Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) (205 page)

LETTER II
I.

SIR,

MY last communication mentioned my visit to the theatre; the remarks it contained were chiefly confined to the play and the actors; I shall now extend them to the audience, who, I assure you, furnish no inconsiderable part of the entertainment.

As I entered the house some time before the curtain rose, I had sufficient leisure to make some observations. I was much amused with the waggery and humour of the gallery, which, by the way, is kept in
excellent
order by the constables who are stationed there. The noise in this part of the house is somewhat similar to that which prevailed in Noah’s ark; for we have an imitation of the whistles and yells of every kind of animal. This, in some measure, compensates for the want of music, as the gentlemen of our orchestra are very economic of their favours. Somehow or another, the anger of the gods seemed to be aroused all of a sudden, and they commenced a discharge of apples, nuts, and gingerbread, on the heads of the honest folks in the pit, who had no possibility of retreating from this new kind of thunderbolts. I can’t say but I was a little irritated at being saluted aside of my head, with a rotten pippin; and was going to shake my cane at them, but was prevented by a decent looking man behind me, who informed me that it was use less to threaten, or expostulate. They are only
amusing themselves
a little at our expense, said he; sit down quietly and bend your back to it. My kind neighbour was interrupted by a hard green apple that hit him between the shoulders-he made a wry face, but knowing it was all a joke, bore the blow like a philosopher., I soon saw the wisdom of this determination; a stray thunderbolt happened to light on the head of a little sharp faced Frenchman, dressed in a white coat and small cocked hat, who sat two or three benches ahead of me, and seemed to be an irritable little animal. Monsieur was terribly exasperated he jumped upon his seat, shook his fist at the gallery, and swore violently in bad English. This was all nuts to his merry persecutors; their attention was wholly turned on him, and he formed their
target
for the rest of the evening.

I found the ladies in the boxes, as usual, studious to please; their charms were set off to the greatest advantage; each box was a little battery in itself, and they all seemed eager to outdo each other in the havoc they spread around. An arch glance in one box was rivalled by a smile in another, that smile by a simper in a third, and in a fourth a most bewitching languish carried all before it.

I was surprised to see some persons reconnoitring the company through spyglasses; and was in doubt whether these machines were used to remedy deficiencies of vision, or whether this was another of the eccentricities of fashion. Jack Stylish has since in formed me, that glasses were lately all
the go;
though hang it, says Jack, it is quite
out
at present; we used to mount our glasses in
great snuff,
but since so many
tough jockies
have followed the lead, the bucks have all
cut
the custom, I give you, Mr. Editor, the account in my dashing cousin’s own language. It is from a vocabulary I do not well understand.

I was considerably amused by the queries of the countryman mentioned in my last, who was now making his first visit to the theatre. He kept constantly applying to me for information, and I readily communicated, as far as my own ignorance would permit.

As this honest man was casting his eye round the house, his attention was suddenly arrested. And pray, who are these? said he, pointing to a cluster of young fellows. These, I suppose, are the critics, of whom I have heard so much. They have, no doubt, got together to communicate their remarks, and compare notes; these are the persons through whom the audience exercise their judgments, and by whom they are told when they are to applaud or to hiss. Critics! ha! ha! my dear sir, they trouble themselves as little about the elements of criticism, as they do about other departments of science and belles-lettres. These are the beaux of the present day, who meet here to lounge away an idle hour, and play off their little impertinences for the entertainment of the public. They no more regard the merits of the play, nor of the actors, than my cane. They even
strive
to appear inattentive; and I have seen one of them perched on the front of the box with his back to the stage, sacking the head of his stick, and staring vacantly at the audience, insensible to the most interesting specimens, of scenic representation, though the tear of sensibility was trembling in every eye around him. I have heard that some have even gone so far in search of amusement, as to propose a game of cards in the theatre, during the performance. The eyes of my neighbour sparkled at this information — his cane shook in his hand — the word
puppies
burst from his lips. Nay, says I, I don’t give this for absolute fact: my cousin Jack was, I believe,
quizzing
me (as he terms it) when he gave me the information. But you seem quite indignant, said I, to the decent looking man in my rear. It was from him the exclamation came: the honest
countryman
was gazing in gaping wonder on some new attraction. Believe me, said I, if you had them daily before your eyes, you would get quite used to them. Used to them, replied he; how is it possible for people of sense to relish such conduct? Bless you, my friend, people of sense have nothing to do with it; they merely endure it in silence. These young gentlemen live in an indulgent age. When I was a young man, such tricks and follies were held in proper contempt. Here I went a little too far; for, upon better recollection, I must own that a lapse of years has produced but little alteration in this department of folly and impertinence. But do the ladies admire these manners! Truly, I am not as conversant in female circles as formerly; but I should think it a poor compliment to my fair countrywomen, to suppose them pleased with the stupid stare and cant phrases with which these votaries of fashion add affected to real ignorance.

Our conversation was here interrupted by the ringing of a bell. Now for the play, said my companion. No, said I, it is only for the musicians. These worthy gentlemen then came crawling out of their holes, and began, with very solemn and important phizzes, strumming and tuning their instruments in the usual style of discordance, to the great
entertainment
of the audience. What tune is that? asked my neighbour, covering his ears. This, said I, is no tune; it is only a pleasing
symphony,
with which we are regaled; as a preparative. For my part, though I admire the effect of contrast, I think they might as well play it in their cavern under the stage. The bell rung a second time — and then began the tune in reality; but I could not help observing, that the countryman was more diverted with the queer grimaces and contortions of countenance exhibited by the musicians, than their melody. What I heard of the music, I liked very well; (though I was told by one of my neighbours, that the same pieces have been played every night for these three years;) but it was often overpowered by the gentry in the gallery, who vociferated loudly for
Moll in the Wad, Tally ho the Grinders,
and several other
airs
more suited to their tastes.

I observed-that every part of the house has its different department. The good folks of the gallery have all the trouble of ordering the music; (their directions, however, are not more frequently followed than they deserve).

The mode by which they issue their mandates is stamping, hissing, roaring, whistling; and, when the musicians are refractory, groaning in cadence. They also have the privilege of demanding a
bow
from
John,
(by which name they designate every servant at the theatre, who enters to move a table or snuff a candle); and of detecting those cunning dogs who peep from behind the curtain.

By the by, my honest friend was much puzzled about the curtain itself. He wanted to know why that
carpet
was hung up in the theatre? I assured him it was no carpet, but a very fine curtain. And what, pray, may be the meaning of that gold head, with the nose cut off, that I see in front of it? The meaning — why, really, I can’t tell exactly — though my cousin, Jack Stylish, says there is a great deal of meaning in it. But surely you like the
design
of the curtain? The design, — why really I can see no design about it, unless it is to be brought down about our ears by the weight of those gold heads, and that heavy
cornice
with which it is garnished. I began now to be uneasy for the credit of our curtain, and was afraid he would perceive the mistake of the painter, in putting a
harp
in the middle of the curtain, and calling it a
mirror;
but his attention was
happily
called away by the
candle-grease
from the chandelier, over the centre of the pit, dropping on his clothes. This he loudly complained of, and declared his coat was
brand new.
How, my friend? said I; we must put up with a few trifling inconveniences, when in the pursuit of pleasure. True, said he; but I think I pay pretty dear for it; — first to give six shillings at the door, and then to have my head battered with rotten apples, and my coat spoiled by candle-grease; by and by I shall have my other clothes dirtied by sitting down, as I perceive every body mounted on the benches. I wonder if they could not see as well if they were all to stand upon the floor.

Here I could no longer defend our customs, for I could scarcely breathe while thus surrounded by a host of strapping fellows, standing with their dirty boots on the seats of the benches. The little Frenchman, who thus found a temporary shelter from the missive compliments of his gallery friend, was the only person benefitted. At last the bell again rung, and the cry of
down
,
down — hats off,
was the signal for the commencement of the play.

If, Mr. Editor, the garrulity of an old fellow is not tiresome, and you choose to give this
view of a New-York Theatre
a place in your paper, you may, perhaps, hear further from your friend,

JONATHAN OLDSTYLE.

LETTER I
V.

SIR,

I SHALL now conclude ray remarks on the Theatre, which I am afraid you will think are spun out to an unreasonable length; for this I can give no other excuse, than that it is the privilege of old folks to be tiresome, and so I shall proceed.

I had chosen a seat in the pit, as least subject to annoyance from a habit of talking loud that has lately crept into our theatres, and which particularly prevails in the boxes. In old times, people went to the theatre for the sake of the play and acting; but I now find that it begins to answer the purpose of a coffeehouse, or fashionable lounge, where many indulge in loud conversation, without any regard to the pain it inflicts on their more attentive neighbours. As this conversation is generally of the most trifling kind, it seldom repays the latter for the inconvenience they suffer, of not hearing one half of the play. I found, however, that I had not much bettered my situation; but that every part of the house has its share of evils. Besides those I had already suffered, I was yet to undergo a new kind of torment. I had got in the neighbourhood of a very obliging personage, who had seen the play before, and was kindly anticipating every scene, and informing those that were about him what was to take place; to prevent, I suppose,
way disagreeable
surprise to which they would otherwise have been liable. Had there been any thing of a plot to the play, this might have been a serious inconvenience; but, as the piece was entirely
innocent
of every thing of the kind, it was not of so much importance. As I generally contrive to extract amusement from every thing; that happens, I now entertained myself with remarks on the self-important air with which he delivered his information, and the distressed and impatient looks of his unwilling auditors. I also observed, that he made several mistakes in the course of his communications. “Now you’ll see,” said he, “the queen in all her glory, surrounded with her courtiers, fine as fiddles, and ranged on each side of the stage, like rows of pewter dishes.” On the contrary, we were presented with the portly gentleman and his
ragged regiment
of banditti. Another time he promised us a regale from the fool; but we were presented with a
very fine speech
from the queen’s
grinning counsellor.

My country neighbour was exceedingly delighted with the performance, though he did not half the time understand what was going forward. He sat staring, with open month, at the portly gentleman, as he strode across the stage, and in furious rage drew his sword on the
white lion.
“By George, but that’s a brave fellow,” said he, when the act was over; “that’s what you call first-rate acting, I suppose.

Yes, said I, it is what the critics of the present day admire, but it is not altogether what I like; you should have seen an actor of the
old school
do this part; he would have given it to some purpose; you would have had such ranting and roaring, and stamping and storming; to be sure, this honest man gives us a
bounce
now and then in the true old style, but in the main he seems to prefer walking on plain ground to strutting on the
stills
used by the tragic heroes of my day. This is the chief of what passed between me and my companion during the play and entertainment, except an observation of his, that it would be well if the manager was to drill his nobility and gentry now and then, to enable them to go through their evolutions with more grace and spirit. This put me in mind of something my cousin Jack said to the same purpose, though he went too far in his zeal for reformation. He declared,” he wished sincerely one of the critics of the day would take all the
slab-shabs
of the theatre, (like
cats in a bag,)
and
twig
the whole bunch.” I can’t say but I like Jack’s idea well enough, though it is rather a severe one.

He might have remarked another fault that prevails among our performers (though I don’t know whether it occurred this evening,) of dressing for the same piece in the fashions of different ages and countries, so that while one actor is strutting about the stage in the cuirass and helmet of Alexander, another, dressed up in a gold-laced coat and bag-wig, with a chapeau de bras under his arm, is taking snuff in the fashion of one or two centuries back, and perhaps a third figures in Suwarrow boots, in the true style of modern buckism.

But what, pray, has become of the noble Marquis of Montague, and Earl of Warwick? (said the countryman, after the entertainment was concluded). Their names make a great appearance on the bill, but I do not recollect having seen them in the course of the evening. Very true — I had quite forgot those worthy personages; but I suspect they have been behind the scenes, smoking a pipe with our other friends
incog.,
the Tripolitans. We must not be particular now-a-days, my friend. When we are presented with a battle of Hexham
without fighting
, and a Tripolitan afterpiece without even a
Mahometan whisker,
we need not be surprised at having an
invisible
marquis or two thrown into the bargain.—”But what is your opinion of the house?” said I; “don t you think it a very substantial,
solid-looking
building, both inside and out? Observe what a fine effect the dark colouring of the wall has upon the white faces of the audience, which glare like the stars in a dark night. And then, what can be more pretty than the paintings in the front of the boxes, those little masters and misses sucking their thumbs, and making mouths at the audience?” —

“Very fine, upon my word. And what, pray, is the use of that chandelier, as you call it, that is hung up among the clouds, and has showered down its favours upon my coat?”

“Oh, that is to illumine the heavens, and set off to advantage the little periwig’d cupids, tumbling head over heels, with which the painter has decorated the
dome.
You see we have no need of the chandelier below, as here the house is
perfectly well
illuminated; but I think it would have been, a great saving of candle-light, if the manager had ordered the painter, among his other pretty designs, to paint a moon up there, or if he was to hang up that sun with whose
intense light
our eyes were greatly annoyed in the beginning of the afterpiece?”

“But don’t you think, after all, there is rather a — sort of a — kind of a
heavyishness
about the house? Don’t you think it has a little of an
under groundish
appearance?”

To this I could make no answer. I must confess I have often thought myself the house had a
dungeon-like
look; so I proposed to him to make our exit, as the candles were putting out, and we should be left in the dark. Accordingly, groping our way through the dismal
subterraneous
passage that leads from the pit, and passing through the ragged bridewell-looking antechamber, we once more emerged into the purer air of the park, when bidding my honest countryman good night, I repaired home, considerably pleased with the amusements of the evening.

Thus, Mr. Editor, have I given you an account of the chief incidents that occurred in my visit to the Theatre. I have shown you a few of its accommodations and its imperfections. Those who visit it more frequently may be able to give you a better statement.

I shall conclude with a few words of advice for the benefit of every department of it. I would recommend —

To the actors — less etiquette, less fustian, less buckram.

To the orchestra — new music, and more of it.

To the pit — patience, clean benches, and umbrellas.

To the boxes — less affectation, less noise, less coxcombs.

To the gallery — less grog, and better constables; — and,

To the whole house, inside and out, a total reformation.

And so much for the Theatre.

JONATHAN OLDSTYLE.