PROLOGUES.
"It is singular," Miss Mitford wrote to Mr. Fields, her American
publisher, "that epilogues were just dismissed at the first
representation of one of my plays--'Foscari,' and prologues at
another--'Rienzi.'" "Foscari" was originally produced in 1826;
"Rienzi" in 1828. According to Mr. Planché, however, the first play of
importance presented without a prologue was his adaptation of Rowley's
old comedy, "A Woman never Vext," produced at Covent Garden on
November 9th, 1824, with a grand pageant of the Lord Mayor's Show as
it appeared in the time of Henry VI. At one of the last rehearsals,
Fawcett, the stage manager, inquired of the adapter if he had written
a prologue? "No." "A five-act play and no prologue! Why, the audience
will tear up the benches!" But they did nothing of the kind. They took
not the slightest notice of the omission. After that, little more was
heard of the time-honoured custom which had ruled that prologues
should, according to Garrick's description of them--
Precede the play in mournful verse,
As undertakers stalk before the hearse;
Whose doleful march may strike the harden'd mind,
And wake its feeling for the dead behind.
People, indeed, began rather to wonder why they had ever required or
been provided with a thing that was now found to be, in truth, so
entirely unnecessary.
The prologues of our stage date from the earliest period of the
British drama. They were not so much designed, as were the prologues
of the classical theatre, to enlighten the spectators touching the
subject of the forthcoming play; but were rather intended to bespeak
favour for the dramatist, and to deprecate adverse opinion.
Originally, indeed, the prologue-speaker was either the author himself
in person, or his representative. In his prologue to his farce of "The
Deuce is in Him," George Colman, after a lively fashion, points out
the distinction between the classical and the British forms of
prefatory address:
What does it mean? What can it be?
A little patience--and you'll see.
Behold, to keep your minds uncertain,
Between the scene and you this curtain!
So writers hide their plots, no doubt,
To please the more when all comes out!
Of old the Prologue told the story,
And laid the whole affair before ye;
Came forth in simple phrase to say:
"'Fore the beginning of the play
I, hapless Polydore, was found
By fishermen, or others, drowned!
Or--I, a gentleman, did wed
The lady I would never bed,
Great Agamemnon's royal daughter,
Who's coming hither to draw water."
Thus gave at once the bards of Greece
The cream and marrow of the piece;
Asking no trouble of your own
To skim the milk or crack the bone.
The poets now take different ways,
"E'en let them find it out for Bayes!"
The prologue-speaker of the Elizabethan stage entered after the
trumpets had sounded thrice, attired in a long cloak of black cloth or
velvet, occasionally assuming a wreath or garland of bays, emblematic
of authorship. In the "Accounts of the Revels in 1573-74," a charge is
made for "bays for the prologgs." Long after the cloak had been
discarded it was still usual for the prologue-speaker to appear
dressed in black. Robert Lloyd, in his "Familiar Epistle to George
Colman," 1761, writes:
With decent sables on his back
(Your 'prologuisers' all wear black)
The prologue comes; and, if it's mine
It's very good and very fine.
If not--I take a pinch of snuff,
And wonder where you got such stuff.
Upon this subject, Mr. Payne Collier notes a stage direction in the
Induction to Heywood's "Four 'Prentices of London," 1615: "Enter
three, in black cloaks, at the doors." Each of them advancing to speak
the prologue, the first exclaims--"What mean you, my masters, to
appear thus before your times? Do you not know that I am the prologue?
Do you not see this long black velvet cloak upon my back? Have you not
sounded thrice?" So also, in the Induction to Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's
Revels," two of the children of the chapel contend for the privilege
of speaking the prologue, one of them maintaining his claim by
pleading "possession of the cloak."
The custom of regarding the "prologuiser" as the author or his
representative, seems gradually to have been departed from, and
prologues came to be delivered by one of the chief actors in the play,
in the character he was about to undertake, or in some other assumed
for the occasion. A certain solemnity of tone, however, was usually
preserved in the prologue to tragedy--the goodwill and merciful
consideration of the audience being still entreated for the author and
his work, although considerable licence was permitted to the comedy
prologue. And the prologues acquired more and more of a dramatic
nature, being divided sometimes between two and three speakers, and
less resembling formal prologues than those Inductions of which the
early dramatists, and especially Ben Jonson, seem to have been so
unreasonably fond. The prologue to "The Poetaster" is spoken, in part,
by Envy "rising in the midst of the stage," and, in part, by an
official representative of the dramatist. So, the prologue to
Shakespeare's Second Part of "King Henry IV." is delivered by Rumour,
"painted full of tongues;" a like office being accomplished by Gower
and Chorus, in regard to the plays of "Pericles" and "King Henry V."
It is to be noted that but few of Shakespeare's prologues and
epilogues have been preserved. Malone conjectures that they were not
held to be indispensable appendages to a play in Shakespeare's time.
But Mr. Collier is probably more correct in assuming that they were
often retrenched by the printer, because they could not be brought
within the compass of a page, and because he was unwilling to add
another leaf. In addition to those mentioned above, the prologues to
"King Henry VIII.," "Troilus and Cressida," and "Romeo and Juliet" are
extant, and have the peculiarity of informing the audience, after the
old classical fashion, something as to the nature of the entertainment
to be set before them. To the tragedy of "The Murder of Gonzago,"
contained in "Hamlet," Shakespeare, no doubt, recognising established
usage, provided the prologue:
For us and for our tragedy
Here stooping to your clemency,
We beg your hearing patiently.
Steele, writing in _The Guardian,_ in 1713, expresses much concern for
the death of Mr. Peer, of the Theatre Royal, "who was an actor at the
Restoration, and took his theatrical degree with Betterton, Kynaston,
and Harris." Mr. Peer, it seems, especially distinguished himself in
two characters, "which no man ever could touch but himself." One of
these was the Apothecary in "Caius Marius," Otway's wretched
adaptation of "Romeo and Juliet;" the other was the speaker of the
prologue to the play in "Hamlet." It is plain that Mr. Peer's
professional rank was not high; for these characters are not usually
undertaken by performers of note. Steele admits that Peer's eminence
lay in a narrow compass, and to that attributes "the enlargement of
his sphere of action" by his employment as property-man in addition to
his histrionic duties. Peer, however, is described as delivering the
three lines of prologue "better than any man else in the world," and
with "universal applause." He spoke "with such an air as represented
that he was an actor and with such an inferior manner as only acting
an actor, as made the others on the stage appear real great persons
and not representatives. This was a nicety in acting that none but the
most subtle player could so much as conceive." It is conceivable,
however, that some of this subtlety existed rather in the fancy of the
critic than in the method of the player. This story of Mr. Peer is
hardly to be equalled; yet Davies relates of Boheme, the actor, that
when, upon his first appearance upon the stage, he played with some
"itinerants" at Stratford-le-Bow, his feeling but simple manner of
delivering Francisco's short speech in "Hamlet"--
For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart--
at once roused the audience to a sense of his merits. "His salary was
immediately increased by the manager; and he proved afterwards a great
ornament of the stage."
The delivery of a prologue by an actress--that is to say, of course,
by a boy in female dress, personating the character of a
woman--appears to have been an unusual proceeding upon the Elizabethan
stage. Mr. Collier has noted instances, however. In the case of the
prologue to "Every Woman in her Humour," 1609, spoken by the heroine
Flavia, "Enter Flavia as a Prologue," runs the stage direction; and
she begins--"Gentles of both sexes and of all sorts, I am sent to bid
ye welcome. I am but instead of a prologue, for a she prologue is as
rare as a usurer's alms." And the prologue to Shirley's "Coronation,"
1640, was also delivered by one of the representatives of female
character. A passage is worth quoting, for its description of ordinary
prologue-speaking at this time:
Since 'tis become the title of our play,
A woman once in a Coronation may
With pardon speak the prologue, give as free
A welcome to the theatre, as he
That with a little beard, a long black cloak,
With a starched face and supple leg hath spoke
Before the plays this twelvemonth. Let me then
Present a welcome to these gentlemen.
If you be kind and noble you will not
Think the worse of me for my petticoat.
It would seem that impatience was sometimes expressed at the poetic
prologues and lengthy Inductions of the dramatists. The prologue to
Beaumont and Fletcher's "Woman Hater," 1607, begins: "Gentlemen,
Inductions are out of date, and a prologue in verse is as stale as a
black velvet cloak and a bay garland; therefore you have it in plain
prose, thus----." But the alteration did not please, apparently; at
any rate, upon a subsequent production of the play, the authors
furnished it with a prologue in verse of the old-established pattern.
The Elizabethan dramatists often took occasion in their prologues to
lecture the audience upon their conduct in the theatre, exhorting them
to more seemly manners, and especially informing them that nothing of
an indecorous nature would be presented upon the scene. The prologue
to "The Woman Hater," above mentioned, pronounces "to the utter
discomfort of all twopenny gallery men," that there is no impropriety
contained in the play, and bids them depart, if they have been looking
for anything of the kind. "Or if there be any lurking amongst you in
corners," it proceeds, "with table books who have some hope to find
fit matter to feed his malice on, let them clasp them up and slink
away, or stay and be converted." Of the play, it states: "Some things
in it you may meet with which are out of the common road: a duke there
is, and the scene lies in Italy, as those two things lightly we never
miss." The audience, however, are warned not to expect claptraps, or
personal satire. "You shall not find in it the ordinary and overworn
way of jesting at lords and courtiers and citizens, without taxation
of any particular or new vice by them found out, but at the persons of
them; such, he that made this, thinks vile, and for his own part vows
that he never did think but that a lord, lord-born, might be a wise
man, and a courtier an honest man." In the same way Shakespeare's
prologue to "Henry VIII." welcomes those "that can pity," and "such as
give their money out of hope, they may believe." But they are plainly
told they will be deceived who have come to hear a merry graceless
play--
A noise of targets, or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat guarded with yellow.
The prologue to Ben Jonson's "Staple of News" entreats the audience to
abstain from idle conversation, and to attend to his play, so that
they may hear as well as see it.
He'd have you wise,
Much rather by your ears than by your eyes;
And prays you'll not prejudge his play for ill,
Because you mark it not and sit not still,
But have a longing to salute or talk.
* * * * *
Alas! what is it to his scene to know
How many coaches in Hyde Park did show
Last spring? what fun to-day at Medley's was?
If Dunstan or the Phoenix best wine has? &c. &c.
In the Induction the prologue is interrupted by the entrance of four
gentlewomen, "lady-like attired," representative of Mirth, Tattle,
Expectation, and Censure or Curiosity. The last-named is charged with
coming to the theatre "to see who wears the new suit to-day; whose
clothes are best formed, whatever the part be; which actor has the
best leg and foot; what king plays without cuffs, and his queen
without gloves; who rides post in stockings and dances in boots." It
is to be noted, too, that at this time the audience occupying the
humbler places in the theatre are very harshly spoken of in the
prologues. They are referred to as--
The vulgar sort
Of nutcrackers that only come for sport--
and as "grounds of your people that sit in the oblique caves and
wedges of your house, your sinful sixpenny mechanicks," &c.
It is plain, however, that the rudeness of Ben Jonson's prologues had
given offence, for, indeed, he employed them not merely to lecture his
audience, but also to lash and laugh to scorn rival playwrights. So to
"The Magnetic Lady" no prologue was provided, but an Induction, in the
course of which "a boy of the house" discourses with two gentlemen
concerning the play, and explains that the author will "not be
entreated to give it a prologue. He has lost too much that way
already, he says. He will not woo the Gentile ignoramus so much. But
careless of all vulgar censure, as not depending on common
approbation, he is confident it shall super-please judicious
spectators, and to them he leaves it to work with the rest by example
or otherwise." Further, the boy gives valuable advice upon the subject
of criticism, bidding the gentlemen take seats and "fly everything you
see to the mark, and censure it freely, so you interrupt not the
series or thread of the argument, to break or pucker it with
unnecessary questions. For I must tell you that a good play is like a
skein of silk, which, if you take by the right end you may wind off at
pleasure on the bottom or card of your discourse in a tale or so--how
you will; but if you light on the wrong end you will pull all into a
knot or elf-lock, which nothing but the shears or a candle will undo
or separate."
After the Restoration prologues appear to have been held more than
ever necessary to theatrical exhibitions. The writing of prologues
even became a kind of special and profitable vocation. Dryden's
customary fee for a prologue was five guineas, which contented him,
until in 1682 he demanded of Southerne ten guineas for a prologue to
"The Loyal Brothers," alleging that the players had hitherto had his
goods too cheaply, and from that time forward ten guineas would be his
charge. Dryden is to be accounted the most famous and successful of
prologue writers, but it must be said that his productions of this
class are deplorably disfigured by the profligacy of his time, and
that all their brilliancy of wit does not compensate for their
uncleanness. Dryden's prologues are also remarkable, for their
frequent recognition of the critics as a class apart from the ordinary
audience; not critics as we understand them exactly, attached to
journals and reviewing plays for the instruction of the public, but
men of fashion affecting judicial airs, and expressing their opinions
in clubs and coffee-houses, and authors charged with attending the
theatres in the hope of witnessing the demolition of a rival bard. The
prologue to "All for Love" opens with the lines--
What flocks of critics hover here to-day,
As vultures wait on armies for their prey,
All gaping for the carcase of a play!
And presently occurs the familiar passage--
Let those find fault whose wit's so very small,
They've had to show that they can think at all.
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls must dive below.
Fops may have leave to level all they can,
As pigmies would be glad to lop a man.
Half wits are fleas, so little and so light,
We scarce could know they live, but that they bite.
Another prologue begins--
They who write ill, and they who ne'er durst write,
Turn critics out of mere revenge and spite;
A playhouse gives them fame; and up then starts
From a mean fifth-rate wit, a man of parts.
The more important critics are described as--
A jury of the wits who still stay late,
And in their club decree the poor play's fate;
Their verdict back is to the boxes brought,
Thence all the town pronounces it their thought.
"The little Hectors of the pit" are also spoken of, and there is
mention of "Fop-corner," the prototype of "Fop's-alley" of later
years. Now, "a kind, hearty pit" is prayed for, and now, in a prologue
delivered before the University of Oxford, stress is laid upon the
advantages of "a learned pit." It may be noted, too, that the
prologues of Dryden, apart from their wit, and overlooking, if that
can possibly be managed, their distressing grossness, are invaluable
for the accurate and minute pictures they present of English life,
manners, costumes, and character in the reign of Charles II.
In right of the many quotations it has supplied to literature and
conversation, Dr. Johnson's prologue spoken by Garrick upon the
opening of Drury Lane Theatre, in 1747, may claim to be considered the
most famous production of its class. It is not, in truth, however, a
prologue as prologues are ordinarily understood, but rather an
address, written to suit special circumstances, and having no
connection with any particular play. Boswell describes it as
"unrivalled for just and manly criticism on the whole range of the
English stage, as well as for poetic excellence," and records that it
was during the season often called for by the audience. Johnson's
prologue to his friend Goldsmith's comedy of "The Good-natured Man"
was certainly open to the charge brought against it of undue
solemnity. The first lines--
Press'd with the load of life the weary mind
Surveys the general toil of human kind--
when enunciated in the sepulchral tones of Bensley, the tragedian,
were judged to have a depressing effect upon the audience--a
conclusion which seems reasonable and probable enough, although
Boswell suggested that "the dark ground might make Goldsmith's humour
shine the more." Goldsmith himself was chiefly disturbed at the line
describing him as "our little bard," which he thought likely to
diminish his dignity, by calling attention to the lowness of his
stature. "Little bard" was therefore altered to "anxious bard."
Johnson also supplied a prologue to Kelly's posthumous comedy of "A
Word to the Wise" (represented in 1770, for the benefit of the
author's widow and children), although he spoke contemptuously of the
departed dramatist as "a dead staymaker," and confessed that he hated
to give away literary performances, or even to sell them too cheaply.
"The next generation," he said, "shall not accuse me of beating down
the price of literature; one hates, besides, to give what one is
accustomed to sell. Would not you, now"--and here he turned to his
brewer friend, Mr. Thrale--"rather give away money than porter?" To
his own tragedy of "Irene," Johnson supplied a spirited prologue,
which "awed" the house, as Boswell believed. In the concluding lines
he deprecated all effort to win applause by other than legitimate
means:
Be this at least his praise, be this his pride:
To force applause no modern arts are tried;
Should partial catcalls all his hopes confound,
He bids no trumpet quell the fatal sound;
Should welcome sleep relieve the weary wit,
He rolls no thunders o'er the drowsy pit;
No snares to captivate the judgment spreads,
Nor bribes your eyes to prejudice your heads.
Unmoved, though witlings sneer and rivals rail,
Studious to please, yet not ashamed to fail.
He scorns the meek address, the suppliant strain;
With merit needless, and without it vain.
In Reason, Nature, Truth he dares to trust:
Ye fops be silent, and ye wits be just!
Of prologues generally, Johnson pronounced that Dryden's were superior
to any that David Garrick had written, but that Garrick had written
more good prologues than Dryden. "It is wonderful that he has been
able to write such a variety of them." Garrick's prologues and
epilogues are, indeed, quite innumerable, and are, almost invariably,
sparkling, witty, and vivacious. They could scarcely fail to win the
favour of an audience; and then oftentimes they had the additional
advantage of being delivered by himself.
Prologues seem to have been a recognised vehicle of literary courtesy.
Authors favoured each other with these addresses as a kind of
advertisement of the good understanding that prevailed between
them--an evidence of respect, friendliness, and encouragement. Thus
Addison's tragedy of "Cato" was provided with a prologue by Pope--the
original line, "Britons, arise! be worth like this approved," being
"liquidated" to "Britons attend!"--for the timid dramatist was alarmed
lest he should be judged a promoter of insurrection. Addison in his
turn furnished the prologue to Steele's "Tender Husband," while Steele
favoured Vanbrugh with a prologue to his comedy of "The Mistake."
Johnson, as we have seen, now and then provided his friends with
prologues. The prologue to Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer" was
written by Garrick, to be spoken by Woodward, the actor, "dressed in
black, and holding a handkerchief to his eyes;" the prologue to "The
School for Scandal" was also the work of Garrick. Sheridan, it may be
noted, supplied a prologue to Savage's tragedy of "Sir Thomas
Overbury," on the occasion of its revival at Covent Garden,
thirty-four years after the death of its author. Among the last of the
prologues was one written by Mr. Charles Dickens to Dr. Westland
Marston's poetic drama, "The Patrician's Daughter."
Prologues have now vanished, however, and are not likely to be
reintroduced. It must be added that they showed symptoms of decline in
worth long before they departed. Originally apologies for players and
dramatists--at a time when the histrionic profession was very lightly
esteemed--they were retained by the conservatism of the stage as
matters of form, long after they had forfeited all genuine excuse for
their existence. The name is still retained, however, and applied to
the introductory, or, to use Mr. Boucicault's word, "proloquial" acts
of certain long and complicated plays, which seem to require for their
due comprehension the exhibition to the audience of events antecedent
to the real subject of the drama. But these "proloquial acts" are
things quite apart from the old-fashioned prologue.