turous, or even sensual, are exhibited in emphatic prose with suitable decorations and dresses. Advantage might be taken of this inclination to furnish a better description of entertainment; for the most of the melo-dramas are unfortunately rude even to insipidity, and resemble abortive attempts at the romantic.

In the sphere of dramatic literature the labours of a Le Mercier are undoubtedly deserving of the critic's attention. This able man endeavours to break through the prescribed limits in every possible way, and is so passionately fond of his art that nothing can deter him from it; although almost every new attempt which he makes converts the pit into a true field of battle.*

From all this we may infer, that the inclinations of the French public, when they forget the duties imbibed by them from Boileau's Art of Poetry, are not altogether so hostile to the dramatic liberties of other nations as might be supposed, and that the old and narrow system is chiefly upheld by a superstitious attachment to traditional opinions.

The histrionic art, particularly in high comedy and tragedy, has been long carried in France to a great degree of perfection. In external dignity, quickness, correctness of memory, and, in a wonderful degree, of propriety and elegance in the delivery of verse, the best French actors can hardly be surpassed. Their efforts to please are incredible; of every moment which they pass on the stage they endeavour to avail themselves as a valuable

Since these Lectures were held, such a tumult arose in the theatre at Paris on the representation of his Christopher Columbus, that several of the champions of Boileau came off with bruised and broken shins. They were in the right to fight like desperadoes; for if this piece had succeeded it would have been all over with the consecrated unities and good taste in the separation of the heroic and the low. The first act takes place in the house of Columbus, the second at the court of Isabella, the third and last on shipboard near the new world. The object of the poet was to show, that the man in whom any grand idea originates is everywhere opposed and thwarted by the limited and common-place views of other men; but that the strength of his enthusiasm enables him to overcome all obstacles. In his own house and among his acquaintances Columbus is considered as insane; at court he obtains with difficulty a lukewarm support; in his own vessel a mutiny is on the point of breaking out when the wished for land is discovered, and the piece ends with the exclamation of "Land, land!”— All this is conceived and planned in a very skilful manner; but in the execution there are still many deficiencies. In another piece not yet acted or printed, called La Journée des Dupes, which I heard the author read, he has painted with historical truth, both in regard to circumstances and the spirit of the age, a well known court cabal against Cardinal Richelieu, which was unsuccessful. It is a political comedy, in which the Rag-gatherer as well as the King express themselves in language suitable to their stations. The poet has, with the greatest ingenuity, shown the manner in which trivial causes assist or impede the execu tion of a great political design, the dissimulation practised by the persons of the drama towards others, and even towards themselves, and the different tones which they assume according to circumstances; in a word, he has exhibited the whole inward aspect of the political game.

opportunity. The highly fastidious taste of a Paris pit, and the wholesome severity of the journalists, reduce them, it is true, to the necessity of incessant competition; and the circumstance of such a number of classical works, which for generations have been in the possession of the stage, contributes also greatly to their excellence in their art. As the spectators have these works nearly by heart, their whole attention may be directed to the acting, and every faulty syllable meets in this way with censure.

In high comedy the social refinement of the nation gives great advantage to their actors. But with respect to tragical composition, the art of the actor should also accommodate itself to the spirit of the poetry. I am inclined to doubt, however, whether this is the case with the French actors, and whether the authors of the tragedies, especially those of the age of Louis XIV. would altogether recognize themselves in the mode in which these compositions are at present represented.

The tragical imitation and recitation of the French oscillate between two opposite extremes, the first of which is occasioned by the prevailing tone of the piece, while the second seems rather to be at variance with it,-between measured formality and extravagant boisterousness. The first might formerly preponderate, but the balance is now on the other side.

Let us hear the description of Voltaire of the manner in which Augustus delivered his discourse to Cinna and Maximus in the time of Louis XIV. Augustus entered with the step of a braggadocio, his head covered with a four-cornered peruque which hung down to his girdle; the peruque was stuck full of laurel leaves, and above this he wore a large hat with a double row of red feathers. He seated himself on a huge easy chair with two steps, Cinna and Maximus on two small chairs; and the pompous declamation fully corresponded to the ostentatious manner in which he made his appearance. As at that time, and even long afterwards, tragedies were acted in the newest fashioned court dress, with large cravats, swords, and hats, no other movements were practicable but such as were allowable in an antechamber, or, at most, a slight waving of the hand; and it was even considered a bold theatrical attempt, when, in the last scene of Polyeucte, Severus entered with his hat on his head for the purpose of accusing Felix of treachery, and the latter listened to him with his hat under his arm.

However, there were even early examples of an extravagance of an opposite description. In the Mariamne of Mairet, an older poet than Corneille, the player who acted Herod roared himself to death. This may indeed be called "out-heroding Herod!" When Voltaire was instructing an actress in some

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LECTURES ON DRAMATIC LITERATURE.

tragic part, she said to him, "Were I to play in this manner, Sir, they would say the devil was in me."-"Very right," answered Voltaire, "an actress ought to have the devil in her." This expression proves, at least, no very keen sense for that dignity and sweetness which in an ideal composition, such as the French tragedy pretends to be, ought never to be lost sight of even in the wildest whirlwind of passion.

I found occasionally, even in the action of the very best players of the present day, sudden leaps from the measured solemnity in recitation and gesticulation which the general tone of the composition required, to a boisterousness of passion absolutely convulsive, without any due preparation or softening by intervening gradations. They are led to this by a sort of obscure feeling, that the conventional forms of poetry generally impede the movements of nature; when the poet anywhere leaves them at liberty they then indemnify themselves for the former constraint, and load, as it were, this rare moment of abandonment with the whole amount of life and animation which had been kept back, and which ought to have been equally diffused over the whole. Hence their convulsive and obstreperous violence. In bravura they take care not to be deficient; but they frequently lose sight of the true spirit of the composition. In general, they consider their parts as a sort of mosaic work of brilliant passages (with the single exception of the powerful Talma), and they endeavour to make the most of each separate passage, independently of the rest, than to go back to the invisible central point of the character, and to consider the whole of the expressions as so many emanations from that point. They are always afraid of underdoing their parts; and hence they are worst qualified for reserved action, for eloquent silence, where, under an appearance of outward tranquillity, the most hidden emotions of the mind are betrayed. However, this is a part which is seldom imposed on them by their poets; and if the cause of the above excessive violence in the expression of passion is not to be found in their works, they at all events occasion the actor to lay greater stress on superficial brilliancy than on a profound knowledge of character.*

See a treatise of M. Von Humboldt the elder, in Goethe's Propylaen on the French acting, equally distinguished for a refined and solid spirit of observation.

LECTURE XII.

Comparison of the English and Spanish theatres-Spirit of the romantic drama -Shakspeare-His age and the circumstances of his life-How far costume is necessary, or may be dispensed with-Shakspeare the greatest drawer of characters Vindication of the genuineness of his pathos-Play on words— Moral delicacy-Irony-Mixture of the tragic and comic-The part of the fool or clown-Shakspeare's language and versification-Account of his several works: comedies, tragedies, and historical dramas-Appendix on the pieces of Shakspeare said to be spurious.

In conformity with the plan which we at first laid down, we shall now proceed to treat of the English and Spanish theatres.We were compelled in passing to allude cursorily, on various occasions, sometimes to the one and sometimes to the other, partly for the sake of placing, by means of contrast, many ideas in a clearer light, and partly on account of the influence which these stages have had on the theatres of other countries. Both the English and Spaniards possess a very rich dramatic literature; both have had a number of fruitful dramatic poets of great talents, among whom even the least admired and celebrated, considered as a whole, display uncommon aptitude for dramatic animation and insight into the essence of theatrical effect. The history of their theatres has no connexion with that of the Italians and French; for it developed itself wholly from the fulness of its own strength without any foreign influence: the attempts to bring it back to an imitation of the ancients, or even of the French, have either been attended with no success, or not been made till a late period in the decay of the drama. The formation of these two stages is equally independent of each other; the Spanish poets were altogether unacquainted with the English; and in the older and most important period of the English theatre I could discover no trace of any knowledge of Spanish plays, (though their novels. and romances were certainly known); and it was not till the time of Charles II. that translations from Calderon made their appearance.

So many things among men have been handed down from century to century and from nation to nation, and the human mind has in general displayed such tardiness of invention, that originality in any department of mental exertion is everywhere a rare phenomenon. We are desirous of seeing the result of the efforts of enterprising heads when they proceed straight forward in invention, without concerning themselves with what has else

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where been carried to a high degree of perfection; when they lay the foundation of the new edifice on uncovered ground, and derive all the preparations, all the building materials, from their own means. We participate, in some measure, in the joy of success, when we see them advance rapidly from their first helplessness and necessity to a finished mastery in their art. The history of the Grecian theatre would afford us this cheering prospect could we witness its rudest beginnings, which were not preserved, for they were not even committed to writing; but it is easy, when we compare together Eschylus and Sophocles, to form some idea of the preceding period. The Greeks neither inherited nor borrowed their dramatic art from any other people; it was original and native, and for that very reason it could produce a living and powerful effect. But it ended with the period when Greeks imitated Greeks; namely, when the Alexandrian poets began learnedly and critically to compose dramas after the model of the great tragic writers. The reverse of this was the case with the Romans: they received the form and substance of their dramas from the Greeks; they never attempted to act according to their own discretion, and to express their own way of thinking; and hence they occupy so insignificant a place in the history of dramatic art. Among the nations of modern Europe, the English and Spanish alone, as yet (for the German stage is but forming), possess a theatre entirely original and national, which, in its own peculiar shape, has arrived at maturity.

Those critics who consider the authority of the ancients as models to be such, that in poetry, as in all the other arts, there can be no salvation beyond the pale of imitation, affirm, that as the nations in question have not followed this course, they have brought nothing but irregular works on the stage, which, though they may possess occasional passages of splendour and beauty, as a whole, must ever be reprobated for barbarousness and want of form. We have already, in the introductory part of these Lectures, stated our sentiments in a general manner respecting this way of thinking; but we must now examine the subject somewhat more closely.

If the assertion were founded, all that distinguishes the works of the greatest English and Spanish dramatists, a Shakspeare and a Calderon, ought to rank them beneath the ancients; they would in no manner be of any importance for the theory, and could at most appear remarkable, on the assumption that the obstinacy of these nations, in refusing to comply with the rules, might have afforded more ample scope to the poets to display their native originality, though at the expense of art. But even this assumption will, on a more narrow examination, appear extremely doubt