Star.
London, England, 1829-10-03 00:00:00

DRAMA.

It. IL I, ever been a subject o: controversy whether Tra-
gedy or pure Epic bold the highest place in Literature. The prac-
tical lessons inculcated by tragedy—its power over the passions
through sympathies awakened by apparent reality—the almost
effect of experience derived from scenes repre.enting the business
of life—its influence on manners and language, and the intellectual
recreation and enjoyment it offers to the whole of society, has
tempted many to decide in favour of the latter.

The transcendency of Shakspeare decidedly gives the preference
to the drama with us. The Jonsons, the Cowley', the Massingers,
Whycherleys, Congreves, °mays, and Farquharson', have aided
their mighty master well, in conquering the palm for the drama.
tic muse. Such examples were so glorious, that scarce an
eminent writer of the old school neglected the attempt to attain
dramatic honours. The Pit, with out father:, like Frauce even
to this day, was the rendezvous of literati and pawns of taste ; while
the Boxes of the National Theatre were the choice favourite haunt
of the English gentleman's family. The smile and the tear, readily
bestowed, encouraged the actor of those days to exert his whole stock
of nature and talent in the art. And the respectability of the wadi-
ence,—the pleasure they took in the English stage—the deference
properly entertained by the Histrion, and his managers, fur the
writers who alimented their genius—all tended to exalt the art to
the highest honours amongst us ; and enabled England to compe:e,
in dramatic excellence,with the most literary and enlightened people
in Europe. How is it, then, now, that our Theatres have become
a species of bear-garden ; that our actors, unlike the Omits,
Mamma, and Gatemen—so far from contributing to dramatic
literature themselves, are now altogether estranged and uncon-
nected with men of literary pursuits? How comes it that the
Gods have descended to the next region below,—namely,
the two-shilling gallery, superseding the humble shop-keeper',
now frequenting the pit,—while the boxes have become
the almost exclusive resort of holiday citizens—half-price ap-

prentices—street-walking Cyprians—and drunken brawlers from
taverns and dinner parties—repairing to the theatre to complete
their orgies? The whole of this abuse proce,da from theatrical
monopoly; under which, managers, with impunity, hare intro-
duced the most abominable systems into stage government, ren-
dering thereby abortive, the pure ends of the legitimate drama,
the national literature defrauded of the scenic offerings due to it
by the age, and the public weaned from the enjoyment of Eng-
lish dramatics, once the worthy object of its favourite intellectus
predilections.

First, Covent-garden and Drury Lane, competing only with each
other, have, in order to secure advantage over rival interests, out-
bid themselves in salaries to leading actors, whose arrogance inflated
with their puffs, sets their employers at defiance, and ventures the
grossest liberties with the public. The next grand cause of its
"decline is the further presumption of persons managing theatres,
who conceive, from their being able to direct a troop of players,
in their entrances and exits, to command a power over voice and
muscles, together with the trick of mimicking passion, that they are
also competent to judge the merits of dramatic composition. With
thea id of petty stagywrights in their pay—such as MORTOR and
Rarsotns—any of these directors will decide, at a breath, whether
a piece which shall have cost the writer mor.ths—nay years—
of profound study, be preserved to the drama of the country or
not; the force of diction, beauty of poetry, classic purity, aid art
in the conduct of interest, are with them notlilug, if devoid
of stag* trick, and opportunities fur the peculiar acting of
a Kean, Vssrius, Lisroe, or other favourites. The best
works of our favourite dramatists, if offered now, would
run the greatest chance of rejection at Covent- Garden and
Drury-lane, by people who can only, it would seem, appreciate
such offerings as " Theirna-na-Oge," and the "Shadowless Man"
—to which Punch's Opera is a "chef wevre." Were a second
SHARZIPTARK to offer a piece to Covent-Garden or Drury-lane,
the manuscript would be coldly received, and submitted,
to their respective hired critic, denominated the Reader! Sup..
pose it were Mr. MORTON—the 'talus of Covent Garden—that
Gentleman perchance perusing it in a fit of spleen, provoked by the
cramped hand in which it might be written,—offended with a
style different from his own spurious sentimental dramatics, or
anxious to promote the recommended work of some protege;
or, In fine, from any other abuse of judgment or caprice, might,
and ten to one would, dismiss the production, with doubts of its
adaptation to the stage. The author then might carry it to Drury.
Lane, it is true ; but the (set of its being rejected by Covent-
Garden, would create prejudice again;: it ; and Mr. Revs:otos, ac-
tuated by similar motives with his friend 1 1C$111.0)1, might consign
it, with his own lucubration., to the shelf. Representation at in-
ferior theatres would militate against the respectability of the
piece; besides, none but the little Haymarket, open when com-
pany deserts ondon are licensed to exhibit the regular drama.
Who then is this !ammo and RITNOLDS, it will be asked, that
in the nineteenth century, sit in judgment on the drama—in the
name and behalf of the millions who compose the British Empire ?
Where such a trust is imposed, we should expect the most unshaken
Integrity of judgment, and impartial taste. But, alas! in a recent
trial, this MORTON confessed in the face of that public for whont
lie erects himself into so arbitrary a judge, that be is the hired
manufacturer of all those fulsome puffs, got up in play-bills
and placards, to cram down the trashy nonsense with the
ignorant, whose taste is thus wantonly depraved, and sneered
at. If the miserable productions, acted season after season,
under the auspices of these Gentlemen, at Covent Garden and
Drury-lane, be the best selections of what, in these times, are offered
to the Theatre—Good Heavens!—what are those which they re-
ject?—There is as much genius in the country at present as at any
former period ; and we must believe, that it is to this partial mis-
chievous system—pursued at the Theatres—that we owe
this falling off. For what writer of talent—possessing self-respect
—would choose to submit the fruit of arduous labour to the verdict
of such judges? It is true, he has the alternative of printing ; but
who would read or appreciate a rejected play? Again, there is no
branch of literature that does not offer greater pecuniary advan-
tages to the writer than the theatre,—thanks, again, to the liber-
ality of the Mariam who direct it. Another cause to deter
respectable authors from attempting that career, is the bad com-
pany who now composes the audience of an English play—inca-
pable,if we may judge by the stuff they can stomach—of appreci-
ating the merits of the true drama. It is thus the highest walk
of literature is consigned to Grub-street,—from whence the town
is inundated with the contemptible translations of every ephemeral
bleats, which the dramatic tyros of Paris cook up to serve passing
occasion, In their inferior theatres. Before, however, we dismiss
the subject.to-day, we must pay due homage to the liberal spirit
of Mr. ARNOLD. manager of the Lyceum,—doomed, in recom-
compense for all his labours in behalf of the national opera, to suf-
fer a victim's fate, under the abominable system of monopoly with
the great houses. His interesting little theatre closed last evening,
when Mr. BAILTLRT delivered the following address, which most
honourably acquits Annoto from the charge of literary oppression
—too justly to be imputed to the other managers :

••• • •

Lanus atm Giorrtmam—As It has been asserted in the olden
time that " there is nothing new under the sun," it cannot be
expected that in an anneal farewell address much, even in the shape
of novelty, can be attempted. The customary language of gratitude
for past favours, and promises of exertion to merit them in future,
has long since been exhausted by reiteration ; and the best remain-
ing course on these occasions Is to study the utmost brevity in our
acknowledgments and adieus! On one point alone' therefore, I
shall detain you for a moment. A general outcry bas of late years
arisen, that nearly all our modern productions on the stage are
(to use a common phrase) taken from the French. During this
season, at least," we have been English, Sirs (almost), front top to
toe." Out of nine new pieces produced during a short season of
three months (tight of which have been decidedly successful), our
two grand Operas, indeed, have been freely translated from the
German ; but the other seven have been wholly of indigenous pro.
ductions—not one of them being either stolen, taken, borrowed, or
translated, from any other language.
The Proprietor, Ladies and Gentlemen, trusts he shall be consi-
dered to have redeemed the pledge given at the close of last season,
and that the praised= of the Bobber's Bride and Der Verapyr, and
the manner in which those great Operas have been performed,
will be deemed to have conferred additional credit on this theatre,
and to have advanced another step towards exalting the character of
the musical drama in this country. Were his period of action less
limited, in regard to time, and his exertions afforded scope in a
more favourable season of the year, there can be now no doubt of
the eventual benefit to the science and its professors.
Ladies and Gentlemen—l have been longer than was at first in-
tended, but parting with oar friends is always pahiful, and I may
be pardoned for protracting the moment of asparatlim ; but lest
this feeling should not be mutual, allow me at owei with the cor-
dial thanks of the proprietor, myself, and . the. performers, most
respectfully, to bid you farewell ! •