"This is the Jew
That Shakspeare drew."
I do not know by whom or when the above couplet was first imputed to Pope.
The following extracts will show how a story grows, and the parasites
which, under unwholesome cultivation, adhere to it. The restoration of
Shakspeare's text, and the performance of Shylock as a serious part, are
told as usual.
"In the dumb action of the trial scene he was amazingly descriptive,
and through the whole displayed such unequalled merit, as justly
entitled him to that very comprehensive, though concise, compliment
paid to him by Mr. Pope, who sat in the stage-box on the third night of
the reproduction, and who emphatically exclaimed,--
'This is the Jew
That Shakspeare drew.'"
_Life of Macklin_, by J. T. Kirkman, vol. i. p. 264.: London, 1799, 2
vols. 8vo.
The book is ill-written, and no authorities are cited.
"A few days after, Macklin received an invitation to dine with Lord
Bolingbroke at Battersea. He attended the rendezvous, and there found
Pope and a select party, who complimented him very much on the part of
Shylock, and questioned him about many little particulars, relative to
his getting up the play, &c. Pope particularly asked him why he wore a
_red hat_, and he answered, because he had read that Jews in Italy,
particularly in Venice, wore hats of that colour.
'And pray, Mr. Macklin,' said Pope, 'do players in general take such
pains?' 'I do not know, sir, that they do; but as I had staked my
reputation on the character, I was determined to spare no trouble in
getting at the best information.' Pope nodded, and said, 'It was very
laudable.'"--_Memoirs of Macklin_, p. 94., Lond. 1804.
The above work has not the author's name, and is as defective in references
as Mr. Kirkman's. It is, however, not quite so trashy. Being published five
years later, the author must have seen the preceding _Life_, and his not
repeating the story about the couplet is strong presumption that it was not
then believed. It appears again in the _Biographia Dramatica_, vol. i. p.
469., London, 1812:
"Macklin's performance of this character (Shylock) so forcibly struck a
gentleman in the pit, that he as it were involuntarily exclaimed, 'This
is,' &c. It has been said that this gentleman was Mr. Pope."
I am not aware of its alteration during the next forty years, but this was
the state of the anecdote in 1853:
"Macklin was a tragedian, and the personal friend of Alexander Pope. He
had a daughter, a beautiful and accomplished girl, who was likewise on
the stage. On one occasion Macklin's daughter was about to take a
benefit at Drury Lane Theatre, and on the morning of that evening,
whilst the father and daughter were at breakfast, a young nobleman
entered the apartment, and, with the most undisguised ruffianism, made
overtures of a dishonourable character to Macklin for his daughter. The
exasperated father, seizing a knife from the table, rushed at the
fellow, who on the instant fled, on which Macklin pursued him along the
street with the knife in his hand. The cause of the tragedian's wild
appearance in the street soon got vent in the city. Evening came, and
Old Drury seldom saw so crowded a house. The play was the _Merchant of
Venice_, Macklin sustaining the part of Shylock, and his interesting
daughter that of Jessica. Their reception was most enthusiastic; but in
that scene where the Jew is informed of his daughter being carried off,
the whole audience seemed to be quite carried away by Macklin's acting.
The applause was immense, and Pope, who was standing in the pit,
exclaimed,--
'That's the Jew that Shakspeare drew.'
Macklin was much respected in London. He was a native of Monaghan, and
a Protestant. His father was a Catholic, and died when he was a child;
and his mother being a Protestant, he was educated as such."--_Dublin
Weekly Telegraph_, Feb. 9, 1853.
One more version is given in the _Irish Quarterly Review_, and quoted
approvingly in _The Leader_, Dec. 17, 1853.
"The house was crowded from the opening of the doors, and the curtain
rose amidst the most dreadful of all awful silence, the stillness of a
multitude. The Jew enters in the third scene, and from that point, to
the famous scene with Tubal, all passed off with considerable applause.
Here, however, and in the trial scene, the actor was triumphant, and in
the applause of a thousand voices the curtain dropped. The play was
repeated for nineteen successive nights with increased success. On the
third night of representation all eyes were directed to the stage-box,
where sat a little deformed man; and whilst others watched _his_
gestures, as if to learn his opinion of the performers, he was gazing
intently upon Shylock, and as the actor panted, in broken accents of
rage, and sorrow, and avarice--'Go, Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak
him a fortnight before: I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit;
for were he out of Venice, I can make what merchandise I will: go,
Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at our synagogue,
Tubal.'--the little man was seen to rise, and leaning from the box, as
Macklin passed it, he whispered,--
'This is the Jew,
That Shakspeare drew.'
The speaker was Alexander Pope, and, in that age, from his judgment in
criticism there was no appeal."
{240} No reference to cotemporary testimony is given by these historians.
Galt, in his _Lives of the Players_, Lond. 1831, does not notice the story.
Pope was at Bath on the 4th of February, 1741, as appears from his letter
to Warburton of that date; but as he mentions his intention to return to
London, he may have been there on the 14th. That he was not in the pit we
may be confident; that he was in the boxes is unlikely. His health was
declining in 1739. In his letter to Swift, quoted in Croly's edition, vol.
i. p. lxxx., he says:
"Having nothing to tell you of my poetry, I come to what is now my
chief care, my health and amusement; the first is better as to
headaches, worse as to weakness and nerves. The changes of weather
affect me much; the mornings are my life, _in the evenings I am not
dead indeed, but sleepy and stupid enough_. I love reading still better
than conversation, but my eyes fail, and the hours when most people
indulge in company, I am tired, and find the labour of the past day
sufficient to weigh me down; _so I hide myself in bed, as a bird in the
nest, much about the same time_, and rise and chirp in the morning."
I hope I have said enough to stop the farther growth of this story; but
before laying down my pen, I wish to call attention to the practice of
giving anecdotes without authorities. This is encouraged by the newspapers
devoting a column to "varieties," which are often amusing, but oftener
stale. A paragraph is now commencing the round, telling how a lady took a
linendraper to a barber's, and on pretence of his being a mad relative, had
his head shaved, while she absconded with his goods. It is a bad version of
an excellent scene in Foote's _Cozeners_.