The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor Part 5

Sure, when renew'd thy powers shall rise, To hymn before th' empyreal throne, Angels shall start in wild surprise, To hear a note so like their own!

They appeared in a paper of limited circulation and would now possess to most readers the charm of novelty. The English of these lines seems to the writer of this to fall upon the ear with hardly less mellifluence than the fine latinity of Wranghams's.

Your humble servant, A FRIEND TO YOUR WORK.

_Boston, March 1810._

ANECDOTES OF MACKLIN.

One night sitting at the back of the front boxes with a gentleman of his acquaintance, (before the alterations at Covent Garden theatre took place) one of the under-bred box-lobby loungers, so like some of this city of the present day, stood up immediately before him, and his person being rather large, covered the sight of the stage from him. Macklin took fire at this; but managing himself with more temper than usual, patted him gently on the shoulder with his cane, and with much seeming civility, requested of him, "when he saw or heard anything that was entertaining on the stage, to let him and the gentleman with him know of it: for you see, my dear sir," added the veteran, "that at present we must totally depend on your kindness." This had the desired effect, and the lounger walked off.

Talking of the caution necessary to be used in conversation among a mixed company, Macklin observed, Sir, I have experienced to my cost, that a man in any situation should never be off his guard--a Scotchman never is; he never lives a moment _extempore_, and that is one great reason of their success in life.

A COMPARISON BETWEEN MILTON AND SHAKSPEARE.

Among the compositions of our own country, Comus certainly stands unrivalled for its affluence in poetic imagery and diction; and, as an effort of the creative power, it can be paralleled only by the Muse of Shakspeare, by whom, in this respect, it is possibly exceeded.

With Shakspeare, the whole, with exception to some rude outlines or suggestions of the story, is the immediate emanation of his own mind: but Milton's erudition prohibited him from this extreme originality, and was perpetually supplying him with thoughts which would sometimes obtain the preference from his judgment, and would sometimes be mistaken for her own property by his invention. Original, however, he is; and of all the sons of song inferior, in this requisite of genius, only to Shakspeare. Neither of these wonderful men was so far privileged above his species as to possess other means of acquiring knowledge than through the inlets of the senses, and the subsequent operations of the mind on this first ma.s.s of ideas. The most exalted of human intelligences cannot form one mental phantasm uncompounded of this visible world. Neither Shakspeare nor Milton could conceive a sixth corporal sense, or a creature absolutely distinct from the inhabitants of this world. A Caliban, or an Ariel; a devil, or an angel, are only several compositions and modifications of our animal creation; and heaven and h.e.l.l can be built with nothing more than our terrestrial elements newly arranged and variously combined. The distinction, therefore, between one human intelligence and another must be occasioned solely by the different degrees of clearness, force, and quickness, with which it perceives, retains, and combines. On the superiority in these mental faculties it would be difficult to decide between those extraordinary men who are the immediate subjects of our remark: for, if we are astonished at that power, which, from a single spot as it were, could collect sufficient materials for the construction of a world of its own, we cannot gaze without wonder at that proud magnificence of intellect, which, rus.h.i.+ng like some mighty river, through extended lakes, and receiving into its bosom the contributary waters of a thousand regions, preserves its course, its name, and its character, entire. With Milton, from whatever mine the ore may originally be derived, the coin issues from his own mint with his own image and superscription, and pa.s.ses into currency with a value peculiar to itself. To speak accurately, the mind of Shakspeare could not create; and that of Milton invented with equal, or nearly equal, power and effect. If we admit, in the Tempest, or the Midsummer's Nights Dream, a higher flight of the inventive faculty, we must allow a less interrupted stretch of it in the Comus: in this poem there may be something, which might have been corrected by the revising judgment of its author; but its errors in thought and language, are so few and trivial that they must be regarded as the inequality of the plumage, and not the depression or unsteadiness of the wing. The most splendid results of Shakspeare's poetry are still separated by some interposing defect; but the poetry of Comus may be contemplated as a series of gems strung on golden wire, where the sparkle shoots along the line with scarcely the intervention of one opake spot.

KEMBLE AND COOKE COMPARED.

A German gentleman of the name of Goede, after having travelled in different parts of the world, arrived in England in 1802, where he resided for two years. On his return to Germany, he communicated his observations to his countrymen in five volumes, from which translations have been made and given to the world under the name of "The Stranger in England." His remarks are deemed in general just. He has particularly expatiated at some length on the English stage, which he thinks on the decline, and, in his strictures, has shown great knowledge of the subject, and exemplary liberality. Of COOKE and KEMBLE he speaks thus in one place; "The countenance of Kemble is the most n.o.ble and refined; but the muscles are not so much at command as those of Cooke, who is also a first rate comedian; but Kemble almost wholly rejects the comic muse.

Both are excellent in the gradual changes of the countenance; in which the inward emotions of the soul are depicted and interwoven as they flow from the mind. In this excellence I cannot compare any German actors with them, unless it be Issland and Christ. Among French tragedians even Talma and Lafond are far inferior to them."

Again--"Kemble has a very graceful manly figure, is perfectly well made, and his naturally commanding stature appears extremely dignified in every picturesque position, which he studies most a.s.siduously. His face is one of the n.o.blest I ever saw on any stage, being a fine oval, exhibiting a handsome Roman nose, and a well-formed and closed mouth; his fiery and somewhat romantic eyes retreat as it were, and are shadowed by bushy eyebrows; his front is open and little vaulted; his chin prominent and rather pointed, and his features so softly interwoven that no deeply marked line is perceptible. His physiognomy, indeed, commands at first sight; since it denotes in the most expressive manner, a man of refined sentiment, enlightened mind, and correct judgment.

Without the romantic look in his eyes, the face of Kemble would be that of a well-bred, cold, and selfish man of the world; but this look from which an ardent fancy emanates, softens the point of the chin and the closeness of the mouth. His voice is pleasing, but feeble; of small compa.s.s but extreme depth. This is, as has been previously observed, the greatest natural impediment with which he, to whom nature has been thus bountiful, has still to contend.

"Cooke does not possess the elegant figure of Kemble; but his countenance beams with great expression. The most prominent features in the physiognomy of Cooke are a long and somewhat hooked nose, a pair of fiery and expressive eyes, a lofty and somewhat broad front, and the lines of his muscles which move the lips are pointedly marked. His countenance is certainly not so dignified as that of Kemble, but it discovers greater pa.s.sion; and few actors are, perhaps, capable of delineating, in such glowing colours the storm of a violent pa.s.sion, as Cooke. His voice is powerful and of great compa.s.s; a preeminence he possesses over Kemble, of which he skilfully avails himself. His exterior movements are by far inferior in the picturesque to those of Kemble."

GERMAN THEATRE.

It has for a considerable time been fas.h.i.+onable to declaim against the theatrical performances translated from the German. They are pretty generally charged with having corrupted the English dramatic taste, and been the means of introducing the ribaldry and nonsense which, particularly in the form of songs, have so frequently appeared of late, and disgraced the London audiences, who countenanced such trash. This charge is more than insinuated in the first number of this miscellany, page 97, and by way of ill.u.s.tration, the sublime, refined, and admirable song of Alderman Gobble is introduced.

On this point I hold an opinion diametrically opposite, and hope to convince the reader that the allegations against the German writers are entirely groundless. In no German play that I have ever seen is there to be found any thing of this species. The true character of the German theatre is the very antipodes to this. Strong bold sentiment--incidents numerous and interesting--a dramatis personae of the boldest and most finished kind--and in fact every thing that can command the most marked and pointed attention of the reader or spectator. And all this notwithstanding the disadvantages of appearing in foreign dress; for it hardly need be stated how wretchedly many of the translations have been executed.

That many of the German plays are highly exceptionable in their tendency is equally lamentable as it is undeniable. And when they are adapted for representation here, they ought to be altered and modified to suit the taste, the manners, and the state of society in this country. I allude to the Stranger, Lovers' Vows, and others of this cast.

But the depravation of taste of which such loud complaints are now made, and which is so freely charged to the account of the German theatres, existed on the London stage before any of the German plays were translated. I have not in my possession at this moment means of deciding with certainty when the first made its appearance. But from an examination of a small history of the stage, which now lies before me, I am inclined to believe that the Stranger was among the earliest of them, and that its first appearance was in the year 1798. One thing, however, is absolutely certain, that not one of them was acted previous to the year 1788: as "Egerton's Theatrical Remembrancer," published in that year, and containing "a _complete list_ of all the dramatic performances in the English language," makes no mention of them. If I prove that this depraved taste existed anterior to 1788, it therefore finally decides the question.

This, I presume, is tolerably plain and clear. I now proceed to fix a much earlier origin for those vile slang songs. To O'Keefe they may be fairly traced. His motley productions contained many of them, and paved the way for the deluge of them that has since followed; for his successful example has been too frequently copied since by other writers.

"The Castle of Andalusia" was performed in 1782, and contains a song[6]

which, I think, fully proves my position. An audience who could not only tolerate but applaud such rank nonsense and folly as that song, richly deserves to be regaled even to surfeiting with Tom Gobble, and Jem Gabble, and ribaldry of the like kind. It would indeed be "throwing pearls before swine" to offer them such delicate effusions as are to be found in Love in a Village, Lionel and Clarissa, the Maid of the Mill, and the Duenna. It is hardly possible for sublimity and elegance to be relished by persons of so depraved a taste as is necessary to hear such trash without disgust. Were I to be called upon to make a choice, and p.r.o.nounce between O'Keefe's Galloping Dreary Dun, and Alderman Gobble, I should give a preference to the latter without hesitation: for, notwithstanding the detestable St. Giles's slang it contains, it has the merit of containing something of a delineation of a character too common, I mean that of an epicure. Whereas, "Draggle Tail Dreary Dun"

has no such recommendation to rescue it from universal execration.

DRAMATICUS.

[Footnote 6: That nonsensical song called _Galloping Dreary Dun_.]

DESCENT INTO ELYSIUM, FOR A STAGE POET.

_Suggested by a scene in Aristophanes._

It is necessary to mention that this was written when Mr. Sheridan was in office, and before Mr. Colman had written his best piece, the Africans. Nothing however has occurred to alter the author's opinions.

The idea was suggested by a scene in the frogs of Aristophanes. It is a dialogue between Hercules and Bacchus. Bacchus asking Hercules the way to the infernal regions, is naturally interrogated as to his reasons for going. He answers he is going for a poet. On this a short dialogue ensues concerning the living poets of Athens, in which Aristophanes takes occasion to satirize some of his brother dramatists.

_Comic Muse, and Porter of Elysium._

_Porter._ Who knocks so loud and frequent at this gate?

_Comic Muse._ 'Tis I--the laughing muse of comedy.

_P._ What? with that mournful melancholy face?

Why sure--thou'st wandered through Trophonius' cave.

_C. M._ I've cause for grief: I'm scorn'd despis'd, neglected, A vulgar muse, got by some Grub-street bard, On obscure Ignorance, in gaol or stews, Usurps my place, and arrogates my honours.

_P._ 'Tis sad:--but wherefore bend this way thy steps?

_C. M._ I come to seek some high and gifted bard, Whose fiery genius with just judgment temper'd, May vindicate my rights; and with strong satire Whip the vile ignorant triflers from the stage.

_P._ What! is there none alive of power sufficient?

Lives not the attic wit of Sheridan?

_C. M._ He lives: but, oh, disgrace to letters! long Has left me for the sweets of dissipation, Left me whose hand had crowned his head with honours, And still would crown,--to join the noisy band Of brawling, jangling, patriot politicians.

At length his wonderful deserts have raised him[7]

To the top of office; and the quondam play-wright.

Ungrateful scorning fair Thalia's favours, Courts the green Naiades of Somerset.

_P._ But have you not the cla.s.sic c.u.mberland?[8]

_C. M._ He still exists: but ah! how chang'd from him Whose gen'rous Belcour touch'd all hearts with rapture, Whose honest Major charm'd with native humour, Whose Charlotte, pleasant, frank and open hearted, Call'd forth our tears of pleasure--April showers!

His pages now, stuff'd with false maudlin sentiment, Scarce please our whimpering-girls and driveling ensigns:

_P._ But laughing Colman[9] lives, a son of humour.

_C. M._ 'Tis true--his dashes of coa.r.s.e fun and drollery, Might smooth the wrinkles of a pedant's brow, And loose a stoic's muscles: and sometimes Beneath his various merry-andrew coat I've thought I spied the stamp of manly genius, Some vestige of his father's purest wit.

But ah! I fear 'twas a false light betray'd me.

Let him write farce; but let him not presume To jumble fun and opera, grave and comic, In one vile mess--then call the mixture Shakspeare.

No more of him: my hopes are all evanish'd, For "Hexham's battle," slew him: "The Iron Chest"

Sunk him to Shadwell's bathos; and "John Bull"