From 'The Court of Charles IV.' Copyright 1888, by W.S. Gottsberger.
Reprinted by permission of George G. Peck, publisher, New York
[Gabriel, a boy of sixteen, has taken service as page with a
very charming actress of the Principe Theatre. Between this
theatre and La Cruz exists the same sort of hostility as
between the rival theatres at Venice when Goldoni inaugurated
his reform. La Cruz represents the new and "natural" spirit
in the drama, as against the absurd artificial tradition that
had prevailed up to that time. A part of Gabriel's duties is
to go and hiss the plays at that theatre. The principal
occasion of this kind is when he accompanies a band, led by a
rival playwright, to the first performance of 'El Si de las
Ninas' (The Maidens' Yes), by the famous Moratin, the leading
piece of the new school.]
"What an opening!" he [the rival poet and playwright] exclaimed, as he
listened to the first dialogue between Don Diego and Simon. "A pretty
way to begin a comedy! The scene a village inn! What can happen of any
interest in a village inn? In all my plays, and they are many,--though
never a one has been represented,--the action opens in a Corinthian
garden, with monumental fountains to the right and left, and a temple
of Juno in the background; or in a wide square with three regiments
drawn up, and in the background the city of Warsaw, with a bridge, and
so forth. And just listen to the twaddle this old man is made to talk!
He is about to marry a young girl who has been brought up by the nuns
of Guadalajara. Well, is that very remarkable? Is not that a matter of
every-day occurrence?"
Pouring out these remarks, that confounded poet did not allow me to
hear a word of the piece, and though I answered all his comments with
humbly acquiescent monosyllables, I only wished that he would hold his
tongue, deuce take him!...
"What a vulgar subject! what low ideas!" he exclaimed, loud enough for
every one to hear. "And this is how comedies are written!"...
"But let us listen to it," said I, finding my chief's comments quite
intolerable. "We can laugh at Moratin afterwards."
"But I cannot bear such a medley of absurdities," he went on. "We do
not come to the theatre to see just what is to be seen any day in the
streets, or in every house you go into. If instead of enlarging on her
matrimonial experiences, the lady were to come in invoking curses on
an enemy because he had killed one-and-twenty of her sons in battle,
and left her with only the twenty-second, still an infant at the
breast, and if she had to carry that one off to save him from being
eaten by the besieged, all dying of famine--then there would be some
interest in the plot, and the public would clap their hands till they
were sore. Gabriel, my boy, we must protest, protest vehemently. We
must thump the floor with our feet and sticks to show that we are
bored and out of patience. Yawn; open your mouth till your jaws are
dislocated; look about you; let all the neighbors see that we are
people of taste, and utterly weary of this tiresome and monstrous
piece."
No sooner said than done: we began thumping on the floor, and yawning
in chorus, exclaiming, "What a bore!" "What a dreary piece!" "What
waste of money!" and other phrases to the same effect; all of which
soon bore fruit. The party in the pit imitated our patriotic example
with great exactness. A general murmur of dissatisfaction was
presently audible from every part of the theatre; for though the
author had enemies, he had no lack of friends too, scattered
throughout the pit, boxes, and upper tiers, and they were not slow to
protest against our demonstration, sometimes by applauding, and then
again by roaring at us with threats and oaths, to be silent; till a
stentorian voice from the very back of the pit bellowed, "Turn the
blackguards out!" raising a noisy storm of applause that reduced us to
silence.
Our poetaster was almost jumping out of his skin with indignation, and
persisted in making his remarks as the piece went on....
"A pretty plot indeed! It seems hardly credible that a civilized
nation should applaud it. I would sentence Moratin to the galleys, and
forbid his writing such coarse stuff as long as he lives. So you call
this a play, Gabrielito? There is no intrigue, no plot, no surprise,
no catastrophe, no illusion, no _quid pro quo_; no attempt at
disguising a character to make it seem another--not even the little
complication that comes of two men provoking each other as enemies,
and then discovering that they are father and son. If Don Diego now,
were to catch his nephew and kill him out of hand in the cellar, and
prepare a banquet and have a dish of the victim's flesh served up to
his bride, well disguised with spice and bay leaves, there would be
some spirit in the thing."...
I could not, in fact, conceal my enjoyment of the scene, which seemed
to me a masterpiece of nature, grace, and interesting comedy. The poet
however called me to order, abusing me for deserting to the hostile
camp.
"I beg your pardon," said I. "It was a mistake. And yet--does it not
strike you, too, that this scene is not altogether bad?"
"How should you be able to judge?--a mere novice who never wrote a
line in your life! Pray what is there in this scene in the least
remarkable, or pathetic, or historical?"
"But it is nature itself. I feel that I have seen in the real world
just what the author has set on the stage."
"Gaby! simpleton! that is exactly what makes it so bad. Have you not
observed that in 'Frederick the Second,' in 'Catharine of Russia,' in
'The Slave of Negroponte,' and other fine works, nothing ever takes
place that has the smallest resemblance to real life? Is not
everything in those plays strange, startling, exceptional, wonderful,
and surprising? That is why they are so good. The poets of to-day do
not choose to imitate those of my time, and hence art has fallen to
the lowest depths."
"And yet, begging your pardon," I said, "I cannot help thinking--The
play is wretched, I quite agree, and when you say so there must be a
good reason for it. But the idea here seems to me a good one, since I
fancy the author has intended to censure the vicious system of
education which young girls get nowadays."...
"And who asks the author to introduce all this philosophy?" said the
pedant. "What has the theatre to do with moralizing? In the 'Magician
of Astrakhan,' in 'Leon and the Asturias Gave Heraldry to Spain,' and
in the 'Triumphs of Don Pelayo'--plays that all the world admires--did
you ever find a passage that describes how girls are to be brought
up?"
"I have certainly read or heard somewhere that the theatre was to
serve the purposes of entertainment and instruction."
"Stuff and nonsense!"
Translation of Clara Bell.