and every where else concise, energetic, and impetuous-hurrying on with a disdain of little ornaments and accuracies, and not always very solicitous about being comprehended by readers of inferior capacity.

HISTORY OF THE DRAMA.*

There were at Athens various funds applicable to public purposes; one of which, and among the most considerable, was called To Sewpinov or Tà Sewpind, and appropriated for the expenses of sacrifices, processions, festivals, spectacles, and of the theatres. The citizens were admitted to the theatres for some time gratis; but in consequence of the disturbances caused by multitudes crowding to get seats, to introduce order, and, as the phrase is, to keep out improper persons, a small sum of money was afterwards demanded for admission. That the poorer classes, however, might not be deprived of their favourite gratification, they received from the treasury, out of this fund, the price of a seat,—and thus peace and regularity were secured, and the fund still applied to its original purpose. The money that was taken at the doors, having served as a ticket, was expended, together with that which had not been used in this manner, to maintain the edifice itself, and to pay the manifold charges of the representation.

It had been enacted by a general law, that in time of war the surplus of every branch of the revenue should be applied to military purposes; this, of course, included the Sewpixov; and, moreover, by a particular decree, the whole of that fund was not unfrequently thus appropriated: but as such appropriations were rather unpopular, and had sometimes been made improperly, it was made a capital offence, on the motion of one Eubulus, to attempt to apply the theatrical fund to carry on a war. Oaváty (nuodai, εἴ τις ἐπιχειροίη μεταποιεῖν τὰ θεωρικὰ στρατιωτικά, are the words of Ulpian. By this decree the Athenians were, in some measure, secured against a hasty misapplication; as it made two steps necessary, where one only had been required-it being now indispensable to procure a repeal of the penal decree before the question of the application of the money could be prudently moved; and thus necessitating a deliberate consideration of a measure so important as the commencement of a war.

the

It is curious to observe with how much virulence the people of Athens have been calumniated for passing this decree; with what an absurd violence the enemies of what they call luxury, and of the human species, the fast friends of asceticism and of war, have in all times reiterated the same censure, and with what a blind credulity the vulgar have re-echoed cry. If we consider the advantages which the Athenians, and indeed the whole civilised world, derived from the Greek theatre, and the small benefits, or rather the miserable calamities, occasioned by their wars of aggression-in other words, by almost all the wars in which they engagedwe shall be induced to look upon the decree of Eubulus as a most salutary law, which forbade turbulent spirits to consume a fund, raised for the great purposes of public instruction and civilisation, in promoting waste, slaughter, and barbarism.

The matter is not without interest, if we view it only as a portion of

* Seven Years of the King's Theatre. By John Ebers.-Vol. xlix. p. 317. June, 1829.

ancient history, and as it respects the manners and policy of times long gone by; but it is far more important, if we bring it home to our own days, and ask ourselves whether our own Jewpind have not often been taken from us, and applied, when there was no Eubulus at hand to help us, to those very purposes which the much-censured Athenians so wisely sought to prevent? It cannot be denied that this fund, with us-the fund for supporting elegant arts, and embuing the body of the people with noble tastes and refined sentiments-has been frequently seized on by anticipation,-not only before it was collected in the treasury of the theatre, but before it was accumulated in the hands of the opulent individuals who would otherwise have created and applied it; and that it has been expended upon wars, that were purely and peculiarly wars of aggression. Why, we would also ask, is the influence of our theatres so small, seeing that in a free country their power ought to be great? Why do men of worth refuse almost unanimously to visit them? Why will no man of real talent write for them? These questions, and such as these, continually occur to all who reflect upon the present state of our society; and we will briefly discuss, and endeavour to solve some of them.

Travellers inform us, that savages, even in a very rude state, are found to divert themselves by imitating some common event in life: but it is not necessary to leave our own quiet homes, to satisfy ourselves that dramatic representations are natural to man. All children delight in mimicking action; many of their amusements consist in such performances, and are in every sense plays. It is curious, indeed, to observe at how early an age the young of the most imitative of animals, man, begin to copy the actions of others; how soon the infant displays its intimate conviction of the great truth, that "all the world's a stage.' The baby does not imitate those acts only, that are useful and necessary to be learned; but it instinctively mocks useless and unimportant actions and unmeaning sounds, for its amusement, and for the mere pleasure of imitation, and is evidently much delighted when it is successful. The diversions of children are very commonly dramatic. When they are not occupied with their hoops, tops, and balls, or engaged in some artificial game, they amuse themselves in playing at soldiers, in being at school, or at church, in going to market, in receiving company; and they imitate the various employments of life with so much fidelity, that the theatrical critic, who delights in chaste acting, will often find less to censure in his own little servants in the nursery, than in his Majesty's servants in a theatre-royal. When they are somewhat older, they dramatise the stories they read: most boys have represented Robin Hood, or one of his merrymen; and every one has enacted the part of Robinson Crusoe, and his man Friday. We have heard of many extraordinary tastes and antipathies; but we never knew an instance of a young person who was not delighted the first time he visited a theatre. The true enjoyment of life consists in action; and happiness, according to the peripatetic definition, is to be found in energy; it accords, therefore, with the nature and etymology of the drama, which is, in truth, not less natural than agreeable. Its grand divisions correspond, moreover, with those of time; the contemplation of the present is Comedy-mirth, for the most part, being connected with the present only-and the past and the future are the dominions of the Tragic Muse.

It has been a grave question, since the first introduction of theatrical representations, whether they are on the whole beneficial to society, or

hurtful? Experience seems to have decided in their favour. Plato, who had never lived in a state where they were not, but, on the contrary, always resided in a city where they were frequent, at the beginning of the tenth book of his Republic, and at the end of the seventh book on Laws, gives his suffrage against them, and excludes them, as well as all poetry, from his ideal republic. Some have conjectured, and it is not impossible, that the dislike of the elegant philosopher for poets was caused by envy and the spirit of rivalry; or, since it was his delight to invent paradoxes, that he condemned the theatre, because the love of it was so prevalent amongst his countrymen, as to be considered almost essential to their existence; and that if he had inhabited a country in which it was held in abhorrence, the same motive would probably have induced him to recommend the drama as necessary to public welfare and private felicity. On the supposition that he wrote in good faith, it must at least be admitted that he wrote in ignorance; never having had an opportunity of observing by actual experience the state which he recommends: we may therefore believe, that if he had known the inconveniences arising from the want of theatres, as well as those which are occasioned by the abuse of them, he would, perhaps, have invented a commonwealth less inhospitable to players.

At all events, the fancy, or opinion, that the theatre is injurious to morals, is by no means of modern origin; several states of Greece, and especially the rude, cruel, and warlike Sparta, abhorred it as sincerely as the most sour and rigid of our puritans; and there is nothing that has been said by the most bigoted of their writers, which has not been said and written with equal vehemence and austerity in ancient times. The praise of great severity of manners may still be had by persons who will seek it thus; but they are many centuries too late for the praise of novelty. Plutarch, in his life of Solon, tells us, that when Thespis first set up the stage at Athens, it was much frequented by the multitude; that Solon went once himself, and when the play was over, asked the manager if he was not ashamed to tell such a parcel of lies before so many people? Thespis answered, it was no harm to say or do these things in jest, and by way of diversion; but Solon struck his staff with passion upon the ground, and replied, "If lying is so well received in the way you talk of, we shall soon have it practised in serious business." Some strict persons, in like manner, will not permit any expression to be used to children which is not precisely and literally true: but experience proves that we should thereby deprive them of much instruction and innocent amusement; for at the earliest age, as soon as they can make any distinction whatever, they learn to discern between jest and earnest, and they rarely, if ever, confound them. They can at once tell whether we speak seriously or in fun-and so can those children of a larger growth, the multitude. There have been sects, since the days of Solon-though not perhaps philosophers-who do not frequent theatres, who use no amusing fictions, who never say the thing that is in jest: but we may safely appeal to the experience of mankind, whether the members of such sects, in the serious business of life, are remarkable for a superior worth or veracity. There is, and always has been, but too much falsehood in the world: but men do not learn at the playhouse to speak untruths-nor in reading Don Quixote, or even the Arabian Nights: nor are the most veracious or ingenuous children those who are ignorant of the history of Jack and the Bean, and of his great namesake, the Giant-killer.

It is difficult to conceive a preacher, whose eloquence should generally produce a moral effect upon his audience equally strong with that caused by a moderately good representation of an indifferent tragedy; and we are convinced that the force of comic ridicule, when directed skilfully against a public abuse, would be irresistible: the power of the theatre, whether it operates by laughter or by tears, might, therefore, if duly exerted, be productive of infinite good. Striking portions of history might be shown on the stage with a forcible and impressive effect; for even the dull history of England becomes interesting in the ten dramas of Shakspeare; and it is perhaps not altogether impossible, that the still duller legends of France might acquire attraction in the hands of a great master of scenic composition. These ten plays are the best specimens we have of the manner in which history may be treated dramatically; and the mode in which eight of them follow each other, reminds us of the trilogies of the Greeks. Young persons, and the lower orders, listen with great satisfaction to speeches, and even to disputatious arguments, whenever they are able to comprehend in any degree the object of them; and they assist at dramatic exhibitions with still greater pleasure and profit. Nor is it profitable for youth to be hearers only; it is good for them to take a part. Acting plays, under proper superintendence, is very useful; it is the best mode of learning to pronounce well, of acquiring a distinct utterance, a good delivery, and graceful action; the memory is strengthened and enriched with plenty of choice words and elegant expressions, and the mind is taught by experience to judge correctly of dramatic excellence.

This exercise, too, is always performed with so much ease and delight, that if it were not beneficial in its effects, as it undoubtedly is, it ought still to be encouraged, as an innocent and acceptable relaxation; and reserved as a reward for past, and a motive for future exertions. It was formerly practised on this principle at our Universities, and continued in force there so long as learning was cultivated; the good old custom is still retained in Westminster School. So long, also, as the Inns of Court were faithful to their original destination-the advancement of legal education, it was usual for the students to act plays in the halls; and great personages, sometimes even kings and queens, did not disdain to attend them; in short, wherever education was, there were theatricals also, as the last finishing of the work.

The Jesuits, who were the most liberal of all the religious orders, and were, in truth, the victims of their liberality; as they were singularly active and successful in education, encouraged dramatical representation in their seminaries. We have this account of their proceedings from Gabriel d'Emillianne, a very hostile witness :—

"The Jesuits take much pains themselves in making of comedies and tragedies, and every Regent is bound to compose two at least every year. To this end, as soon as they have finished some piece of elaborate folly or buffoonery, they distribute the personages thereof to those of their scholars they judge most proper to represent them; and they spend a great part of the time of their classes, or morning and afternoon lectures, in exercising them two or three months before the drama is to be acted publicly. This loss of time would not be altogether so great, in case these comedies or tragedies were in the Latin tongue; but, excepting only some few sprinklings of Latin words here and there, they are all Italian. Their end herein is to make them the more intelligible to the ladies that are invited to them. Amongst the rest, they take care not to forget the mothers of their scholars, who are ravished to see their children declaiming upon the theatre of the reverend fathers, and conceit their children have profited greatly, in being so dexterous in playing the jack pudding."

He afterwards relates, in a more angry tone, that

"The Abbot of St. Michael's in the Wood, near Bologna, told me there was no harm in all this, and that they did it for a good end; For,' said he, 'we sometimes act little tragedies and comedies in the vestry, or in the church, to which we invite our kindred of both sexes, and our friends, to be merry together.' The Abbot, in giving me this account, took notice of some sort of indignation on my brow, when he told me that they made use of the church to act their farces and comedies in; and therefore would needs excuse himself on that point, by telling me that they were in a manner forced to serve themselves of that place, because the ladies were not suffered to enter the Convent, so that they had no other place where to bestow them; as if, forsooth, it were a case of absolute and insuperable necessity for the ladies to be present, or for them to act such kind of follies. Sometimes, also, they are guilty of most horrible profanations; by building their theatre upon the high altar where the holy sacrament is lodged."

We would not willingly participate in the horror of a writer, who declares that a profanation is great, for a reason which he does not believe himself; yet the practice of acting plays in a church is so contrary to our present habits, that it somewhat startles us. Though it may tend, possibly, in some sort, to remove indignation from the brow, and to excuse the reverend fathers, if we reflect, that in the ancient world dramatic representations were intimately connected with religion, and were, indeed, a part of it; that the theatre, in short, was a sacred place, and that the performance was accompanied by sacrifice. Not only was it so with the Pagans, but with Christians also, to a certain extent; and when the drama was restored in the middle ages, it was by sacred persons, representing sacred stories, most commonly in sacred places. But of this hereafter. In all religions that have enjoyed an extensive influence, or a permanent establishment, there has been much that was dramatic in the public rites and services; various scenes connected with the foundation, or extension, of the peculiar faith, were represented, although not always, perhaps, with taste and felicity. Except in a few modern sects, the ritual has never consisted of prayers and thanksgivings alone.

It is not impossible that the notion of desecrating our churches, by applying them to other uses than those of devotion, may be carried farther than ancient usage will warrant. It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath days; and it may possibly be lawful to do good also in a sacred place. It is certain, that they have often been used by pious persons for the best act that man can do to his fellow-for the purpose of teaching. We read of the

excellent and eminently pious Sir Thomas More, that "as soon as he put on the bar gown, he read a public lecture in the church of St. Lawrence, Old Jewry, upon St. Austin's treatise De Civitate Dei, with an excellent grace, and great applause. In these lectures, he did not discuss any points of divinity, so much as explain the precepts of Moral Philosophy, and clear up some difficulties in history." The Court of Arches, as is well known, derives its name from the church of St. Mary-le-bow, or de Arcubus : that celebrated house of prayer was made, without scruple, a den of proctors. It should seem, therefore, that the clergy of former days were less jealous of sharing the sacred edifices with the profane, and did not seek to withold public buildings from public purposes, under a pretence of extraordinary reverence. However that may be, it is certain that they were not, as now, hermetically sealed; they stood open, at all hours of the day, to all comers. It is only in very modern times, an abuse of yesterday, that indolence and cupidity have conspired to shut out the public from our cathedrals. We read with horror and indignation, but without surprise, the late miserable destruction of the choir of York Minster. The catastrophe seems to have been the consequence of this illegal and barbarous practice; and we may expect to see more of the same kind, unless vigorous measures are speedily