We might well call this short mock-play of oursA posie made of weeds instead of flowers;Yet such have been presented to your noses,And there are such, I fear, who thought ’em roses.Would some of ’em were here, to see this nightWhat stuff it is in which they took delight.Here, brisk, insipid rogues, for wit, let fallSometimes dull sense, but oft’ner none at all;There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac’d train,Shalt brave the gods, in king Cambyses vein.For (changing rules, of late, as if men writIn spite of reason, nature, art, and wit)Our poets make us laugh at tragedy,And with their comedies they make us cry.
We might well call this short mock-play of oursA posie made of weeds instead of flowers;Yet such have been presented to your noses,And there are such, I fear, who thought ’em roses.Would some of ’em were here, to see this nightWhat stuff it is in which they took delight.Here, brisk, insipid rogues, for wit, let fallSometimes dull sense, but oft’ner none at all;There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac’d train,Shalt brave the gods, in king Cambyses vein.For (changing rules, of late, as if men writIn spite of reason, nature, art, and wit)Our poets make us laugh at tragedy,And with their comedies they make us cry.
We might well call this short mock-play of ours
A posie made of weeds instead of flowers;
Yet such have been presented to your noses,
And there are such, I fear, who thought ’em roses.
Would some of ’em were here, to see this night
What stuff it is in which they took delight.
Here, brisk, insipid rogues, for wit, let fall
Sometimes dull sense, but oft’ner none at all;
There, strutting heroes, with a grim-fac’d train,
Shalt brave the gods, in king Cambyses vein.
For (changing rules, of late, as if men writ
In spite of reason, nature, art, and wit)
Our poets make us laugh at tragedy,
And with their comedies they make us cry.
A short account of this satire will, perhaps, be best understood, if I explain that the antagonism of two contending kings of Granada having been a favourite idea of Dryden in his tragedies, Buckingham is said to have designed to ridicule him in making two, not rival, but associate kings of Brentford, though others say that these two kings of Brentford were intended for a sneer upon king Charles II. and the duke of York. These two kings are the heroes of Bayes’s play. The first act of “The Rehearsal” consists of a discussion between Bayes, Johnson, and Smith, on the general character of the play, in which Bayes exhibits a large amount of vanity and self-confidence, said to have been a characteristic of all these play-writers of the earlier period of the Restoration, and he informs them that he has “made a prologue and an epilogue, which may both serve for either; that is, the prologue for the epilogue, or the epilogue for the prologue, (do you mark!) nay, they may both serve, too, ’egad, for any other play as well as this.” Smith observes, “That’s indeed artificial.” Finally Bayes explains, that as other authors, in their prologues, sought to flatter and propitiate their audience, in order to gain their favourable opinion of the plot, he, on the contrary, intended to force their applause out of them by mere dint of terror, and for that purpose, he had introduced as speakers of his prologue, no less personages than Thunder and Lightning. This prologue, disengaged from the remarks of Bayes and his friends, runs as follows:—
EnterThunderandLightning.
Thun.—I am the bold Thunder.Light.—The brisk Lightning I.Thun.—I am the bravest Hector of the sky.Light.—And I fair Helen, that made Hector die.Thun.—I strike men down.Light.—I fire the town.Thun.—Let critics take heed how they grumble,For then I begin for to rumble.Light.—Let the ladies allow us their graces,Or I’ll blast all the paint on their faces,And dry up their peter to soot.Thun.—Let the critics look to’t.Light.—Let the ladies look to’t.Thun.—For the Thunder will do’t.Light.—For the Lightning will shoot.Thun.—I’ll give you dash for dash.Light.—I’ll give you flash for flash.Gallants, I’ll singe your feather.Thun.—I’ll Thunder you together.Both.—Look to’t, look to’t; we’ll do’t, we’ll do’t; look to’t; we’ll do’t.[Twice or thrice repeated.
Thun.—I am the bold Thunder.Light.—The brisk Lightning I.Thun.—I am the bravest Hector of the sky.Light.—And I fair Helen, that made Hector die.Thun.—I strike men down.Light.—I fire the town.Thun.—Let critics take heed how they grumble,For then I begin for to rumble.Light.—Let the ladies allow us their graces,Or I’ll blast all the paint on their faces,And dry up their peter to soot.Thun.—Let the critics look to’t.Light.—Let the ladies look to’t.Thun.—For the Thunder will do’t.Light.—For the Lightning will shoot.Thun.—I’ll give you dash for dash.Light.—I’ll give you flash for flash.Gallants, I’ll singe your feather.Thun.—I’ll Thunder you together.Both.—Look to’t, look to’t; we’ll do’t, we’ll do’t; look to’t; we’ll do’t.[Twice or thrice repeated.
Thun.—I am the bold Thunder.
Light.—The brisk Lightning I.
Thun.—I am the bravest Hector of the sky.
Light.—And I fair Helen, that made Hector die.
Thun.—I strike men down.
Light.—I fire the town.
Thun.—Let critics take heed how they grumble,
For then I begin for to rumble.
Light.—Let the ladies allow us their graces,
Or I’ll blast all the paint on their faces,
And dry up their peter to soot.
Thun.—Let the critics look to’t.
Light.—Let the ladies look to’t.
Thun.—For the Thunder will do’t.
Light.—For the Lightning will shoot.
Thun.—I’ll give you dash for dash.
Light.—I’ll give you flash for flash.
Gallants, I’ll singe your feather.
Thun.—I’ll Thunder you together.
Both.—Look to’t, look to’t; we’ll do’t, we’ll do’t; look to’t; we’ll do’t.
[Twice or thrice repeated.
Bayes calls this “but a slash of a prologue,” in reply to which, Smith observes, “Yes; ’tis short, indeed, but very terrible.” It is a parody on a scene in “The Slighted Maid,” a play by Sir Robert Stapleton, where Thunder and Lightning were introduced, and their conversation begins in the same words. But the poet has another difficulty on which he desires the opinion of his visitors. “I have made,” he says, “one of the most delicate, dainty similes in the whole world, ’egad, if I knew how to apply it. ’Tis,” he adds, “an allusion to love.” This is the simile—
So boar and sow, when any storm is nighSnuff up, and smell it gathering in the sky;Boar beckons sow to trot in chesnut groves,And there consummate their unfinished loves:Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,And snore and gruntle to each others moan.
So boar and sow, when any storm is nighSnuff up, and smell it gathering in the sky;Boar beckons sow to trot in chesnut groves,And there consummate their unfinished loves:Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,And snore and gruntle to each others moan.
So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh
Snuff up, and smell it gathering in the sky;
Boar beckons sow to trot in chesnut groves,
And there consummate their unfinished loves:
Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,
And snore and gruntle to each others moan.
It is a rather coarse, but clever parody on a simile in Dryden’s “Conquest of Granada,” part ii.:—
So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,Look up, and see it gathering in the sky;Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves,Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinished loves;Perch’d on some dropping branch, they sit alone,And coo, and hearken to each other’s moan.
So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,Look up, and see it gathering in the sky;Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves,Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinished loves;Perch’d on some dropping branch, they sit alone,And coo, and hearken to each other’s moan.
So two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,
Look up, and see it gathering in the sky;
Each calls his mate to shelter in the groves,
Leaving, in murmurs, their unfinished loves;
Perch’d on some dropping branch, they sit alone,
And coo, and hearken to each other’s moan.
It is decided that the simile should be added to the prologue, for, as Johnson remarks to Bayes, “Faith, ’tis extraordinary fine, and very applicable to Thunder and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a storm.” In the second act we come to the opening of the play, the first scene consisting of whispering, in ridicule of a scene in Davenant’s “Play-house to Let,” where Drake senior says—
Draw up your men,And in low whispers give your orders out.
Draw up your men,And in low whispers give your orders out.
Draw up your men,
And in low whispers give your orders out.
In fact, the Gentleman-Usher and the Physician of the two kings of Brentford appear upon the scene alone, and discuss a plot to dethrone the two kings of Brentford, which they communicate by whispers into each other’s ears, which are totally inaudible. In Scene ii., “Enter the two kings, hand in hand,” and Bayes remarks to his visitors, “Oh! these are now the two kings of Brentford; take notice of their style—’twas never yet upon the stage; but, if you like it, I could make a shift, perhaps, to show you a whole play, writ all just so.” The kings begin, rather familiarly, because, as Bayes adds, “they are both persons of the same quality:”—
1st King.—Did you observe their whispers, brother king?2nd King.—I did, and heard, besides, a grave bird sing,That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks.1st King.—If that design appears,I’ll lay them by the ears,Until I make ’em crack.2nd King.—And so will I, i’ fack!1st King.—You must begin,mon foi.2nd King.—Sweet sir,pardonnez moi.
1st King.—Did you observe their whispers, brother king?2nd King.—I did, and heard, besides, a grave bird sing,That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks.1st King.—If that design appears,I’ll lay them by the ears,Until I make ’em crack.2nd King.—And so will I, i’ fack!1st King.—You must begin,mon foi.2nd King.—Sweet sir,pardonnez moi.
1st King.—Did you observe their whispers, brother king?
2nd King.—I did, and heard, besides, a grave bird sing,
That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks.
1st King.—If that design appears,
I’ll lay them by the ears,
Until I make ’em crack.
2nd King.—And so will I, i’ fack!
1st King.—You must begin,mon foi.
2nd King.—Sweet sir,pardonnez moi.
Bayes observes that he makes the two kings talk French in order “to show their breeding.” In the third act, Bayes introduces a new character, prince Prettyman, a parody upon the character of Leonidas, in Dryden’s “Marriage-a-la-Mode.” The prince falls asleep, and then his beloved Cloris comes in, and is surprised, upon which Bayes remarks, “Now, here she must make a simile.” “Where’s the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?” asks the critical Mr. Smith. “Oh,” replies Bayes, “because she’s surprised. That’s a general rule. You must ever make a similewhen you are surprised; ’tis a new way of writing.” Now we have another parody upon one of Dryden’s similes. In the fourth scene, the Gentleman-Usher and Physician appear again, discussing the question whether their whispers had been heard or not, a discussion which they conclude by seizing on the two thrones, and occupying them with their drawn swords in their hands. Then they march out to raise their forces, and a battle to music takes place, four soldiers on each side, who are all killed. Next we have a scene between prince Prettyman and his tailor, Tom Thimble, which involves a joke upon the princely principle of non-payment. A scene or two follows in a similar tone, without at all advancing the plot; although it appears that another prince, Volscius, who, we are to suppose, supports the old dynasty of Brentford, has made his escape to Piccadilly, while the army which he is to lead has assembled, and is concealed, at Knightsbridge. This incident produces a discussion between Mr. Bayes and his friends:—
Smith.—But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e’en now, to keep an army thus concealed in Knightsbridge?Bayes.—In Knightsbridge?—stay.Johnson.—No, not if inn-keepers be his friends.[100]Bayes.—His friends? Ay, sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else, indeed, I grant it could not be.Smith.—Yes, faith, so it might be very easy.Bayes.—Nay, if I don’t make all things easy, ’egad, I’ll give ’em leave to hang me. Now you would think that he is going out of town; but you will see how prettily I have contrived to stop him, presently.
Smith.—But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e’en now, to keep an army thus concealed in Knightsbridge?
Bayes.—In Knightsbridge?—stay.
Johnson.—No, not if inn-keepers be his friends.[100]
Bayes.—His friends? Ay, sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else, indeed, I grant it could not be.
Smith.—Yes, faith, so it might be very easy.
Bayes.—Nay, if I don’t make all things easy, ’egad, I’ll give ’em leave to hang me. Now you would think that he is going out of town; but you will see how prettily I have contrived to stop him, presently.
Accordingly, prince Volscius yields to the influence of a fairdemoiselle, who bears the classical name of Parthenope, and after various exhibitions of hesitation, he does not leave town. Another scene or two, with little meaning, but full of clever parodies on the plays of Dryden, the Howards, and their contemporaries. The first scene of the fourth act opens with afuneral, a parody upon colonel Henry Howard’s play of the “United Kingdoms.” Pallas interferes, brings the lady who is to be buried to life, gets up a dance, and furnishes a very extempore feast. The princes Prettyman and Volscius dispute about their sweethearts. At the commencement of the fifth act the two usurping kings appear in state, attended by four cardinals, the two princes, all the lady-loves, heralds, and sergeants-at-arms, &c In the middle of all this state, “the two right kings of Brentford descend in the clouds, singing, in white garments, and three fiddlers sitting before them in green.” “Now,” says Bayes to his friends, “because the two right kings descend from above, I make ’em sing to the tune and style of our modern spirits.” And accordingly they proceeded in a continuous parody:—
1st King.— Haste, brother king, we are sent from above.2nd King.—Let us move, let us move;Move, to remove the fateOf Brentford’s long united state.1st King.— Tara, tan, tara!—full east and by south.2nd King.—We sail with thunder in our mouth.In scorching noon-day, whilst the traveller stays,Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along,Mounted upon warm Phœbus’s rays,Through the heavenly throng,Hasting to thoseWho will feast us at night with a pig’s pettytoes.1st King.— And we’ll fall with our plateIn an olio of hate2nd King.—But, now supper’s done, the servitors try,Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon pie.1st King.— They gather, they gather, hot custards in spoons:But, alas! I must leave these half-moons,And repair to my trusty dragoons.2nd King.—O stay! for you need not as yet go astray;The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,And on their high ropes we will play;Like maggots in filberts, we’ll snug in our shell,We’ll frisk in our shell,We’ll firk in our shell,And farewell.1st King.— But the ladies have all inclination to dance,And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.
1st King.— Haste, brother king, we are sent from above.2nd King.—Let us move, let us move;Move, to remove the fateOf Brentford’s long united state.1st King.— Tara, tan, tara!—full east and by south.2nd King.—We sail with thunder in our mouth.In scorching noon-day, whilst the traveller stays,Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along,Mounted upon warm Phœbus’s rays,Through the heavenly throng,Hasting to thoseWho will feast us at night with a pig’s pettytoes.1st King.— And we’ll fall with our plateIn an olio of hate2nd King.—But, now supper’s done, the servitors try,Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon pie.1st King.— They gather, they gather, hot custards in spoons:But, alas! I must leave these half-moons,And repair to my trusty dragoons.2nd King.—O stay! for you need not as yet go astray;The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,And on their high ropes we will play;Like maggots in filberts, we’ll snug in our shell,We’ll frisk in our shell,We’ll firk in our shell,And farewell.1st King.— But the ladies have all inclination to dance,And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.
1st King.— Haste, brother king, we are sent from above.
2nd King.—Let us move, let us move;
Move, to remove the fate
Of Brentford’s long united state.
1st King.— Tara, tan, tara!—full east and by south.
2nd King.—We sail with thunder in our mouth.
In scorching noon-day, whilst the traveller stays,
Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along,
Mounted upon warm Phœbus’s rays,
Through the heavenly throng,
Hasting to those
Who will feast us at night with a pig’s pettytoes.
1st King.— And we’ll fall with our plate
In an olio of hate
2nd King.—But, now supper’s done, the servitors try,
Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon pie.
1st King.— They gather, they gather, hot custards in spoons:
But, alas! I must leave these half-moons,
And repair to my trusty dragoons.
2nd King.—O stay! for you need not as yet go astray;
The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,
And on their high ropes we will play;
Like maggots in filberts, we’ll snug in our shell,
We’ll frisk in our shell,
We’ll firk in our shell,
And farewell.
1st King.— But the ladies have all inclination to dance,
And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.
All this is quite Aristophanic. It is interrupted by a discussion between Bayes and his visitors on the music and the dance, and then the two kings continue:—
2nd King.—Now mortals, that hearHow we tilt and career,With wonder, will fearThe event of such things as shall never appear.1st King.—Stay you to fulfil what the gods have decreed.2nd King.—Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.1st King.— So firmly resolved is a true Brentford king,To save the distressed, and help to ’em bring,That, ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow,He’s here with a whoop, and gone with a halloo.
2nd King.—Now mortals, that hearHow we tilt and career,With wonder, will fearThe event of such things as shall never appear.1st King.—Stay you to fulfil what the gods have decreed.2nd King.—Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.1st King.— So firmly resolved is a true Brentford king,To save the distressed, and help to ’em bring,That, ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow,He’s here with a whoop, and gone with a halloo.
2nd King.—Now mortals, that hear
How we tilt and career,
With wonder, will fear
The event of such things as shall never appear.
1st King.—Stay you to fulfil what the gods have decreed.
2nd King.—Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.
1st King.— So firmly resolved is a true Brentford king,
To save the distressed, and help to ’em bring,
That, ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow,
He’s here with a whoop, and gone with a halloo.
The rather too inquisitive Smith wonders at all this, and complains that, to him, the sense of this is “not very plain.” “Plain!” exclaims Bayes, “why, did you ever hear any people in the clouds speak plain? They must be all for flight of fancy, at its full range, without the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up sprites and people in clouds to speak plain, you spoil all.” The two kings of Brentford now “light out of the clouds, and step into the throne,” continuing the samedignifiedconversation:—
1st King.—Come, now to serious council we’ll advance.2nd King.—I do agree; but first, let’s have a dance.
1st King.—Come, now to serious council we’ll advance.2nd King.—I do agree; but first, let’s have a dance.
1st King.—Come, now to serious council we’ll advance.
2nd King.—I do agree; but first, let’s have a dance.
This confidence of the two kings of Brentford is suddenly disturbed by the sound of war. Two heralds announce that the army, that of Knightsbridge, had come to protect them, and that it had comein disguise, an arrangement which puzzles the author’s two visitors:—
1st King.—What saucy groom molests our privacies?1st Herald.— The army’s at the door, and, in disguise,Desires a word with both your majesties.2nd Herald.—Having from Knightsbridge hither march’d by stealth.2nd King.—Bid ’em attend a while, and drink our health.Smith.—How, Mr. Bayes? The army in disguise!Bayes.—Ay, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them, that went out but just now.
1st King.—What saucy groom molests our privacies?1st Herald.— The army’s at the door, and, in disguise,Desires a word with both your majesties.2nd Herald.—Having from Knightsbridge hither march’d by stealth.2nd King.—Bid ’em attend a while, and drink our health.Smith.—How, Mr. Bayes? The army in disguise!Bayes.—Ay, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them, that went out but just now.
1st King.—What saucy groom molests our privacies?
1st Herald.— The army’s at the door, and, in disguise,
Desires a word with both your majesties.
2nd Herald.—Having from Knightsbridge hither march’d by stealth.
2nd King.—Bid ’em attend a while, and drink our health.
Smith.—How, Mr. Bayes? The army in disguise!
Bayes.—Ay, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them, that went out but just now.
War itself follows, and the commanders of the two armies, the general and the lieutenant-general, appear upon the stage in another parody upon the opening scenes of Dryden’s “Siege of Rhodes:”—
Enter, at several doors, theGeneralandLieutenant-general,armed cap-à-pie, with each a lute in his hand, and his sword drawn, and hung with a scarlet riband at the wrist.
Enter, at several doors, theGeneralandLieutenant-general,armed cap-à-pie, with each a lute in his hand, and his sword drawn, and hung with a scarlet riband at the wrist.
Lieut.-Gen.—Villain, thou liest.Gen.—Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm. What! ho!The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.Lieut.-Gen.—Advance from Acton with the musqueteers.Gen.—Draw down the Chelsea cuirassiers.Lieut.-Gen.— The band you boast of, Chelsea cuirassiers,Shall in my Putney pikes now meet their peers.Gen.—Chiswickians, aged, and renowned in fight,Join with the Hammersmith brigade.Lieut.-Gen.— You’ll find my Mortlake boys will do them right,Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.Gen.—Let the left wing of Twick’n’am foot advance,And line that eastern hedge.Lieut.-Gen.— The horse I raised in Petty FranceShall try their chance,And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge.Gen.—Stand: give the word.Lieut.-Gen.—Bright sword.Gen.—That may be thine,But ’tis not mine.Lieut.-Gen.— Give fire, give fire, at once give fire,And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire.Gen.—Pursue, pursue; they fly,That first did give the lie![Exeunt.
Lieut.-Gen.—Villain, thou liest.Gen.—Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm. What! ho!The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.Lieut.-Gen.—Advance from Acton with the musqueteers.Gen.—Draw down the Chelsea cuirassiers.Lieut.-Gen.— The band you boast of, Chelsea cuirassiers,Shall in my Putney pikes now meet their peers.Gen.—Chiswickians, aged, and renowned in fight,Join with the Hammersmith brigade.Lieut.-Gen.— You’ll find my Mortlake boys will do them right,Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.Gen.—Let the left wing of Twick’n’am foot advance,And line that eastern hedge.Lieut.-Gen.— The horse I raised in Petty FranceShall try their chance,And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge.Gen.—Stand: give the word.Lieut.-Gen.—Bright sword.Gen.—That may be thine,But ’tis not mine.Lieut.-Gen.— Give fire, give fire, at once give fire,And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire.Gen.—Pursue, pursue; they fly,That first did give the lie![Exeunt.
Lieut.-Gen.—Villain, thou liest.
Gen.—Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm. What! ho!
The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.
Lieut.-Gen.—Advance from Acton with the musqueteers.
Gen.—Draw down the Chelsea cuirassiers.
Lieut.-Gen.— The band you boast of, Chelsea cuirassiers,
Shall in my Putney pikes now meet their peers.
Gen.—Chiswickians, aged, and renowned in fight,
Join with the Hammersmith brigade.
Lieut.-Gen.— You’ll find my Mortlake boys will do them right,
Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.
Gen.—Let the left wing of Twick’n’am foot advance,
And line that eastern hedge.
Lieut.-Gen.— The horse I raised in Petty France
Shall try their chance,
And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge.
Gen.—Stand: give the word.
Lieut.-Gen.—Bright sword.
Gen.—That may be thine,
But ’tis not mine.
Lieut.-Gen.— Give fire, give fire, at once give fire,
And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire.
Gen.—Pursue, pursue; they fly,
That first did give the lie!
[Exeunt.
Thus the battle is carried on in talk between two individuals. Bayes alleges, as an excuse for introducing these trivial names of places, that “the spectators know all these towns, and may easily conceive them to be within the dominions of the two kings of Brentford.” The battle is finally stopped by an eclipse, and three personages, representing the sun, moon, and earth, advance upon the stage, and by dint of singing and manœuvring, one gets in a line between the other two, and this, according to the strict rules of astronomy, constituted the eclipse. The eclipse is followed by another battle of a more desperate character, to which a stopis put in an equally extraordinary manner, by the entrance of the furious hero Drawcansir, who slays all the combatants on both sides. The marriage of prince Prettyman was to form the subject of the fifth act, but while Bayes, Johnson, and Smith withdraw temporarily, all the players, in disgust, run away to their dinners, and thus ends “The Rehearsal” of Mr. Bayes’s play. The epilogue returns to the moral which the play was designed to inculcate:—
The play is at an end, but where’s the plot?That circumstance the poet Bayes forgot.And we can boast, though ’tis a plotting age,No place is freer from it than the stage.
The play is at an end, but where’s the plot?That circumstance the poet Bayes forgot.And we can boast, though ’tis a plotting age,No place is freer from it than the stage.
The play is at an end, but where’s the plot?
That circumstance the poet Bayes forgot.
And we can boast, though ’tis a plotting age,
No place is freer from it than the stage.
Formerly people sought to write so that they might be understood, but “this new way of wit” was altogether incomprehensible:—
Wherefore, for ours, and for the kingdom’s peace,May this prodigious way of writing cease;Let’s have, at least once in our lives, a timeWhen we may hear some reason, not all rhyme.We have this ten years felt its influence;Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.
Wherefore, for ours, and for the kingdom’s peace,May this prodigious way of writing cease;Let’s have, at least once in our lives, a timeWhen we may hear some reason, not all rhyme.We have this ten years felt its influence;Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.
Wherefore, for ours, and for the kingdom’s peace,
May this prodigious way of writing cease;
Let’s have, at least once in our lives, a time
When we may hear some reason, not all rhyme.
We have this ten years felt its influence;
Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.
English comedy was certainly greatly reformed, in some senses of the word reform, during the period which followed the publication of “The Rehearsal,” and, in the hands of writers like Wycherley, Shadwell, Congreve, and D’Urfey, the dulness of the Howards was exchanged for an extreme degree of vivacity. The plot was as little considered as ever—it was a mere peg on which to hang scenes brilliant with wit andrepartee. The small intrigue is often but a frame for a great picture of society in its forms then most open to caricature, with all the petty intrigues inseparable from it. “Epsom Wells,” one of Shadwell’s earlier comedies, and perhaps his best, will bear comparison with Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair.” The personages represented in it are exactly those which then shone in such society—three “men of wit and pleasure,” one of the class of country squires whom the wits of London loved to laugh at, and who is described as “a country justice, a public spirited, politick,discontented fop, an immoderate hater of London, and a lover of the country above measure, a hearty true English coxcomb.” Then we have “two cheating, sharking, cowardly bullies.” The citizens of London are represented by Bisket, “a comfit-maker, a quiet, humble, civil cuckold, governed by his wife, whom he very much fears and loves at the same time, and is very proud of,” and Fribble, “a haberdasher, a surly cuckold, very conceited, and proud of his wife, but pretends to govern and keep her under,” and their wives, the first “an impertinent, imperious strumpet,” and the other, “an humble, submitting wife, who jilts her husband that way, a very ——.” One or two other characters of the same stamp, with “two young ladies of wit, beauty, and fortune,” who behave themselves not much better than the others, and a full allowance of “parsons, hectors, constables, watchmen, and fiddlers,” complete thedramatis personæof “Epsom Wells.” With such materials anybody will understand the character of the piece, which was brought out on the stage in 1672. “The Squire of Alsatia,” by the same author, brought upon the stage in the eventful year 1688, is a vivid picture of one of the wildest phases of London life in those still rather primitive times. Alsatia, as every reader of Walter Scott knows, was a cant name for the White Friars, in London, a locality which, at that time, was beyond the reach of the law and its officers, a refuge for thieves and rogues, and especially for debtors, where they could either resist with no great fear of being overcome, or, when resistance was no longer possible, escape with ease. With such a scene, and such people for characters, we are not surprised that the printed edition of this play is prefaced by a vocabulary of the cant words employed in it. The principal characters in the play are of the same class with those which form the staple of all these old comedies. First there is a country father or uncle, who is rich and severe upon the vices of youth, or arbitrary, or avaricious. He is here represented by sir William Belfond, “a gentleman of about £3000 per annum, who in his youth had been a spark of the town; but married and retired into the country, where he turned to the other extreme—rigid, morose, most sordidly covetous, clownish, obstinate, positive, and forward.” He must have a London brother, or near relative, endowed with exactly contrary qualities, here representedby sir Edward Belfond, sir William’s brother, “a merchant, who by lucky hits had gotten a great estate, lives single with ease and pleasure, reasonably and virtuously, a man of great humanity and gentleness and compassion towards mankind, well read in good books, possessed with all gentlemanlike qualities.” Sir William Belfond has two sons. Belfond senior, the eldest, is “bred after his father’s rustic, swinish manner, with great rigour and severity, upon whom his father’s estate is entailed, the confidence of which makes him break out into open rebellion to his father, and become lewd, abominably vicious, stubborn, and obstinate.” The younger Belfond, Sir William’s second son, had been “adopted by Sir Edward, and bred from his childhood by him, with all the tenderness and familiarity, and bounty, and liberty that can be;” he was “instructed in all the liberal sciences, and in all gentleman-like education; somewhat given to women, and now and then to good fellowship; but an ingenious, well-accomplished gentleman; a man of honour, and of excellent disposition and temper.” Then we have some of the leading heroes of Alsatia, and first Cheatly, who is described as “a rascal, who by reason of debts, dares not stir out of Whitefryers, but there inveigles young heirs in tail; and helps ’em to goods and money upon great disadvantages; is bound for them, and shares with them, till he undoes them; a lewd, impudent, debauched fellow, very expert in the cant about the town.” Shamwell is “cousin to the Belfonds, an heir, who, being ruined by Cheatly, is made a decoy-duck for others; not daring to stay out of Alsatia, where he lives; is bound with Cheatly for heirs, and lives upon them, a dissolute, debauch’d life.” Another of these characters is captain Hackum, “a block-headed bully of Alsatia; a cowardly, impudent, blustering fellow; formerly a sergeant in Flanders, run from his colours, retreating into Whitefryers for a very small debt; where by the Alsatians he is dubb’d a captain; marries one that lets lodgings, sells cherry-brandy, and is a bawd.” Nor is Alsatia without a representative of the Puritanical part of society, in Scrapeall, “a hypocritical, repeating, praying, psalm-singing, precise fellow, pretending to great piety; a godly knave, who joins with Cheatly, and supplies young heirs with goods and money.” A rather large number of inferior characters fill up the canvas; and thefemales, with two exceptions, belong to the same class. The plot of this play is very simple. The elder son of sir William Belfond has taken to Alsatia, but sir William, on his return from abroad, hearing talk of the fame of a squire Belfond among the Alsatians, imagines that it is his younger son, and out of this mistake a considerable amount of misunderstanding arises. At last sir William discovers his error, and finds his eldest son in Whitefryers, but the youth sets him at defiance. The father, in great anger, brings tipstaff constables, to take away his son by force; but the Alsatians rise in force, the officers of the law are beaten, and sir William himself taken prisoner. He is rescued by the younger Belfond, and in the conclusion the elder brother becomes penitent, and is reconciled with his father. There is an underplot, far from moral in its character, which ends in the marriage of Belfond junior. It is a busy, noisy play, and was a great favourite on the stage; but it is now chiefly interesting as a vivid picture of London life in the latter half of the seventeenth century. “Bury Fair,” by Shadwell, is another comedy of the same description; with little interest in the plot, but full of life and movement. If “The Squire of Alsatia” was noisy, “The Scowrers,” another comedy by the same author, first brought on the stage in 1691, was still more so. The wild and riotous gallants who, in former times of inefficient police regulation, infested the streets at night, and committed all sorts of outrages, were known at different periods by a variety of names. In the reign of James I. and Charles I. they were the “roaring boys;” in the time of Shadwell, they were called the “scowrers,” because they scowered the streets at night, and rather roughly cleared them of all passengers; a few years later they took the name of Mohocks, or Mohawks. During the night London lay at the mercy of these riotous classes, and the streets witnessed scenes of brutal violence, which, at the present day, we can hardly imagine. This state of things is pictured in Shadwell’s comedy. Sir William Rant, Wildfire, and Tope, are noted scowrers, well known in the town, whose fame has excited emulation in men of less distinction in their way, Whachum, “a city wit and scowrer, imitator of sir William,” and “two scoundrells,” his companions, Bluster and Dingboy. Great enmity arises between thetwo parties of rival scowrers. The more serious characters in the play are Mr. Rant, sir William Rant’s father, and sir Richard Maggot, “a foolish Jacobite alderman” (it must be remembered that we are now in the reign of king William). Sir Richard’s wife, lady Maggot, like the citizen’s wives of the comedy of the Restoration generally, is a lady rather wanting in virtue, ambitious of mixing with the gay and fashionable world, and somewhat of a tyrant over her husband. She has two handsome daughters, whom she seeks to keep confined from the world, lest they should become her rivals. There are low characters of both sexes, who need not be enumerated. Much of the play is taken up with street rows, capital satirical pictures of London life. The play ends with marriages, and with the reconciliation of sir William Rant with his father, the serious old gentleman of the play. Shadwell excelled in these busy comedies. One of the nearest approaches to him is Mountfort’s comedy of“Greenwich Park,”which is another striking satire on the looseness of London life at that time. As in the others, the plot is simply nothing. The play consists of a number of intrigues, such as may be imagined, at a time when morality was little respected, in places of fashionable resort like Greenwich Park and Deptford Wells.
An element of satire was now introduced into English comedy which does not appear to have belonged to it before—this was mimicry. Although the principal characters in the play bore conventional names, they appear often to have been intended to represent individuals then well known in society, and these individuals were caricatured in their dress, and mimicked in their language and manners. We are told that this mimicry contributed greatly to the success of“The Rehearsal,”the duke of Buckingham having taken incredible pains to make Lacy, who acted the part of Bayes, perfect in imitating the voice and manner of Dryden, whose dress and gait were minutely copied. This personal satire was not always performed with impunity. On the 1st of February, 1669, Pepys went to the Theatre Royal to see the performance of“The Heiress,”in which it appears that sir Charles Sedley was personally caricatured, and the secretary of king Charles’s admiralty has left in his diary the following entry:—“To the king’s house, thinking to have seenthe Heyresse, first acted on Saturday, but when we come thither we find no play there; Kynaston, that did act a part therein in abuse to sir Charles Sedley, being last night exceedingly beaten with sticks by two or three that saluted him, so as he is mightily bruised, and forced to keep his bed.” It is said that Dryden’s comedy of“Limberham,”brought on the stage in 1678, was prohibited after the first night, because the character of Limberham was considered to be too open a satire on the duke of Lauderdale.
Another peculiarity in the comedies of the age of the Restoration was their extraordinary indelicacy. The writers seemed to emulate each other in presenting upon the stage scenes and language which no modest ear or pure mind could support. In the earlier period coarseness in conversation was characteristic of an unpolished age—the language put in the mouths of the actors, as remarked before, smelt of the tavern; but under Charles II. the tone of fashionable society, as represented on the stage, is modelled upon that of the brothel. Even the veiled allusion is no longer resorted to, broad and direct language is substituted in its place. This open profligacy of the stage reached its greatest height between the years 1670 and 1680. The staple material of this comedy may be considered to be the commission of adultery, which is presented as one of the principal ornaments in the character of the well-bred gentleman, varied with the seducing of other men’s mistresses, for the keeping of mistresses appears as the rule of social life. The“Country Wife,”one of Wycherley’s comedies, which is supposed to have been brought on the stage perhaps as early as 1672, is a mass of gross indecency from beginning to end. It involves two principal plots, that of a voluptuary who feigns himself incapable of love and insensible to the other sex, in order to pursue his intrigues with greater liberty; and that of a citizen who takes to his wife a silly and innocent country girl, whose ignorance he believes will be a protection to her virtue, but the very means he takes to prevent her, lead to her fall. The“Parson’s Wedding,”by Thomas Killigrew, first acted in 1673, is equally licentious. The same at least may be said of Dryden’s“Limberham, or the Kind Keeper,”first performed in 1678, which, according to the author’s own statement, was prohibited on accountof its freeness, but more probably because the character of Limberham was believed to be intended for a personal satire on the unpopular earl of Lauderdale. Its plot is simple enough; it is the story of a debauched old gentleman, named Aldo, whose son, after a rather long absence on the Continent, returns to England, and assumes the name of Woodall, in order to enjoy freely the pleasures of London life before he makes himself known to his friends. He takes a lodging in a house occupied by some loose women, and there meets with his father, but, as the latter does not recognise his son, they become friends, and live together licentiously so long, that when the son at length discovers himself, the old man is obliged to overlook his vices. Otway’s comedy of“Friendship in Fashion,”performed the same year, was not a whit more moral. But all these are far outdone by Ravenscroft’s comedy of“The London Cuckolds,”first brought out in 1682, which, nevertheless, continued to be acted until late in the last century. It is a clever comedy, full of action, and consisting of a great number of different incidents, selected from the less moral tales of the old story-tellers as they appear in the“Decameron”of Boccaccio, among which that of the ignorant and uneducated young wife, similar to the plot of Wycherley’s“Country Wife,”is again introduced.
The corruption of morals had become so great, that when women took up the pen, they exceeded in licentiousness even the other sex, as was the case with Mrs. Behn. Aphra Behn is understood to have been born at Canterbury, but to have passed some part of her youth in the colony of Surinam, of which her father was governor. She evidently possessed a disposition for intrigue, and she was employed by the English government, a few years after the Restoration, as a political spy at Antwerp. She subsequently settled in London, and gained a living by her pen, which was very prolific in novels, poems, and plays. It would be difficult to point out in any other works such scenes of open profligacy as those presented in Mrs. Behn’s two comedies of“Sir Patient Fancy”and“The City Heiress, or Sir Timothy Treat-all,”which appeared in 1678 and 1681. Concealment of the slightest kind is avoided, and even that which cannot be exposed to view, is tolerably broadly described.
It appears that the performance of the“London Cuckolds”hadbeen the cause of some scandal, and there were, even among play-goers, some who took offence at such outrages on the ordinary feelings of modesty. The excess of the evil had begun to produce a reaction. Ravenscroft, the author of that comedy, produced on the stage, in 1684, a comedy, entitled“Dame Dobson, or the Cunning Woman,”which was intended to be a modest play, but it was unceremoniously“damned”by the audience. The prologue to this new comedy intimates that the“London Cuckolds”had pleased the town and diverted the court, but that some“squeamish females”had taken offence at it, and that he had now written a“dull, civill”play to make amends. They are addressed, therefore, in such terms as these:—
In you, chaste ladies, then we hope to-day,This is the poet’s recantation play.Come often to ’t, that he at length may see’Tis more than a pretended modesty.Stick by him now, for if he finds you falter,He quickly will his way of writing alter;And every play shall send you blushing home,For, though you rail, yet then we’re sure you’ll come.
In you, chaste ladies, then we hope to-day,This is the poet’s recantation play.Come often to ’t, that he at length may see’Tis more than a pretended modesty.Stick by him now, for if he finds you falter,He quickly will his way of writing alter;And every play shall send you blushing home,For, though you rail, yet then we’re sure you’ll come.
In you, chaste ladies, then we hope to-day,
This is the poet’s recantation play.
Come often to ’t, that he at length may see
’Tis more than a pretended modesty.
Stick by him now, for if he finds you falter,
He quickly will his way of writing alter;
And every play shall send you blushing home,
For, though you rail, yet then we’re sure you’ll come.
And it is further intimated,—
A naughty play was never counted dull—Nor modest comedy e’er pleased you much.
A naughty play was never counted dull—Nor modest comedy e’er pleased you much.
A naughty play was never counted dull—
Nor modest comedy e’er pleased you much.
“I remember,”says Colley Cibber in his“Apology,”looking back to these times,“I remember the ladies were then observed to be decently afraid of venturing bare-faced to a new comedy, till they had been assured they might do it without the risk of an insult to their modesty; or if their curiosity were too strong for their patience, they took care at least to save appearances, and rarely came upon the first days of acting but in masks (then daily worn, and admitted in the pit, the side boxes, and gallery), which custom, however, had so many ill consequences attending it, that it has been abolished these many years.”According to theSpectator, ladies began now to desert the theatre when comedies were brought out, except those who“never miss the first day of a new play, lest it should prove too luscious to admit of their going with any countenance to the second.”
In the midst of this abuse, there suddenly appeared a book which created at the time a great sensation. The comedies of the latter half of the seventeenth century were not only indecent, but they were filled with profane language, and contained scenes in which religion itself was treated with contempt. At that time there lived a divine of the Church of England, celebrated for his Jacobitism—for I am now speaking of the reign of king William—for his talents as a controversial writer, and for his zeal in any cause which he undertook. This was Jeremy Collier, the author of several books of some merit, which are seldom read now, and who suffered for his zeal in the cause of king James, and for his refusal to take the oath of allegiance to king William. In the year 1698 Collier published his“Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English stage,”in which he boldly attacked the licentiousness of the English comedy. Perhaps Collier’s zeal carried him a little too far; but he had offended the wits, and especially the dramatic poets, on all sides, and he was exposed to attacks from all quarters, in which Dryden himself took an active part. Collier showed himself fully capable of dealing with his opponents, and the controversy had the effect of calling attention to the immoralities of the stage, and certainly contributed much towards reforming them. They were become much less frequent and less gross at the opening of the eighteenth century.
Towards the end of the reign of king Charles II., the stage was more largely employed as a political agent, and under his successor, James II., the Puritans and the Whigs were constantly held up to scorn. After the Revolution, the tables were turned, and the satire of the stage was often aimed at Tories and Non-jurors.“The Non-juror,”by Colley Cibber, which appeared in 1717, at a very opportune moment, gained for its author a pension and the office of poet-laureate. It was founded upon the“Tartuffe”of Molière, for the English comedy writers borrowed much from the foreign stage. A disguised priest, who passes under the name of Dr. Wolf, and who had been engaged in the rebellion of 1715, has insinuated himself into the household of a gentleman of fortune, of not very strong judgment, Sir John Woodvil, whom, under the title of a Non-juror, he has not only induced to become an abettor of rebels, but he haspersuaded him to disinherit his son, and he labours to seduce his wife and to deceive his daughter. His baseness is exposed only just soon enough to defeat his designs. Such a production as this could not fail to give great offence to all the Jacobite party, of whatever shade, who were then rather numerous in London, and Cibber assures us that his reward was a considerable amount of adverse criticism in every quarter where the Tory influence reached. His comedies were inferior in brilliance of dialogue to those of the previous age, but the plots were well imagined and conducted, and they are generally good acting plays.
To Samuel Foote, born in 1722, we owe the last change in the form and character of English comedy. A man of infinite wit and humour, and possessed of extraordinary talent as a mimic, Foote made mimicry the principal instrument of his success on the stage. His plays are above all light and amusing; he reduced the old comedy of five acts to three acts, and his plots were usually simple, the dialogue full of wit and humour; but their peculiar characteristic was their open boldness of personal satire. It is entirely a comedy of his own. He sought to direct his wit against all the vices of society, but this he did by holding up to ridicule and scorn the individuals who had in some way or other made themselves notorious by the practice of them. All his principal characters were real characters, who were more or less known to the public, and who were so perfectly mimicked on the stage in their dress, gait, and speech, that it was impossible to mistake them. Thus, in“The Devil upon Two Sticks,”which is a general satire on the low condition to which the practice of medicine had then fallen, the personages introduced in it all represented quacks well known about the town.“The Maid of Bath”dragged upon the stage scandals which were then the talk of Bath society. The nabob of the comedy which bears that title, had also his model in real life.“The Bankrupt”may be considered as a general satire on the baseness of the newspaper press of that day, which was made the means of propagating private scandals and libellous accusations in order to extort money, yet the characters introduced are said to have been all portraits from the life; and the same statement is made with regard to the comedy of“The Author.”
It is evident that a drama of this inquisitorial character is a dangerous thing, and that it could hardly be allowed to exist where the rights of society are properly defined; and we are not surprised if Foote provoked a host of bitter enemies. But in some cases the author met with punishment of a heavier and more substantial description. One of the individuals introduced into“The Maid of Bath,”extorted damages to the amount of £3,000. One of the persons who figured in“The Author,”obtained an order from the lord chamberlain for putting a stop to the performance after it had had a short run; and the consequences of“The Trip to Calais,”were still more disastrous. It is well known that the character of lady Kitty Crocodile in that play was a broad caricature on the notorious duchess of Kingston. Through the treachery of some of the people employed by Foote, the duchess obtained information of the nature of this play before it was ready for representation, and she had sufficient influence to obtain the lord chamberlain’s prohibition for bringing it on the stage. Nor was this all, for as the play was printed, if not acted,—and it was subsequently brought out in a modified form, with omission of the part of lady Kitty Crocodile, though the characters of some of her agents were still retained,—infamous charges were got up against Foote, in retaliation, which caused him so much trouble and grief, that they are said to have shortened his days.
The drama which Samuel Foote had invented did not outlive him; its caricature was itself transferred to the caricature of the print-shop.
CARICATURE IN HOLLAND.—ROMAIN DE HOOGHE.—THE ENGLISH REVOLUTION.—CARICATURES ON LOUIS XIV. AND JAMES II.—DR. SACHEVERELL.—CARICATURE BROUGHT FROM HOLLAND TO ENGLAND.—ORIGIN OF THE WORD“CARICATURE.”—MISSISSIPPI AND THE SOUTH SEA; THE YEAR OF BUBBLES.
Modern political caricature, born, as we have seen, in France, may be considered to have had its cradle in Holland. The position of that country, and its greater degree of freedom, made it, in the seventeenth century, the general place of refuge to the political discontents of other lands, and especially to the French who fled from the tyranny of Louis XIV. It possessed at that time some of the most skilful artists and best engravers in Europe, and it became the central spot from which were launched a multitude of satirical prints against that monarch’s policy, and against himself and his favourites and ministers. This was in a great measure the cause of the bitter hatred which Louis always displayed towards that country. He feared the caricatures of the Dutch more than their arms, and the pencil and graver of Romain de Hooghe were among the most effective weapons employed by William of Nassau.
The marriage of William with Mary, daughter of the duke of York, in 1677, naturally gave the Dutch a greater interest than they could have felt before in the domestic affairs of Great Britain, and a new stimulus to their zeal against Louis of France, or, which was the same thing, against arbitrary power and Popery, both of which had been rendered odious under his name. The accession of James II. to the throne of England, and his attempt to re-establish Popery, added religious as well as political fuel to these feelings, for everybody understood that James was actingunder the protection of the king of France. The very year of king James’s accession, in 1685, the caricature appeared which we have copied in our cut No. 186, and which, although the inscription is in English, appears to have been the work of a foreign artist. It was probably intended to represent Mary of Modena, the queen of James II., and her rather famous confessor, father Petre, the latter under the character of the wolf among the sheep. Its aim is sufficiently evident to need no explanation. At the top, in the original, are the Latin words,Converte Angliam,“convert England,”and beneath, in English, “It is a foolish sheep that makes the wolf her confessor.”