appears on the stage, and 
 conveying their impressions to the public through the daily 
 journals or other media, we are not likely to go far ^vrong. 
 If London critics err, it is occasionally on the side of 
 kindness, but it must be remembered that they, above 
 
 all spectators, know the difficulties of the histrionic art. 
 
 * 
 * » 
 
 Does the reader remember the trenchant criticism on 
 
 Za Traviata, in the Times, at the conclusion of the first 
 
 season ? And yet the plot of that opera is mild as milk 
 
 compared with the novel, " La Dame aux Camelias," on 
 
 which it was founded, and which was read, and is still 
 
 read, in both French and English, in tens of thousands of 
 
 households. As a rule, it will be found that when any 
 
 objection can be urged against the morality or good taste 
 
 of a play, it may be adduced with double truth against 
 
 the novel or story on which it is founded. The literature 
 
 of the stage is infinitely more harmless than the literature 
 
 of the average circulating library. And be it noted that 
 
 the plays of the day receive infinitely more searching and 
 
 careful criticism than do the books of the day. We need 
 
 a Lord Chamberlain infinitely more to look after perni 
 
 cious literature, from " penny dreadfuls " to guinea-and- 
 
 a-half novels, in which the line is hardly drawn, than 
 
 we do to worry authors and managers with frivolous, 
 
 and often utterly unneeded, objections. 
 
MOTES TO LECTURE III. I47 
 
 In America, where criticism is generally one of two 
 things, sugar and spice, or vinegar and gall, the journals 
 devote even more space to the consideration of the acted 
 Drama than in England. A good actor or a good piece, 
 therefore, generally receives more recognition and reward 
 than here. Mr. Boucicault is a case in point. Woe 
 to the transgressor, who claims too much for himself or 
 his plays ! He will likely enough receive some such casti- 
 gation as that contained in the following lines, first printed 
 in the New York Arcadian, September 24th, 1874, and, 
 as far as the writer believes, generally unknown here : — 
 
 THE DREAM OF A DRAMATIST. 
 
 With solemn step an ancient shade 
 
 Toiled up the hill of fame, 
 For long ago his Pegasus 
 
 Was sore, and weak, and lame. 
 And soon before the Temple's Gate 
 
 This shade did loudly call, 
 Until he roused, from noon-tide nap, 
 
 The guardian of the hall. 
 
 " I've come to fill the niche," quoth he, 
 
 ' ' Reserved up here for me, 
 And right beside immortal Will 
 
 That niche must surely be ; 
 Let Massinger step down and out. 
 
 And Green and Ford begone ; 
 Dryden and Decker may put off 
 
 The crowns that they have worn. 
 
 " I'll let immortal William keep 
 
 The very foremost place. 
 For there's a prejudice below 
 
 That he's first in the race ; 
 But close beside him I must sit. 
 
 ' Now place without delay, 
 Beside the Shakespeare of the past, 
 
 The Shakespeare of to-day." 
 
 " Who are you, then?" the guardian said 
 
 Unto this ancient shade. 
 " What wondrous doings have you wrought ? 
 
 What mighty riles have played ? 
 Who is it thus aspires so high ? 
 We do not know you here." 
 
 K 2 
 
148 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 The shade looked up so mournfully, 
 The guardian dropped a tear. 
 
 " Have you not heard," the shade inquired, 
 
 " Of me, author of plays, 
 Monopolizer of the stage 
 
 Through all my later days. 
 Who wrote out the great Irish play 
 
 Between breakfast and tiffin ? " 
 "No," answered he ; " but we hav£ heard 
 
 Of noble Gerald Griffin ! " * 
 
 The shade reflected for a while. 
 
 And this was what he conned on : 
 " But surely you have heard," quoth he, 
 
 "Of my ' Assurance London ' ? 
 And that, at least, entitles me 
 
 Within to find some room." 
 The guardian shook his head and said, 
 
 "Ah ! we have heard of Brougham ! " f 
 
 "But ',Led Astray, ' " the shade replied, 
 
 ' ' Now surely that was mine, 
 And all New York approved the piece 
 
 And owned that it was fine. 
 Come, guardian dear," the shade then cried, 
 
 "Look on that piece and note it." 
 " But people hint," the guardian said, 
 
 " That Octave Feuillet wrote it." t 
 
 " But, guardian, listen to me now : 
 
 Think of the hundred plays 
 Which I have turned from out my shop 
 
 During these many days. 
 Think, I beseech, of all my plays — 
 
 Guardian, you're not heeding ! " 
 ' ' I am. Those pieces only do 
 
 Credit to your reading." 
 
 ' ' But surely there's some little nook 
 
 Due me for what I did. 
 If needs, behind the very door 
 
 Let me be deftly hid." 
 
 * The author of " The Collegians," from which the Colleen Bawn 
 was boucicaulted, as the clever critic of the London Figaro would say. 
 
 t John Brougham, the admirable actor and writer, long estab- 
 lished in New York, is usually accredited in America as the author of 
 London Assurance. Boucicault is said to have purchased it from 
 him. No doubt the latter altered and adapted it for the Stage. 
 
 t Led Astray is a version of Feuillet's La Tentation. 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 1 49 
 
 The guardian solemnly replied : 
 
 " For honest men and true 
 The niches of this place are kept, 
 
 So there's no room for you." 
 
 With solemn face and halting step 
 
 The old man walked away. 
 A youthful shade then gently touch'd 
 
 The guardian, and did say : 
 " Who is that shade, that seems to think 
 
 That he has not a fault ? " 
 The guardian smiled a sickly smile, 
 
 "Why, that is Boucicault !" 
 
 " Constructive skill," wrote " Q." in the Athenczuin* 
 ■" is, perhaps, Mr. Boucicault's chief merit. Studied 
 carefully, the later pieces seem as if the author, having 
 ■conceived a startling incident, had had the scene painted. 
 To a critic, the result is as unsatisfactory as the setting 
 of words to music, instead of music to words. With 
 a sensational foundation, everything is sacrificed to the 
 predetermined effect. The task of each actor is strictly 
 defined ; no intelligent independence is allowed him ; 
 he is a marionette." Mr. Boucicault only lately brought 
 down the full power of the American press upon him, 
 and the phalanx of writers, headed by William Winter, of 
 the New York Tribune, undeniably vanquished his pre- 
 hensions, and nearly annihilated him. Such would be, 
 and has been, the fate in the United States of any pre- 
 tentious English actor who had. announced himself as .,3n 
 " eminent tragedian," or " celebrated comedian," without 
 
 'the ability to sustain the rdle. 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 " An American critic," says Figaro, " describes Clara 
 Morris as ' the actress that arouses a fellow's and his 
 girl's better nature — the actress that makes the husband 
 .and wife look up to each other and feel glad that things 
 are as they are.' " 
 
 * * 
 
 English dramatic critics are often, as has been indi. 
 
 * The criticisms signed "Q."in the above journal have since 
 been reprinted under the title of "Dramatists of the Present Day." 
 In literary circles they are attributed to Mr. Thomas Purnell. 
 
150 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 cated, men of distinction in other walks of literature. 
 One could not possibly give, in so few words, a better 
 pair of criticisms than are contained in the next para- 
 graphs, from the pen of Mr. George Henry Lewes. 
 They refer to the two Keans. 
 
 " The irregular splendour of Edmund Kean's acting 
 was felicitously characterized in the saying of Coleridge, 
 that ' seeing Kean act was reading Shakespeare by flashes 
 of lightning.' But he thrilled his audience in a manner 
 that few actors have ever done. Mr. Lewes says : ' He 
 stirred the general heart with such a rush of mighty 
 power, expressed himself so vividly by accent, look, and 
 gesture, that it was as vain to protest against his defects 
 as it was for French critics to insist upon Shakespeare's 
 want of bienseance and bon goiit. .... All defects were 
 overlooked or disregarded, because it was impossible to 
 watch Kean as ' Othello,' ' Shylock,' ' Richard,' or ' Sir 
 Giles Overreach,' without being strangely shaken by the 
 terror, and the pathos, and the passion, of a stormy 
 spirit uttering itself in tones of irresistible power." 
 
 Of Charles Kean, Mr. Lewes wrote : " Laughed at, 
 ridiculed, and hissed, and for many years terribly handled 
 by critics, both in public and private, he has worked 
 steadily, resolutely, improvingly, till his brave persever- 
 ance has finally conquered an eminent position. He 
 began by being a very bad actor ; he has ended by 
 forcing even such of his critics as have least sympathy 
 with him to admit that, in certain parts, he is without a 
 rival on our stage. This battle with the public he has 
 fought by inches. Slowly the force that is in him, con- 
 centrated on the one object of his life, has made an actor 
 out of very unpromising materials. His career is a 
 lesson. It shows what can, and what cannot, be done by 
 courageous devotion, and a burning desire to learn the 
 
 resources of an art." 
 
 # 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Ham has, in more than one place, mentioned 
 
 poetry, painting, and sculpture, in connection with the 
 
 subject under review. Painters as great as Turner, 
 
 Stanfield, and Roberts, have not hesitated to apply their 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 151 
 
 powers to scenic illustration, while there can be no doubt 
 that the general progress of the scene painter's art is 
 most gratifying. Beverley, Telbin, O'Connell, and others, 
 are true artists. 
 
 » # 
 
 Mr. Henry Neville makes some remarks on the allied 
 fine arts which are much to the point. 
 
 " Now, both colour and actual relief are undoubtedly 
 elements in the art of acting. Painting and sculpture 
 embody impressions of simultaneous action and effect 
 only ; but acting gives us the succession of events in 
 vivid representation, accompanied with the power of 
 language, and the exquisite changes of feature, rapidity 
 of action, delicate bye-play, and the power of the eye, 
 which has a special poetry of its own that touches our 
 tenderest sensibilities — all of which are entirely lost in 
 painting and sculpture. 
 
 " In one sense the Stage has indeed the advantage. 
 
 For while in sculpture we have form, actual relief and 
 
 expression, and in painting the additional beauty of 
 
 colour, light and shadow, on the stage we have all these 
 
 perfections combined ; crowned with that grandest of 
 
 human gifts, the power of language ; which hjirmonizes 
 
 them, and gives to the observer living pictures that 
 
 instruct the unlearned, while they are the pleasure and 
 
 delight of the educated and refined." 
 
 * 
 
 Principal Blackie says of Dramatic art : " It is the 
 only form of art which combines everything that makes a 
 man a man ; it combines lyric poetry and the narrations 
 of lyric poetry ; it combines the highest ideal of heroism, 
 and the most minute features in the variety of character 
 in common life ; it combines the good and the beauti- 
 ful ; it combines the instructive and the entertaining ; it 
 is the highest form of art ; and if, therefore, any nation 
 is not exalted in this form of art, it is not a nation to 
 whom God has given the mission of preaching the 
 highest things that belong to the human race. Therefore, 
 we find that the Romans, who were merely second-rate 
 in everything but law and politics and the history of then- 
 
152 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 own exploits, did not produce a great national drama ; 
 
 therefore, we find that the Greeks, who were first-rate in 
 
 every intellectual manifestation, were first-rate both in 
 
 tragedy and in comedy. The drama is, in fact, the crown 
 
 and the fruitage, the glory and the triumph of all the 
 
 early forms of art ; it includes them all ; chronologically 
 
 and historically, it comes after them all, because the boy 
 
 must come after the child, and the man must come after 
 
 the boy." 
 
 * 
 
 The old hymn says : — 
 
 " Religion never was designed 
 To make our pleasures less." 
 
 With regard to amusement and healthy laughter, the 
 writer quotes from " An Address on the Claims of the 
 Drama," delivered before the members of the American 
 Dramatic Fund Society, in 1857, by the Rev. Dr. Bellows, 
 of All Souls' Church, New York. It is so logical and 
 temperate that it drew from the members of the profes- 
 sion in England universal admiration, and Mr. Buck- 
 stone was commissioned to write Dr. Bellows an address 
 of thanks. That clergyman says : — ■ 
 
 *' It is, then, with the defence of amusement as the 
 principle, that the defence of the Stage must begin, if the 
 class I am arguing with is to be reached. If amusement 
 be wrong in the principle ; if to forget care, duty, death, 
 the future, for any hour of the day, be dangerous — if not 
 to be uninterruptedly engaged in contemplating and 
 advancing the moral and serious interests of life, is culpable 
 and offensive to Christianity — if fun, frolic, laughter, jest, 
 humour, wit, the excitement of social intercourse, and the 
 indulgence of the lighter and gayer tastes of human nature, 
 have no legitimate times and places, and no important 
 and indispensable offices, then, of course, it is useless to 
 talk of defending the most amusing of all amusements. 
 But I now stand here to maintain and to show that 
 amusement is not only a privilege, but a duty, indispen- 
 sable to health, body, and of mind, and essential even to, 
 the best development of religion itself. . . . Now 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE III. 153 
 
 the true question is, how shall humanity do most 
 work, support most anxiety, have the most genuine 
 seriousness ? Experience has taught us that neither body 
 nor mind can stand an unbroken strain, and we are 
 learning by degrees that the conscience, will, and aspira- 
 tions require sleep and rest as much as intellect and 
 muscle. The Creator has accordingly endowed us with 
 various faculties, tastes, and sensibilities which have a 
 spontaneous activity, whose object seems to be chiefly to 
 delight and amuse. Independently of their more serious 
 uses he has, indeed, attached a pleasure to the exercise of 
 all our faculties ; but some of them seem to have for their 
 manifest end pleasure to ourselves or others. Laughter, 
 the irresistible propensity of youth, is, we know, physio- 
 logically, eminently conducive to health of the body, 
 which it exercises in a potent and universal manner; 
 and, unquestionably, humour, which is the inner side of 
 laughter, is equally important to health of mind. Our 
 sense of the beautiful, the ridiculous, the witty ; our taste 
 for music, flowers, spectacle ; our enjoyment of food, 
 society, motion ; our love of sport, of the fields, of games ; 
 all of these ineradicable tastes evidently have a mission, 
 nay, several offices ; first and chiefly, perhaps, to confer a 
 positive and unspeakable sum of pleasure, a substantial 
 benefaction of Providence, which it would be impiety not 
 to recognise and gratefully own ; but, secondly, to qualify, 
 correct and improve the operation and product of the 
 more solid and utilitarian functions of humanity; but, 
 thirdly, to rest, cheer, and invigorate mind and heart, that 
 we may more abundantly and successfully pursue the toil, 
 and bear the anxieties of life, and achieve its moral and 
 spiritual ends. Thus, to work best, man must play a due 
 portion of the time ; to bear the heaviest burdens he must 
 have his heart lightened now and then; to think most 
 profoundly he must not think too steadily. When the 
 world, on any plea of prudence or wisdom, has over- 
 looked these principles, religion and moraHty have 
 suffered. In former times, monasteries and nunneries, 
 caves and pillars, held the pure fanatics and ultraists, the 
 idiots and hypocrites whom violated nature sent there. 
 
154 NOTES TO LECTURE III. 
 
 Now insane asylums and hospitals shelter the victims 
 furnished for their cells by the headlong sobriety and mad 
 earnestness of business, which knows no pleasure ; or, 
 of study which allows no cessation, or of conscience and 
 piety which frown on amusement ; while the morbid 
 morality, the thin wisdom, the jaundiced affections, the 
 wretched dyspepsia, the wreck and defeat of body and 
 soul, which a community deficient in out-door sports, 
 genial society or legitimate gaiety exhibits to the 
 thoughtful eye, is hardly less saddening than the hospital 
 or mad-house." 
 
155 
 
 IV. 
 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 Although dramatic and histrionic art may be traced a 
 long way back in English histoiy, acting first became a 
 noticeable profession, and the Stage first had its own 
 recognized public home, in the early part of the reign of 
 Queen Elizabeth. No branch of English literature made 
 such rapid strides, and so quickly arrived at maturity, as 
 dramatic literature. The old religious plays, or myste- 
 ries, were still acted and admired in the generation 
 immediately preceding that of Shakespeare. The dramatic 
 fecundity of this brief interval is a prodigy in the history 
 of English literature. It is to dramatic literature that 
 we chiefly owe the enrichment, purity, and preservation 
 of the English language. It is to dramatic literature 
 that England, and the world through her, are indebted 
 for the greatest poetic genius ever born. These are 
 proud memories for the Drama, the lustre of which is 
 reflected on the Theatre as its appropriate and natural 
 home, whose stage is the scene of its most familiar 
 realizations, and the platform of its greatest popular 
 influence and triumphs. 
 
 It was natural that the Stage, as the mirror of the 
 times, should become the Satirist of the spirit of the 
 times, and the manners and customs of the age. This> 
 if a useful, was, at the same time, a perilous function ; 
 for satire, the most humorous and kindly, is never 
 entirely without a sting; and the slightest prick of a 
 cherished peculiarity, or a conscientious prejudice, ia 
 
156 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 certain to give some degree of pain and provoke some 
 feeling of resentment. Before the days of journalism 
 the Stage monopolized all the public criticism and satire, 
 and not a few thoroughly enjoyed their unstinted use by 
 the playwrights and the players — such as could either 
 conscientiously or conceitedly say to themselves — 
 " What of that ? we that have free souls, it touches us 
 not : let the galled jade wince ; our withers are unwrung." 
 But the satire of the Stage was keen and unsparing, and 
 as impartial as it was severe. No rank in life, from the 
 rude country knave to the powerful noble, and even the 
 crowned head, was suffered to escape. The actor's 
 liberty often took the bit in its mouth and shook the 
 reins of wholesome restraint from its neck ; and with 
 this licentiousness, something very like a reign of terror 
 spread over the social life. What Hamlet says to Polo- 
 nius about the players, was a very general persuasion : 
 " After your death you were better have a bad epitaph, 
 than their ill report while you lived." " Not even ruUng 
 princes," writes Gervinus,* " not the State, nor politics, 
 nor religion, were spared by the actors on their stage." 
 The practice, it seems, originated with the choristers in 
 their plays at St. Paul's. " It was just this bold inter- 
 ference in the life of the great capital which pleased the 
 people. The other theatres imitated it, and carried it 
 farther than had ever been the case in a modern State 
 since Aristophanes." 
 
 During the very height of this satirical licence of the 
 Stage the Theatre maintained, indeed increased, its 
 popularity and influence. " All " the theatres " advanced 
 in the most flourishing condition ; the managers made 
 increasing profits ; the most distinguished artists, Edward 
 Alleyn, Richard Burbage, and even our Shakespeare, 
 died as large land-holders and wealthy people. It was 
 in vain that the religious denounced the Stage in the 
 most forcible writings ; it was in vain that dramatic 
 poets themselves repented of their profane toils, and 
 recalled back their companions from the school of 
 
 * " Shakespeare Commentaries," p. 86, 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 157 
 
 abuse." The licence was persevered in, and every kind 
 of opposition from without, and judicious restraint from 
 within, was fruitless. The actors revelled in their fierce 
 freedom, and the people sustained them with their 
 applause. But the indignation of the Puritans was 
 deepening every day, and their hostility to the Stage 
 was daily acquiring greater force and effect ; and, when 
 they had once seized the reins of the State, they made 
 the actors feel their power and smart under their revenge. 
 Then, for the first time, the State arrayed itself against 
 the Stage. When, thirteen years after the closing of the 
 theatres, they were reopened under the Restoration, the 
 actors had not forgotten their old liberty and their 
 cunning ; but the State, in the course of time, took secu- 
 rities for their good behaviour in the letters-patent from 
 the Crown and the licences of the Lord Chamberlain. 
 
 The connection of the Lord Chamberlain with the 
 Drama and the Theatre seems to have been purely 
 accidental, and not any deliberate purpose and formal 
 arrangement of the State. In Elizabeth's time a com- 
 pany of actors formed part of the Royal Household, 
 from which circumstance they acquired the title of " Her 
 Majesty's Servants ; " and the Lord Chamberlain, as head 
 of the household, necessarily had the control of them. 
 Eventually, all public players were licensed by this high 
 functionary, and the duty of supervising the Drama and 
 the Stage has been attached to this dignity ever since. 
 
 I have maintained, in a former discourse, that society, 
 and more particularly the best part of society, has a duty 
 to discharge towards the acted Drama and the Stage. I 
 have urged it as the duty of every individual member of 
 society to take note of the Theatre, and to do all that may 
 lie in his power to check its tendency to abuse, and to 
 promote its educational efficiency as a school of high art, 
 refined culture and taste, and pure morals. What is the 
 duty of society cannot be a matter of indifference to the 
 State, which is society in its collective unity endowed 
 with legislative and executive functions for the wise direc- 
 tion and good government of the whole. Be our idea of 
 the paternity of the State what it may, we cannot dispute 
 
158 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 the proposition, that it is the part of a wisely-ordered 
 State to take into its thoughtful and practical consideration 
 whatever affects, on a large and even general scale, the 
 material and moral well-being of the community. It may 
 be denied any dictatorial word to the intellectual and 
 moral judgments of society ; the reason and conscience 
 may justly claim exemption from its control ; but every- 
 thing that touches the social fabric either to strengthen or 
 weaken it, to adorn or deface it — everything that 
 materially affects the conveniences and comforts of 
 social fellowship, the rights and obligations of social 
 intercourse, are properly within its jurisdiction and care. 
 We never think of drawing a hard and fast line when 
 great interests are at stake, merely for the purpose of 
 being true to our ideals and consistent in our theories. 
 When any do this, either in commerce, politics, or 
 religion, we call them unpractical people, theorists, senti- 
 mentalists, enthusiasts, fanatics. We may object to a too 
 large interference by the State in our social life, and be 
 very jealous of any seeming assumption of paternal 
 authority on the part of the State, but we find it desir- 
 able and even necessary to connive at a good deal of 
 paternal assumption and interference when, for example, 
 the question of national education or the public health 
 comes before us, and the recreation, entertainment, and 
 taste, of the people seem to be proper considerations for 
 the common social well-being, but are felt to be beyond 
 the resources that are merely private and local, and are 
 only to be practically accomplished by imperial means. 
 In the view of these and similar cases our theories 
 and crotchets go to the wall, and our hard and fast lines 
 about the province of the State have to suffer many 
 ruptures and gaps in the view of social conveniences and 
 necessities. We find that by conceding some paternal 
 authority to the State we heal a good many social sores, 
 and fill up many uncomfortable gaps in our social life, 
 and save ourselves a world of annoyance, expense, and 
 suffering. And so we compromise the matter, and ask 
 the State to give us national education to save us, at 
 least, from national vagabondage, pauperism, and crime ; 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 1 59 
 
 and national galleries and museums, to stimulate intelli- 
 gent curiosity and cultivate taste ; and public parks and 
 ornamental open spaces, as sanitary precautions, and 
 expressions of the social thoughtfulness and good feeling 
 towards the less fortunate. We do all this by conceding 
 the paternity question under the pressure of what is 
 .desirable or necessary; and we do it all at some pecu- 
 niary expense ; and, because we are persuaded of the 
 ■wisdom and justice of doing it, we do not grumble at the 
 cost. In the remembrance of these facts, I indulge the 
 hope that what I may have to say presently will meet 
 with favourable entertainment ; and that I shall not have 
 to do hard battle for a proposition which asks only for 
 the further extension of a principle already practically 
 acknowledged by the State and universally conceded by 
 a discriminating and generous public. 
 
 There are parents and parents ; some honourably dis- 
 tinguished for their wise forethought, generous impulses, 
 and prompt help, — who never want to be reasoned with 
 or plied with persuasions, but see for themselves before 
 any one else sees. And there are some parents who 
 never do see, and if they do see, never do understand, 
 and if they do understand, never feel any interest, and 
 only wonder why their children are looking so admiringly 
 at, and talking so enthusiastically about, what to them is 
 either so imperceptible or so unentertaining. There are 
 parents who know all about domestic developments and 
 the progressiveness of human times and seasons, — who 
 have the happy knack of trusting and lengthening out 
 judiciously the tether of liberty, and leaving somewhat to 
 youthful experiment. — who know that five in family life, 
 like five among the cardinal numbers, is not the same as 
 fifteen, and fifteen is not to be confounded with twenty- 
 five, or the sum of domestic well-being and happiness 
 will be as wrong in its total as a sum in addition. And 
 .again there are parents who treat their children as they 
 do their horse, — never' harness him without the rigid 
 restraining bearing rein which irritates and deranges all 
 his natural muscular movement and energy ; and when 
 they ride him never give him his head but are always 
 
l6o THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 nervously thoughtful of his teeth and the bit, — who are 
 to the domestic ship a sheet-anchor that never loses its 
 grip, and a chain-cable that never suffers itself to be 
 slipped, so that the ship never makes a voyage, but is 
 always riding at anchor and pulling spasmodically at 
 fluke and cable. There is certainly a choice of parents, 
 and if the State is to be allowed parental functions, we 
 know which kind of parent we should like her to be, and 
 what kind of parent she ought to have the wisdom to be. 
 The attitude of the State towards the Stage, I can 
 hardly imagine commends itself to the judgment of the 
 community. The investiture of the Lord Chamberlain 
 with an official State censorship of the Drama and 
 the Theatre has an air of excessive parental meddlesome- 
 ness, and betrays an unreasonable solicitude and distrust, 
 not consistent with the fact that English men and women 
 are of adult age, and no longer amenable to the treat- 
 ment of children. The only justification of this attitude 
 of the State is the culpable neglect of censorial duties 
 by society itself. The moral sentiments of society signifi- 
 cantly expressed within the walls of the theatre itself, 
 and the strictures of the Dramatic Critics in the daily 
 press, ought to be sufficient guardians of the public 
 morals, without the interference of a functionary, which 
 can scarcely be other than meddlesome and vexatious 
 This interference, notwithstanding it may be sometimes 
 necessary in individual cases of Theatrical management, 
 and especially because of the indifference towards it of a 
 large and important section of society — is purely a kind 
 of police interference, undisguisedly detective in its airs, 
 and thinking exclusively of repression and excision. 
 What now-a-days should we think of the State's inter- 
 ference with fashions in dress, if once more the State 
 shears were sent to Temple Bar and other prominent 
 City approaches, to cut off superfluities in our personal 
 attire, as in the days of points and long-pointed shoes ? 
 The famous queen who gave us our dramatic functionary 
 in the person of her Lord Chamberlain, constituted him, 
 also,^ Sumptuary Costumier, and a sort of Glass of 
 Fashion, and instructed him to look after the matter of 
 
THE STAGE A^D THE STATE. l6r 
 
 excess and extravagance of dress in his official capacity 
 of head of the royal household. Why have these 
 tailorial and millinery functions dropped into desuetude 
 while the dramatic function has been retained ? Would 
 the age tolerate sumptuary enactments in regard to cos- 
 tume and fashion from the office of the Lord Chamber- 
 lain ? Why, all the beaux and belles would be in a 
 flutter of dismay and open rebellion. If the poet, the 
 essayist, and the preacher, had to carry their literary pro- 
 ductions to the Lord Chamberlain's Office before they 
 were printed or preached, it would be resented as an in- 
 tolerable impertinence and a personal insult. Can it be 
 otherwise than odious to the dramatist and the • actor^ 
 who must feel this State officiousness an offensive reflec- 
 tion on their professional and personal character ? The 
 dramatist and the actor are naturally provoked to cir- 
 cumvent and outwit the State Censor ; and so would the 
 preacher be if he were similarly treated. If the pulpit 
 were in the same position as the Stage it would, inevit- 
 ably, become a rostrum of inflammatory declamation and 
 satirical licentiousness — a centre of sedition and pro- 
 found social disturbance. There are not a few impro- 
 prieties on the Stage that are wholly due to the irritating 
 suggestiveness and direct influence of a State office, 
 which is maintained with the assumed purpose to sup- 
 press them, and which, I believe, would cease to be per- 
 petrated with the suppression of the office itself 
 
 Take, for example, the latest instance of this State 
 interference with the Stage. Without defining or illus- 
 trating his meaning, the Lord Chamberlain, in his re- 
 script just issued, virtually casts at all the theatres, in- 
 discriminately, the imputation of profanity and indecency. 
 I affirm that this is as off'ensive as it is irritating. No 
 reputable Stage has the disposition, or would dare, to be 
 profane. The Stage of to-day shows " the very age and 
 body of the time, his form and pressure," and I deny 
 that the time is profane. Suggest profanity, and you 
 invite and provoke it. There is an excessive fastidious 
 sensitiveness which is always ready to shriek at 
 r®bustness of thought and strong accentuation of feeling, 
 
 L 
 
l62 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 which is SO nervously nice that an emphasis is painfully 
 startling, and so circumscribed within the strict limits 
 of its own prudish vocabulary that it scents profanity 
 where none is intended, and none is actually expressed. 
 Talk of profanity on the Stage, why it is devoutness 
 itself to what is tolerated in the public thoroughfares of 
 our great cities. If the State wishes to preach on the 
 propriety of language, let it send out its mandates where 
 they are much more needed than in the Theatre ; let it 
 post its proclamations at every street corner, for the foul- 
 mouthed utterances of the streets are often revolting ; 
 and, as to the imputation of indecency, I say that the 
 State, by such Theatrical injunctions, is actually educat- 
 ing society, through the Stage, in like manner as the 
 Church does in the secret practices of the Confessional, 
 to form and cultivate impure imaginations. It is edu- 
 cating the community in a corrupt comparative anatomy; 
 setting its seal of prurient association on particular 
 human features ; proclaiming our common humanity as 
 if it were essentially a kind of indecent wax-work exhi- 
 bition. It virtually tells society, through the Stage, that 
 certain features of humanity may be contemplated vir- 
 tuously, and that others cannot be so contemplated — 
 that the very sight of them is contaminating and vicious. 
 The State prudery sees nothing to object to in faces and 
 hands and feet, but ankles are decidedly indelicate, and 
 legs positively disreputable. The tailors have made our 
 masculine legs visible enough, and no one, male or 
 female, takes any notice of them unless they happen to 
 be remarkably well or ill-shaped. Familiarity with any 
 particular feature seems to produce a total indifference to 
 it. The Lord Chamberlain rebukes this moral indifference, 
 and assures us that the sight of a human leg is, and 
 must necessarily be, an indelicate suggestion. Now, 
 the pious Psalmist joins issue with my Lord Chamber- 
 lain, not only on the ethics, but also on the esthetics, 
 and even the piety, of the contemplation of human 
 features and limbs. "In thy book," he says, "all my 
 mernbers were written, which, in continuance, were 
 fashioned when as yet there was none of them. I will 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 163 
 
 praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.' 
 The mechanism of the human frame was a meditation 
 of piety, and a motive of enthusiastic adoration, with 
 King- David. Wordsworth, in " The Prelude," says : — 
 
 " About this time did I receive 
 Convictions still more strong than heretofore, 
 Not only that the inner frame is good ; 
 And graciously composed, but that, no less, 
 Nature for all conditions wants not power 
 To consecrate, if we have eyes to see, 
 The outside of her creatures. " 
 
 To the well-ordered mind the human structure is a 
 study of exquisite forms, and wonderful adaptations 
 and architecture. It is poetry and art to the refined 
 mind. The sensuality of the corrypt in imagination, 
 and of the wanton and obscene in speech, at the sight 
 of any feature of the human frame, is an insult to our 
 humanity and a reproach to our Maker. I would no 
 more hide the forms of living beauty on the Stage, when 
 their development is absolutely necessary for the con- 
 venience and service of true art, than I would drape the 
 nude sculptures of our galleries in deference to the dirti- 
 ness of a defiled imagination. In the words of our holy 
 Book I say, " He that is filthy, let him be filthy still," 
 but " a thing of beauty " is naturally and necessarily 
 both a suggestion and means of refinement, an .inspira- 
 tion of virtuous feeling, and " a joy for ever." Suggest 
 indecency, and the indecent, of, coiitse, will see it. 
 Nature in herself is never indecent. There . are- filthy 
 fools — permit me this strong expression of moral indig- 
 nation — who never can look on so holy a natural cere- 
 mony as marriage, but they must make their ribald jokes 
 on, and disgustingly laugh at it. " Unto the pure, alt 
 things are pure ; but unto them that are defiled is nothing 
 pure ; but even their mind and conscience is defiled." 
 ■ The interference of any kind of watchful and meddle- 
 some police with such as consider' themselves well- 
 intentioned and respectable, is always provocative of 
 breaches of good manners and even of the peace. A 
 
 L 2 
 
164 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 theatrical police station is as monstrous as a pulpit police 
 station would be. Dramatists and actors are entitled to 
 something better than a sort of Scotland Yard detective 
 treatment. The attitude of the State towards the 
 Theatre in these days is not complimentary to the State 
 itself, and is altogether exceptional and anomalous, and, 
 I venture to suggest, claims the legislative consideration 
 of statesmen. 
 
 If I could adopt the views of a writer in a weekly 
 journal ot last week,* of what the Stage necessarily is, 
 and must ever be, and what are the functions and aims 
 of the professors of the theatric art, I should consider 
 the State censorship of stage plays, and a vigilant State 
 supervision of the Theatre, a State duty of paramount 
 importance. The writer sneers contemptuously at the 
 idea of the Stage having any virtuous moral influence,, 
 and subserving in any way the purposes of moral refine- 
 ment. He says, in reply to the Lord Chamberlain's 
 recent order, that it is "monstrous, hypocritical and 
 disingenuous nonsense" to talk of making the Stage sub- 
 serve a moral purpose. And while he denies to the 
 Theatre any virtuous moral service, he most complacently 
 concedes to it a vicious moral dis-service. The Theatre, he 
 says, dogmatically asserting the vulgar estimate, "is a 
 place of mere amusement." " It is the function of the 
 player to please as it is of the preacher to preach. What 
 pleases most on the stage are dramatic entertainments in 
 which the border-line that divides propriety from impro- 
 priety is perpetually crossed and recrossed — not so much 
 by express speech as by gesture, innuendo, allusion. This 
 being so, it would be wise to accept the inevitable with- 
 out comment." This is his idea of public amusement \ 
 I reply to this offensive impertinence that it is a direct 
 insult to all frequenters of the theatre, a foul libel on the 
 Stage, and a fatal stab at the reputation of an artistic 
 profession which scorns, quite as much as any class of the 
 community, to be degraded into vicious panderers to the 
 corrupt tastes of the worst classes of society. I cannot 
 
 * The World, October 31, 1877. 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 1 65 
 
 ■believe that any actor or actress of repute in the pro- 
 fession will have approved of such a defence of them- 
 selves from the offensive interference of the Lord 
 Chamberlain's office. To borrow a strong word of this 
 writer, I say in reply to him : it is "monstrous" to deny 
 that the Stage is a school of virtue and refinement, and 
 assert that it it essentially a school of vice and pruriency. 
 And I say, further, that it is " monstrous " for a writer in 
 a iournal entitled "a journal for men and women" to 
 say to English men and women, — "This being so, it 
 •would be wise to accept the inevitable without comment.'' 
 Indeed, for the sake of the Stage, of the professional 
 men and women who adorn it, and of the men and 
 ■women worthy of their sex in society, I hope not a few 
 will do nothing of the kind. " Save me from my friends," 
 I fancy many a professional reader of this article must 
 have exclaimed. I venture to think that the recent 
 ■order from the Lord Chamberlain's officious office is 
 capable of a reply much more to the purpose than this, 
 — a reply that would touch acutely the delicate sensibili- 
 ties of that high functionary, and probably raise a blush 
 at being betrayed into such official indiscretion. 
 
 No more than this writer do I look for sermons and 
 moral essays on the Stage. Direct preaching aims in 
 melodramatic moral insipidities would be simply offensive 
 not only to true art, but also to refined moral feeling. 
 But I do look for the Stage " to hold the mirror up to 
 nature," and, in fulfilling this its special function, it will 
 reflect not the shadows only, but the lights of human 
 life ; and I am quite sure there is more pure, wholesome 
 light in human life than darkness. This writer more 
 than implies that, because the special function of the 
 Stage is to hold the mirror up to nature, the Stage must 
 of necessity reflect nastiness and vice only. What an 
 affi-ont to our common humanity ! What a compliment to 
 Shakespeare and the dignity of the dramatic art ! What 
 an argument have we here in vindication of the moral 
 necessity of the Lord Chamberlain's office ! And this 
 exclusively foul-reflecting function of the Stage we are 
 assured is neither more nor less than " amusemenf — the 
 
1 66 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 most prominent and cherished amusement of our Western 
 civilization ! 
 
 Let it further be observed that while the State insults 
 the Theatre and the whole theatrical profession through 
 the antiquated and superfluous interference of the Lord 
 Chamberlain's office, it, at the same time, with obvious 
 inconsistency, affords a seeming patronage to both through 
 the personal sanction of the Crown and members of the 
 Royal Family. It allows the word "royal" and the 
 royal insignia to grace the style, title, and decoration of 
 theatres ; concedes to the actors of certain houses the 
 distinction of " Her Majesty's servants," and affords to 
 some of them a military guard of honour similar to royal 
 residences and the public offices of the State ; but 
 beyond this the State does nothing directly and efficiently 
 for the elevation of the Drama and the social reputation 
 of the Theatre. Now this seems to me, either too much 
 or too little. It is too much, if the only imperial look- 
 out upon the Theatre is from the Argus-eyed office of the 
 licenser of plays ; for the distrust implied in the existence 
 of such an office ought certainly to forbid such an appear- 
 ance of State sanction as is at present afforded, which 
 only serves to create a wide-spread popular impression 
 that the Theatre enjoys an exceptional privilege and dis- 
 tinction. In this seeming State patronage there is an 
 ipso facto imperial sanction afforded to the Theatre as a 
 recognised place of popular entertainment ; and such 
 sanction must be considered to involve some measure of 
 moral responsibility. It is, again, too little if the Theatre 
 is considered to be an educational power in society, 
 which, on account of its temptations to licence, needs 
 the supervision of a watchful jealousy ; for it is notorious 
 that such State supervision, while extremely irritating, is 
 absolutely impotent. Dramas and dramatic pieces do 
 occasionally obtain stage representation which are an 
 offence to morals, a reflection on both authors and actors, 
 and an injury, if not to the receipts, at least to the repu- 
 tation of the Theatre as a social institution. The licenser 
 of plays can neither purify the Stage nor protect the 
 morals of theatrical audiences. The State, therefore, is 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 167 
 
 doing too little consistently with its own ostensible faith 
 in the educational influence of the Stage, and with its 
 own apparent patronage of the Theatre. To be consistent 
 it should do something positive and potential. 
 
 I venture to affirm that there are high reasons — social, 
 moral, and religious — why the State ought officially and 
 respectfully to recognise the Stage, and afford it a discri- 
 minating and powerful patronage. In a country like 
 this, and with a civilization distinguished by high culture 
 and refinement, it is as amazing as it is disgraceful that 
 the State should demean itself towards the Drama and 
 the Stage as it does towards its criminal and dangerous 
 classes. It seems to me a very grave defect that England 
 should have a National Church, a National School, a 
 National Museum, and a National Art Gallery, and not 
 possess a National Stage, which unites in itself the 
 features, and in no mean degree fulfils the functions, of 
 all. I bring the Stage into juxtaposition with the Church 
 and the School, in spite of the protests of the false 
 friends of the Stage, because it is confessedly an educa- 
 tional agency. It is a State principle to care for the 
 religion and morals, the intelligence and taste, the re- 
 freshment and recreation of society : on what grounds, 
 then, can it justify its virtual reproach and practical 
 neglect of the Theatre, which is nightly, and even daily, 
 exerting a most powerful influence by means the most 
 fascinating on the principles and practices of the com- 
 munity ? We have a -National Drama, at the head of 
 which stands incomparably the greatest dramatist that 
 ever lived, but we have no National Stage. The neces- 
 sary consequence of this strange deficiency is, that only 
 at intervals, and then with more or less inadequacy and 
 incompleteness, the higher drama obtains any representa- 
 tion. Private theatrical management, however much dis- 
 posed, cannot, but at great pecuniary risk and difficulty, 
 devote the Stage exclusively to the classic drama. The 
 experiment, moreover, is too hazardous because the more 
 usual frequenters of theatres, seeking mere amusement, 
 have been so much accustomed to an inferior 
 dramatic diet that they have not the taste and 
 
(68 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 culture to appreciate it. They who can appreciate, 
 and would patronise it, have been driven away from 
 the Theatre by the dramatic deterioration of its 
 Stage quite as much as by the traditional reputation of 
 the Theatre itself, the flimsiness and injustice of which 
 they are beginning to understand. I believe the best 
 part of the theatrical profession regret, quite as much as 
 the more cultivated and morally sensitive members of 
 society, this unfortunate condition of things. Dramas, 
 so-called, remarkable for nothing but mere dialogue- 
 straining laboriously and painfully after epigram, repartee, 
 pun, and mere verbal wit, and, not unfrequently, luxu- 
 riating in indelicate inuendo and unblushing indecency ; 
 morbid melodramatic and vulgar mechanical sensa- 
 tionalism, burlesque, buffoonery, millinery, and mere 
 spectacle — these are too much in the forefront of the Stage 
 of to-day. Ought society? ought the State to be indifferent 
 to such a prostitution of the uses of the Theatre ? I 
 have endeavoured to show that the Theatre is a social 
 necessity, and has sufficient vitality to exist, as nothing 
 else can exist, even in its corruption ; and that, if it is 
 not a refining influence, it is a minister of vulgarity and 
 debasement. It is, therefore, a social and State con- 
 cern, deserving most serious consideration, and claiming 
 the earnest purpose of redemption. There is a possi- 
 bility of redemption, and permit me to say where I think 
 it lies. 
 
 It lies in the Legislative concession by the State of 
 the great national want of a Theatrical ideal, in the form 
 of a liberally subsidised National Theatre, which shall be 
 an Exemplary Theatre in the productions on its Stage, 
 in the artistic eminence of its Actors, and the unexcep- 
 tionable reputation of its Management. Such a Theatre 
 would be a sort of Theatrical University, a Temple of 
 High Art, and a School of High Intellectual and Moral 
 Culture ; and, as such, would attract to itself an admira- 
 tion bordering on love, and a respect kindred to rever- 
 ence. Such a Theatre would boast of a Stage on which 
 only the highest graduates in the Histrionic Art would be 
 allowed to step, and which it would be the proud ambi- 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 1 69 
 
 tion of Actors to reach. Such a Theatre would silently, 
 but surely, revolutionize all other theatrical establish- 
 ments ; or, at least, stand out conspicuously as the 
 National rebuke to theatrical abuses. Such a Theatre 
 would afford a Permanent Home to the Classic Drama 
 of the country, and rescue the masterpieces of Dramatic 
 Genius from the obscurity to which they seem doomed. 
 Such a Theatre would be a truly National Theatre, which 
 Royalty might feel it an honour to patronise, and where 
 refinement and self-respect would rejoice to resort. There 
 are surely sufficient wisdom and moral earnestness in the 
 community to resist and over-ride the unreflecting pre- 
 judices which such a proposal might probably have to 
 encounter. It ought to be attempted, and accomplished, 
 for the 'National honour, and in the interests of social 
 refinement and morality. 
 
 I conclude, by observing that, since the love of the 
 Drama is a human instinct and passion of civilized life, 
 and the Theatre is an inevitable fact of civilization which 
 cannot be extinguished ; and, since both are liable to 
 perversion, to the great injury of the Social manners and 
 morals, it becomes a Social and I^egislative duty to make 
 both the objects of profound solicitude. In the view of 
 the long perspective of the history of the Theatre, I am 
 justified in saying that, left solely to the care of com- 
 mercial speculation and private enterprize, it is con- 
 stantly liable to deteriorate, as well as a temple of high 
 art as a school of morals. In the interests of our National 
 Literature, and, above all, in the graver interests of our 
 National character, the State ought to intervene by the 
 erection and subvention of its omi National Theatre. 
 There is scarcely a graver domestic matter worthy of the 
 consideration of the Legislature ; and the Government 
 which, in the view of the great interests involved, should 
 decide on this course of action, would deserve the 
 thanks, and would obtain, I believe, the overwhelming 
 approbation of the country. High art, patriotism, philan- 
 throphy, and pure and undefiled religion, would be grati- 
 fied by and grateful for, such a National gift. It is the 
 thought and aspiration of many who have given this 
 
lyo THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 subject of the Theatre their serious consideration, and, 
 as a minister of religion, I unite with them in the devout 
 wish that it may have its reaUzation. 
 
 Will a Liberal Government ever grant us this boon ? 
 I fear not ; for the Liberal constituencies are too widely 
 permeated with the narrow spirit of religious illiberality 
 through the leaven of Nonconformist Puritanism. I 
 wonder that Lord Beaconsfield, with his literary tastes 
 and art sympathies, has never addressed himself as a 
 Statesman, and the head of a united and less crotchety 
 Government, to this grave question. 
 
 It is a sign of the times, in reference to the position of 
 the Drama and the Theatre in modern society, that both 
 have found a home^an appropriate, and, I trust, a per- 
 manent home — in that attractive place of popular resort, 
 the Crystal Palace. The genius of the place, as the 
 palace of fine art and the repository of the memorials 
 of the ancient civilizations of the world, seems to have 
 naturally invited the Drama and erected a stage for its 
 representation. I am entitled to point to this circumstance 
 as an interesting illustration of the argument of these dis- 
 courses — that the Theatre is an incident of civilization, 
 and one of its most natural products. Whether or not 
 any aesthetical, educational, and moral purposes were 
 contemplated by the directors in their decision to erect a 
 stage, important social consequences must flow from the 
 Crystal Palaqe Theatre. The selection of sterling dramas, 
 and the concentration of the best histrionic talent for 
 their due representation, must exert a sensible and valu- 
 able influence in refining the dramatic taste of the con- 
 stituents of the Palace ; and the absence of those 
 accessories to the Theatre which have been suffered to 
 wound the reputation of professional theatrical enter- 
 tainments, is a proof that they are neither sought nor 
 needed by the lovers of the Drama. Here, at all events, 
 we have the experiment made of a pure Drama and an 
 unexceptionable Theatre. And what is the result of the 
 experiment ? Just what might have been predicted. 
 The Theatre is crowded by persons who cannot be con- 
 sidered ordinary play-goers, a large proportion of whom. 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 171 
 
 probably, have never been inside any other theatre, and 
 would hesitate from the old traditionary prejudice, or 
 from moral and religious scruples, to be seen there. No 
 one who has witnessed these performances, and observed 
 the audiences, can doubt of their attractiveness and the 
 thorough satisfaction which they afford ; and I will ven- 
 ture to say that only stolid ignorance, uncultivated taste,, 
 and mawkish religiousness, can utter a word of dis- 
 approval, much more of condemnation. We have, in the 
 Crystal Palace theatricals, a very near approach to a 
 Normal Theatre, capable of fulfilling those necessary 
 conditions which will raise the Drama and the Stage 
 to a high place in the social estimation. There,, 
 tmdoubtedly, the Theatre is a school, uniting enter- 
 tainments of a high order with culture of solid worth, 
 entirely separated from every adventitious circumstance 
 which can wound the most sensitive conscience or taint 
 the most virtuous life. Virtue and piety, no less than 
 taste and refinement, can, and do, go to the play at the 
 Crystal Palace without shame and rebuke. 
 
 I have endeavoured to consider the subject under our 
 notice in a practical point of view, and in a serious and 
 candid mood befitting its great social gravity. I find it 
 impossible to sympathise with the merely traditionary and 
 iconoclastic humour of much opposition which has been 
 offered to the Stage, and cannot see the wisdom, justice,. 
 Christian feeling, and practical utility, of those fierce dia- 
 tribes which it has been so long the custom to hurl at it 
 from the pulpit. 
 
 "All seems infected that the infected spy, 
 As all looks yellow to the jaundiced eye." 
 
 I believe the modern educated pulpit will be more dis- 
 cerning and just towards the Drama and the Theatre, and 
 that, whatever the degree of its Puritan admiration, it is 
 not blind to the rashness of Puritan extravagance, the 
 vindictiveness of Puritan pique, and the inveteracy of 
 Puritan prejudice. We may hardly expect the rebukes of 
 the enlightened pulpit of to-day when, quoting with 
 approval the lines of Pope, and applying them to the 
 
J 72 THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 
 
 moods and judgments with which we ought to confront 
 the representation on the Stage, we say with him — 
 
 "Avoid extremes ; and shun the fault of such 
 Who still are pleased too little, or too much. 
 At every trifle scorn to take offence, 
 That always shows great pride or little sense : 
 Those heads, as stomachs, are not sure the best 
 Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest." 
 
 The audiences and environments of the Theatre of our 
 <lay are not what they were even a generation ago. No 
 ■doubt they are still, in some instances, very far from what 
 its best friends could wish them to be ; but the leading 
 ■theatres of our great cities have, for some years past, not 
 merely earned a better reputation, but can show as clean 
 -a bill of health as any other social institution, and claim to 
 be spoken of with not only greater, but absolute, respect. 
 The business of a leading theatre is conducted now with 
 ■as much attention to business, and as much strict 
 decorum and integrity, as any other commercial under- 
 -taking; and the profession of the actor will furnish as 
 many examples of culture and refinement, of self-respect, 
 and of personal and social worth, as any other profession. 
 I will only add that, since the Theatre must exist side by 
 -side with the Church and the School in our modern 
 civilization, our wisdom is not to cast a slur upon it by 
 our scornful repudiation, nor to vindicate it by arguments 
 find admissions that degrade it, but to do all in our power 
 to make it arf^uxiliary to both in the work of social 
 regeneration, and aid it to win for itself, as it certainly will 
 do sooner or later, a position of general social repute. 
 
 Be proud of the British Stage and of your own native 
 Shakespeare — 
 
 ' ' Dare to have sense yourselves ; assn/-/ the Stage, 
 Be justly warmed with your moii native rage : 
 Such plays alone should win a British ear 
 As Cato's self had not disdained to hear." 
 
 Yes, be brave in common sense and manly indepen- 
 dence ! Encourage by your sympathy and support the 
 productions of your own native drama. Raise the Stage 
 
THE STAGE AND THE STATE. 173- 
 
 by your presence, and you lift up a frivolous and gro- 
 velling society to your own intellectual and high moral 
 level. 
 
 It is not at all probable that the British Lord Cham- 
 berlain is here this evening ; but very likely a certain 
 famous Danish Lord Chamberlain, by name Polonius^ 
 is present. I have just a final word to say to you, 
 Polonius, in behalf of a profession much too little under- 
 stood and honoured in the ecclesiastical corners of the 
 country of even the immortal Shakespeare. 
 
 ' ' Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed ? Do 
 you hear, let them be well used ; for they are the abstracts and 
 brief chronicles of the time : After your death you were better- 
 have a bad epitaph, than their ill report while you lived. 
 
 "You ' will use them according to their desert,' do you say ? " 
 " Odd's bodikin, man, better : Use every man after his desert, 
 and who should 'scape whiffing? Use them after your own 
 honour and dignity : The less they deserve, the more merit is in 
 your bounty. Take them in." 
 
 Hamlet's opinion of the honour and gracious enter- 
 tainment due to the professors of the theatric art ought, 
 in these days, to be endorsed by both princes and people., 
 A comfortable bestowment in a royal palace is but a 
 passing courtesy ; they are entitled to expect a respectful 
 and cordial welcome from all ranks, more especially 
 from the most cultured and moral sections of society — 
 
 " Honour and shame from no condition rise ; 
 Act well your part, — there all the honour lies." 
 
174 
 
 NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 
 
 Mr. John Hollingshead lately defined the legitimate 
 ■drama as " a drama whose authors are dead, and whpse 
 "Copyrights have expired." He described the Lord 
 ChamlDerkin as " a functionary in England who regulates 
 
 court millinery and dramatic literature." — Mirth, No. i . 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 " So," says Mr. Neville, " actors being the king's ser- 
 vants, and some of them retained in the Royal Palace, 
 they were of course placed under the care and jurisdic- 
 tion of the Lord Chamberlain, whose power they have 
 always acknowledged. That power was made more 
 absolute in consequence of the satires on the King's 
 Ministry in a burlesque called ' Pasquin,' played at the 
 Hayniarket by Henry Fielding's ' Great Mogul Company,' 
 in 1735. In 1736, a 'Licensing Act' was passed, giving 
 the Lord Chamberlain power to forbid pieces not licensed 
 by him. It was brought about ingeniously. Mr. Giffard, 
 the manager of Goodman's Fields Theatre, took an 
 anonymous piece called ' The Golden Rump,' full of 
 parliamentary abuse and caricature, to the Prime 
 Minister, who was smarting under Fielding's satire. 
 He made the best possible use of the scandalous manu- 
 script in the debates on the question. The Act passed 
 but not without opposition from the lovers of the free- 
 dom of the Stage, particularly Lord Chesterfield, who 
 agreed, in principle, with Jeremy Collier's attack on the 
 •abuses of the profession, published in 1698, when 
 Betterton and Mrs. Bracegirdle were fined for indecent 
 language on the stage, but opposed the idea of theatrical 
 restriction. Subsequent Acts of Parliament confirmed 
 this law, and the theatres have been compelled to submit 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 175 
 
 to control, which has not always been executed with dis- 
 cretion or justice to the great body of actors. Gradually, 
 however, London patents were abolished (about 1846), 
 and the power which forbade an actor earning his bread 
 in Lent and certain days of the year was relaxed; and 
 the restrictions a^ they now exist are only those which 
 any manager who loves the art and regards the respect- 
 ability of the profession, is pleased to observe." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 Mr. Ham's earnest desire that the Drama should have 
 a national home is admirably seconded by Mr. Neville. 
 " Our Glorious Drama," says he, " has no national 
 home and no enrolled discipleship ; and when, to 
 crown these evils, I see, with grief, a taste for tinselled 
 and spangled nudity taking the place of the ancient 
 reverence for the instructive, elevating^ and ennobling 
 drama, I cannot refrain from the poet's language, though 
 I feel it is no longer a hope, but a despair : 
 
 " ' Oh ! ne'er may folly seize the throne of taste, 
 Nor dulness lay the realms of genius waste ; 
 No bouncing crackers ape the thunderers' fire, 
 No tumbler float upon the bended wire. 
 More natural uses to the Stage belong, 
 Than monsters, tumblers, pantomime, and song. 
 For other purposes was that spot designed, 
 To purge the passions, and reform the mind. ' 
 
 " I regard my profession with deep and genuine re- 
 verence, and I cannot bear to see it degenerated. I 
 honour its antiquity. I respect it as having been the 
 nursery of genius. 
 
 " The greatest men of the day — poets, politicians, 
 statesmen, and painters — have loved the Theatre ; and 
 until ' folly seized the throne of taste,' they regularly took 
 their seats to listen to the noble utterances of such men as 
 Betterton, Garrick, Kean, Kemble, Farren, and Macready 
 — men whom they were proud to call their equals, though in 
 another department of this many-sided world. In those 
 days the green-room was the centre of wit and fa:shion. 
 The eh'U were allowed to visit it in full dress only ; sur- 
 touts had to remain at the door. Hence the saying 
 
176 NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 
 
 among us, ' on the mat ' — a saying which is frequently- 
 met with in theatrical books ; and when it was patronised 
 by the company and cheered by the converse of educated 
 gentlemen and distinguished wits, the profession could 
 
 not but be an honourable, noble, and elevating art." 
 
 * 
 * * 
 
 " Lord Byron,'' says Mr. Neville, " gives some admir- 
 able advice to play-goers, which, if taken, would soon 
 elevate the profession, and cause it to be properly recog- 
 nised — as an art is appreciated, so is the artist held in 
 esteem ! Lord Byron says : — 
 
 " ' Friends of the Stage I to whom both players and plays 
 Must sue alike for pardon or for praise, 
 Whose judging voice and eye alone direct 
 The boundless power to cherish or reject ; 
 If e'er frivolity has led to fame, 
 And made us blush that you forebore to blame ; 
 If e'er the sinking Stage could condescend 
 To soothe the sickly taste it dare not mend, 
 All past reproach may present scenes refute, 
 And censure, wisely loud, be justly mute ! 
 O ! since your fiat stamps the Drama's laws, 
 Forbear to mock us with misplaced applause : 
 So pride shall doubly nerve the actor's ijowers, 
 And reason's voice be echoed back by ours.' 
 
 " To cast this Institution away, therefore, on account of 
 its abuses is to act towards it unjustly, unhistorically, 
 unchristianly. It is to adopt a course which is applied 
 to no other institution, and which, if so applied, would 
 be the extinction of everything that is venerable and 
 excellent ; yes, even Religion and our Divine Christianity. 
 The right method is to disentangle it from its evils— to 
 reform its abuses — to pass it through the fire of a moral 
 reformation — to lay the axe to the root of the foul para- 
 sites that are choking and destroying the noble tree — to 
 break off the incrustation of its centuries of evil, and 
 bring to light the sparkling gem whose radiance they have 
 so long hidden and concealed. This is the object I have 
 in view in this lecture, and for this it is my intention to 
 devote all the influence and ability I can command. It 
 is to make the Stage a National Institution — to make it 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 177 
 
 that of which a nation may be proud — to give it the rank 
 of a public Institution — to provide for it an Academy, a 
 Discipleship, a Home — to erect a Tribunal to which its 
 professors may appeal, by which merit may be rewarded, 
 and demerit swept away into the oblivion it deserves — a 
 Tribunal from which spangled nudity and tinselled im- 
 pudence may shrink abashed, and before which genius, 
 may lift its dejected head and receive the laurels of a 
 nation's praise. 
 
 " Why should there not be a Royal Academy of Actors 
 as well as a Royal Academy of Painters ? Why should' 
 there not be a Sir Samuel Phelps as well as a Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds ? Why should the latter Art be taken into a 
 national conservatory and the other left outside to 
 wither in the storm ? In a word, why should not the 
 Dramatic Art be placed on a footing with the other Arts,, 
 so that the noblest of the land might aspire to honour.s- 
 without a sense of degradation ; while those whose 
 nobility is only of the mind might regard them with 
 reverence, and labour for them with hope. Now there is 
 nothing for the artist to live for, nothing to work up to — 
 no standard to reach, no tribunal to appeal to, no laurel 
 to crown — nothing but the breath of popular applause,, 
 which shifts like the wind, and perishes as soon. 
 
 " But once let the Stage become a national Institution 
 — ^once let it be taken under the aegis of the State — once 
 let it receive the kindly nurture and powerful support of 
 the British Government — and I venture to predict there 
 would arise such a light of Dramatic power and genius in 
 England that the Stage wouldbecome one of the brightest 
 luminaries of the age and of the world ; and mingle its 
 rays with the press and the pulpit for the enlightenment 
 of the ignorant, the elevation of the degraded, the reprov- 
 ing of vice, the encouragement of virtue, and the dis- 
 semination of those principles of public morality which 
 consolidate a nation and glorify a throne. 
 
 " Alas, however, I fear there is little hope of the accom- 
 plishment of these bright predictions and fascinating 
 dreams ! But though these may be impossible, all is not- 
 impossible. Something can be done to elevate our Art 
 
 M 
 
178 NOTES TO LECTURE IV, 
 
 and invest it with a greater than its present dignity. Is 
 there no individual among all the wealthy admirers of 
 the Drama — no George Peabody, no Baroness Burdett 
 Coutts — who will exercise their beneficence in this de- 
 partment of public usefulness, and hand down their 
 names to the future age as the founders of a Dramatic 
 Institution or Academy? If there be none, even that 
 disheartening fact must not drive us to despair. Let us 
 do something ourselves, however small, however insig- 
 nificant. Let us do as the founders of the Royal 
 Academy of Painters did, who took that room in Spring 
 Gardens and there commenced the institution which 
 has now grown into Burlington House, with its vast 
 annual display of the works of genius — the admiration 
 of princes, and the idolatry of the people. Let us at 
 least have a Dramatic Record Office — a place where 
 our efforts in Dramatic Art shall be chronicled and 
 preserved ; to which Dramatic authors shall be in- 
 vited to send their works ; at which Dramatic students 
 shall come to learn the art of acting ; and in which 
 lectures may be given on Dramatic subjects. This may 
 be the small beginning of who knows what magnificent 
 result ? — the little rill that shall swell into the river 
 and bear on its bosom the fleets of nations — the acorn 
 that may grow into an oak and brave the storms of a 
 hundred winters — the room that may expand into a Royal 
 Academy and a Burlington House, and demand by its 
 importance that distinction from the Government which 
 in the days of its weakness it petitioned for in vain. 
 
 * * 
 
 The subsidy to the Theatre Frangais is equivalent to 
 
 ;^ 1 0,000 per annum. It is the great test place of the 
 French capital, and unless an actor has earned his spurs 
 elsewhere, he has no chance of appearing on its boards. 
 The Od^on also receives a large subsidy. All the 
 theatres have to pay a per centage to the Droits des 
 pauvres — a theatrical poor-rate. Not the only place 
 where actors assist the holy cause of charity. 
 
 * * 
 
 The eminent composer, Jacques Offenbach, makes the 
 
NOTES TO LECl'URE IV. 1 79 
 
 foilowing sensible remarks on the condition of art gener- 
 ally in America : — 
 
 " The reader who has perused the chapter devoted to 
 theatres, will have noted how dramatic art is neglected in 
 the United States, and under what deplorable circum- 
 stances it is found. To have good artists, companies who 
 can play together in unity, and authors, stable institutions 
 are indispensable, a settled and abiding habitation, 
 traditions that grow up slowly. In New York, there is 
 neither permanent opera, nor comic opera, not even an 
 operetta house, which can be insured to live a couple of 
 years. There is no place for classic or modern authors, 
 which can offer guarantees of duration sufficient to build 
 up a school. The theatre lives, in America, from day to 
 day. The managers and companies are nomadic. The 
 larger part of the artists are birds of passage, imported 
 from the Old World, who play a season and then depart. 
 
 " What I have said of the dramatic art applies equally 
 well to the other arts. Neither music, nor painting, nor 
 sculpture find in America the suitable conditions for 
 development. But there are painters, will say somebody, 
 and sculptors too ; I don't deny it. I could cite some who 
 have great talent : Bierstadt, Sturt, Ball, Carlioli (sic), 
 Mismis (Minnie, it should be), Ream, and many others. 
 Where is the land where you do not find one flower ? I 
 saw many flowers, but I did not see a garden. In other 
 words, I saw many painters, but I did not find a school in 
 
 America." 
 
 * 
 
 Apropos of a society just started in Manchester, a 
 writer in the Daily Telegraph said recently : — " Everything 
 that can conduce to enhance the popularity of the Stage 
 is worthy of support ; and everything tending towards 
 the removal of the silly and bigoted prejudices formerly 
 prevalent against theatres, as ' schools of immorality ' and 
 ' sinks of iniquity,' deserves public approval. If the 
 Theatre served no other purpose than that of enabling 
 hard-working people to spend an evening in innocent 
 recreation — even if they did no more than keep the 
 humbler classes out of the public-house — the Stage would 
 
loo NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 
 
 be a boon to society at large ; but it may be made, under 
 proper management, to serve much higher and more 
 serious ends. For such reasons, we see nothing to dissent 
 from in the movement which has just been started in 
 Manchester to establish a ' Society for the Reform of the 
 Stage.' Reform is a very elastic term, and sensible 
 reformers are certainly not revolutionists. While, how- 
 ever, we recognize the good intentions of the gentlemen 
 at Manchester, we are entitled to express a hope that they 
 see their way clear as to the mariner in which the British 
 Stage, if it stand in need of reformation, is to be reformed. 
 The Lord Chamberlain in London, and the licensing 
 magistrates in the provinces, will take good care that no 
 indelicate language shall be uttered, no indecorous dances 
 or gestures indulged in, and no objectionable costumes 
 worn, in any theatre under their control. It is the duty 
 of the licenser of plays to withhold the privilege of repre- 
 sentation from dramas which are palpably immoral. In 
 what further direction, then, is it practicable to reform the 
 Stage ? It is impossible to restore the patent theatres ; 
 nor does the State feel inclined at present to endow — as 
 Mr. Phelps would wish — a national Theatre, insisting, in 
 return for the dotation, as the French Government does 
 in the case of the Theatre Fran9ais and the Odeon, that 
 the legitimate Drama shall be performed there so many 
 nights in the course of every year. We cannot compel 
 managers to play Shakespeare, and nothing but Shake- 
 speare; and nine-tenths of the works of Ben Jonson, 
 Massinger, Marlowe, and Beaumont and Fletcher, are, 
 although admirable reading for scholars and antiquaries, 
 wholly uusuitable for modern representation. Nothing 
 that Wycherley or Durfey, and very little that Congreve, 
 Vanbrugh, Farquhar, or Colley Gibber, ever wrote, would 
 be listened to with patience now-a-days ; and even among 
 the comedies of the latter years of the eighteenth century' 
 there are, with the exception of the plays by Goldsmith 
 and Sheridan, only a very small proportion which keep 
 the Stage. Moreover, the public want to be amused, and 
 they incessantly demand dramatic novelties, as easily 
 changeable as the manners of the age are changed. The 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE IV. l8l 
 
 Stage must be the mirror of the epoch, or it is nothing at 
 all. If the Manchester Society be one of wise men, they 
 will alter the title of their organisation to ' The Society for 
 the Encouragement of the Stage.' " 
 
 A good example of the recognition accorded to the 
 profession by distinguished people is afforded in the 
 Ibllowing anecdote : — Kemble had once been obliged 
 by Lord Percy, at the Coventry Theatre, with the services 
 of a few dragoons, to give effect to a theatrical battle. 
 "Years afterwards," says Mr. Fitzgerald in his lives of 
 ' the Kembles,' " this nobleman, now become Duke of 
 Northumberland, sent to beg that he would give some 
 lessons in elocution to his son. Kemble made some 
 objections, but presently recalling the incident of the 
 soldiers, whose assistance had been so graciously accorded, 
 agreed to waive his objections, and gave some instruc- 
 tions to the young lord. On the burning of the theatre 
 Covent Garden, September 20th, 1808, the Duke found 
 the opportunity for a noble return. He wrote to Kemble, 
 and reminding him of the trifling service, which another 
 actor would only have been too glad to render, expressed 
 his sympathy, and offered a loan of ;^io,ooo on his 
 simple bond, if such would be any use. This was real 
 munificence. Kemble at first hesitated to accept, as he 
 felt he might not be able to pay the interest ; but the 
 Duke declared that he should never be pressed. A few 
 weeks later, on the day the first stone of the new theatre 
 was laid, he cancelled the bond, and made him a present 
 
 of the whole sum." 
 
 * 
 
 It would be indecorous to cite living examples of the 
 honour paid to distinguished actors, even by royalty. 
 A large number of the nobility are warm friends to the 
 ■ Drama and its exponents. It has been so in days gone by. 
 We find the Earl of Mount Edgcumbe addressing Garrick, 
 when on a visit to Devonshire, in a flattering ode, inviting 
 the great actor to visit him at his country seat. Garrick 
 was the friend of all the great men of the time, and his 
 funeral was not merely a public ovation, but is said by 
 Walpole to have been followed by a greater number of the 
 
1-82 NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 
 
 carriages of the nobility than had that of a noble lord 
 
 a little while before. 
 
 * 
 
 * * 
 
 When Sir Joshua Reynolds was putting the finishing 
 
 touches to a portrait of Mrs. Siddons, he was observed by 
 her to be apparently elaborating some embroidery on her 
 dress, but a closer inspection showed that heVas very care- 
 fullypainting in his own name. The great actress remarked 
 on the trouble he was taking, when Reynolds gracefully 
 replied, " Madam, I consider it the highest honour to 
 have my name handed down to posterity — even on the 
 hem of your garment ! " 
 
 * « 
 
 It is a curious fact in the science of bigotry, that 
 many good people who would on no account enter a 
 Theatre on ordinary occasions, do not think it wrong to 
 take their children to see a pantomime at Christmas time. 
 But there are others of the stricter sect of the Pliarisees, 
 who condemn the pantomime as unreservedly as any 
 other theatrical performances. One of these good people 
 one day, in the writer's presence, hearing a little boy ask 
 his brother, when he was going to take him to the panto- 
 mime, said, with great sincerity, and evidently without 
 the slightest idea that she was infringing a much higher 
 law than the "tradition of the elders," to which she clung: 
 " You will go to hell quite quickly enough without him 
 helping you, by taking you to the pantomime." It would 
 seem, however, that this by-paths to perdition was be- 
 coming less frequent of late. "What is happening to 
 pantomime ?" said a writer in the Standard Xsst Christ- 
 mas, " may well be asked by those who feel interested in 
 that form of entertainment. Is it dying out, or is it 
 simply passing through what in pantomime language 
 may be called a series of 'transformations?' One thing 
 is certain, that of some twenty sets of performances an- 
 nounced at some twenty different theatres for last night 
 not four include the representation of a pantomime. 
 The two great houses once called ' National ' keep to 
 pantomime, either as part of their ancient tradition — 
 the only part of it now left to them ; or, more probably, 
 
NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 1 83 
 
 because they are peculiarly fitted for the presentation of 
 pantomimes as now produced. Pantomimes, indeed, 
 have long ceased to be pantomimes, except in name. 
 The first unmistakeable sign of the decay of pantomime 
 showed itself in the decline and fall of the clown. There 
 was — at least, there is said to have been — a period when 
 columbines were fair and graceful, when harlequins 
 were graceful and agile, when clowns were agile and 
 humorous, and when pantaloons were humorous and 
 grotesque. But long since these almost pre-historic 
 times there have been famous clowns, one of whom, the 
 celebrated Grimaldi, was made the subject of innumer- 
 able anecdotes when living ; while, since his death, he 
 has been honoured with a biography from the pen of 
 one of the greatest of English humorists. With all due 
 respect to the clowns of our generation, Grimaldi must 
 have been a very different sort of clown from them. Pro- 
 bably but few playgoers of the present day have ever 
 seen a clown worthy of the name— one whom the great 
 Grimaldi would not have hesitated to acknowledge as a 
 clown and a brother. Years ago, there was a really artistic 
 clown named Flexmore, who married the daughter of a 
 famous French clown named Auriol, and then, after 
 raising speculations as to whether he might not become 
 the father of a race of clowns, died without leaving issue. 
 There are still clowns. Indeed, it is not very long 
 since it was the fashion with managers of a strikingly 
 enterprising character, to engage, for every pantomime 
 two clowns, two pantaloons, two harlequins, and two 
 columbines, one set of pantomimic characters not being 
 found sufficiently attractive. It was, possibly, through 
 forcing the fun in this manner that managers at last 
 brought all that is essentially pantomime in what is still 
 
 called pantomime to its present low condition. 
 
 * 
 * * 
 In conclusion, it will not be uninteresting to note the 
 number of pieces, from grand opera down to farces and 
 sketches, new to the London boards, which were pro- 
 duced last season. The following is compiled from the 
 Era Almanack for 1878, and includes the musical and 
 
184 NOTES TO LECTURE IV. 
 
 dramatic works offered to the public from December, 
 1876, to the end of November, 1877. They aggregate 
 161 works of all classes. 
 
 The list includes 20 operas and musical pieces ; among 
 the number, T/ie Impressario (Mozart), Ruy Bias (by 
 Signor Marchetti), Gli vispe Comdri di Windsor (Nicolai), 
 Santa Chiara (the Grand Duke of Saxe-Coburg Gotha),. 
 B'iorn (Rossi), The Sorcerer (Arthur Sullivan), Die Fleder- 
 maus (Johann Strauss), La Creole (Offenbach), King 
 Indigo (Johann Strauss), and La Marjolaiyie {'Ltcocq). 
 
 Strange to say, in the whole list there is but one piece 
 described as a tragedy, and that was written by a clergy- 
 man, the Rev. Henry Solly. But the list of dramas, comic, 
 domestic, Irish, and tragical, makes a good showing, there 
 being no less than 66. Among them were Lord Newry's 
 adaptation of that noble drama, Les Danicheffs , the 
 Moonstone (Wilkie Collins), England in the Days of 
 Charles II. (W. G. Wills), The Dead Secret (adaptation 
 from Wilkie Collins), During Her Majesty's Pleasure 
 (Conquest and Pettitt), The Queen of an Hour (F. Stain- 
 forth and J. Douglass), The Omadhaun (H. P. Grattan), 
 and Rtissia (Farnie and Reece). 
 
 Twenty-six comedies and comediettas were produced 
 in the same period. The list includes Lord Lytton's un- 
 finished work, The Hotise of Darnley (completed by Mr. 
 Coghlan), Engaged (W. S. Gilbert), and The Pink 
 Dominos (James Albery). The irrepressible Byron was, 
 of course, in the field with several pieces. It will thus 
 be seen that out of a total of 161 works, 112 belonged 
 to the higher and middle forms of the drama, leaving 
 less than fifty other works, including new farces, 
 burlesques, and pantomimes. But of the whole series, 
 only two have been by certain critics deemed objec- 
 tionable as regards their morality. Could the same be 
 said of an equal number of books, selected at random 
 from the list of a circulating library ? 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by W. Wilfked Head and M akk, '* Dr. Johnson " Press, 2, 3, and S, 
 Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, E,C 
 
■ill