THE IMMORALITY OF THE STAGE.

115

He found one now in the immorality of his age, and if he had left politics to themselves from the first, he might have done much more good than he did. Against the vices of a court and courtly circles it was useless to start a crusade singlehanded; but his quaint clever pen might yet dress out a powerful Jeremiad against those who encouraged the licentiousness of the people. Jeremy was no Puritan, for he was a Nonjuror and a Jacobite, and we may, therefore, believe that the cause was a good one, when we find him adopting precisely the same line as the Puritans had done before him. In 1698 he published, to the disgust of all Drury and Lincoln's Inn, his "Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage, together with the Sense of Antiquity upon this Argument."

"The

While the King of Naples is supplying his ancient Venuses with gowns, and putting his Marses and Herculeses into pantaloons, there are such are the varieties of opinion-respectable men in this country who call Paul de Kock the greatest moral writer of his age, and who would yet like to see Relapse," "Love for Love," and the choice specimens of Wycherley, Farquhar, and even of Beaumont and Fletcher, acted at the Princess's and the Haymarket in the year of grace 1860. I am not writing "A Short View" of this or any other moral subject; but this I must say the effect of a sight or sound on a human being's silly little passions must of necessity be relative. You and I can read "Don Juan," Lewis's "Monk," the plays of Congreve, and any or all of the publications of Holywell Street, without more than disgust at their obscenity and admiration for their beauties. But could we be pardoned for putting these works into the hands of "sweet seventeen, or making Christmas presents of them to our boys? Ignorance of evil is, to a certain extent, virtue: let boys be boys in purity of mind as long as they can: let the unrefined "great unwashed" be treated also much in the same way as young people. I maintain that to a coarse mind all improper ideas, however beautifully clothed, suggest only sensual thoughts-nay, the very modesty of the garments makes them the more insidious-the more dangerous. I would rather give my boy John, Massinger, or Beaumont and Fletcher, whose very improper things "are called by their proper names," than let him dive in the prurient innuendo of these later writ

ers.

But there is no need to argue the question-the public has decided it long since, and except in indelicate bållets and occasional rather French passages in farce, our modern stage is free from immorality. Even in Garrick's days, when men were

116

CONGREVE'S WRITINGS.

not much more refined than in those of Queen Anne, it was found impossible to put the old drama on the stage without considerable weeding. Indeed I doubt if even the liberal upholder of Paul de Kock would call Congreve a moral writer; but I confess I am not a competent judge, for, risum teneatis, my critics, I have not read his works since I was a boy, and what is more, I have no intention of reading them. I well remember getting into my hands a large thick volume, adorned with miserable woodcuts, and bearing on its back the title "Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar." I devoured it at first with the same avidity with which one might welcome a bottle-imp, who at the hour of one's dullness turned up out of the carpet and offered you delights new and old for nothing but a tether on your soul; and with a like horror, boy though I was, I recoiled from it when any better moment came. It seemed to me, when I read this book, as if life were too rotten for any belief, a nest of sharpers, adulterers, cut-throats, and prostitutes. There was none as far as I remember-of that amiable weakness, of that better sentiment, which in Ben Jonson or Massinger reconcile us to human nature. If truth be a test of genius, it must be a proof of true poetry, that man is not made uglier than he is. Nay, his very ugliness loses its intensity and falls upon our diseased tastes, for want of some goodness, some purity and honesty to relieve it. I will not say that there is none of this in Congreve. I only know that my recollection of his plays is like that of a vile nightmare, which I would not for any thing have return to me. I have read, since, books as bad, perhaps worse in some respects, but I have found the redemption here and there. I would no more place Shandy in any boy's hands than Congreve and Farquhar; and yet I can read Tristram again and again with delight; for amid all that is bad there stand out Trim and Toby, pure specimens of the best side of human nature, coming home to us and telling us that the world is not all bad. There may be such touches in "Love for Love," or "The Way of the World"-I know not and care not. To my remembrance Congreve is but a horrible nightmare, and may the fates forbid I should be forced to go through his plays again.

Perhaps, then, Jeremy was not far wrong when he attacked these specimens of the drama with an unrelenting Nemesis; but he was not before his age. It was less the obvious coarseness of these productions with which he found fault than their demoralizing tendency in a direction which we should now, perhaps, consider innocuous. Certainly the Jeremiad overdid it, and like a swift but not straight bowler at cricket, he sent balls which no wicket-keeper could stop, and which, therefore, were

JEREMY'S " SHORT VIEWS."

117

harmless to the batter. He did not want boldness. He attacked Dryden, now close upon his grave; Congreve, a young man, Vanbrugh, Cibber, Farquhar, and the rest, all alive, all in the zenith of their fame, and all as popular as writers could be. It was as much as if a man should stand up to-day and denounce Dickens and Thackeray, with the exception that well-meaning people went along with Jeremy, whereas very few would do more than smile at the zeal of any one who tilted against our modern pets. Jeremy, no doubt, was bold, but he wanted tact, and so gave his enemy occasion to blaspheme. He made out cases where there were none, and let alone what we moderns should denounce. So Congreve took up the cudgels against him with much wit and much coarseness, and the two fought out the battle in many a pamphlet and many a letter. But Jeremy was not to be beat. His "Short View" was followed by "A Defense of the Short View," a "Second Defense of the Short View," "A Farther Short View," and, in short, a number of "Short Views," which had been better merged into one "Long Sight." Jeremy grew coarse and bitter; Congreve coarser and bitterer; and the whole controversy made a pretty chapter for the "Quarrels of Authors." But the Jeremiad triumphed in the long run, because, if its method was bad, its cause was good, and a succeeding generation voted Congreve immoral. Enough of Jeremy. We owe him a tribute for his pluck, and though no one reads him in the present day, we may be thankful to him for having led the way to a better state of things.*

Congreve defended himself in eight letters addressed to Mr. Moyle, and we can only say of them, that, if any thing, they are yet coarser than the plays he would excuse.

The works of the young Templar, and his connection with Betterton, introduced him to all the writers and wits of his day. He and Vanbrugh, though rivals, were fellow-workers, and our glorious Haymarket Theatre, which has gone on at times when Drury and Covent Garden have been in despair, owes its origin to their confederacy. But Vanbrugh's theatre was on the site of the present Opera House, and the Haymarket was set up as a rival concern. Vanbrugh's was built in 1705, and met the usual fate of theatres, being burnt down some eighty-four years after. It is curious enough that this house, destined for the "legitimate drama"-often a very illegitimate performance-was opened by an opera set to Italian music, so that "Her Majesty's" has not much departed from the original cast of the place.

* Dryden, in the Preface to his Fables, acknowledged that Collier "had, in many points, taxed him justly."

118

DRYDEN'S FUNERAL.

Perhaps Congreve's best friend was Dryden. This man's life and death are pretty well known, and even his funeral has been described time and again. But Corinna-as she was styled-gave of the latter an account which has been called romantic, and much discredited. There is a deal of characteristic humor in her story of the funeral, and as it has long been lost sight of, it may not be unpalatable here: Dryden died on May-day, 1701, and Lord Halifax* undertook to give his body a private funeral in Westminster Abbey.

"On the Saturday following," writes Corinna, "the Company came. The Corps was put into a Velvet Hearse, and eighteen Mourning Coaches filled with Company attending. When, just before they began to move, Lord Jeffreys, with some of his rakish Companions, coming by, in Wine, ask'd whose Funeral? And being told: "What!' cries he, shall Dryden, the greatest Honour and Ornament of the Nation, be buried after this private Manner? No, Gentlemen! let all that lov'd Mr. Dryden, and honour his Memory, alight, and join with me in gaining my Lady's Consent, to let me have the Honour of his Interment, which shall be after another manner than this, and I will bestow £1000 on a Monument in the Abbey for him.' The Gentlemen in the Coaches, not knowing of the Bishop of Rochester's Favour, nor of Lord Halifax's generous Design (these two noble Spirits having, out of Respect to the Family, enjoin'd Lady Elsabeth and her Son to keep their Favour concealed to the World, and let it pass for her own Expense), readily came out of the Coaches, and attended Lord Jeffreys up to the Lady's Bed-side, who was then sick. He repeated the Purport of what he had before said, but she absoluteÎy refusing, he fell on his knees, vowing never to rise till his Request was granted. The rest of the Company, by his Desire, kneeled also; she being naturally of a timorous Disposition, and then under a sudden surprise, fainted away. As soon as she recover'd her speech, she cry'd, 'No, no!' 'Enough, gentlemen,' replied he (rising briskly), 'My Lady is very good, she says, Go, go!' She repeated her former Words with all her Strength, but alas in vain! her feeble Voice was lost in their Acclamations of Joy! and Lord Jeffreys order'd the Hearsemen to carry the Corps to Russell's, an undertaker in Cheapside, and leave it there, till he sent orders for the Embalment, which, he added, should be after the Royal Manner. His directions were obey'd, the Company dispersed, and Lady Elsabeth and Mr. Charles remained Inconsolable. Next Morn

* Charles Montagu, Earl of Halifax. Lord Halifax was born in 1661, and died in 1715. He was called "Mouse Montagu.'

† Son of Judge Jeffries: satirized by Pope under the name of "Bufo."

ing Mr. Charles waited on Lord Halifax, etc., to excuse his Mother and self, by relating the real Truth. But neither his Lordship nor the Bishop would admit of any Plea; especially the latter, who had the Abbey lighted, the ground open'd, the Choir attending, an Anthem ready set, and himself waiting for some Hours without any Corps to bury. Russell, after three Days' Expectance of Orders for Embalment, without receiving any, waits on Lord Jeffreys, who, pretending Ignorance of the Matter, turn'd it off with an ill-natured Jest, saying, "Those who observed the orders of a drunken Frolick, deserved no better; that he remembered nothing at all of it, and he might do what he pleased with the Corps.' On this Mr. Russell waits on Lady Elsabeth and Mr. Dryden; but alas! it was not in their power to answer. The season was very hot, the Deceas'd had liv'd high and fast; and being corpulent, and abounding with gross Humours, grew very offensive. The Undertaker, in short, threaten'd to bring home the Corps, and set it before the Door. It can not be easily imagin❜d what grief, shame, and confusion seized this unhappy Family. They begged a Day's Respite, which was granted. Mr. Charles wrote a very handsome Letter to Lord Jeffreys, who returned it with this cool Answer, 'He knew nothing of the Matter, and would be troubled no more about it.' He then addressed the Lord Halifax and Bishop of Rochester, who were both too justly tho' unhappily incensed, to do anything in it. In this extreme distress, Dr. Garth, a man who entirely lov'd Mr. Dryden, and was withal a Man of Generosity and great Humanity, sends for the Corps to the College of Physicians in Warwick Lane, and proposed a Funeral by subscription, to which himself set a most noble example. Mr. Wycherley, and several others, among whom must not be forgotten Henry Cromwell, Esq., Captain Gibbons, and Mr. Christopher Metcalfe, Mr. Dryden's Apothecary and intimate Friend (since a Collegiate Physician), who with many others contributed most largely to the Subscription; and at last a Day, about three Weeks after his Decease, was appointed for the Interment at the Abbey. Dr. Garth pronounced a fine Latin Oration over the Corps at the College; but the audience being numerous, and the Room large, it was requisite the Orator should be elevated, that he might be heard. But as it unluckily happen'd there was nothing at hand but an old Beer-Barrel, which the Doctor with much good-nature mounted; and in the midst of his Oration, beating Time to the Accent with his Foot, the Head broke in, and his Feet sunk to the Bottom, which occasioned the malicious Report of his Enemies, 'That he was turned a Tub-Preacher.' However, he finished the Oration