A DEAD HERO
"The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shall flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds."
So doth noble Cato philosophise when, in Addison's stately tragedy, he
gazes on his sword and plans to admit the Grim Visitor whom the most
of us wish to keep without our threshold until the last fatal moment.
How those lines used to thrill the classic hearts of our ancestors;
how Barton Booth, who
"shook the stage, and made the people stare,"
could put into this mild plea for suicide a fervour that caused Drury
Lane to ring with applause. What mattered it if the actor, as Pope
related, wore a long wig and flowered gown? Cato was none the less
himself for that, nor did Booth's elegance of delivery seem unwelcome
because his clothes pictured the dandified spirit of the eighteenth
century.
"Cato!" The play is forgotten now, but there was magic in its name in
the palmy days of its author, gentle, kindly Joseph Addison. So potent
was that magic, such vivid impression did the fate of the grand old
Roman make on more than one mind, when thus retold in lofty verse,
that the tragedy was cited as a justification of self-destruction.
"What Cato did, and Addison approved
Cannot be wrong."
These lines, written on a scrap of paper by Eustace Budgell, were
found shortly after the death of that odd genius. From being an
honoured contributor to the _Spectator_, Budgell descended to the
depths of infamy, poverty, and despair, and so one day he threw
himself out of a boat under London Bridge, and the waters of the
Thames closed over him for ever. He owed his early prosperity to
Addison, his cousin, and by way of gratitude he sought to throw upon
his benefactor's memory the odium of this moist and melancholy exit
from the world.
Their lies no odium, nevertheless, where Addison is concerned. His
own life may have been clouded towards the last by the mists of
disappointment, but to us admiring moderns he is all sunshine. Not the
fiery sunshine of summer, but the genial, dignified light of an autumn
afternoon when nature seems in most reflective mood. For there was
nothing impetuous or ardent in the composition of this good-humoured
philosopher; and while he railed so well at the petty sins and
vanities of the England in which he dwelt, the satire had naught of
venom, malice, or uncharitableness.
Nowadays Addison and the _Spectator_ go rolling down to fame together,
an indivisible reminder--the very essence indeed--of the virtues,
peccadilloes, greatness and meanness of early eighteenth century life.
We may forget that Joe was quite a politician in his prime, we are
even loth to recall that there was ever such a play as "Cato," but so
long as the English language has power to charm, the dear old volumes
of the _Spectator_ will stand out as a delightful landmark of that
literature which forms the heritage of American and Briton alike.
How fondly do we turn the pages of the well-read essays, with their
pictures of good Sir Roger de Coverley, Will Honeycomb, and the rest
of that happy crew. And over what portrait do we linger more lovingly
than that of the _Spectator_ himself, wherein there is many a stroke
of the pen that brings Addison in view. When he tells us, for
instance: "I threw away my rattle before I was two months old, and
would not make use of my coral until they had taken away the bells
from it," the writer is indulging in a pretty bit of humour at the
expense of his own sedate youth.
* * * * *
"I have passed my latter years," the philosopher goes on to say, "in
this city (London), where I am frequently seen in most public places,
though there are not above half a dozen of my select friends that know
me.... There is no place of general resort wherein I do not often make
my appearance: sometimes I am seen thrusting my head into a round of
politicians at Will's,[A] and listening with great attention to the
narratives that are made in those little circular audiences; sometimes
I smoke a pipe at Child's,[B] and while I seem attentive to nothing
but the postman, overhear the conversation of every table in the room.
I appear on Sunday nights at St. James' coffee house, and sometimes
join the little committee of politics in the inner room, as one who
comes there to hear and improve. My face is likewise very well known
at the Grecian, the Cocoa Tree, and in the theatres both of Drury Lane
and the Haymarket. I have been taken for a merchant upon the Exchange
for above these ten years, and sometimes pass for a Jew in the
assembly of stockbrokers at Jonathan's. In short, wherever I see a
cluster of people, I always mix with them, though I never open my lips
but in my own club."
[Footnote A: Will's and Child's were popular coffee-houses, as were
also the Grecian, St. James', and the Cocoa Tree.]
[Footnote B: See footnote on page 97.]
* * * * *
It is easy to fancy Addison, shy but ever observant, mingling with the
people who thronged the coffee-houses and there settled the affairs
of the nation, discussed their neighbours, and sipped their coffee
or stronger drink, as the case might be. He must have laughed in his
sleeve many a time as he heard the know-it-alls predicting that the
British nation was on the brink of perdition or announcing, in the
most confidential of manners, the secret policies of his Christian
Majesty, Louis XIV. of France. Probably Joe agreed with Steele,
who, in speaking of a certain coffee-house, observed that in it men
differed rather in the time of day wherein they made a figure, than in
any real greatness above one another.
[Illustration: JOSEPH ADDISON By SIR GODFREY KNELLER]
"I, who am at the coffee-house at six in the morning," Dick writes
on,[A] "know that my friend Beaver the haberdasher has a levee of
more undissembled friends and admirers than most of the courtiers
or generals of Great Britain. Every man about him has, perhaps, a
newspaper in his hand; but none can pretend to guess what step will be
taken in any one court of Europe, till Mr. Beaver has thrown down his
pipe, and declares what measures the allies must enter into upon this
new posture of affairs. Our coffee-house is near one of the inns of
court, and Beaver has the audience and admiration of his neighbours
from six till within a quarter of eight, at which time he is
interrupted by the students of the house; some of whom are ready
dressed for Westminster at eight in a morning, with faces as busy as
if they were retained in every cause there; and others come in their
night gowns to saunter away their time, as if they never designed to
go thither.
[Footnote A: _Spectator_, No. 49.]
"I do not know that I meet in any of my walks, objects which move both
my spleen and laughter so effectually as those young fellows at the
Greecian, Squire's, Searle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent
to the law, who rise early for no other purpose but to publish their
laziness. One would think these young virtuosos take a gay cap and
slippers, with a scarf and party-coloured gown, to be ensigns of
dignity; for the vain things approach each other with an air which
shews they regard one another for their vestments. I have observed
that the superiority among these proceeds from an opinion of gallantry
and fashion. The gentleman in the strawberry sash, who presides so
much over the rest, has, it seems, subscribed to every opera this
last winter, and is supposed to receive favours from one of the
actresses."[A]
[Footnote A: Come, says my Friend, let us step into this Coffee House
here; as you are a Stranger in the Town, it will afford you some
Diversion. Accordingly in we went, where a parcel of Muddling
Muckworms were as busy as so many Rats in an old Cheese Loft; some
Going, some Coming, some Scribling, some Talking, some Drinking, some
Smoaking, others Jangling: and the whole Room stinking of Tobacco,
like a Dutch Scoot or a Boatswain's Cabbin. The Walls being hung with
Gilt Frames, as a Farriers shop with Horse shoes; which contain'd
abundance of Rarities viz. Nectar and Ambrosia, May Dew, Golden
Elixirs, Popular Pills, Liquid Snuff, Beautifying Waters, Dentifrisis
Drops, Lozenges, all as infallible as the Pope,
Where every one above the rest
Deservedly has gain'd the Name of Best
(as the famous Saffold has it).--WARD.]
As the day lengthens the scene changes. The gentleman with the
strawberry sash and uncertain morals and his servile subjects
disappear, giving place "to men who have business or good sense in
their faces, and come to the coffee-house either to transact affairs
or enjoy conversation. The persons to whose behaviour and discourse I
have most regard, are such as are between these two sorts of men;
such as have not spirits too active to be happy and well pleased in a
private condition, not complexions too warm to make them neglect the
duties and relations of life. Of this sort of men consist the worthier
part of mankind; of these are all good fathers, generous brothers,
sincere friends, and faithful subjects. Their entertainments are
derived rather from reason than imagination; which is the cause that
there is no impatience or instability in their speech or action. You
see in their countenances they are at home, and in quiet possession of
the present instant as it passes, without desiring to quicken it by
gratifying any passion or prosecuting any new design. These are the
men formed for society, and those little communities which we express
by the word neighbourhood."
Thus moved the panorama of the coffee-house. Perhaps nothing
contributed more importantly to the gossip of the latter than did the
mention of quiet Addison himself after the night in April, 1713, which
witnessed the triumph of "Cato." The essayist had always possessed,
like many other literary men, a secret longing to be the author of a
prosperous tragedy, and in his earlier days made bold to submit a play
to the inspection of Dryden. The poet read it with polite interest,
and, on returning the manuscript to the author, expressed therefor his
profound esteem, with many apologetic _et ceteras_, and only regretted
that, in his humble opinion, the piece, if placed upon the stage,
"would not meet with its deserved success." In other words, Dryden
saw that Addison was sadly wanting in dramatic instinct, but was too
forbearing to say this in plain, set terms. As for the young man,
he must have felt much after the fashion of the aspiring writer who
receives an article back from an unappreciative magazine with a
printed slip warning him that "the rejection of manuscript does not
imply lack of merit," &c. &c., the whole thing being intended as a
moral cushion to break the suddenly descending spirits of the sender.
Years later the great man was favoured with another cushion of this
sort by no less a person than his friend Alexander Pope, whose
august criticism he asked in behalf of "Cato." The major part of the
play--all of it, in fact, excepting the last act--had been written
when Addison first began to fall under the passionate influence of
French tragedy, with its tiresome regularity of form and attempted
imitation of the classic drama.[A] And a powerful influence it was
in the days of good Queen Anne, so powerful, verily, that it almost
emasculated the art of play-writing, and for a time well nigh bereft
the stage of originality of thought or freedom of expression. Form,
form, that was the cry still ringing in the ears of the author when he
put the finishing touches to a production which was to be famous for
the nonce, and then go down in the dark waters of oblivion with the
wreck of many like it.
[Footnote A: Just as the school of Racine and Boileau set its face
against the extravagances of the romantic coteries, so Addison and his
English followers, adopting the principles of the French classicists,
applied them to the reformation of the English theatre. Hence arose
a great revival of respect for the political doctrines of Aristotle,
regard for the unities of time and place, attention to the proprieties
of sentiment and diction--in a word, for all those characteristics
of style afterwards summed up in the phrase "correctness."--W.J.
COURTHOPE'S "Addison."]
"When Mr. Addison," related Pope, "had finished his 'Cato,' he brought
it to me, desired to have my sincere opinion of it, and left it with
me for three or four days. I gave him my opinion of it sincerely,
which was, 'that I thought he had better not act it, and that he would
get reputation enough by only printing it.' This I said as thinking
the lines well written, but the piece was not theatrical enough. Some
time after Mr. Addison said 'that his own opinion was the same with
mine, but that some particular friends of his, whom he could not
disoblige, insisted on its being acted,'"
These particular friends who were not to be disobliged seem to have
been shining lights of the Whig party. It was feared that the Tories
were conspiring to reinstate the male line of Stuart the moment Queen
Anne should take herself to another world, and the friends of the
Hanoverian succession grew sorely anxious. They were filled with
delight, therefore, on hearing that Addison had, peacefully slumbering
in his desk, a drama which, as Maynwaring explained, was written not
for the love scenes, "but to support the old Roman and English public
spirit."[A] Here was a chance to inspire the people with a passion for
liberty; the story of Cato, served up in all the elegance of French
style, should point a moral against the claims of the Pretender, and
pure politics might thus be taught from the rostrum of a theatre!
[Footnote A: Those who _affected_ to think liberty in danger, and had
_affected_ likewise to think that a stage play might preserve it.--DR.
JOHNSON.]
So it came about that one fine day the company at Drury Lane began
the rehearsal of "Cato," under circumstances, however, which hardly
pointed to a successful production. There appears to have been some
difficulty in the assignment of parts, and it is easy to imagine
that at first the players exercised their prerogative of growling--a
prerogative not calculated to dispel the doubts fast assailing Addison
as to the outcome of the performance. Nance Oldfield made no fuss
at playing Marcia, Cato's daughter, for she was ever disposed to be
tractable; but when it came to casting the noble Roman himself the
trouble began. The story runs that the part was first offered
to Cibber, and that he sensibly refused it. Colley might make a
delightful fop, but the playing of dandies could hardly lead one up
very gracefully to the handling of Cato.
Next came the suggestion that John Mills[A] should try the character,
but fortunately he displayed no more enthusiasm for it than did
Cibber. Cato was too old a person for him to act, he said, and so
declined to have anything to do with the elderly hero. Afterwards he
was cast for the less important rôle of Sempronius, which proved in
every way a better disposition of affairs, for Mills was a plodder
rather than a genius. He belonged to the order of actors to whom,
in the present day, we apply the charitable word of painstaking, an
adjective which shows very plainly the nature of the man, while it
likewise allows the critic to escape the charge of unkindness. We all
know the painstaking player, and always cheerfully acknowledge his
virtues, but who shall blame us if, after giving him the benefit of
his earnestness, we yawn and creep out into the lobby while he holds
the stage?
[Footnote A: Mills was considered one of the most useful actors that
ever served in a theatre, but, though invested by the patronage of
Wilks with many parts of the highest order, he had no pretensions
to quit the secondary line in which he ought to have been
placed.--BELLCHAMBERS.]
That Mills sometimes inspired this feeling of boredom may be imagined
from the way in which his performance of Macbeth was once received. To
those who remembered how magnificently Betterton had played the part,
the chill formalism of the new aspirant must have seemed presumptuous,
and one night the contrast proved too much for a country gentleman
possessed of more honesty than politeness. After watching the progress
of the tragedy with growing indignation his feelings became unbearable
at a certain point in the fourth act, where George Powell came on
as Lennox. "For God's sake, George," shouted the squire, "give us a
speech and let me go home!"[A]
[Footnote A: "I recollect," says Bellchambers, "an incident of the
same sort occurring at Bristol, where a very indifferent actor
declaimed so long and to such little purpose that an honest farmer,
who sat in the pit, started up with evident signs of disgust, and
waving his hand, to motion the speaker off, cried out, 'Tak 'un away,
tak 'un away, and let's have another.'"]
Thus every one must have given a sigh of relief when industrious John
objected to the age of Cato; every one, at least, excepting Wilks, who
had taken this actor under his theatrical wing and sought to elevate
him above one far greater than either of them--Barton Booth. The fact
was that Wilks hid within his breast the troublesome, green-eyed
monster of jealousy; he feared the rising genius of Booth, and, now
that he was part manager of Drury Lane, probably took pains to keep
the rival as much as possible in the background. Unfortunately for
this plan of annihilation the screen provided in the commonplace
person of Mills proved entirely too flimsy to hide the coming man.
Barton Booth was in many ways an ideal actor, in that he was blessed
with the poetic imagination and scholarship to understand his rôles
and the tragic power to play them. He had, furthermore, a voice of
marvellous resonance, an aristocratic bearing and a handsome face and
figure which were sure to attract attention, whether he appeared
upon the stage or amid the more genial confines of the Bedford
coffee-house.
It was to Booth, therefore, that Cato was finally assigned, the other
masculine parts being handed over to Cibber, Mills, Wilks, Powell,
Ryan, Bowman, and Keen. The latter was a popular actor of majestic
mould who used to play the King in "Hamlet" (a rôle too often left
to the mercies of third-rate mouthers) in a fashion which would
have justified the loyal and historic gentleman who preferred that
character to all others in the play. As already mentioned, Marcia was
to be acted by Oldfield, and to Mistress Porter, who usually revelled
in the delineation of high and mighty passions, was given gentle,
tearful Lucia, daughter to Lucius (Keen).
The rehearsals now went on apace, but evidently without much show of
enthusiasm. Addison assisted, probably dispirited and nervous but
outwardly unruffled, for he always presented a well-starched front to
the watching-world. Honest Dick Steele looked on, and in that frank,
ingenuous way he told his friends, with perhaps a suspicious flush
on his winsome face and a swimming gleam in his eyes, that he was
preparing to pack the theatre on the opening night in the interests of
worried Joe. Poor, good-hearted Dick! Then there was Parson Swift, who
sat behind the scenes with mild interest on his face and a sneer in
that ugly, gnarled heart of his. "We stood on the stage," he writes to
Stella, "and it was foolish enough to see the actors prompting every
moment, and the poet directing them, and the drab that acts Cato's
daughter (Mrs. Oldfield) out in the midst of a passionate part, and
then calling out 'What's next?'"
Lastly came the great Mr. Pope, with that poor, deformed body and
brilliant mind. He was not content merely to be a "looker on in
Vienna," or in Utica; he pottered around unceasingly, hobnobbed with
Oldfield (who now began to take the liveliest interest in the play),
and suggested several alterations in the text. Once Nance ventured to
criticise a speech of Portius; the amiable Addison, unlike the fashion
of some other amiable authors, heard her objections with approval,
and soon Mr. Pope was again called into consultation. There was more
hobnobbing, a change of diction, and the rehearsals continued. Then,
to cap the climax of poetic condescension, little Alexander honoured
"Cato" with a flowing prologue wherein he set forth, archaically
enough, that
"To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart,
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream through every age;
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept."
At last came the eventful evening of April 13, when "Cato" saw the
light. The theatre was packed, just as Steele promised that it should
be, yet the audience would have been large had Dick never existed.
There were no press agents to "boom" matters, but as it became
known that the Whigs stood sponsors for the tragedy there was a
corresponding desire to be in either at its triumph or its death. The
result has passed into history. The characters were, for the most
part, finely acted, and the play was admired for its lofty sentiments
and elegance of expression, while the Tories, _mirabile dictu_, vied
with their enemies in enthusiastic tokens of approval. The Whigs went
to the theatre expecting to appropriate all of Mr. Addison's illusions
to the sacred cause of liberty, and what must have been their horror
on finding that the Tories, refusing to be discomfited by any of those
illusions, applauded as violently as did the friends of Hanover?
Pope has left us a description of this first night, in a letter to Sir
William Trumbull. "Cato," he writes, "was not so much the wonder of
Rome in his days, as he is of Britain in ours; and though all the
foolish industry possible has been used to make it thought a party
play, yet what the author once said of another may the most properly
in the world be applied to him on this occasion:
"'Envy itself is dumb, in wonder lost,
And factions strive who shall applaud him most.'[A]
[Footnote A: From Addison's poem of "The Campaign," wherein the author
sings of the greatness of Marlborough.]
"The numerous and violent claps of the Whig party on the one side of
the theatre, were echoed by the Tories on the other; while the
author sweated behind the scenes with concern to find their applause
proceeding more from the hand than the head. This was the case too of
the prologue writer, who was clapped into a staunch Whig at almost
every two lines. I believe you have heard that after all the applause
of the opposite faction, my lord Bolingbroke sent for Booth, who
played Cato, into the box between one of the acts, and presented
him with fifty guineas, in acknowledgement (as he expressed it)
for defending the cause of liberty so well against a Perpetual
Dictator.[A] The Whigs are unwilling to be distanced this way, and
therefore design a present to the same Cato very speedily; in the
meantime they are getting ready as good a sentence as the former on
their side: so betwixt them it is probable that Cato (as Dr. Garth
expressed it) may have something to live upon after he dies."
[Footnote A: It is suggested by Macaulay that Lord Bolingbroke
hinted at "the attempt which Marlborough had made to convert the
Captain-Generalship into a patent office, to be held by himself
for life." The anecdote of Pope gives us an amusing example of the
stealing of Whig thunder by the clever Tories.]
So important a rôle did politics play in this first performance of
"Cato" that to many in the house the merits of the actors must have
passed unrecognised. And yet those merits were striking. Who could
have made a lovlier Marcia than did Nance; and how thoroughly she
must have justified the passion of that most virtuous of princes, the
sententious Juba. The character was not worthy of her genius, but
that did not prevent this true artist from giving to it all manner of
dignity and beauty. Who could help pitying her lover when Marcia first
repelled his amorous advances:
"I should be griev'd, young Prince, to think my presence
Unbent your thoughts, and slacken'd 'em to arms,
While, warm with slaughter, our victorious foe
Threatens aloud, and calls you to the field."
And when Marcia, having sent away the youth, explained:
"His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul
Speak all so movingly in his behalf,
I dare not trust myself to hear him talk,"
the apology came with such delicious grace and plaintiveness that the
house forgot her coldness in sorrow for her woes.
And Barton Booth? His superb acting of Cato raised him to such an airy
pinnacle of fame that he soon became one of the managers of Drury
Lane. The other players were evidently all more or less effective,
barring Cibber, whose Syphax (the Numidian warrior who seeks the
downfall of Cato), must have made the judicious grieve. Indeed we can
easily believe that he used so many grotesque motions and spoke his
lines with such a cracked voice as to win only ridicule and "a loud
laugh of contempt."
Lord Bolingbroke's gift of fifty guineas had a disturbing effect not
only on the Whigs but on Manager Dogget as well. That worthy feared
the success of "Cato" would cause Booth to claim a share in the
direction of Drury Lane, as he did, of course, in a very short time.
In the hopes of shutting off all pretensions to this honour by a
paltry expedient Dogget thought that Cibber, Wilks and himself, as
joint managers, could relieve themselves of every obligation by
duplicating the generosity of the Tory statesman.
"He insinuated to us (for he was a staunch Whig)" relates Colley,
"that this present of fifty guineas was a sort of Tory triumph which
they had no pretence to; and that for his part he could not bear that
so redoubted a champion for liberty as Cato should be bought off to
the cause of a contrary party. He therefore, in the seeming zeal of
his heart, proposed that the managers themselves should make the
same present to Booth which had been made him from the boxes the day
before. This, he said, would recommend the equality and liberal spirit
of our management to the town, and might be a means to secure Booth
more firmly in our interest, it never having been known that the skill
of the best actor had received so round a reward or gratuity in one
day before.
"Wilks, who wanted nothing but abilities to be reduc'd to tell him
that it was my opinion that Booth would never be made easy by
anything we could do for him, 'till he had a share in the profits
and management; and that, as he did not want friends to assist him,
whatever his merit might be before, every one would think since his
acting of Cato, he had now enough to back his pretentions to it."
In the end Cibber's objections were overruled, "and the same night
Booth had the fifty guineas, which he receiv'd with a thankfulness
that made Wilks and Dogget perfectly easy, insomuch that they seem'd
for some time to triumph in their conduct, and often endeavour'd to
laugh my jealousy out of countenance. But in the following winter the
game happened to take a different turn; and then, if it had been a
laughing matter," says Colley, "I had as strong an occasion to smile
at their former security."[A]
[Footnote A: After Booth was admitted into the management Dogget
retired in disgust from Drury Lane, and brought suit against his
former associates. He was decreed the sum of £600 for his share in the
patent, with allowances for interest. "I desir'd," wrote Cibber, "we
might all enter into an immediate treaty with Booth, upon the terms of
his admission. Dogget still sullenly reply'd, that he had no occasion
to enter into any treaty. Wilks then, to soften him, propos'd that, if
I liked it, Dogget might undertake it himself. I agreed. No! he would
not be concern'd in it. I then offer'd the same trust to Wilks,
if Dogget approv'd of it. Wilks said he was not good at making of
bargains, but if I was willing, he would rather leave it to me. Dogget
at this rose up and said, we might both do as we pleas'd, but that
nothing but the law should make him part with his property--and so
went out of the room."]
"So much for one result of 'Cato's' first performance. The play had a
run of thirty-five nights and as cunning as Dogget, was so charm'd
with the proposal that he long'd that moment to make Booth the present
with his own hands; and though he knew he had no right to do it
without my consent, had no patience to ask it; upon which I turned to
Dogget with a cold smile [what a freezing, polar expression Cibber
could put on when he desired] and told him, that if Booth could be
purchas'd at so cheap a rate, it would be one of the best proofs of
his economy we had ever been beholden to: I therefore desired we might
have a little patience; that our doing it too hastily might be only
making sure of an occasion to throw the fifty guineas away; for if we
should be obliged to do better for him, we could never expect that
Booth would think himself bound in honour to refund them."
From this little conversation we see that art is not always the one
beacon light of the player or the manager. Cibber argued with his
natural shrewdness, but Wilks would not be convinced, and began, "with
his usual freedom of speech," to treat the suggestion "as a pitiful
evasion of their intended generosity."
"But Dogget, who was not so wide of my meaning, clapping his hand upon
mine, said, with an air of security, O! don't trouble yourself! there
must be two words to that bargain; let me alone to manage that matter.
Wilks, upon this dark discourse, grew uneasy, as if there were some
secret between us that he was to be left out of. Therefore, to avoid
the shock of his intemperance, I was the town crowded to the theatre.
Even the good Queen, who must have been more or less bored at the fuss
bestowed upon it, actually suggested that Mr. Addison should dedicate
the tragedy to her Royal self. To inscribe a work to a sovereign means
little or nothing in these days of republicanism, real or assumed,
but Anne's request came as a great compliment It was a compliment,
however, which had to be dispensed with, for Addison had already
proposed to dedicate 'Cato' to the Duchess of Marlborough, and he
harboured no wish to mortify the aggressive Sarah (now out of favour
with the Queen) by acting upon the hint of her one-time friend and
mistress. So the author diplomatically ignored both horns of the
dilemma, or, in other words, determined to consecrate his tragedy
neither to Queen nor Duchess."
When June was well nigh ended the Drury Lane players transplanted
"Cato" to the scholarly environment of Oxford, where, as friend Cibber
tells us, "a great deal of that false, flashy wit and forc'd humour,"
which had been the delight of London, was rated at "its bare
intrinsick value." The play was admirably suited to the temper of a
university audience, and its success proved so great, its sentiment so
uplifted, that Dr. Sandridge, Dean of Carlisle, wrote to Barton Booth
expressing his wish that "all discourses from the pulpit were as
instructive and edifying, as pathetic and affecting," as those
provided by Mr. Addison.
The "Apology" gives us an interesting account of the favour accorded
to "Cato," above all other modern plays, by the dwellers in thoughtful
Oxford.
"The only distinguished merit allow'd to any modern writer was to the
author of 'Cato,' which play being the flower of a plant raised in
that learned garden (for there Mr. Addison had his education), what
favour may we not suppose was due to him from an audience of brethren,
who from that local relation to him might naturally have a warmer
pleasure in their benevolence to his fame? But not to give more weight
to this imaginary circumstance than it may bear, the fact was, that on
our first day of acting it, our house was in a manner invested, and
entrance demanded by twelve a clock at noon, and before one it was not
wide enough for many who came too late for places. The same crowds
continued for three days together (an uncommon curiosity in that
place) and the death of Cato triumphed over the injuries of Caesar
everywhere. To conclude, our reception at Oxford, whatever our merit
might be, exceeded our expectation."
The ladies and gentlemen of Drury Lane posted away from Oxford in a
blaze of glory. They had actually behaved themselves, these despised
mummers, and their contribution towards the repairing of a church was
almost sufficient to bring them within the pale of holiness. "At our
taking leave," writes Colley, jubilantly, "we had the thanks of the
vice-Chancellor for the decency and order observ'd by our whole
society, an honour which had not always been paid upon the same
occasions; for at the act in King William's time I remember some
pranks of a different nature had been complain'd of. Our receipts had
not only enabled us (as I have observ'd) to double the pay of every
actor, but to afford out of them towards the repair of St. Mary's
Church the contribution of fifty pounds. Besides which, each of the
three managers had to his respective share, clear of all charges, one
hundred and fifty more for his one and twenty days' labour, which
being added to his thirteen hundred and fifty shared in the winter
preceding, amounted in the whole to fifteen hundred, the greatest sum
ever known to have been shared in one year to that time. And to the
honour of our auditors here and elsewhere be it spoken, all this was
rais'd without the aid of those barbarous entertainments with which,
some few years after (upon the re-establishment of two contending
companies) we were forc'd to disgrace the stage to support it"
The success of "Cato" proved as brilliant in a literary as in a
dramatic sense. The play was translated into several languages, not
forgetting the Latin, and even Voltaire was pleased, in after years,
to come down from his critical throne and honour Mr. Addison's verses
with his praise.[A] "The first English writer," he said, "who composed
a regular tragedy and infused a spirit of elegance through every part
of it was the illustrious Mr. Addison." Poor Shakespeare!
[Footnote A: One sees in Voltaire (who observed that "Hamlet" "appears
the work of a drunken savage") the old-fashioned tendency to belittle
Shakespeare. This tendency has one of its most amusing reflections in
a criticism by Hume, who said of the great poet that "a reasonable
propriety of thought he cannot for any time uphold."]
Smile as we may over that frigid elegance, it seemed none the less
impressive in the days of auld lang syne, and even yet we hear echoes
of the play in a round of familiar quotations.
"The woman who deliberates is lost;"
And
"'Tis not in mortals to command success,
But we'll do more, Sempronius, we'll deserve it;"
And
"Curse on his virtues, they've undone his country."
still fall lightly on our ear. But the tragedy is forgotten, and why
seek to resurrect those once-beloved characters? Cato, Marcia, Juba,
and the rest--figures of classic marble rather than of flesh and
blood--have all gone to that bourne whence no stage travellers return.
They lie buried 'mid all the pomp of mouldering books, and there let
them peacefully decay.