be done? Only sit down contented, cry up all that comes before us, and admire even the absurdities of Shakspeare. I admire the beauties Let the reader suspend his censure. of this great father of our stage as much as they deserve, but could wish, for the honor of our country, and for his honor too, that many of his scenes were forgotten. A man blind of one eye should always be painted in profile. Let the spectator who assists at any of these newly revived pieces, only ask himself whether he would approve such a performance if written by a modern poet? I fear he will find that much of his applause proceeds merely from the sound of a name, and an empty veneration for antiquity. In fact, the revival of those pieces of forced humor, far-fetched conceit, and unnatural hyperbole, which have been ascribed to Shakspeare, is rather gibbeting than raising a statue to his memory; it is rather a trick of the actor, who thinks it safest acting in exaggerated characters, and who, by outstepping nature, chooses to exhibit the ridiculous outré of a harlequin under the sanction of that venerable name. What strange vamped comedies, farcical tragedies, or what shall I call them, speaking pantomimes, have we not of late seen! No matter what the play may be, it is the actor who draws an audience. He throws life into all; all are in spirits and merry, in at one door and out at another; the spectator, in a fool's paradise, knows not what all this means, till the last act concludes in matrimony. The piece pleases our critics, because it talks old English; and it pleases the galleries, because it has ribaldry.. True taste, or even common sense, are out of the question. But great art must be sometimes used before they can thus impose upon the public. To this purpose, a prologue written with some spirit generally precedes the piece, to inform us that it was composed by Shakspeare, or old Ben, or somebody else who took them for his model. A face of iron could not have the as surance to avow dislike; the theatre has its partisans who understand the force of combinations, trained up to vociferation, clapping of hands, and clattering of sticks: and though a man might have strength sufficient to overcome a lion in single combat, he may run the risk of being devoured by an army of ants. I am not insensible, that third nights are disagreeable drawbacks upon the annual profits of the stage. I am confident it is much more to the manager's advantage to furbish up all the lumber which the good sense of our ancestors, but for his care, had consigned to oblivion. It is not with him, therefore, but with the public I would expostulate; they have a right to demand respect, and surely those newly revived plays are no instances of the manager's deference. I have been informed that no new play can be admitted upon our theatres unless the author chooses to wait some years, or, to use the phrase in fashion, till it comes to be played in turn. A poet thus can never expect to contract a familiarity with the stage, by which alone he can hope to succeed; nor can the most signal success relieve immediate want. Our Saxon ancestors had but one name for a wit and a witch. I will not dispute the propriety of uniting those characters then; but the man who, under the present discouragements, ventures to write for the stage, whatever claim he may have to the appellation of a wit, at least he has no right to be called a conjuror. *["Yet getting a play on even in three or four years, is a privilege reserved only for the happy few who have the arts of courting the manager as well as the muse who have adulation to please his vanity, powerful patrons to support their merit, or money to indemnify disappointment. The poet must act like our beggars at Christmas, who lay the first shilling on the plate for themselves. Thus all wit is banished from the stage, except it be supported by friends or fortune; and poets are seldom over-burthened with either. "I am not at present writing for a party, but above theatrical connections in every sense of the expression; I have no particular spleen against the fellow who sweeps the stage with the besom, or the hero who brushes it with his train. From all that has been said upon the state of our theatre, we may easily foresee whether it is likely to improve or decline; and whether the free-born muse can bear to submit to those restrictions which avarice or power would impose. For the future, it is somewhat unlikely, that he whose labors are valuable, or who knows their value, will turn to the stage for either fame or subsistence, when he must at once flatter an actor and please an audience. CHAPTER XIII. ON UNIVERSITIES. Instead of losing myself in a subject of such extent, I shall only offer a few thoughts as they occur, and leave their connection to the reader. We seem divided, whether an education formed by travelling It were a matter of indifference to me, whether our heroines are in keeping, or our candle-snuffers burn their fingers, did not such make a great part of public care and polite conversation. It is not these, but the age I would reproach: the vile complexion of the times, when those employ our most serious thoughts, and separate us into parties, whose business is only to amuse our idlest hours. I cannot help reproaching our meanness in this respect; for our stupidity and our folly will be remembered, when even the attitudes and eyebrows of a favorite actor shall be forgotten. "In the times of Addison and Steele, players were held in greater contempt than, perhaps, they deserved. Honest Eastcourt, Verbruggen, and Underhill, were extremely poor, and assumed no airs of insolence. They were contented with being merry at a city feast, with promoting the mirth of a set of cheerful companions, and gave their jest for their reckoning. At that time, it was kind to say something in defence of the poor good-natured creatures, if it were only to keep them in good humor; but at present, such encouragements are unnecessary. Our actors assume all that state off the stage which they do on it; and to use an expression borrowed from the green-room, every one is up in his part. I am sorry to say it, they seem to forget their real characters; more provoking still, the public seems to forget them too."] or by a sedentary life be preferable. We see more of the world by travel, but more of human nature by remaining at home; as in an infirmary, the student who only attends to the disorders of a few patients, is more likely to understand his profession, than he who indiscriminately examines them all. A youth just landed at the Brille resembles a clown at a puppet-show; carries his amazement from one miracle to another; from this cabinet of curiosities to that collection of pictures; but wondering is not the way to grow wise. Whatever resolutions we set ourselves, not to keep company with our countrymen abroad, we shall find them broken when once we leave home. Among strangers we consider ourselves as in a solitude, and it is but natural to desire society. In all the great towns of Europe there are to be found Englishmen residing either from interest or choice. These generally lead a life of continued debauchery. Such are the countrymen a traveller is likely to meet with. This may be the reason why Englishmen are all thought to be mad or melancholy by the vulgar abroad. Their money is giddily and merrily spent among sharpers of their own country; and when that is gone, of all nations the English bear worst that disorder called the malade de poche. Countries wear very different appearances to travellers of different circumstances. A man who is whirled through Europe in a post-chaise, and the pilgrim who walks the grand tour on foot, will form very different conclusions.* To see Europe with advantage, a man should appear in various circumstances of fortune; but the experiment would be too dangerous for young men. There are many things relative to other countries which can [To this was added in the first edition, in allusion to Goldsmith's own mode of making the journey," Haud inexpertus loquor." be learned to more advantage at home; their laws and policies are among the number. The greatest advantages which result to youth from travel, are an easy address, the shaking off national prejudices, and the finding nothing ridiculous in national peculiarities. The time spent in these aquisitions could have been more usefully employed at home. An education in a college seems therefore preferable.* We attribute to universities either too much or too little. Some assert that they are the only proper places to advance learning; while others deny even their utility in forming an education. Both are erroneous. Learning is most advanced in populous cities, where chance often conspires with industry to promote it; where the members of this large university, if I may so call it, catch manners as they rise, study life not logic, and have the world for correspondents. The greatest number of universities have ever been founded in times of the greatest ignorance. New improvements in learning are seldom adopted in colledges until admitted every where else. And this is right; we should always be cautious of teaching the rising generation uncertainties for truth. Thus, though the professors in universities have been too frequently found to oppose the advancement of learning, yet when once established, they are the properest persons to diffuse it. There is more knowledge to be acquired from one page of the volume of mankind, if the scholar only knows how to read, than in volumes of antiquity. We grow learned, not wise, by too long a continuance at college. Ask the housebreaker *["It has lately been disputed, whether the arts and sciences do most benefit or injury to mankind. or highwayman, in what none."-First edit.] Mere speculative trifling! |