showed his mature powers to more magnificent advantage than in his
treatment of plot and character in _Othello_. What, then, is this
_Adventures of Five Hours_, compared with which _Othello_ became in
Pepys's eyes "a mean thing"? It is a trivial comedy of intrigue,
adapted from the Spanish by one Sir Samuel Tuke. A choleric guardian
arranges for his ward, who also happens to be his sister, to marry
against her will a man whom she has never seen. Without her guardian's
knowledge she, before the design goes further, escapes with a lover of
her own choosing. In her place she leaves a close friend, who is wooed
in mistake for herself by the suitor destined for her own hand. This
is the main dramatic point; the thread is very slender, and is drawn
out to its utmost limits through five acts of blank verse. The
language and metre are scrupulously correct. But one cannot credit the
play with any touch of poetry or imagination. It presents a trite
theme tamely and prosaically. Congenital inability of the most
inveterate toughness to appreciate dramatic poetry could alone account
for a mention of the _Adventures of Five Hours_ in the same breath
with _Othello_.
Pepys did not again fall so low as this. The only other tragedy of
Shakespeare which he saw in its authentic purity moved him,
contradictorily, to transports of unqualified delight. One is glad to
recall that _Hamlet_, one of the greatest of Shakespeare's plays,
received from Pepys ungrudging commendation. Pepys's favourable
opinion of _Hamlet_ is to be assigned to two causes. One is the
literary and psychological attractions of the piece; the other, and
perhaps the more important, is the manner in which the play was
interpreted on the stage of Pepys's time.
Pepys is not the only owner of a prosaic mind who has found
satisfaction in Shakespeare's portrait of the Prince of Denmark. Over
minds of almost every calibre, that hero of the stage has always
exerted a pathetic fascination, which natural antipathy to poetry
seems unable to extinguish. Pepys's testimony to his respect for the
piece is abundant. The whole of one Sunday afternoon (November 13,
1664), he spent at home with his wife, "getting a speech out of
_Hamlet_, 'To be or not to be,' without book." He proved, indeed, his
singular admiration for those familiar lines in a manner which I
believe to be unique. He set them to music, and the notes are extant
in a book of manuscript music in his library at Magdalene College,
Cambridge. The piece is a finely-elaborated recitative fully equal to
the requirements of grand opera. The composer gives intelligent and
dignified expression to every word of the soliloquy. Very impressive
is the modulation of the musical accompaniment to the lines--
To die, to sleep!
To sleep, perchance to dream! ay, there's the rub.
It is possible that the cadences of this musical rendering of Hamlet's
speech preserve some echo of the intonation of the great actor,
Betterton, whose performance evoked in Pepys lasting adoration.[18]
[Footnote 18: Sir Frederick Bridge, by permission of the Master and
Fellows of Magdalene College, Cambridge, caused this setting of "To be
or not to be" (which bears no composer's signature) to be transcribed
from the manuscript, and he arranged the piece to be sung at the
meeting of the Pepys Club on November 30, 1905. Sir Frederick Bridge
believes Pepys to be the composer.]
It goes without saying that, for the full enjoyment of a performance
of _Hamlet_ by both cultured and uncultured spectators, acting of
supreme quality is needful. Luckily for Pepys, Hamlet in his day was
rendered by an actor who, according to ample extant testimony,
interpreted the part to perfection. Pepys records four performances of
_Hamlet_, with Betterton in the title-rôle on each occasion. With
every performance Pepys's enthusiasm rose. The first time he writes
(August 24, 1661): "Saw the play done with scenes very well at the
Opera, but above all Betterton did the Prince's part beyond
imagination." On the third occasion (May 28, 1663) the rendering gave
him "fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton." On the last
occasion (August 31, 1668) he was "mightily pleased," but above all
with Betterton, "the best part, I believe, that ever man acted."
_Hamlet_ was one of the most popular plays of Pepys's day, mainly
owing to Betterton's extraordinary faculty. The history of the
impersonation presents numerous points of the deepest interest. The
actor was originally coached in the part by D'Avenant. The latter is
said to have derived hints for the rendering from an old actor, Joseph
Taylor, who had played the rôle in Shakespeare's own day, and had been
instructed in it by the dramatist himself. This tradition gives
additional value to Pepys's musical setting in recitative of the "To
be or not to be" soliloquy. If we accept the reasonable theory that
that piece of music preserves something of the cadences of Betterton's
enunciation, it is no extravagance to suggest that a note here or
there enshrines the modulation of the voice of Shakespeare himself.
For there is the likelihood that the dramatist was Betterton's
instructor at no more than two removes. Only the lips of D'Avenant,
Shakespeare's godson, and of Taylor, Shakespeare's acting colleague,
intervened between the dramatist and the Hamlet of Pepys's diary.
Those alone, who have heard the musical setting of "To be or not to
be" adequately rendered, are in a position to reject this hypothesis
altogether.
Among seventeenth century critics there was unanimous agreement--a
rare thing among dramatic critics of any period--as to the merits of
Betterton's performance. In regard to his supreme excellence, men of
the different mental calibre of Sir Richard Steele, Colley Cibber, and
Nicholas Rowe, knew no difference of opinion. According to Cibber,
Betterton invariably preserved the happy "medium between mouthing and
meaning too little"; he held the attention of the audience by "a
tempered spirit," not by mere vehemence of voice. His solemn,
trembling voice made the Ghost equally terrible to the spectator and
to himself. Another critic relates that when Betterton's Hamlet saw
the Ghost in his mother's chamber, the actor turned as pale as his
neckcloth; every joint of his body seemed to be affected with a tremor
inexpressible, and the audience shared his astonishment and horror.
Nicholas Rowe declared that "Betterton performed the part as if it had
been written on purpose for him, as if the author had conceived it as
he played it." It is difficult to imagine any loftier commendation of
a Shakespearean player.
V
There is little reason to doubt that the plays of Shakespeare which I
have enumerated were all seen by Pepys in authentic shapes. Betterton
acted Lear, we are positively informed, "exactly as Shakespeare wrote
it"; and at the dates when Pepys saw _Hamlet_, _Twelfth Night_, and
the rest, there is no evidence that the old texts had been tampered
with. The rage for adapting Shakespeare to current theatrical
requirements reached its full tide after the period of Pepys's diary.
Pepys witnessed only the first-fruits of that fantastic movement. It
acquired its greatest luxuriance later. The pioneer of the great
scheme of adaptation was Sir William D'Avenant, and he was aided in
Pepys's playgoing days by no less a personage than Dryden. It was
during the succeeding decade that the scandal, fanned by the energies
of lesser men, was at its unseemly height.
No disrespect seems to have been intended to Shakespeare's memory by
those who devoted themselves to these acts of vandalism. However
difficult it may be to realise the fact, true admiration for
Shakespeare's genius seems to have flourished in the breasts of all
the adapters, great and small. D'Avenant, whose earliest poetic
production was a pathetic elegy on the mighty dramatist, never ceased
to write or speak of him with the most affectionate respect. Dryden,
who was first taught by D'Avenant "to admire" Shakespeare's work,
attests in his critical writings a reverence for its unique
excellence, which must satisfy the most enthusiastic worshipper. The
same temper characterises references to Shakespeare on the part of
dramatists of the Restoration, who brought to the adaptation of
Shakespeare abilities of an order far inferior to those of Dryden or
of D'Avenant. Nahum Tate, one of the least respected names in English
literature, was one of the freest adapters of Shakespearean drama to
the depraved taste of the day. Yet even he assigned to the master
playwright unrivalled insight into the darkest mysteries of human
nature, and an absolute mastery of the faculty of accurate
characterisation. For once, Tate's literary judgment must go
unquestioned.
It was no feeling of disrespect or of dislike for Shakespeare's
work--it was the change that was taking place in the methods of
theatrical representation, which mainly incited the Shakespearean
adapters of the Restoration to their benighted labours. Shakespeare
had been acted without scenery or musical accompaniment. As soon as
scenic machinery and music had become ordinary accessories of the
stage, it seemed to theatrical managers almost a point of honour to
fit Shakespearean drama to the new conditions. To abandon him
altogether was sacrilege. Yet the mutation of public taste offered, as
the only alternative to his abandonment, the obligation of bestowing
on his work every mechanical advantage, every tawdry ornament in the
latest mode.
Pepys fully approved the innovations, and two of the earliest of
Shakespearean adaptations won his unqualified eulogy. These were
D'Avenant's reconstructions of _The Tempest_ and _Macbeth._ D'Avenant
had convinced himself that both plays readily lent themselves to
spectacle; they would repay the embellishments of ballets, new songs,
new music, coloured lights, and flying machines. Reinforced by these
charms of novelty, the old pieces might enjoy an everlasting youth. No
spectator more ardently applauded such bastard sentiment than the
playgoing Pepys.
Of the two pieces, the text of _Macbeth_ was abbreviated, but
otherwise the alterations in the blank-verse speeches were
comparatively slight. Additional songs were provided for the Witches,
together with much capering in the air. Music was specially written by
Matthew Locke. The liberal introduction of song and dance rendered the
piece, in Pepys's strange phrase, "a most excellent play for variety."
He saw D'Avenant's version of it no less than eight times, with
ever-increasing enjoyment. He generously praised the clever
combination of "a deep tragedy with a divertissement." He detected no
incongruity in the amalgamation. "Though I have seen it often," he
wrote later, "yet is it one of the best plays for a stage, and for
variety of dancing and music, that ever I saw."
_The Tempest_, the other adapted play, which is prominent in Pepys's
diary, underwent more drastic revision. Here D'Avenant had the
co-operation of Dryden; and no intelligent reader can hesitate to
affirm that the ingenuity of these worthies ruined this splendid
manifestation of poetic fancy and insight. It is only fair to Dryden
to add that he disclaimed any satisfaction in his share in the
outrage. The first edition of the barbarous revision was first
published in 1670, after D'Avenant's death, and Dryden wrote a
preface, in which he prudently remarked: "I do not set a value on
anything I have written in this play but [_i.e._, except] out of
gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour
to join me with him in the alteration of it."
The numerous additions, for which the distinguished coadjutors are
responsible, reek with mawkish sentimentality, inane vapidity, or
vulgar buffoonery. Most of the leading characters are duplicated or
triplicated. Miranda has a sister, Dorinda, who is repellently
coquettish. This new creation finds a lover in another new character,
a brainless youth, Hippolito, who has never before seen a woman.
Caliban becomes the most sordid of clowns, and is allotted a sister,
Milcha, who apes his coarse buffoonery. Ariel, too, is given a female
associate, Sycorax, together with many attendants. The sailors are
increased in number, and a phalanx of dancing devils join in their
antics.
But the chief feature of the revived _Tempest_ was the music,
the elaborate scenery, and the scenic mechanism.[19] There was
an orchestra of twenty-four violins in front of the stage, with
harpsichords and "theorbos" to accompany the voices; new songs
were dispersed about the piece with unsparing hand. The curious
new "Echo" song in Act III.--a duet between Ferdinand and Ariel--was
deemed by Pepys to be so "mighty pretty" that he requested the
composer--Bannister--to "prick him down the notes." Many times did the
audience shout with joy as Ariel, with a _corps de ballet_ in
attendance, winged his flight to the roof of the stage.
[Footnote 19: The Dryden-D'Avenant perversion of _The Tempest_ which
Pepys witnessed underwent a further deterioration in 1673, when Thomas
Shadwell, poet laureate, to the immense delight of the playgoing
public, rendered the piece's metamorphosis into an opera more
complete. In 1674 the Dryden-D'Avenant edition was reissued, with
Shadwell's textual and scenic amplification, although no indication
was given on the title-page or elsewhere of his share in the venture.
Contemporary histories of the stage make frequent reference to
Shadwell's "Opera" of _The Tempest_; but no copy was known to be
extant until Sir Ernest Clarke proved, in _The Athenæum_ for August
25, 1906, that the second and later editions of the Dryden-D'Avenant
version embodied Shadwell's operatic embellishments, and are copies of
what was known in theatrical circles of the day as Shadwell's "Opera."
Shadwell's stage-directions are more elaborate than those of Dryden
and D'Avenant, and there are other minor innovations; but there is
little difference in the general design of the two versions. Shadwell
merely bettered Dryden's and D'Avenant's instructions.]
The scenic devices which distinguished the Restoration production of
_The Tempest_ have, indeed, hardly been excelled for ingenuity in our
own day. The arrangements for the sinking of the ship in the first
scene would do no discredit to the spectacular magnificence of the
London stage of our own day. The scene represented "a thick cloudy
sky, a very rocky coast, and a tempestuous sea in perpetual
agitation." "This tempest," according to the stage-directions, "has
many dreadful objects in it; several spirits in horrid shapes flying
down among the sailors, then rising and crossing in the air; and when
the ship is sinking, the whole house is darkened and a shower of fire
falls upon the vessel. This is accompanied by lightning and several
claps of thunder till the end of the storm." The stage-manager's notes
proceed:--"In the midst of the shower of fire, the scene changes. The
cloudy sky, rocks, and sea vanish, and when the lights return,
discover that beautiful part of the island, which was the habitation
of Prospero: 'tis composed of three walks of cypress trees; each
side-walk leads to a cave, in one of which Prospero keeps his
daughter, in the other Hippolito (the interpolated character of the
man who has never seen a woman). The middle walk is of great depth,
and leads to an open part of the island." Every scene of the play was
framed with equal elaborateness.
Pepys's comment on _The Tempest_, when he first witnessed its
production in such magnificent conditions, runs thus:--"The play has
no great wit but yet good above ordinary plays." Pepys subsequently,
however, saw the piece no less than five times, and the effect of the
music, dancing, and scenery, steadily grew upon him. On his second
visit he wrote:--"Saw _The Tempest_ again, which is very pleasant, and
full of so good variety, that I cannot be more pleased almost in a
comedy. Only the seamen's part a little too tedious." Finally, Pepys
praised the richly-embellished _Tempest_ without any sort of reserve,
and took "pleasure to learn the tune of the seamen's dance."
Other adaptations of Shakespeare, which followed somewhat less
spectacular methods of barbarism, roused in Pepys smaller enthusiasm.
_The Rivals_, a version by D'Avenant of _The Two Noble Kinsmen_ (the
joint production of Fletcher and Shakespeare), was judged by Pepys to
be "no excellent piece," though he appreciated the new songs, which
included the familiar "My lodging is on the cold ground," with music
by Matthew Locke. Pepys formed a higher opinion of D'Avenant's
liberally-altered version of _Measure for Measure_, which the adapter
called _The Law against Lovers_, and into which he introduced, with
grotesque effect, the characters of Beatrice and Benedick from _Much
Ado about Nothing_. But it is more to Pepys's credit that he bestowed
a very qualified approval on an execrable adaptation by the actor Lacy
of _The Taming of the Shrew_. Here the hero, Petruchio, is
overshadowed by a new character, Sawney, his Scottish servant, who
speaks an unintelligible _patois_. "It hath some very good pieces in
it," writes Pepys, "but generally is but a mean play, and the best
part, Sawny, done by Lacy, hath not half its life by reason of the
words, I suppose, not being understood, at least by me."
VI
It might be profitable to compare Pepys's experiences as a spectator
of Shakespeare's plays on the stage with the opportunities open to
playgoers at the present moment. Modern managers have been producing
Shakespearean drama of late with great liberality, and usually in much
splendour. Neither the points of resemblance between the modern and
the Pepysian methods, nor the points of difference, are flattering to
the esteem of ourselves as a literature-loving people. It is true that
we no longer garble our acting versions of Shakespeare. We are content
with abbreviations of the text, some of which are essential, but many
of which injure the dramatic perspective, and with inversion of scenes
which may or may not be justifiable. But, to my mind, it is in our
large dependence on scenery that we are following too closely that
tradition of the Restoration which won the wholehearted approval of
Pepys. The musico-scenic method of producing Shakespeare can always
count on the applause of the average multitude of playgoers, of which
Pepys is the ever-living spokesman. It is Shakespeare with scenic
machinery, Shakespeare with new songs, Shakespeare with incidental
music, Shakespeare with interpolated ballets, that reaches the heart
of the British public. If the average British playgoer were gifted
with Pepys's frankness, I have little doubt that he would echo the
diarist's condemnation of Shakespeare in his poetic purity, of
Shakespeare as the mere interpreter of human nature, of Shakespeare
without flying machines, of Shakespeare without song and dance; he
would characterise undiluted Shakespearean drama as "a mean thing," or
the most tedious entertainment that ever he was at in his life.
But the situation in Pepys's day had, despite all the perils that
menaced it, a saving grace. Great acting, inspired acting, is an
essential condition to any general appreciation in the theatre of
Shakespeare's dramatic genius. However seductive may be the
musico-scenic ornamentation, Shakespeare will never justly affect the
mind of the average playgoer unless great or inspired actors are at
hand to interpret him. Luckily for Pepys, he was the contemporary of
at least one inspired Shakespearean actor. The exaltation of spirit to
which he confesses, when he witnessed Betterton in the rôle of Hamlet,
is proof that the prosaic multitude for whom he speaks will always
respond to Shakespeare's magic touch when genius wields the actor's
wand. One could wish nothing better for the playgoing public of to-day
than that the spirit of Betterton, Shakespeare's guardian angel in the
theatre of the Restoration, might renew its earthly career in our own
time in the person of some contemporary actor.
V
MR BENSON AND SHAKESPEAREAN DRAMA[20]
[Footnote 20: This paper was first printed in the _Cornhill Magazine_,
May 1900.]
I
Dramatic criticism in the daily press of London often resembles that
method of conversation of which Bacon wrote that it seeks "rather
commendation of wit, in being able to hold argument, than of judgment,
in discerning what is true." For four-and-twenty years Mr F.R. Benson
has directed an acting company which has achieved a reputation in
English provincial cities, in Ireland, and in Scotland, by its
exclusive devotion to Shakespearean and classical drama. Mr Benson's
visits to London have been rare. There he has too often made sport for
the journalistic censors who aim at "commendation of wit."
Even the best-intentioned of Mr Benson's critics in London have fallen
into the habit of concentrating attention on unquestionable defects in
Mr Benson's practice, to the neglect of the vital principles which are
the justification of his policy. Mr Benson's principles have been
largely ignored by the newspapers; but they are not wisely
disregarded. They are matters of urgent public interest. They point
the right road to the salvation of Shakespearean drama on the modern
stage. They cannot be too often pressed on public notice.
These, in my view, are the five points of the charter which Mr Benson
is and has long been championing with a persistency which claims
national recognition.
Firstly, it is to the benefit of the nation that Shakespeare's plays
should be acted constantly and in their variety.
Secondly, a theatrical manager who undertakes to produce Shakespearean
drama should change his programme at frequent intervals, and should
permit no long continuous run of any single play.
Thirdly, all the parts, whatever their significance, should be
entrusted to exponents who have been trained in the delivery of blank
verse, and have gained some knowledge and experience of the range of
Shakespearean drama.
Fourthly, no play should be adapted by the manager so as to give
greater prominence than the text invites to any single rôle.
Fifthly, the scenic embellishment should be simple and inexpensive,
and should be subordinated to the dramatic interest.
There is no novelty in these principles. The majority of them were
accepted unhesitatingly in the past by Betterton, Garrick, Edmund
Kean, the Kembles, and notably by Phelps. They are recognised
principles to-day in the leading theatres of France and Germany. But
by some vagary of fate or public taste they have been reckoned in
London, for a generation at any rate, to be out of date.
In the interest of the manager, the actor, and the student, a return
to the discarded methods has become, in the opinion of an influential
section of the educated public, imperative. Mr Benson is the only
manager of recent date to inscribe boldly and continuously on his
banner the old watchwords: "Shakespeare and the National Drama,"
"Short Runs," "No Stars," "All-round Competence," and "Unostentatious
Setting." What better title could be offered to the support and
encouragement of the intelligent playgoer?
II
A constant change of programme, such as the old methods of the stage
require, causes the present generation of London playgoers, to whom it
is unfamiliar, a good deal of perplexity. Londoners have grown
accustomed to estimate the merits of a play by the number of
performances which are given of it in uninterrupted succession. They
have forgotten how mechanical an exercise of the lungs and limbs
acting easily becomes; how frequent repetition of poetic speeches,
even in the most competent mouths, robs the lines of their poetic
temper.