fine setting is given to a rich jewel: not as a specious casket which may distract attention from the unworthiness of the thing which it holds. Nor was the modesty of nature overstepped by an attempt to press nature unchanged into the service of art. There can indeed be no greater blunder than that of trying to make up for the want of reality in emotion upon the stage by the reality of mechanical appliances or trivial details: it is a venture which defeats its own object. There is so much in a stage play necessarily unlike actual life that the attempt to imitate conventional realities can only remind an audience by its incongruity that it is but a play which is being represented. In real life a man in a state of violent emotion will eat his dinner, or put on his boots mechanically, without losing his emotion. If he is represented as doing so upon the stage, the outward action will seem out of keeping with the passion within, and the dramatic effect will be ruined. So in the case of scenic appliances. The object of scenery is to help the spectator's imagination to sympathy with the play, to suggest ideas of beauty or of horror; too close a copy of actual objects will only break the illusion.

Unfortunately the so-called emendations upon Shakespeare of the eighteenth-century critics and playwrights could not be entirely rejected. They had indeed become so closely interwoven. with the original that at an earlier time Schiller, an ardent reader of Shakespeare, writing his "Robbers," borrowed whole speeches from Colley Cibber's "Richard" instead of Shakespeare's, and thought, like Prometheus, to steal fire from heaven while he was really picking the brains of a poor wretch who had nothing to spare.

Since, as before, the disappearance of Kean and the Kembles, and of Macready after them, there has been an outcry raised upon the degeneracy of the drama in England, sometimes with apparently good reason, sometimes with none. A great change in the aspect of the theatre was worked by the revolution occasioned by the overthrow of the privileges attached to the patent theatres, the establishment of which had no doubt led to some bad as well as to many good results. These present days of the English stage have at least an advantage over some which have gone before them, in that the genius of Shakespeare has been recognized, if not constantly, at least from time to time. The extraneous charm of a foreign accent, or of splendid scenic effect, has sometimes been found necessary to command the public attention to the beauties of the dramatist; but that it has been even so commanded is a good sign. At this day we may congratulate ourselves that an actor capable of expressing the poet's thought has proved that the public are more ready to witness that thought fi.. terprete an to run after the tricks of the carpenter

tailor.

The drama of France, which has had a considerable effect upon that of England, went through vicissitudes no less remarkable than our own. But whereas in England the spiritual arm has generally been raised for the oppression of the stage, in France this has been the effort of the temporal power. It has been more to the ministers of princes that the fear of the drama has appealed than to the delegates of the Church. At times, indeed, the stage in France has raised the wrath of the priests and stirred it to action. Thus after the first representation of "Tartuffe," which the people received with acclamation, the Church appealed to the King to forbid its repetition. The appeal was granted, but Molière made a counter petition, which resulted in the reversal of the King's decision. Unfortunately, on the reproduction of "Tartuffe" the King was absent in Flanders, and in the middle of the performance, in consequence of a despatch from the temporary Government, the lights of the theatre were suddenly extinguished and audience and actors dismissed. There was for a long period. a violent hatred of the actor's profession entertained by the priesthood in France-so violent, indeed, that until some twenty years ago there was in existence an excommunicative decree against comedians. The refusal of Christian burial to the celebrated actress, Mlle. Adrienne le Couvreur, has been contrasted by Voltaire, in some fine verses, with the honoured funeral of Mrs. Oldfield in Westminster Abbey ; and the interment in the sixteenth century of Lope de Rueda, the Spanish poet and actor, in the Cathedral of Cordova, was attended by extraordinary pomp. This was an honour the more remarkable as the Spaniards of those days believed actors to be children of the devil. Rueda's influence and popularity had indeed been enormous, but he seems to have left the Spanish theatre in no very happy condition, to judge from what Cervantes says of it in "Don Quixote ":

"Comedy, according to Tully, ought to be a mirror of human life, a pattern of manners, and an image of truth; while the comedies now represented are mirrors of vanity, patterns of folly, and pictures of license. Plays are likewise now written to gain the admiration of the vulgar and ignorant people, and bring them to the theatre. All of which is to the prejudice of truth, the discredit of history, and even the disgrace of our Spanish wits."

Every one will be struck by the resemblance which this passage suggests to the discourse of Hamlet to the players. Cervantes himself devoted not a little of his daring genius to the drama. In one of his earlier plays he represents a roistering soldier, who gains his living by begging for souls in Purgatory, and sometimes getting drunk on the proceeds. It is no great wonder that Cervantes was hated by the priests.

There is no history of the national drama of Spain to equal,

either in interest or authority, the description given of it by Cervantes in his preface to his own comedies :

"Some days ago I took part in a conversation with some friends on the subject of comedies and things pertaining to them. It was discussed with so much subtlety and learning that they came well nigh to perfection. They spoke also of him who first of all in Spain drew comedy from her swaddling-clothes, gave her an habitation, and decked her in pomp and magnificence. I, as the eldest of those who were present, told how that I remembered seeing the great Lope de Rueda, a man as famous in acting as he was in understanding. He was born at Sevile, and by trade a goldbeater. He was admirable in pastoral poetry, and in this quality, nor then nor now, has there been found his equal. Although, being then a child, I could not judge of the excellencies of his verses, there still abide in my memory some which I perceive, in this my riper age, to be worthy of all praise. (But that it would be a little out of place in this preface I could reproduce here one or two which would bear witness to what I say.)

"In the time of this celebrated Spaniard all the furniture of a comedian was carried in a bag, and consisted of four white coats of skins, trimmed with gilt leather, four braids, as many wigs, and four crooks, more or less. The comedies were mere colloquies like eclogues, between two or three shepherds and a shepherdess. These were embellished and prolonged by two or three interludes, now by a negress, now by a ruffian, now by a fool, and now by a Biscayno. These four parts, and many others, did Lope make with the greatest excellence and truth imaginable. In those days there was no stage machinery-no combats of Moors with Christians on foot or on horseback. They had no figure which arose, or appeared to rise, from out the centre of the earth, through a trap-door of the stage, and that was formed of four benches, with some four or six boards placed upon them, and raised about four palms above the ground. One did not then see angels or souls descending from heaven in clouds. The ornament of the stage was an old rug suspended by cords from one side to the other, by which was formed the tiring-room. Behind it were the musicians, who sang, without guitar, from ancient ballad. Lope de Rueda died-and, for the good and famous man he was, they buried him in Cordova, where he fell on sleep, in the cathedral, between the two choirs, where also was interred that famous clown, Luis Lopez. Naharro, a native of Toledo, succeeded Lope de Rueda, who was celebrated in the character of the ruffianly coward. He increased somewhat more the decoration of comedy, and exchanged the bag for chests and trunks; the orchestra, which before sang behind the rug, he introduced into the theatre; he abolished the beards of the comedians, for till then no one acted without a false beard. It was his will that all should act with unmasked batteries, excepting such as took the parts of old men, or those which demanded a change of visage. He invented scenery, devised clouds, thunder, lightnings, combats, and battles. But none of these attained the sublime height in which we find them now-this is true, and none can contradict me-and here I may be allowed to trespass the bounds of mine own modesty, when we see acted in the theatres of Madrid The Commerce of Algiers,' which I wrote, The Destruction of Numancia,' and 'The Naval Engagement,' when I ventured to reduce comedy from five to three acts. I was the first to show, or rather I was the first who represented, the imaginations and secret workings of the soul, producing on the stage images of morality with the general and heartiest applause of the audience. About that time I wrote from twenty to thirty comedies, which were all acted without any offerings of orange-peel or cucumbers-and they ran their course without whistlings, hissings, or clamour. Then I had other things to

6

occupy me. I abandoned the pen and the drama, and immediately afterwards appeared that prodigy of nature, the great Lope de Vega, who bore away the sceptre of comedy, subjugated and brought beneath his sway all the comedians, filled the world with his own dramas, happily conceived, and well wrought out, and so humorous, that those which he has written may not be contained in ten thousand leaves, and all (which is most wonderful to tell) he has seen acted, or at least been assured that they were. If all those, and they are many, who wished to follow his steps and share his glory were to write their works together, they would not have written the half of what he alone has composed. But not for this-since God gives not all things to all men-must we omit to mention with esteem the works of Doctor Ramon, which were the greater after those of the great Lope. Highly, likewise, must we esteem the ingenious intrigues of the licentiate Miguel Sanches, the modesty of Doctor Mira de Mescua, a signal honour to our nation, the discretion and variety of conceit of Canon Tarraga, the gentleness and sweetness of Don Guillen de Castro, the brilliancy of Aguilar, the pomp, the pageantry, the show, and splendour of the comedies of Luis Velez de Guevara, and those in provincial jargon, born of the subtle wit of Don Antonio de Galarza, and those which give such promise of the traps and subtle tricks of love by Gaspar de Avilar, all of whom, and many others, have helped the great Lope in raising up this vast and stately fabric."*

The opposition of the Church in France to the drama did not, as in England, spring from a Puritanical belief in the inherent viciousness of the stage. It was political, and arose from a fear of diminution of present power. The satirical dramatists of France were from the time of the Moralities bold in their attacks upon the vices of bishops and archbishops, and these attacks were delivered before the Court by comedians who knew well how to give them all their point, and who were in a manner regarded as spokesmen of the King. As is seen from the story of "Tartuffe," just told, Louis XIV. was, until the reign of Mme. de Maintenon and her bigotry, by no means ill disposed to listen to these satires, and the knowledge of this was not likely to increase the love of the priests for the players. As during two important epochs of French history the prime ministers of France were Cardinals of the Church, it is natural that the authority exercised over the stage should, while proceeding from the Church, be mainly of a political nature. The greater of these two Cardinals, Richelieu, extended a great deal of encouragement to the stage after his fashion -that is, he treated it as a schoolmaster does a boy when he says to him, "You may have a holiday. Go and play; amuse yourself how and as much as you like; only mind you don't go out of bounds, and take care that I don't hear you making a noise." The Cardinal found that so long as it was his submissive pupil the stage might be of some political service to him. Moreover, he designed that it should serve to reflect his own personal glory. As is well known, he was afflicted with a belief that being a great

For this translation of a little-known passage in Cervantes I am indebted to ny friend Mr. A. J. Duffield.

minister, his real vocation was to be a great poet and dramatist. Under the spell of this delusion he wrote plays which assuredly nothing but the terror of his name could have placed upon the stage. The violence of his envy at the success of Corneille's "Cid" gave occasion to Boileau to write this happy distich:

"En vain contre le Cid un ministre se ligue

Tout Paris pour Chimène a les yeux de Rodrigue."

The contest between the classical and romantic drama in France was both more sustained and fiercer than elsewhere. The jealousy entertained of anything like theatrical liberty by the Government in France from early times was the cause of the hold which the imitation of the ancient theatre took upon the country. In the narrow limits of these imitations the authorities discovered safety, and the people whose dramatic tastes were not allowed to be gratified in any other way were glad to welcome the only form of drama which was vouchsafed to them. The first play of the classical school which followed upon the moralities and the sottises was "Cléopatre Captive," a tragedy in five acts, with choruses written by Etienne Jodelle, seigneur of Limodin, in the reign of Henry II. From the time of Jodelle down to that of Corneille, the character of the French stage remained unchanged. There was no vehicle for the poet's thought admitted save the Alexandrine verse; and it was supposed that the dignity of the drama would be injured unless its characters were either Greek, Roman, or Mussulman. There was, indeed, once acted a prose tragedy of Sophonisba, and in the latter half of the sixteenth century prose comedies came somewhat into vogue. Fronton, a Jesuit father, attempted a tragedy on the subject of Joan of Arc, but met with no success. Alexandre Hardy, a writer who produced no less than twelve hundred dramatic pieces, attempted to strike out a new line in presenting tragi-comedies, one of which he took from a tale of Cervantes. Had he translated one of the plays of Cervantes he might, perhaps, have obtained a better result; but as he had no touch of the Spanish poet's genius, his mere borrowing of a plot from him availed him nothing. The impress of the classical world became so firmly marked upon the French drama that it was not till Corneille had produced six comedies and one tragedy after the antique pattern that he dared give expression to his romantic tendencies in the "Cid." In this his own genius found a starting point in the imitation of two Spanish dramatists, Guillen de Castro and Diamante.

The public gave every possible sign of their approval to the new style which Corneille attempted to introduce; but it did not meet with equal favour from the Academy, which in those days meant the Court; and to the Court the dramatist was forced to submit.