THE SURPRISE.
"Heard the news, Nat?" inquired Frank one morning.
"No, what is it?"
"The men are going to annihilate our Dramatic Society in the lyceum next
week. They are going to debate a question about dramatic exhibitions, I
understand."
"Oh, I had heard of that," replied Nat. "We seem to be of much
consequence just now. I hardly thought we were able to create such a
commotion."
"It seems we are," said Frank, "so you may expect to be finished within
a week. Better write your will, and prepare to be made mince-meat of."
"The rest of you will come in for a share," said Nat, "so I shall have a
plenty of company, and 'misery loves company' they say."
"But you are the chief sinner," said Frank, smilingly. "You started the
thing, and carried off all the glory of performing, so you will have to
shoulder the consequences."
"Not a very heavy burden, I am thinking," responded Nat. "I see no need
of making such a fuss about a trifle, just as if we boys would spoil the
whole town! If Shakspeare were alive he might write another comedy on it
like 'MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.' If the town is so dependent on
us, I think they ought to make us the fathers of it."
The truth was, that the Dramatic Society had created quite a commotion,
as we saw, in part, in a previous chapter. The good people of the
village were afraid of the consequences, as well they might be, and the
matter was discussed in many family circles, in social gatherings, in
the street and other places, until so much interest was awakened on both
sides, that the subject was introduced into the town lyceum.
In the hall that was dedicated when Nat was twelve years old, and where
he heard the address upon the life and character of Count Rumford by
which he was so much impressed, there was a lyceum sustained by the
citizens. It was here that the subject of dramatical exhibitions was
introduced by a proposition to discuss the following question,
"ARE DRAMATICAL EXHIBITIONS BENEFICIAL TO SOCIETY?"
No question had elicited so much interest as this, pro and con, so that
a large attendance was confidently expected.
"Are you going to hear the Dramatic Society used up to-night?" inquired
Marcus of Nat, on the day of the proposed discussion.
"Certainly; I am curious to see how the thing will be done. I wouldn't
fail of it for any thing. Let us all go, and save the pieces if we can."
"I expect they are preparing for a warm debate, from all I hear; and
there will be a crowd there," said Marcus.
Nat and his boon companions were at the hall in good season, to secure
seats near the debaters. The hall was filled by the time the hour for
opening had arrived, and a spicy time was expected. The president called
the meeting to order, the records of the last meeting were read, and
other preliminaries disposed of, when the question for discussion was
announced. Mr. Bryant, an intelligent and influential man, opened the
debate, and remarked, in substance, as follows:
"It is enough to know the origin of theatrical exhibitions. According to
the best authorities, when theatrical exhibitions were first given, an
old cart was the stage, the chief actor was a coarse mimic or clown, the
music was discoursed by itinerant singers, and the poem itself was a
motley combination of serious and ludicrous ideas. These performances
were first given in honor of the god of wine, Bacchus, which accounts,
I suppose, for the fact that a theatre cannot live without a bar. On
certain festive days, they acted these plays often in the most indecent
manner, with drunkenness and debauchery abounding--scenes which are
re-enacted in theatres at the present day. Now, they have a more
splendid stage, within a costly, spacious building, but there is little
or no improvement in the purity of the play and its incidentals. It is
just as demoralizing now as it was then, and has been so in every age of
the world. For that reason, such exhibitions have been suppressed, at
times, in some countries, and this was the case, at one period, in our
own land."
Mr. Bryant was followed by a gentleman on the other side of the subject,
but, for a reason that will be obvious to the reader before he gets
through the chapter, we shall not report the arguments in the negative.
Another speaker said "that the characters of the actors were loose,
exceedingly so; and if the audience could learn something of human
nature there, it was only the debasing side of it. It is generally true
that actors lend their influence to intemperance, licentiousness, and
irreligion. They do not patronize Sabbath schools, churches, and other
Christian institutions, but they patronize bars, gambling saloons, and
houses of ill-fame. Many of those men even who go to the theatre, would
be quite unwilling to introduce actors to the society of their sons and
daughters. They are so well convinced that this class are corrupt and
unprincipled, that they would exclude them from the fireside."
Another speaker, in the affirmative, said: "As a general thing, dramatic
literature is immoral and debasing. I admit that the tragedies of
Shakspeare are a pattern of classic elegance and dignity, yet there are
passages even in his works that never should be read or spoken in the
hearing of others. In them vice is often stripped of its deformity,
while virtue is made to appear to disadvantage. The youth who witnesses
a play where vice is made to appear as an indiscretion rather than a
sin, is likely to think less of virtue, and more favorably of vice. An
English scholar has taken pains to read all the plays of the stage of
England, and mark all the profane or indecent passages unfit to be read
or spoken in a public assembly, and he has found _seven thousand_.
During the reign of King James the First, an act was passed 'For the
preventing and avoiding the great abuse of the holy name of God in
stage-plays.' Addison condemned the theatre 'for ridiculing religion,
and for representing the rake and debauchee as the true gentleman.' It
is vain to attempt to defend the moral character of dramatic writings."
The first speaker rising to address the audience the second time, said,
"that the class of persons who generally patronize the theatre are the
most frivolous and useless part of the community. Moral and religious
citizens do not lend it their influence, but those who are indifferent
or hostile to Christian institutions. Fathers and mothers who are
careless of the example they set their children; vain followers of the
fashions, who think more of a golden trinket than they do of virtue;
idle and dissipated hangers-on of society; fast young men in the road to
ruin; vicious young women; dissolute men, whose vices would horrify
every sensitive heart were they uncovered; with a sprinkling, perhaps,
of better people who forget, for the time being, what company they are
in;--these constitute the principal patrons of the stage. Now, then,
this single fact is enough to brand the character of theatres as corrupt
and pernicious. There is not a person in this hall who would think well
of the principles of a man of whom you might be told, 'he is an habitual
theatre-goer.' You would infer that his principles were loose, and, in
nine cases out of ten, your inference would be correct."
Thus the usual arguments against theatres were quite thoroughly pressed,
and were met by the usual ones on the opposite side, though it was
evident that the negative realized they had a difficult subject to
defend.
Nat listened to the discussion with constantly increasing interest and
excitement. His face became flushed, and a nervous tremor passed over
his body. At length his frame fairly shook with the excitement under
which he was laboring, and Frank, who was sitting by his side, observed
it.
"What is the matter with you, Nat?" whispered Frank. Nat made no reply,
but continued to catch every word that was uttered. He was evidently
dissatisfied with the defence of the theatre by the negative side, and
thought that a better plea for it might be made.
"I say, Nat, what's the matter?" whispered Frank again; "got the fever
and ague?"
Nat kept his eyes fixed, and did not even bestow a nod of the head upon
Frank's inquiry, and the moment the question was given to the audience
for general debate,--according to the custom,--Nat started to his feet.
"Mr. President," said he, and every head was up, and every eye fixed, at
the sound of his voice. All were astonished that he should presume to
speak on that floor; they would scarcely have been more surprised if a
strange debater had dropped down through the plastering into the
audience. But Nat went on to say, in substance,
"I have listened to the discussion of the question before us with
mingled feelings of interest and surprise. Much that has been said I can
most cordially respond to, while some of the arguments upon the
affirmative do not appear to me legitimate or just. Every subject should
be treated fairly, and especially one like this, which is so apt to
encounter superstition and prejudice. It is no objection, in my mind, to
an enterprise, that it had a lowly origin, any more than it is for an
honest and noble man to have descended from ignoble parents. If a man
will work his way up from poverty and obscurity by his indomitable
energy and perseverance, until he carves his name with scholars and
statesmen on the temple of fame, it is the climax of meanness in any one
to twit him of his humble origin, and hold him up to ridicule because
his parents are poor and unhonored. And so when the gentleman tells us
that the theatre was born in a cart, and was originated by those who had
neither learning nor character, it is no argument against it, in my
view, when I see the rank to which it has attained. The cart has given
place to the marble edifice, decorated in the highest style of art, and
the place of the untutored street-singer and clown is filled by the
queen of song and the prince of orators. The play is no longer devoid of
literary character, but is invested with a classic elegance which only
the gifted intellect of Shakspeare could impart. What is it that has
elevated dramatic entertainments from the cart to the costly temple?
Human meanness could not do it, nor human policy alone. It has been
accomplished by the intrinsic value to be found in such dramas as those
composed by Shakspeare, and that justly entitles them to something
nobler than a contemptuous sneer.
"I do not presume to defend theatres as they are, with all the vices
that attach to the present manner of conducting them. I admit that the
actors are no better than they should be, and that intemperance and
licentiousness may be countenanced by them. But when it is intimated
that all this is necessarily and inevitably so, I repel the insinuation.
Do not gentlemen know that the names of certain actors are associated
with all that is pure in character and noble in purpose? Were Garrick
and Siddons men of corrupt lives, unworthy to hold an honorable place in
society? Who can point to the first line or word ever penned to
stigmatize these men? So long as we can refer to them as pure and
upright actors, it will be true that corruption does not necessarily
belong to the stage.
"I would have intoxicating drinks forever excluded from the theatre, and
every possible measure adopted to prevent moral corruption of every
kind. I would take the play out of the hands of the base and profligate,
and give it to those who are virtuous and true. I would expunge every
profane and vulgar word and thought from both tragedy and comedy,
leaving nothing that is unfit to be said in the ear of the purest men
and women, and then I see not why the stage might not become a medium
of innocent pleasure, and intellectual culture. It is bad now, because
it is in the hands of bad men. When the virtuous control it, we may
expect that its character will be changed.
"When it is said, as it has been on this floor to-night, that nothing
good can be learned at a theatre, even as it is at the present time, I
must beg to dissent from the opinion. I can testify from actual
experience, that much can be learned there of human nature, and much
that belongs to the art of speaking. I do not say that many people go to
the theatre to learn these things, but I do say they might learn them if
they would. Even admitting that the baser side of human nature alone is
seen on the stage, a man may learn something from that if he will. As in
the low groggery, a pure man may behold to what awful degradation the
use of strong drink may reduce its victims, and derive therefrom an
argument for temperance that is irresistible, so the exhibitions of the
stage may show a pure-minded man how revolting he may become by yielding
to the power of his lowest appetites and passions. If he visits such a
drinking place to minister to a depraved appetite, and carouse with
others, he will go to ruin himself; but if he goes there to acquire the
knowledge to which I have referred, he will make a valuable accession to
his information and principles. In like manner, if a person goes to the
theatre simply to be amused, or for a more dishonorable purpose, he may
be corrupted by what he sees and hears; but if he goes for the higher
object I have named, he will probably escape contamination."
In this strain Nat proceeded for twenty minutes or more, filling the
audience with surprise and wonder. He waxed warmer and warmer, as he
advanced, and spoke in a flow of eloquence and choice selection of
words, that was unusual for one of his age. No one in the hall had ever
listened to such a display of oratorical ability on the part of a youth
like him. The most strenuous opposers of the theatre almost overlooked
the weakness of Nat's argument in their admiration of his eloquence. It
was so unexpected that the surprise alone was almost sufficient to
bewilder, them. His mother was in the audience, and her heart leaped
into her mouth, as she was first startled by the sound of his voice. She
was almost indignant that her boy should attempt to speak in that hall,
before such an audience. She expected every moment that he would break
down, to his own disgrace and others. But he spoke on, never hesitating
for choice words, and put an earnestness and power into every sentence
that amazed her. She could scarcely believe what she saw and heard. She
was well satisfied with her son when he concluded his speech.
"Nat will make a second Daniel Webster," said the agent of the factory
to a friend, as he was going out of the hall.
"I am surprised at his eloquence," replied the friend addressed. "I
never heard the like in my life by one of his age."
"We must get him to join the lyceum at once, and bring him out before
the public," said the agent.
"That would be an excellent idea, I think; and there will be a great
desire to hear him again. I am sure I would like to hear him discuss
another question."
"Nat has always been a close student," continued the agent. "When he has
not been learning from books, he has studied men and things; and I have
expected he would make his mark."
This speech set everybody in the village to talking. Nothing had
occurred for a long time that caused so much remark and excitement. The
surprise and interest it created remind us of Patrick Henry's first
plea, of which Nat himself spoke to Charlie, as we saw in a former
chapter. The description which Mr. Wirt gives of it is so applicable to
the case before us, that we shall quote it.
"His attitude, by degrees, became erect and lofty. The spirit of his
genius awakened all his features. His countenance shone with a nobleness
and grandeur which it had never before exhibited. There was a lightning
in his eye that seemed to rive the spectator. His action became
graceful, bold and commanding; and in the tones of his voice, but more
especially in his emphasis, there was a peculiar charm, a magic, of
which any one who ever heard him will speak as soon as he is named....
"In less than twenty minutes they might be seen in every part of the
house, on every bench, in every window, stooping forward from their
stands, in death-like silence, their features fixed in amazement; all
their senses listening and riveted upon the speaker, as if to catch the
last strain of some heavenly visitant....
"The jury seem to have been so completely bewildered, that they lost
sight, not only of the act of seventeen hundred and forty-eight, but
that of seventeen hundred and fifty-eight also; for thoughtless even of
the admitted right of the plaintiff, they had scarcely left the bar,
when they returned with a verdict of _one penny damages_. A motion was
made for a new trial; but the court, too, had now lost the equipoise of
their judgment, and overruled the motion by a unanimous vote. The
verdict and judgment overruling the motion, were followed by redoubled
acclamations, from within and without the house.
"The people, who had with difficulty kept their hands off their
champion, from the moment of closing his harangue, no sooner saw the
fate of the cause finally sealed, than they seized him at the bar, and
in spite of his own exertions, and the continual cry of order from the
sheriff and the court, they bore him out of the court house, and raising
him on their shoulders, carried him about the yard in triumph."
Nat was not carried out of the hall like Patrick, but if his companions
and some others, could have acted their own pleasure, a similar scene
would have taken place. The reader can scarcely fail to trace some
connection between his early familiarity with the life of Patrick Henry,
and this brilliant chapter of his experience before the large audience
in the town hall. It looks very much as if the reading of that book made
a permanent impression upon his mind. It shows, also, that he had not
studied the manners of public speakers in vain.
"You couldn't do that again if you should try," said Charlie to Nat, at
the close of the meeting. "You was inspired to-night."
"Inspired with respect for our dramatic society," answered Nat, with a
laugh. "I thought I would not let it die without one struggle."
"Well," said Frank, "we can afford to let it give up the ghost now,
after such a glorious funeral oration over it. But I thought you was
having the shaking palsy before you got up to speak."
"It was only the debaters shaking a little interest into me," replied
Nat. "They made the spirit move, that's all."
The reader must not infer that opposers of the theatre changed their
views in consequence of Nat's argument. For no argument can be framed
that will defend the stage from the charge of being a great public evil.
In another place we have said enough to show that the ground of his
defence was fallacious, though he uttered sentiments which he then
sincerely believed. It is certainly no strong defence of the drama that
it has risen from the cart to the marble palace, for sin, in some of its
grossest forms, thus ascends from a revolting to a gilded degradation.
Nor does it avail much to point to here and there a virtuous Garrick
among stage-players, when we know that there are a hundred worthless,
corrupt actors to one Garrick. And in respect to the possibility of
making the theatre respectable, we have seen that it has been repeatedly
tried, and failed.
But the audience fell in love with Nat's eloquence. They were charmed by
its gracefulness and power. It was that which won their hearts. The
result was, that nearly every one became satisfied with his good
intention in going to the theatre, and originating dramatic
entertainments in the village. It was apparent that it was done for his
own personal improvement. He was invited to connect himself with the
citizens' lyceum, where he surprised and pleased his friends many times
thereafter, by the ability and eloquence with which he discussed
different subjects.
The Dramatic Society was relinquished, and the general interest
manifested in it was transferred to the town lyceum. A wider and more
important field of effort was now open to test Nat's endowments and
acquisitions; and he rapidly advanced by making the most of every
opportunity.