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Title: Encyclopaedia Britannica, 11th Edition, Volume 8, Slice 7
       "Drama" to "Dublin"

Author: Various

Release Date: June 11, 2010 [EBook #32783]

Language: English

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Drama to Dublin


Articles in This Slice

DRAWING DRUG (district of British India)
DROMORE DUBLIN (county of Ireland)
DROMOS DUBLIN (city of Ireland)


DRAMA.  (Continued from Volume 8 Slice 6.)

10. Medieval Drama

While the scattered and persecuted strollers thus kept alive something of the popularity, if not of the loftier traditions, of their art, neither, on the other hand, was there an utter absence of written compositions to bridge the Ecclesiastical and monastic literary drama. gap between ancient and modern dramatic literature. In the midst of the condemnation with which the Christian Church visited the stage, its professors and votaries, we find individual ecclesiastics resorting in their writings to both the tragic and the comic form of the ancient drama. These isolated productions, which include the Χριστὀς πάσχων (Passion of Christ) formerly attributed to St Gregory Nazianzen, and the Querolus, long fathered upon Plautus himself, were doubtless mostly written for educational purposes—whether Euripides and Lycophron, or Menander, Plautus and Terence, served as the outward models. The same was probably Hrosvitha. the design of the famous “comedies” of Hrosvitha, the Benedictine nun of Gandersheim, in Eastphalian Saxony, which associate themselves in the history of Christian literature with the spiritual revival of the 10th century in the days of Otto the Great. While avowedly imitated in form from the comedies of Terence, these religious exercises derive their themes—martyrdoms,1 and miraculous or otherwise startling conversions2—from the legends of Christian saints. Thus, from perhaps the 9th to the 12th centuries, Germany and France, and through the latter, by means of the Norman Conquest, England, became acquainted with what may be called the literary monastic drama. It was no doubt occasionally performed by the children under the care of monks or nuns, or by the religious themselves; an exhibition of the former kind was that of the Play of St Katharine, acted at Dunstable about the year 1110 in “copes” by the scholars of the Norman Geoffrey, afterwards abbot of St Albans. Nothing is known concerning it except the fact of its performance, which was certainly not regarded as a novelty.

These efforts of the cloister came in time to blend themselves with more popular forms of the early medieval drama. The natural agents in the transmission of these popular forms were those mimes, whom, while the representatives The joculatores, jongleurs, minstrels. of more elaborate developments, the “pantomimes” in particular, had inevitably succumbed, the Roman drama had left surviving it, unextinguished and unextinguishable. Above all, it is necessary to point out how in the long interval now in question—the “dark ages,” which may, from the present point of view, be reckoned from about the 6th to the 11th century—the Latin and the Teutonic elements of what may be broadly designated as medieval “minstrelsy,” more or less imperceptibly, coalesced. The traditions of the disestablished and disendowed mimus combined with the “occupation” of the Teutonic scôp, who as a professional personage does not occur in the earliest Teutonic poetry, but on the other hand is very distinctly traceable under this name or that of the “gleeman,” in Anglo-Saxon literature, before it fell under the control of the Christian Church. Her influence and that of docile rulers, both in England and in the far wider area of the Frank empire, gradually prevailed even over the inherited goodwill which neither Alfred nor even Charles the Great had denied to the composite growth in which mimus and scôp alike had a share.

How far the joculatores—which in the early middle ages came to be the name most widely given to these irresponsible transmitters of a great artistic trust—kept alive the usage of entertainments more essentially dramatic than the minor varieties of their performances, we cannot say. In different countries these entertainers suited themselves to different tastes, and with the rise of native literatures to different literary tendencies. The literature of the troubadours of Provence, which communicated itself to Spain and Italy, came only into isolated contact with the beginnings of the religious drama; in northern France the jongleurs, as the joculatores were now called, were confounded with the trouvères, who, to the accompaniment of vielle or harp, sang the chansons de geste commemorative of deeds of war. As appointed servants of particular households they were here, and afterwards in England, called menestrels (from ministeriales) or minstrels. Such a histrio or mimus (as he is called) was Taillefer, who rode first into the fight at Hastings, singing his songs of Roland and Charlemagne, and tossing his sword in the air and catching it again. In England such accomplished minstrels easily outshone the less versatile gleemen of pre-Norman times, and one or two of them appeared as landholders in Domesday Book, and many enjoyed the favour of the Norman, Angevin and Plantagenet kings. But here, as elsewhere, the humbler members of the craft spent their lives in strolling from castle to convent, from village-green to city-street, and there exhibiting their skill as dancers, tumblers, jugglers proper, and as masquers and conductors of bears and other dumb contributors to popular wonder and merriment. Their only chance of survival finally came to lie in organization under the protection of powerful nobles; but when, in the 15th century in England, companies of players issued forth from towns and villages, the profession, in so far as its members had not secured preference, saw itself threatened with ruin.

In any attempt to explain the transmission of dramatic elements from pagan to Christian times, and the influence exercised by this transmission upon the beginnings of the medieval drama, account should finally be taken Survivals and adaptations of pagan festive ceremonies and usages. of the pertinacious survival of popular festive rites and ceremonies. From the days of Gregory the Great, i.e. from the end of the 6th century onwards, the Western Church tolerated and even attracted to her own festivals popular customs, significant of rejoicing, which were in truth relics of heathen ritual. Such were the Mithraic feast of the 25th of December, or the egg of Eostre-tide, and a multitude of Celtic or Teutonic agricultural ceremonies. These rites, originally symbolical of propitiation or of weather-magic, were of a semi-dramatic nature—such as the dipping of the neck of corn in water, sprinkling holy drops upon persons or animals, processions of beasts or men in beast-masks, dressing trees with flowers, and the like, but above all ceremonial dances, often in disguise. The sword-dance, recorded by Tacitus, of which an important feature was the symbolic threat of death to a victim, endured (though it is rarely mentioned) to the later middle ages. By this time it had attracted to itself a variety of additional features, and of characters familiar as pace-eggers, mummers, morris-dancers (probably of distinct origin), who continually enlarged the scope of their performances, especially as regarded their comic element. The dramatic “expulsion of death,” or winter, by the destruction of a lay-figure—common through western Europe about the 8th century—seems connected with a more elaborate rite, in which a disguised performer (who perhaps originally represented summer) was slain and afterwards revived (the Pfingstl, Jack in the Green, or Green Knight). This representation, after acquiring a comic complexion, was annexed by the character dancers, who about the 15th century took to adding still livelier incidents from songs treating of popular heroes, such as St George and Robin Hood; which latter found a place in the festivities of May Day with their central figure, the May Queen. The earliest ceremonial observances of this sort were clearly connected with pastoral and agricultural life; but the inhabitants of the towns also came to have a share in them; and so, as will be seen later, did the clergy. They were in particular responsible for the buffooneries of the feast of fools (or asses), which enjoyed the greatest popularity in France (though protests against it are on record from the 11th century onwards to the 17th), but was well known from London to Constantinople. This riotous New Year’s celebration was probably derived from the ancient Kalend feasts, which may have bequeathed to it both the hobby-horse and the lord, or bishop, of misrule. In the 16th century the feast of fools was combined with the elaborate festivities of courts and cities during the twelve Christmas feast-days—the season when throughout the previous two centuries the “mummers” especially 498 flourished, who in their disguisings and “viseres” began as dancers gesticulating in dumb-show, but ultimately developed into actors proper.

Thus the literary and the professional element, as well as that of popular festive usages, had survived to become tributaries to the main stream of the early Christian drama, which had its direct source in the liturgy of the Church The liturgy the main source of the medieval religious drama. itself. The service of the Mass contains in itself dramatic elements, and combines with the reading out of portions of Scripture by the priest—its “epical” part—a “lyrical” part in the anthems and responses of the congregation. At a very early period—certainly already in the 5th century—it was usual on special occasions to increase the attractions of public worship by living pictures, illustrating the Gospel narrative and accompanied by songs; and thus a certain amount of action gradually introduced itself into the service. The insertion, before or after sung portions Tropes. of the service, of tropes, originally one or more verses of texts, usually serving as introits and in connexion with the gospel of the day, and recited by the two halves of the choir, naturally led to dialogue chanting; and this was frequently accompanied by illustrative fragments of action, such as drawing down the veil from before the altar.

This practice of interpolations in the offices of the church, which is attested by texts from the 9th century onwards (the so-called “Winchester tropes” belong to the 10th and 11th), progressed, till on the great festivals of the The liturgical mystery. church the epical part of the liturgy was systematically connected with spectacular and in some measure mimical adjuncts, the lyrical accompaniment being of course retained. Thus the liturgical mystery—the earliest form of the Christian drama—was gradually called into existence. This had certainly been accomplished as early as the 10th century, when on great ecclesiastical festivals it was customary for the priests to perform in the churches these offices (as they were called). The whole Easter story, from the burial to Emmaus, was thus presented, the Maries and the angel adding their lyrical planctus; while the surroundings of the Nativity—the Shepherds, the Innocents, &c.—were linked with the Shepherds of Epiphany by a recitation of “Prophets,” including Vergil and the Sibyl. Before long, from the 11th century onwards, mysteries, as they were called, were produced in France on scriptural subjects unconnected with the great Church festivals—such as the Wise and Foolish Virgins, Adam (with the fall of Lucifer), Daniel, Lazarus, &c. Compositions on the last-named two themes remain from the hand of one of the very earliest of medieval play-writers, Hilarius, who may have been an Englishman, and who certainly studied under Abelard. He also wrote a “miracle” of St Nicholas, one of the most widely popular of medieval saints. Into the pieces founded on the Scripture narrative outside characters and incidents were occasionally introduced, by way of diverting the audience.

These mysteries and miracles being as yet represented by the clergy only, the language in which they were usually written is Latin—in many varieties of verse with occasional prose; but already in the 11th century the further The collective mystery. step was taken of composing these texts in the vernacular—the earliest example being the mystery of the Resurrection. In time a whole series of mysteries was joined together; a process which was at first roughly and then more elaborately pursued in France and elsewhere, and finally resulted in the collective mystery—merely a scholars’ term of course, but one to which the principal examples of the English mystery-drama correspond.

The productions of the medieval religious drama it is usual technically to divide into three classes. The mysteries proper deal with scriptural events only, their purpose being to set forth, with the aid of the prophetic or preparatory Mysteries, miracles, and morals distinguished. history of the Old Testament, and more especially of the fulfilling events of the New, the central mystery of the Redemption of the world, as accomplished by the Nativity, the Passion and the Resurrection. But in fact these were not kept distinctly apart from the miracle-plays, or miracles, which are strictly speaking concerned with the legends of the saints of the church; and in England the name mysteries was not in use. Of these species the miracles must more especially have been fed from the resources of the monastic literary drama. Thirdly, the moralities, or moral-plays, teach and illustrate the same truths—not, however, by direct representation of scriptural or legendary events and personages, but allegorically, their characters being personified virtues or qualities. Of the moralities the Norman trouvères had been the inventors; and doubtless this innovation connects itself with the endeavour, which in France had almost proved victorious by the end of the 13th century, to emancipate dramatic performances from the control of the church.

The attitude of the clergy towards the dramatic performances which had arisen out of the elaboration of the services of the church, but soon admitted elements from other sources, was not, and could not be, uniform. As the plays grew The clergy and the religious drama. longer, their paraphernalia more extensive, and their spectators more numerous, they began to be represented outside as well as inside the churches, at first in the churchyards, and the use of the vulgar tongue came to be gradually preferred. A Beverley Resurrection play (1220 c.) and some others are bilingual. Miracles were less dependent on this connexion with the church services than mysteries proper; and lay associations, gilds, and schools in particular, soon began to act plays in honour of their patron saints in or near their own halls. Lastly, as scenes and characters of a more or less trivial description were admitted even into the plays acted or superintended by the clergy, as some of these characters came to be depended on by the audiences for conventional extravagance or fun, every new Herod seeking to out-Herod his predecessor, and the devils and their chief asserting themselves as indispensable favourites, the comic element in the religious drama increased; and that drama itself, even where it remained associated with the church, grew more and more profane. The endeavour to sanctify the popular tastes to religious uses, which connects itself with the institution of the great festival of Corpus Christi (1264, confirmed 1311), when the symbol of the mystery of the Incarnation was borne in solemn procession, led to the closer union of the dramatic exhibitions (hence often called processus) with this and other religious feasts; but it neither limited their range nor controlled their development.

It is impossible to condense into a few sentences the extremely varied history of the processes of transformation undergone by the medieval drama in Europe during the two centuries—from about 1200 to about 1400—in which it ran Progress of the medieval drama in Europe. a course of its own, and during the succeeding period, in which it was only partially affected by the influence of the Renaissance. A few typical phenomena may, however, be noted in the case of the drama of each of the several chief countries of the West; where the vernacular successfully supplanted Latin as the ordinary medium of dramatic speech, where song was effectually ousted by recitation and dialogue, and where finally, though the emancipation was on this head nowhere absolute, the religious drama gave place to the secular.

In France, where dramatic performances had never fallen entirely into the hands of the clergy, the progress was speediest and most decided towards forms approaching those of the modern drama. The earliest play in the French France. tongue, however, the 12th-century Adam, supposed to have been written by a Norman in England (as is a fragmentary Résurrection of much the same date), still reveals its connexion with the liturgical drama. Jean Bodel of Arras’ miracle-play of St Nicolas (before 1205) is already the production of a secular author, probably designed for the edification of some civic confraternity to which he belonged, and has some realistic features. On the other hand, the Theophilus of Rutebeuf (d. c. 1280) treats its Faust-like theme, with which we meet again in Low-German dramatic literature two centuries later, in a rather lifeless form but in a highly religious spirit, and belongs to the cycle of miracles of the Virgin of which examples abound throughout 499 this period. Easter or Passion plays were fully established in popular acceptance in Paris as well as in other towns of France by the end of the 14th century; and in 1402 the Confrérie de la Passion, who at first devoted themselves exclusively to the performance of this species, obtained a royal privilege for the purpose. These series of religious plays were both extensive and elaborate; perhaps the most notable series (c. 1450) is that by Arnoul Greban, who died as a canon of Le Mans, his native town. Its revision, by Jean Michel, containing much illustrative detail (first performed at Angers in 1486), was very popular. Still more elaborate is the Rouen Christmas mystery of 1474, and the celebrated Mystère du vieil testament, produced at Abbeville in 1458, and performed at Paris in 1500. Most of the Provençal Christmas and Passion plays date from the 14th century, as well as a miracle of St Agnes. The miracles of saints were popular in all parts of France, and the diversity of local colouring naturally imparted to these productions contributed materially to the growth of the early French drama. The miracles of Ste Geneviève and St Denis came directly home to the inhabitants of Paris, as that of St Martin to the citizens of Tours; while the early victories of St Louis over the English might claim a national significance for the dramatic celebration of his deeds. The local saints of Provence were in their turn honoured by miracles dating from the 15th and 16th centuries.

It is less easy to trace the origins of the comic medieval drama in France, connected as they are with an extraordinary variety of associations for professional, pious and pleasurable purposes. The ludi inhonesti in which the students of a Paris college (Navarre) were in 1315 debarred from engaging cannot be proved to have been dramatic performances; the earliest known secular plays presented by university students in France were moralities, performed in 1426 and 1431. These plays, depicting conflicts between opposing influences—and at bottom the struggle between good and evil in the human soul—become more frequent from about this time onwards. Now it is (at Rennes in 1439) the contention between Bien-avisé and Mal-avisé (who at the close find themselves respectively in charge of Bonne-fin and Male-fin); now, one between l’homme juste and l’homme mondain; now, the contrasted story of Les Enfants de Maintenant, who, however, is no abstraction, but an honest baker with a wife called Mignotte. Political and social problems are likewise treated; and the Mystère du Concile de Bâle—an historical morality—dates back to 1432. But thought is taken even more largely of the sufferings of the people than of the controversies of the Church; and in 1507 we even meet with a hygienic or abstinence morality (by N. de la Chesnaye) in which “Banquet” enters into a conspiracy with “Apoplexy,” “Epilepsy” and the whole regiment of diseases.

Long before this development of an artificial species had been consummated—from the beginning of the 14th century onwards—the famous fraternity or professional union of the Basoche (clerks of the Parlement and the Châtelet) had been entrusted with the conduct of popular festivals at Paris, in which, as of right, they took a prominent personal share; and from a date unknown they had performed plays. But after the Confrérie de la Passion had been allowed to monopolize the religious drama, the basochiens had confined themselves to the presentment of moralities and of farces (from Italian farsa, Latin farcita), in which political satire had as a matter of course when possible found a place. A third association, calling themselves the Enfans sans souci, had, apparently also early in the 15th century, acquired celebrity by their performances of short comic plays called soties—in which, as it would seem, at first allegorical figures ironically “played the fool,” but which were probably before long not very carefully kept distinct from the farces of the Basoche, and were like these on occasion made to serve the purposes of State or of Church. Other confraternities and associations readily took a leaf out of the book of these devil-may-care good-fellows, and interwove their religious and moral plays with comic scenes and characters from actual life, thus becoming more and more free and secular in their dramatic methods, and unconsciously preparing the transition to the regular drama.

The earliest example of a serious secular play known to have been written in the French tongue is the Estoire de Griseldis (1393); which is in the style of the miracles of the Virgin, but is largely indebted to Petrarch. The Mystère du siege d’Orléans, on the other hand, written about half a century later, in the epic tediousness of its manner comes near to a chronicle history, and interests us chiefly as the earliest of many efforts to bring Joan of Arc on the stage. Jacques Milet’s celebrated mystery of the Destruction de Troye la grant (1452) seems to have been addressed to readers and not to hearers only. The beginnings of the French regular comic drama are again more difficult to extract from the copious literature of farces and soties, which, after mingling actual types with abstract and allegorical figures, gradually came to exclude all but the concrete personages; moreover, the large majority of these productions in their extant form belong to a later period than that now under consideration. But there is ample evidence that the most famous of all medieval farces, the immortal Maistre Pierre Pathelin (otherwise L’Avocat Pathelin), was written before 1470 and acted by the basochiens; and we may conclude that this delightful story of the biter bit, and the profession outwitted, typifies a multitude of similar comic episodes of real life, dramatized for the delectation of clerks, lawyers and students, and of all lovers of laughter.

In the neighbouring Netherlands many Easter and Christmas mysteries are noted from the middle of the 15th century, attesting the enduring popularity of these religious plays; and with them the celebrated series of the Seven Joys of The Netherlands. Maria—of which the first is the Annunciation and the seventh the Ascension. To about the same date belongs the small group of the so-called abele spelen (as who should say plays easily managed), chiefly on chivalrous themes. Though allegorical figures are already to be found in the Netherlands miracles of Mary, the species of the moralities was specially cultivated during the great Burgundian period of this century by the chambers or lodges of the Rederijkers (rhetoricians)—the well-known civic associations which devoted themselves to the cultivation of learned poetry and took an active share in the festivals that formed one of the most characteristic features of the life of the Low Countries. Among these moralities was that of Elckerlijk (printed 1495 and presumably by Peter Dorlandus), which there is good reason for regarding as the original of one of the finest of English moralities, Everyman.

In Italy the liturgical drama must have run its course as elsewhere; but the traces of it are few, and confined to the north-east. The collective mystery, so common in other Western countries, is in Italian literature Italy. represented by a single example only—a Passione di Gesù Cristo, performed at Revello in Saluzzo in the 15th century; though there are some traces of other cyclic dramas of the kind. The Italian religious plays, called figure when on Old, vangeli when on New, Testament subjects, and differing from those of northern Europe chiefly by the less degree of coarseness in their comic characters, seem largely to have sprung out of the development of the processional element in the festivals of the Church. Besides such processions as that of the Three Kings at Epiphany in Milan, there were the penitential processions and songs (laude), which at Assisi, Perugia and elsewhere already contained a dramatic element; and at Siena, Florence and other centres these again developed into the so-called (sacre) rappresentazioni, which became the most usual name for this kind of entertainment. Such a piece was the San Giovanni e San Paolo (1489), by Lorenzo the Magnificent—the prince who afterwards sought to reform the Italian stage by paganizing it; another was the Santa Teodora, by Luigi Pulci (d. 1487); San Giovanni Gualberto (of Florence) treats the religious experience of a latter-day saint; Rosana e Ulimento is a love-story with a Christian moral. Passion plays were performed at Rome in the Coliseum by the Compagnia del Gonfalone; but there is no evidence on this head before the end of the 15th century. In general, the spectacular magnificence of Italian theatrical displays accorded with the growing pomp of the processions both ecclesiastical and lay—called trionfi 500 already in the days of Dante; while the religious drama gradually acquired an artificial character and elaboration of form assimilating it to the classical attempts, to be noted below, which gave rise to the regular Italian drama. The poetry of the Troubadours, which had come from Provence into Italy, here frequently took a dramatic form, and may have suggested some of his earlier poetic experiments to Petrarch.

It was a matter of course that remnants of the ancient popular dramatic entertainments should have survived in particular abundance on Italian soil. They were to be recognized in the improvised farces performed at the courts, in the churches (farse spirituali), and among the people; the Roman carnival had preserved its wagon-plays, and various links remained to connect the modern comic drama of the Italians with the Atellanes and mimes of their ancestors. But the more notable later comic developments, which belong to the 16th century, will be more appropriately noticed below. Moralities proper had not flourished in Italy, where the love of the concrete has always been dominant in popular taste; more numerous are examples of scenes, largely mythological, in which the influence of the Renaissance is already perceptible, of eclogues, and of allegorical festival-plays of various sorts.

In Spain hardly a monument of the medieval religious drama has been preserved. There is manuscript evidence of the 11th century attesting the early addition of dramatic elements to the Easter office; and a Spanish fragment Spain. of the Three Kings Epiphany play, dating from the 12th century, is, like the French Adam, one of the very earliest examples of the medieval drama in the vernacular. But that religious plays were performed in Spain is clear from the permission granted by Alphonso X. of Castile (d. 1284) to the clergy to represent them, while prohibiting the performance by them of juegos de escarnio (mocking plays). The earliest Spanish plays which we possess belong to the end of the 15th or beginning of the 16th century, and already show humanistic influence. In 1472 the couplets of Mingo Revulgo (i.e. Domingo Vulgus, the common people), and about the same time another dialogue by the same author, offer examples of a sort resembling the Italian contrasti (see below).

The German religious plays in the vernacular, the earliest of which date from the 14th and 15th centuries, and were produced at Trier, Wolfenbuttel, Innsbruck, Vienna, Berlin, &c., were of a simple kind; but in some of them, though Germany. they were written by clerks, there are traces of the minstrels’ hands. The earliest complete Christmas play in German, contained in a 14th-century St Gallen MS., has nothing in it to suggest a Latin original. On the other hand, the play of The Wise and the Foolish Virgins, in a Thuringian MS. thought to be as early as 1328, a piece of remarkable dignity, was evidently based on a Latin play. Other festivals besides Christmas were celebrated by plays; but down to the Reformation Easter enjoyed a preference. In the same century miracle-plays began to be performed, in honour of St Catherine, St Dorothea and other saints. But all these productions seem to belong to a period when the drama was still under ecclesiastical control. Gradually, as the liturgical drama returned to the simpler forms from which it had so surprisingly expanded, and ultimately died out, the religious plays performed outside the churches expanded more freely; and the type of mystery associated with the name of the Frankfort canon Baldemar von Peterweil communicated itself, with other examples, to the receptive region of the south-west. The Corpus Christi plays, or (as they were here called) Frohnleichnamsspiele, are notable, since that of Innsbruck (1391) is probably the earliest extant example of its class. The number of non-scriptural religious plays in Germany was much smaller than that in France; but it may be noted that (in accordance with a long-enduring popular notion) the theme of the last judgment was common in Germany in the latter part of the middle ages. Of this theme Antichrist may be regarded as an episode, though in 1469 an Antichrist appears to have occupied at Frankfort four days in its performance. The earlier (12th century) Antichrist is a production quite unique of its kind; this political protest breathes the Ghibelline spirit of the reign (Frederick Barbarossa’s) in which it was composed.

Though many of the early German plays contain an element of the moralities, there were few representative German examples of the species. The academical instinct, or some other influence, kept the more elaborate productions on the whole apart from the drolleries of the professional strollers (fahrende Leute), whose Shrove-Tuesday plays (Fastnachtsspiele) and cognate productions reproduced the practical fun of common life. Occasionally, no doubt, as in the Lübeck Fastnachtsspiel of the Five Virtues, the two species may have more or less closely approached to one another. When, in the course of the 15th century, Hans Rosenplüt, called Schnepperer—or Hans Schnepperer, called Rosenplüt—the predecessor of Hans Sachs, first gave a more enduring form to the popular Shrove-Tuesday plays, a connexion was already establishing itself between the dramatic amusements of the people and the literary efforts of the “master-singers” of the towns. But, while the main productivity of the writers of moralities and cognate productions—a species particularly suited to German latitudes—falls into the periods of Renaissance and Reformation, the religious drama proper survived far beyond either in Catholic Germany, and, in fact, was not suppressed in Bavaria and Tirol till the end of the 18th century.3

It may be added that the performance of miracle-plays is traceable in Sweden in the latter half of the 14th century; and that the German clerks and laymen who immigrated into the Carpathian lands, and into Galicia in particular, Sweden, Carpathian lands, &c. in the later middle ages, brought with them their religious plays together with other elements of culture. This fact is the more striking, inasmuch as, though Czech Easter plays were performed about the end of the 14th century, we hear of none among the Magyars, or among their neighbours of the Eastern empire.

Coming now to the English religious drama, we find that from its extant literature a fair general idea may be derived of the character of these medieval productions. The miracle-plays, miracles or plays (these being the terms used in Religious drama in England. England) of which we hear in London in the 12th century were probably written in Latin and acted by ecclesiastics; but already in the following century mention is made—in the way of prohibition—of plays acted by professional players. (Isolated moralities of the 12th century are not to be regarded as popular productions.) In England as elsewhere, the clergy either sought to retain their control over the religious plays, which continued to be occasionally acted in churches even after the Reformation, or else reprobated them with or Cornish miracle-plays. without qualifications. In Cornwall miracles in the native Cymric dialect were performed at an early date; but those which have been preserved are apparently copies of English (with the occasional use of French) originals; they were represented, unlike the English plays, in the open country, in extensive amphitheatres constructed for the purpose—one of which, at St Just near Penzance, has recently been restored.

The flourishing period of English miracle-plays begins with the practice of their performance by trading-companies in the towns, though these bodies were by no means possessed of any special privileges for the purpose. Of this practice Localities of the performance of miracle-plays. Chester is said to have set the example (1268-1276); it was followed in the course of the 13th and 14th centuries by many other towns, while in yet others traces of such performances are not to be found till the 15th, or even the 16th. These towns with their neighbourhoods include, starting from East Anglia, where the religious drama was particularly at home, Wymondham, Norwich, Sleaford, Lincoln, Leeds, Wakefield, Beverley, York, Newcastle-on-Tyne, with a deviation across the border to Edinburgh and Aberdeen. In the north-west they are found at Kendal, Lancaster, Preston, 501 Chester; whence they may be supposed to have migrated to Dublin. In the west they are noticeable at Shrewsbury, Worcester and Tewkesbury; in the Midlands at Coventry and Leicester; in the east at Cambridge and Bassingbourne, Heybridge and Manningtree; to which places have to be added Reading, Winchester, Canterbury, Bethesda and London, in which last the performers were the parish-clerks. Four collections, in addition to some single examples of such plays, The York, Towneley, Chester and Coventry plays. have come down to us, the York plays, the so-called Towneley plays, which were probably acted at the fairs of Widkirk, near Wakefield, and those bearing the names of Chester and of Coventry. Their dates, in the forms in which they have come down to us, are more or less uncertain; that of the York may on the whole be concluded to be earlier than that of the Towneley, which were probably put together about the middle of the 14th century; the Chester may be ascribed to the close of the 14th or the earlier part of the 15th; the body of the Coventry probably belongs to the 15th or 16th. Many of the individual plays in these collections were doubtless founded on French originals; others are taken direct from Scripture, from the apocryphal gospels, or from the legends of the saints. Their characteristic feature is the combination of a whole series of plays into one collective whole, exhibiting the entire course of Bible history from the creation to the day of judgment. For this combination it is unnecessary to suppose that they were generally indebted to foreign examples, though there are several remarkable coincidences between the Chester plays and the French Mystère du vieil testament. Indeed, the oldest of the series—the York plays—exhibits a fairly close parallel to the scheme of the Cursor mundi, an epic poem of Northumbrian origin, which early in the 14th century had set an example of treatment that unmistakably influenced the collective mysteries as a whole. Among the isolated plays of the same type which have come down to us may be mentioned The Harrowing of Hell (the Saviour’s descent into hell), an East-Midland production which professes to tell of “a strif of Jesu and of Satan” and is probably the earliest dramatic, or all but dramatic, work in English that has been preserved; and several belonging to a series known as the Digby Mysteries, including Parfre’s Candlemas Day (the massacre of the Innocents), and the very interesting miracle of Mary Magdalene. Of the so-called “Paternoster” and “Creed” plays (which exhibit the miraculous powers of portions of the Church service) no example remains, though of some we have an account; the Croxton Play of the Sacrament, the MS. of which is preserved at Dublin, and which seems to date from the latter half of the 15th century, exhibits the triumph of the holy wafer over wicked Jewish wiles.

To return to the collective mysteries, as they present themselves to us in the chief extant series. “The manner of these plays,” we read in a description of those at Chester, dating from the close of the 16th century, “were:—Every English collective mysteries. company had his pageant, which pageants were a high scaffold with two rooms, a higher and a lower, upon four wheels. In the lower they apparelled themselves, and in the higher room they played, being all open at the top, that all beholders might hear and see them. The places where they played them was in every street. They began first at the abbey gates, and when the first pageant was played, it was wheeled to the high cross before the mayor, and so to every street, and so every street had a pageant playing before them at one time till all the pageants appointed for the day were played; and when one pageant was near ended, word was brought from street to street, that so they might come in place thereof, exceedingly orderly, and all the streets have their pageants afore them all at one time playing together; to see which plays was great resort, and also scaffolds and stages made in the streets in those places where they determined to play their pageants.”

Each play, then, was performed by the representative of a particular trade or company, after whom it was called the fishers’, glovers’, &c., pageant; while a general prologue was spoken by a herald. As a rule the movable stage sufficed for the action, though we find horsemen riding up to the scaffold, and Herod instructed to “rage in the pagond and in the strete also.” There is no probability that the stage was, as in France, divided into three platforms with a dark cavern at the side of the lowest, appropriated respectively to the Heavenly Father and his angels, to saints and glorified men, to mere men, and to souls in hell. But the last-named locality was frequently displayed in the English miracles, with or without fire in its mouth. The costumes were in part conventional,—divine and saintly personages being distinguished by gilt hair and beards, Herod being clad as a Saracen, the demons wearing hideous heads, the souls black and white coats according to their kind, and the angels gold skins and wings.

Doubtless these performances abounded in what seem to us ludicrous features; and, though their main purpose was serious, they were not in England at least intended to be devoid of fun. But many of the features in question Character of the Plays. are in truth only homely and naïf, and the simplicity of feeling which they exhibit is at times pathetic rather than laughable. The occasional grossness is due to an absence of refinement of taste rather than to an obliquity of moral sentiment. These features the four series have more or less in common, still there are certain obvious distinctions between them. The York plays (48), which were performed at Corpus Christi, are comparatively free from the tendency to jocularity and vulgarity observable in the Towneley; several of the plays concerned with the New Testament and early Christian story are, however, in substance common to both series. The Towneley Plays or Wakefield Mysteries (32) were undoubtedly composed by the friars of Widkirk or Nostel; but they are of a popular character; and, while somewhat over-free in tone, are superior in vivacity and humour to both the later collections. The Chester Plays (25) were undoubtedly indebted both to the Mystère du vieil testament and to earlier French mysteries; they are less popular in character than the earlier two cycles, and on the whole undistinguished by original power of pathos or humour. There is, on the other hand, a notable inner completeness in this series, which includes a play of Antichrist, devoid of course of any modern application. While these plays were performed at Whitsuntide, the Coventry Plays (42) were Corpus Christi performances. Though there is no proof that the extant series were composed by the Grey Friars, they reveal a considerable knowledge of ecclesiastical literature. For the rest, they are far more effectively written than the Chester Plays, and occasionally rise to real dramatic force. In the Coventry series there is already to be observed an element of abstract figures, which connects them with a different species of the medieval drama.

The moralities corresponded to the love for allegory which manifests itself in so many periods of English literature, and which, while dominating the whole field of medieval literature, was nowhere more assiduously and effectively Moralities. cultivated than in England. It is necessary to bear this in mind, in order to understand what to us seems so strange, the popularity of the moral-plays, which indeed never equalled that of the miracles, but sufficed to maintain the former species till it received a fresh impulse from the connexion established between it and the “new learning,” together with the new political and religious ideas and questions, of the Reformation age. Moreover, a specially popular element was supplied to these plays, which in manner of representation differed in no essential point from the miracles, in a character borrowed from the latter, and, in the moralities, usually provided with a companion The Devil and the Vice. whose task it was to lighten the weight of such abstractions as Sapience and Justice. These were the Devil and his attendant the Vice, of whom the latter seems to have been of native origin, and, as he was usually dressed in a fool’s habit, was probably suggested by the familiar custom of keeping an attendant fool at court or in great houses. The Vice had many aliases (Shift, Ambidexter, Sin, Fraud, Iniquity, &c.), but his usual duty is to torment and tease the Devil his master for the edification and diversion of the audience. 502 He was gradually blended with the domestic fool, who survived in the regular drama. There are other concrete elements in the moralities; for typical figures are often fitted with concrete names, and thus all but converted into concrete human personages.

The earlier English moralities4—from the reign of Henry VI. to that of Henry VII.—usually allegorize the conflict between good and evil in the mind and life of man, without any side-intention of theological controversy. Such also Groups of English moralities. is still essentially the purpose of the extant morality by Henry VIII.’s poet, the witty Skelton.5 Everyman (pr. c. 1529), perhaps the most perfect example of its class, with which the present generation has fortunately become familiar, contains passages certainly designed to enforce the specific teaching of Rome. But its Dutch original was written at least a generation earlier, and could have no controversial intention. On the other hand, R. Wever’s Lusty Juventus breathes the spirit of the dogmatic reformation of the reign of Edward VI. Theological controversy largely occupies the moralities of the earlier part of Elizabeth’s reign,6 and connects itself with political feeling in a famous morality, Sir David Lyndsay’s Satire of the Three Estaitis, written and acted (at Cupar, in 1539) on the other side of the border, where such efforts as the religious drama proper had made had been extinguished by the Reformation. Only a single English political morality proper remains to us, which belongs to the beginning of the reign of Elizabeth.7 Another series connects itself with the ideas of the Renaissance rather than the Reformation, treating of intellectual progress rather than of moral conduct;8 this extends from the reign of Henry VIII. to that of his younger daughter. Besides these, there remain some Elizabethan moralities which have no special theological or scientific purpose, and which are none the less lively in consequence.9

The transition from the morality to the regular drama in England was effected, on the one hand, by the intermixture of historical personages with abstractions—as in Bishop Bale’s Kyng Johan (c. 1548)—which easily led over to Heywood’s interludes. the chronicle history; on the other, by the introduction of types of real life by the side of abstract figures. This latter tendency, of which instances occur in earlier plays, is observable in several of the 16th-century moralities;10 but before most of these were written, a further step in advance had been taken by a man of genius, John Transition from the morality to the regular drama. Heywood (b. c. 1500, d. between 1577 and 1587), whose “interludes”11 were short farces in the French manner. The term “interludes” was by no means new, but had been applied by friend and foe to religious plays, and plays (including moralities) in general, already in the 14th century. But it conveniently serves to designate a species which marks a distinct stage in the history of the modern drama. Heywood’s interludes dealt entirely with real—very real—men and women. Orthodox and conservative, he had at the same time a keen eye for the vices as well as the follies of his age, and not the least for those of the clerical profession. Other writers, such as T. Ingeland,12 took the same direction; and the allegory of abstractions was thus undermined on the stage, very much as in didactic literature the ground had been cut from under its feet by the Ship of Fooles. Thus the interludes facilitated the advent of comedy, without having superseded the earlier form. Both moralities and miracle-plays survived into the Elizabethan age after the regular drama had already begun its course.

Such, in barest outline, was the progress of dramatic entertainments in the principal countries of Europe, before the revival of classical studies brought about a return to the examples of the classical drama, or before this return had Pageants. distinctly asserted itself. It must not, however, be forgotten that from an early period in England as elsewhere had flourished a species of entertainments, not properly speaking dramatic, but largely contributing to form and foster a taste for dramatic spectacles. The pageants—as they were called in England—were the successors of those ridings from which, when they gladdened “Chepe,” Chaucer’s idle apprentice would not keep away; but they had advanced in splendour and ingenuity of device under the influence of Flemish and other foreign examples. Costumed figures represented before gaping citizens the heroes of mythology and history, and the abstractions of moral, patriotic, or municipal allegory; and the city of London clung with special fervour to these exhibitions, which the Elizabethan drama was neither able nor—as represented by most of its poets who composed devices and short texts for these and similar shows—willing to oust from popular favour. Some of the greatest and some of the least of English dramatists were the ministers of pageantry; and perhaps it would have been an advantage for the future of the theatre if the legitimate drama and the Triumphs of Old Drapery had been more jealously kept apart. With the reign of Henry VIII. there also set in a varied succession of entertainments at court and in the houses of the great nobles, which may be said to have lasted through the Tudor and early Stuart periods; but it would be an endless task to attempt to discriminate the dramatic elements contained in these productions. The “mask,” stated to have been introduced from Italy into England as a new diversion in 1512-1513, at first merely added a fresh element of “disguising” to those already in use; as a quasi-dramatic species (“mask” or “masque”) capable of a great literary development it hardly asserted itself till quite the end of the 16th century.

11. The Modern National Drama

The literary influence which finally transformed the growths noticed above into the national dramas of the several countries of Europe, was that of the Renaissance. Among the remains of classical antiquity which were studied, Influence of the Renaissance. translated and imitated, those of the drama necessarily held a prominent place. Never altogether lost sight of, they now became subjects of devoted research and models for more or less exact imitation, first in Greek or Latin, then in modern tongues; and these essentially literary endeavours came into more or less direct contact with, and acquired more or less control over, dramatic performances and entertainments already in existence. This process it will be most convenient to pursue seriatim, in connexion with the rise and progress of the several dramatic literatures of the West. For no sooner had the stream of the modern drama, whose source and contributories have been described, been brought back into the ancient bed, than its flow diverged into a number of national currents, unequal in impetus and strength, and varying in accordance with their manifold surroundings. And even of these it is only possible to survey the most productive or important.

(a) Italy.

The priority in this as in most of the other aspects of the Renaissance belongs to Italy. In ultimate achievement the Italian drama fell short of the fulness of the results obtained elsewhere—a surprising fact when it is The modern Italian drama. considered, not only that the Italian language had the vantage-ground of closest relationship to the Latin, but that the genius of the Italian people has at all times led it to love the drama. The cause is doubtless to be sought in the lack, noticeable in Italian national life during a long period, and more especially during the troubled days of division and strife coinciding with the rise and earlier promise of Italian dramatic literature, of those loftiest and most potent impulses of popular feeling to which a national drama owes so much of its strength. This deficiency was due partly to the peculiarities of the Italian 503 character, partly to the political and ecclesiastical experiences which Italy was fated to undergo. The Italians were alike strangers to the enthusiasm of patriotism, which was as the breath in the nostrils of the English Elizabethan age, and to the religious devotion which identified Spain with the spirit of the Catholic revival. The clear-sightedness of the Italians had something to do with this, for they were too intelligent to believe in their tyrants, and too free from illusions to deliver up their minds to their priests. Finally, the chilling and enervating effects of a pressure of foreign domination, such as no Western people with a history and a civilization like those of Italy has ever experienced, contributed to paralyse for many generations the higher efforts of the dramatic art. No basis was permanently found for a really national tragedy; while literary comedy, after turning from the direct imitation of Latin models to a more popular form, lost itself in an abandoned immorality of tone and in reckless insolence of invective against particular classes of society. Though its productivity long continued, the poetic drama more and more concentrated its efforts upon subordinate or subsidiary species, artificial in origin and decorative in purpose, and surrendered its substance to the overpowering aids of music, dancing and spectacle. Only a single form of the Italian drama, improvised comedy, remained truly national; and this was of its nature dissociated from higher literary effort. The revival of Italian tragedy in later times is due partly to the imitation of French models, partly to the endeavour of a brilliant genius to infuse into his art the historical and political spirit. Comedy likewise attained to new growths of considerable significance, when it was sought to accommodate its popular forms to the representation of real life in a wider range, and again to render it more poetical in accordance with the tendencies of modern romanticism.

The regular Italian drama, in both its tragic and its comic branches, began with a reproduction, in the Latin language, of classical models—the first step, as it was to prove, towards the transformation of the medieval into the modern drama, and the birth of modern dramatic literature. But the process was both tentative and tedious, and must have died away but for the pomp and circumstance with which some of the patrons of the Renaissance at Florence, Rome and elsewhere surrounded these manifestations of a fashionable taste, and for the patriotic inspiration which from the first induced Italian writers to dramatize themes of national historic interest. Greek tragedy had been long forgotten, and one or two indications in the earlier part of the 16th century of Italian interest in the Greek drama, chiefly due to the printing presses, may be passed by.13 To the later middle ages classical tragedy meant Seneca, and even his plays remained unremembered till the study of them was revived by the Paduan judge Lovato de’ Lovati (Lupatus, d. 1309). Of the comedies of Plautus three-fifths were not rediscovered till 1429; and though Terence was much read in the schools, he found no dramatic imitators, pour le bon motif or otherwise, since Hrosvitha.

Thus the first medieval follower of Seneca, Albertino Mussato (1261-1330) may in a sense be called the father of modern dramatic literature. Born at Padua, to which city all his services were given, he in 1315 brought out his Eccerinis, a Latin tragedy very near to the confines of epic poetry, intended to warn the Paduans against the designs of Can Grande della Scala by the example of the tyrant Ezzelino. Other tragedies of much the same type followed during the ensuing century; such as L. da Fabiano’s De casu Caesenae (1377) a sort of chronicle history in Latin prose on Cardinal Albornoz’ capture of Caesena.14 Purely classical themes were treated in the Achilleis of A. de’ Loschi of Vicenza (d. 1441), formerly attributed to Mussato, several passages of which are taken verbally from Seneca; in the celebrated Progne of the Venetian Gregorio Cornaro, which is dated 1428-1429, and in later Latin productions included among the translations and imitations of Greek and Latin tragedies and comedies by Bishop Martirano (d. 1557), the friend of Pope Leo X.,15 and the efforts of Pomponius Laetus and his followers, who, with the aid of Cardinal Raffaele Riario (1451-1521), sought to revive the ancient theatre, with all its classical associations, at Rome.

In this general movement Latin comedy had quickly followed suit, and, as just indicated, it is almost impossible, when we reach the height of the Italian Renaissance under the Medici at Florence and at Rome in particular, to review the progress of either species apart from that of the other. If we possessed the lost Philologia of Petrarch, of which, as of a juvenile work, he declared himself ashamed, this would be the earliest of extant humanistic comedies. As it is, this position is held by Paulus, a Latin comedy of life on the classic model, by the orthodox P. P. Vergerio (1370-1444); which was followed by many others.16

Early in the 16th century, tragedy began to be written in the native tongue; but it retained from the first, and never wholly lost, the impress of its origin. Whatever the source of its subjects—which, though mostly of classical Italian tragedy in the 16th century. origin, were occasionally derived from native romance, or even due to invention—they were all treated with a predilection for the horrible, inspired by the example of Seneca, though no doubt encouraged by a perennial national taste. The chorus, stationary on the stage as in old Roman tragedy, was not reduced to a merely occasional appearance between the acts till the beginning of the 17th century, or ousted altogether from the tragic drama till the earlier half of the 18th. Thus the changes undergone by Italian tragedy were for a long series of generations chiefly confined to the form of versification and the choice of themes; nor was it, at all events till the last century of the course which it has hitherto run, more than the aftergrowth of an aftergrowth. The honour of having been the earliest tragedy in Italian seems to belong to A. da Pistoia’s Pamfila (1499), of which the subject was taken from Boccaccio, introduced by the ghost of Seneca, and marred in the taking. Carretto’s Sofonisba, which hardly rises above the art of a chronicle history, though provided with a chorus, followed in 1502. But the play usually associated with the beginning of Italian tragedy—that with which “th’ Italian scene first learned to glow”—was another Sofonisba, acted before Leo X. in 1515, and written in blank hendecasyllables instead of the ottava and terza rima of the earlier tragedians (retaining, however, the lyric measures of the chorus), by G. G. Trissino, who was employed as nuncio by that pope. Other tragedies of the former half of the 16th century, largely inspired by Trissino’s example, were the Rosmunda of Rucellai, a nephew of Lorenzo the Magnificent (1516); Martelli’s Tullia, Alamanni’s Antigone (1532); the Canace of Sperone Speroni, the envious Mopsus of Tasso, who, like Guarini, took Sperone’s elaborate style for his model; the 504 Orazia, the earliest dramatic treatment of this famous subject by the notorious Aretino (1549); and the nine tragedies of G. B. Giraldi (Cinthio) of Ferrara, among which L’Orbecche (1541) is accounted the best and the bloodiest. Cinthio, the author of those Hecatommithi to which Shakespeare was indebted for so many of his subjects, was (supposing him to have invented these) the first Italian who was the author of the fables of his own dramas; he introduced some novelties into dramatic construction, separating the prologue and probably also the epilogue from the action, and has by some been regarded as the inventor of the pastoral drama. But his style was arid. In the latter half of the 16th century may be mentioned the Didone and the Marianna of L. Dolce, the translator of Euripides and Seneca (1565); A. Leonico’s Il Soldato (1550); the Adriana (acted before 1561 or 1586) of L. Groto, which treats the story of Romeo and Juliet; Tasso’s Torrismondo (1587); the Tancredi of Asinari (1588); and the Merope of Torelli (1593), the last who employed the stationary chorus (coro fisso) on the Italian stage. Leonico’s Soldato is noticeable as supposed to have given rise to the tragedia cittadina, or domestic tragedy, of which there are few examples in the Italian drama, and De Velo’s Tamar (1586) as written in prose. Subjects of modern historical interest were in this period treated only in isolated instances.17

The tragedians of the 17th century continued to pursue the beaten track, marked out already in the 16th by rigid prescription. In course of time, however, they sought by the introduction of musical airs to compromise with the Italian tragedy in the 17th and 18th centuries. danger with which their art was threatened of being (in Voltaire’s phrase) extinguished by the beautiful monster, the opera, now rapidly gaining ground in the country of its origin. (See Opera.) To Count P. Bonarelli (1589-1659), the author of Solimano, is on the other hand ascribed the first disuse of the chorus in Italian tragedy. The innovation of the use of rhyme attempted in the learned Pallavicino’s Erminigildo (1655), and defended by him in a discourse prefixed to the play, was unable to achieve a permanent success in Italy any more than in England; its chief representative was afterwards Martelli (d. 1727), whose rhymed Alexandrian verse (Martelliano), though on one occasion used in comedy by Goldoni, failed to commend itself to the popular taste. By the end of the 17th century Italian tragedy seemed destined to expire, and the great tragic actor Cotta had withdrawn in disgust at the apathy of the public towards the higher forms of the drama. The 18th century was, however, to witness a change, the beginnings of which are attributed to the institution of the Academy of the Arcadians at Rome (1690). The principal efforts of the new school of writers and critics were directed to the abolition of the chorus, and to a general increase of freedom in treatment. Maffei. Before long the marquis S. Maffei with his Merope (first printed 1713) achieved one of the most brilliant successes recorded in the history of dramatic literature. This play, which is devoid of any love-story, long continued to be considered the masterpiece of Italian tragedy; Voltaire, who declared it “worthy of the most glorious days of Athens,” adapted it for the French stage, and it inspired a celebrated production of the English drama.18 It was followed by a tragedy full of horrors,19 noticeable as having given rise to the first Italian dramatic parody; and by the highly esteemed productions of Metastasio. Granelli (d. 1769) and his contemporary Bettinelli. P. T. Metastasio (1698-1782), who had early begun his career as a dramatist by a strict adherence to the precepts of Aristotle, gained celebrity by his contributions to the operatic drama at Naples, Venice and Vienna (where he held office as poeta cesareo, whose function was to arrange the court entertainments). But his libretti have a poetic value of their own;20 and Voltaire pronounced much of him worthy of Corneille and of Racine, when at their best. The influence of Voltaire had now come to predominate over the Italian drama; and, in accordance with the spirit of the times, greater freedom prevailed in the choice of tragic themes. Thus the greatest of Italian tragic poets. Alfieri. Count V. Alfieri (1749-1803), found his path prepared for him. Alfieri’s grand and impassioned treatment of his subjects caused his faultiness of form, which he never altogether overcame, to be forgotten. His themes were partly classical;21 but the spirit of a love of freedom which his creations22 breathe was the herald of the national ideas of the future. Spurning the usages of French tragedy, his plays, which abound in soliloquies, owe part of their effect to an impassioned force of declamation, part to those “points” by which Italian acting seems pre-eminently capable of thrilling an audience. He has much besides the subjects of two of his dramas23 in common with Schiller, but his amazon-muse (as Schlegel called her) was not schooled into serenity, like the muse of the German poet. Among his numerous plays (21), Merope and Saul, and perhaps Mirra, are accounted his masterpieces.

The political colouring given by Alfieri to Italian tragedy reappears in the plays of U. Foscolo and A. Manzoni, both of whom are under the influence of the romantic school of modern literature; and to these names must be Tragedians since Alfieri. added those of S. Pellico and G. B. Niccolini (1785-1861), Paolo Giacometti (b. 1816) and others, whose dramas24 treat largely national themes familiar to all students of modern history and literature. In their hands Italian tragedy upon the whole adhered to its love of strong situations and passionate declamation. Since the successful efforts of G. Modena (1804-1861) renovated the tragic stage in Italy, the art of tragic acting long stood at a higher level in this than in almost any other European country; in Adelaide Ristori (Marchesa del Grillo) the tragic stage lost one of the greatest of modern actresses; and Ernesto Rossi (1827-1896) and Tommaso Salvini long remained rivals in the noblest forms of tragedy.

In comedy, the efforts of the scholars of the Italian Renaissance for a time went side by side with the progress of the popular entertainments noticed above. While the contrasti of the close of the 15th and of the 16th century were Italian comedy; popular forms. disputations between pairs of abstract or allegorical figures, in the frottola human types take the place of abstractions, and more than two characters appear. The farsa (a name used of a wide variety of entertainments) was still under medieval influences, and in this popular form Alione of Asti (soon after 1500) was specially productive. To these popular diversions a new literary as well as social significance was given by the Neapolitan court-poet Sannazaro (c. 1492); about the same time a capitano valoroso, Venturino of Pesara, first brought on the modern stage the capitano glorioso or spavente, the military braggart, who owed his origin both to Plautus25 and to the Spanish officers who abounded in the Italy of those days. The popular character-comedy, a relic of the ancient Atellanae, likewise took a new lease of life—and this in a double form. The improvised comedy (commedia a soggetto) was now as a rule performed by professional actors, members of a craft, and was Commedia dell’ arte. thence called the commedia dell’ arte, which is said to have been invented by Francesco (called Terenziano) Cherea, the favourite player of Leo X. Its scenes, still unwritten except in skeleton (scenario), were connected together by the ligatures or links (lazzi) of the arlecchino, the descendant of the ancient Roman sannio (whence our zany). Harlequin’s summit of glory was probably reached early in the 17th century, when he was ennobled in the person of Cecchino by the emperor Matthias; of Cecchino’s successors, Zaccagnino and Truffaldino, Masked comedy. we read that “they shut the door in Italy to good harlequins.” Distinct from this growth is that of the masked comedy, the action of which was chiefly carried on by certain 505 typical figures in masks, speaking in local dialects,26 but which was not improvised, and indeed from the nature of the case hardly could have been. Its inventor was A. Beolco of Padua, who called himself Ruzzante (joker), and is memorable under that name as the first actor-playwright—a combination of extreme significance for the history of the modern stage. He published six comedies in various dialects, including the Greek of the day (1530). This was the masked comedy to which the Italians so tenaciously clung, and in which, as all their own and imitable by no other nation, they took so great a pride that even Goldoni was unable to overthrow it. Improvisation and burlesque, alike abominable to comedy proper, were inseparable from the species.

Meanwhile, the Latin imitations of Roman, varied by occasional translations of Greek, comedies early led to the production of Italian translations, several of which were performed at Ferrara in the last quarter of the 15th century, Early Italian regular comedy. whence they spread to Milan, Pavia and other towns of the north. Contemporaneously, imitations of Latin comedy made their appearance, for the most part in rhymed verse; most of them applying classical treatment to subjects derived from Boccaccio’s and other novelle, some still mere adaptations of ancient models. In these circumstances it is all but idle to assign the honour of having been “the first Italian comedy”—and thus the first comedy in modern dramatic literature—to any particular play. Boiardo’s Timone (before 1494), for which this distinction was frequently claimed, is to a large extent founded on a dialogue of Lucian’s; and, since some of its personages are abstractions, and Olympus is domesticated on an upper stage, it cannot be regarded as more than a transition from the moralities. A. Ricci’s I Tre Tiranni (before 1530) seems still to belong to the same transitional species. Among the earlier imitators of Latin comedy in the vernacular may be noted G. Visconti, one of the poets patronized by Ludovico il Moro at Milan;27 the Florentines G. B. Araldo, J. Nardi, the historian,28 and D. Gianotti.29 The step—very important had it been adopted consistently or with a view to consistency—of substituting prose for verse as the diction of comedy, is sometimes attributed to Ariosto; but, though his first two comedies were originally written in prose, the experiment was not new, nor did he persist in its adoption. Caretto’s I Sei Contenti dates from the end of the 15th century, and Publio Filippo’s Formicone, taken from Apuleius, followed quite early in the 16th. Machiavelli, as will be seen, wrote comedies both in prose and in verse.

But, whoever wrote the first Italian comedy, Ludovico Ariosto was the first master of the species. All but the first two of his comedies, belonging as they do to the field of commedia erudita, or scholarly comedy, are in blank verse, to which he gave a singular mobility by the dactylic ending of the line (sdrucciolo). Ariosto’s models were the masterpieces of the palliata, and his morals those of his age, which emulated those of the worst days of ancient Rome or Byzantium in looseness, and surpassed them in effrontery. He chose his subjects accordingly; but his dramatic genius displayed itself in the effective drawing of character,30 and more especially in the skilful management of complicated intrigues.31 Such, with an additional brilliancy of wit and lasciviousness of tone, are likewise the characteristics of Machiavelli’s famous prose comedy, the Mandragola (The Magic Draught);32 and at the height of their success, of the plays of P. Aretino,33 especially the prose Marescalco (1526-1527) whose name, it has been said, ought to be written in asterisks. It may be added that the plays of Ariosto and his followers were represented with magnificent scenery and settings. Other dramatists of the 16th century were B. Accolti, whose Virginia (prob. before 1513) treats the story from Boccaccio which reappears in All’s Well that Ends Well; G. Cecchi, F. d’Ambra, A. F. Grazzini, N. Secco or Secchi and L. Dolce—all writers of romantic comedy of intrigue in verse or prose.

During the same century the “pastoral drama” flourished in Italy. The origin of this peculiar species—which was the bucolic idyll in a dramatic form, and which freely lent itself to the introduction of both mythological The pastoral drama. and allegorical elements—was purely literary, and arose directly out of the classical studies and tastes of the Renaissance. It was very far removed from the genuine peasant plays which flourished in Venetia and Tuscany early in the 16th century. The earliest example of the artificial, but in some of its productions exquisite, growth in question was the renowned scholar A. Politian’s Orfeo (1472), which begins like an idyll and ends like a tragedy. Intended to be performed with music—for the pastoral drama is the parent of the opera—this beautiful work tells its story simply. N. da Correggio’s (1450-1508) Cefalo, or Aurora, and others followed, before in 1554 A. Beccari produced, as totally new of its kind, his Arcadian pastoral drama Il Sagrifizio, in which the comic element predominates. But an epoch in the history of the species is marked by the Aminta of Tasso (1573), in whose Arcadia is allegorically mirrored the Ferrara court. Adorned by choral lyrics of great beauty, it presents an allegorical treatment of a social and moral problem; and since the conception of the characters, all of whom think and speak of nothing but love, is artificial, the charm of the poem lies not in the interest of its action, but in the passion and sweetness of its sentiment. This work was the model of many others, and the pastoral drama reached its height of popularity in the famous Pastor fido (written before 1590) of G. B. Guarini, which, while founded on a tragic love-story, introduces into its complicated plot a comic element, partly with a satirical intention. It is one of those exceptional works which, by circumstance as well as by merit, have become the property of the world’s literature at large. Thus, both in Italian and in other literatures, the pastoral drama became a distinct species, characterized, like the great body of modern pastoral poetry in general, by a tendency either towards the artificial or towards the burlesque. Its artificiality affected the entire growth of Italian comedy, including the commedia dell’ arte, and impressed itself in an intensified form upon the opera. The foremost Italian masters of the last-named species, so far as it can claim to be included in the poetic drama, were A. Zeno (1668-1750) and P. Metastasio.

The comic dramatists of the 17th century are grouped as followers of the classical and of the romantic school, G. B. della Porta (q.v.) and G. A. Cicognini (whom Goldoni describes as full of whining pathos and commonplace Comedy in the 17th and 18th centuries. drollery, but as still possessing a great power to interest) being regarded as the leading representatives of the former. But neither of these largely intermixed groups of writers could, with all its fertility, prevail against the competition, on the one hand of the musical drama, and on the other of the popular farcical entertainments and those introduced in imitation of Spanish examples. Italian comedy had fallen into decay, when its reform was undertaken by the wonderful Goldoni. theatrical genius of C. Goldoni. One of the most fertile and rapid of playwrights (of his 150 comedies 16 were written and acted in a single year), he at the same time pursued definite aims as a dramatist. Disgusted with the conventional buffoonery, and ashamed of the rampant 506 immorality of the Italian comic stage, he drew his characters from real life, whether of his native city (Venice)34 or of society at large, and sought to enforce virtuous and pathetic sentiments without neglecting the essential objects of his art. Happy and various in his choice of themes, and dipping deep into a popular life with which he had a genuine sympathy, he produced, besides comedies of general human character,35 plays on subjects drawn from literary biography36 or from fiction.37 Goldoni, whose style was considered defective by the purists whom Italy has at no time lacked, met with a severe critic and a temporarily successful Gozzi. rival in Count C. Gozzi (1722-1806), who sought to rescue the comic drama from its association with the actual life of the middle classes, and to infuse a new spirit into the figures of the old masked comedy by the invention of a new species. His themes were taken from Neapolitan38 and Oriental39 fairy tales, to which he accommodated some of the standing figures upon which Goldoni had made war. This attempt at mingling fancy and humour—occasionally of a directly satirical turn40—was in harmony with the tendencies of the modern romantic school; and Gozzi’s efforts, which though successful found hardly any imitators in Italy, have a family resemblance to those of Tieck and of some more recent writers whose art wings its flight, through the windows, “over the hills and far away.”

During the latter part of the 18th and the early years of the 19th century comedy continued to follow the course marked out by its acknowledged master Goldoni, under the influence of the sentimental drama of France and other Comedians after Goldoni. countries. Abati Andrea Villi, the marquis Albergati Capacelli, Antonio Simone Sografi (1760-1825), Federici, and Pietro Napoli Signorelli (1731-1815), the historian of the drama, are mentioned among the writers of this school; to the 19th century belong Count Giraud, Marchisio (who took his subjects especially from commercial life), and Nota, a fertile writer, among whose plays are three treating the lives of poets. Of still more recent date are L. B. Bon and A. Brofferio. At the same time, the comedy of dialect to which the example of Goldoni had given sanction in Venice, flourished there as well as in the mutually remote spheres of Piedmont and Naples. Quite modern developments must remain unnoticed here; but the fact cannot be ignored that they signally illustrate the perennial vitality of the modern drama in the home of its beginnings. A new realistic style set fully in about the middle of the 18th century with P. Ferrari and A. Torelli; and though an historical reaction towards classical and medieval themes is associated with the names of P. Cossa and G. Giacosa, modernism reasserted itself through P. Bracco and other dramatists. It should be noted that the influence of great actors, more especially Ermete Novelli and Eleanora Duse, must be credited with a large share of the success with which the Italian stage has held its own even against the foreign influences to which it gave room. And it would seem as if even the paradoxical endeavour of the poet Gabrielle d’ Annunzio to lyricize the drama by ignoring action as its essence were a problem for the solution of which the stage can furnish unexpected conditions of its own. In any event, both Italian tragedy and Italian comedy have survived periods of a seemingly hopeless decline; and the fear has vanished that either the opera or the ballet might succeed in ousting from the national stage the legitimate forms of the national drama.

(b) Greece.

The dramatic literature of the later Hellenes is a creation of the literary movement which preceded their noble struggle for independence, or which may be said to form part of that struggle. After beginning with dramatic Modern Greek and Dalmatian drama. dialogues of a patriotic tendency, it took a step in advance with the tragedies of J. R. Nerulos41 (1778-1850), whose name belongs to the political as well as to the literary history of his country. His comedies—especially one directed against the excesses of journalism42—largely contributed to open a literary life for the modern Greek tongue. Among the earlier patriotic Greek dramatists of the 19th century are T. Alkaeos, J. Zampelios (whose tragic style was influenced by that of Alfieri),43 S. K. Karydis and A. Valaoritis. A. Zoiros44 is noteworthy as having introduced the use of prose into Greek tragedy, while preserving to it that association with sentiments and aspirations which will probably long continue to pervade the chief productions of modern Greek literature. The love of the theatre is ineradicable from Attic as it is from Italian soil; and the tendencies of the young dramatic literature of Hellas which is not wholly absorbed in the effort to keep abreast of recent modern developments, seem to justify the hope that a worthy future awaits it.

Under Italian influence an interesting dramatic growth attained to some vitality in the Dalmatian lands about the beginning of the 16th century, where the religious drama, whose days were passing away in Italy, found favour with a people with a scant popular literature of its own. At Ragusa Italian literary influence had been spread by the followers of Petrarch from the later years of the 15th century; here several Servo-Croatian writers produced religious plays in the manner of the Italian rappresentazioni; and a gifted poet, Martin Držić, composed, besides religious plays and farces, a species of pastoral which enjoyed much favour.

(c) Spain.

Spain is the only country of modern Europe which shares with England the honour of having achieved, at a relatively early date, the creation of a genuinely national form of the regular drama. So proper to Spain was the form of the drama which she produced and perfected, that to it the term romantic has been specifically applied, though so restricted a use of the epithet is clearly unjustifiable. The influences which from the Romance peoples—in whom Christian and Germanic elements mingled with the legacy of Roman law, learning and culture—spread to the Germanic nations were represented with the most signal force and fulness in the institutions of chivalry,—to which, in the words of Scott, “it was peculiar to blend military valour with the strongest passions which actuate the human mind, the feelings of devotion and those of love.” These feelings, in their combined operation upon the national character, and in their reflection in the national literature, were not confined to Spain; but nowhere did they so long or so late continue to animate the moral life of a nation.

Outward causes contributed to this result. For centuries after the crusades had become a mere memory, Spain was a battle-ground between the Cross and the Crescent. And it was just at the time when the Renaissance was establishing new starting-points for the literary progress of Europe, that Christian Spain rose to the height of Catholic as well as national self-consciousness by the expulsion of the Moors and the conquest of the New World. From their rulers or rivals of so many centuries the Spaniards derived that rich, if not very varied, glow of colour which became permanently distinctive of their national life, and more especially of its literary and artistic 507 expressions; they also perhaps derived from the same source a not less characteristically refined treatment of the passion of love. The ideas of Spanish chivalry—more especially religious devotion and a punctilious sense of personal honour—asserted themselves (according to a process often observable in the history of civilization) with peculiar distinctness in literature and art, after the period of great achievements to which they had contributed in other fields had come to an end. The ripest glories of the Spanish drama belong to an age of national decay—mindful, it is true, of the ideas of a greater past. The chivalrous enthusiasm pervading so many of the masterpieces of its literature is indeed a distinctive feature of the Spanish nation in all, even in the least hopeful, periods of its later history; and the religious ardour breathed by these works, though associating itself with what is called the Catholic Reaction, is in truth only a manifestation of the spirit which informed the noblest part of the Reformation movement itself. The Spanish drama neither sought nor could seek to emancipate itself from views and forms of religious life more than ever sacred to the Spanish people since the glorious days of Ferdinand and Isabella; and it is not so much in the beginnings as in the great age of Spanish dramatic literature that it seems most difficult to distinguish between what is to be termed a religious and what a secular play. After Spain had thus, the first after England among modern European countries, fully unfolded that incomparably richest expression of national life and sentiment in an artistic form—a truly national dramatic literature,—the terrible decay of her greatness and prosperity gradually impaired the strength of a brilliant but, of its nature, dependent growth. In the absence of high original genius the Spanish dramatists began to turn to foreign models, though little supported in such attempts by popular sympathy; and it is only in more recent times that the Spanish drama has sought to reproduce the ancient forms from whose masterpieces the nation had never become estranged, while accommodating them to tastes and tendencies shared by later Spanish literature with that of Europe at large.

The earlier dramatic efforts of Spanish literature may without inconvenience be briefly dismissed. The reputed author of the Coplas de Mingo Revulgo (R. Cota the elder) likewise composed the first act of a story of intrigue and Early efforts. character, purely dramatic but not intended for representation. This tragic comedy of Calisto and Meliboea, which was completed (in 21 acts) by 1499, afterwards became famous under the name of Celestina; it was frequently imitated and translated, and was adapted for the Spanish stage by R. de Zepeda in 1582. But the father of the Spanish drama was J. de la Enzina, whose representaciones under the name of “eclogues” were dramatic dialogues of a religious or pastoral character. His attempts were imitated more especially by the Portuguese Gil Vicente. Gil Vicente, whose writings for the stage appear to be included in the period 1502-1536, and who wrote both in Spanish and in his native tongue. A further impulse came, as was natural, from Spaniards resident in Italy, and especially from B. de Torres Naharro, who in 1517 published, as the chief among the “firstlings of his genius” (Propaladia), a series of eight comedias—a term generally applied in Spanish literature to any kind of drama. He claimed some knowledge of the theory of the ancient drama, divided his plays into jornadas45 (to correspond to acts), and opened them with an introyto (prologue). Very various in their subjects, and occasionally odd in form,46 they were gross as well as audacious in tone, and were soon prohibited by the Inquisition. The church remained unwilling to renounce her control over such dramatic exhibitions as she permitted, and sought to suppress the few plays on not strictly religious subjects which appeared in the early part of the reign of Charles I. Though the universities produced both translations from the classical drama and modern Latin plays, these exercised very little general effect. Juan Perez’ (Petreius’) posthumous Latin comedies were mainly versions of Ariosto.47

Thus the foundation of the Spanish national theatre was reserved for a man of the people. Cervantes has vividly sketched the humble resources which were at the command of Lope de Rueda, a mechanic of Seville, who with his Lope de Rueda and his followers. friend the bookseller Timoneda, and two brother authors and actors in his strolling company, succeeded in bringing dramatic entertainments out of the churches and palaces into the public places of the towns, where they were produced on temporary scaffolds. The manager carried about his properties in a corn-sack; and the “comedies” were still only “dialogues, and a species of eclogues between two or three shepherds and a shepherdess,” enlivened at times by intermezzos of favourite comic figures, such as the negress or the Biscayan, “played with inconceivable talent and truthfulness by Lope.” One of his plays at least,48 and one of Timoneda’s,49 seem to have been taken from an Italian source; others mingled modern themes with classical apparitions,50 one of Timoneda’s was (perhaps again through the Italian) from Plautus.51 Others of a slighter description were called pasos,—a species afterwards termed entremeses and resembling the modern French proverbes. With these popular efforts of Lope de Rueda and his friends a considerable dramatic activity began in the years 1560-1590 in several Spanish cities, and before the close of this period permanent theatres began to be fitted up at Madrid. Yet Spanish dramatic literature might still have been led Classical dramas. to follow Italian into an imitation of classical models. Two plays by G. Bermudez (1577), called by their learned author “the first Spanish tragedies,” treating the national subject of Inez de Castro, but divided into five acts, composed in various metres, and introducing a chorus; a Dido (c. 1580) by C. de Virues (who claimed to have first divided dramas into three jornadas); and the tragedies of L. L. de Argensola (acted 1585, and praised in Don Quixote) alike represent this tendency.

Such were the alternatives which had opened for the Spanish drama, when at last, about the same time as that of the English, its future was determined by writers of original genius. The first of these was the immortal Cervantes, who, Cervantes. however, failed to anticipate by his earlier plays (1584-1588) the great (though to him unproductive) success of his famous romance. In his endeavour to give a poetic character to the drama he fell upon the expedient of introducing personified abstractions speaking a “divine” or elevated language—a device which was for a time favourably received. But these plays exhibit a neglect or ignorance of the laws of dramatic construction; their action is episodical; and it is from the realism of these episodes (especially in the Numancia, which is crowded with both figures and incidents), and from the power and flow of the declamation, that their effect must have been derived. When in his later years (1615) Cervantes returned to dramatic composition, the style and form of the national drama had been definitively settled by a large number of writers, the brilliant success of whose acknowledged chief may previously have diverted Cervantes from his labours for the theatre. His influence upon the general progress of dramatic literature is, however, to be sought, not only in his plays, but also in those novelas exemplares—incomparable alike in their clearness and their terseness of narrative—to which more than one drama is indebted for its plot, and for much of its dialogue to boot.

Lope de Vega, one of the most astonishing geniuses the world has known, permanently established the national forms of the Spanish drama. Some of these were in their beginnings taken over by him from ruder predecessors; some Lope de Vega. were cultivated with equal or even superior success by subsequent authors; but in variety, as in fertility of dramatic production, he has no rivals. His fertility, which was such that he wrote about 1500 plays, besides 300 dramatic works classed 508 as autos sacramentales and entremeses, and a vast series of other literary compositions, has indisputably prejudiced his reputation with those to whom he is but a name and a number. Yet as a dramatist Lope more fully exemplifies the capabilities of the Spanish theatre than any of his successors, though as a poet Calderon may deserve the palm. Nor would it be possible to imagine a truer representative of the Spain of his age than a poet who, after suffering the hardships of poverty and exile, and the pangs of passion, sailed against the foes of the faith in the Invincible Armada, subsequently became a member of the Holy Inquisition and of the order of St Francis, and after having been decorated by the pope with the cross of Malta and a theological doctorate, honoured by the nobility, and idolized by the nation, ended with the names of Jesus and Mary on his lips. From the plays of such a writer we may best learn the manners and the sentiments, the ideas of religion and honour, of the Spain of the Philippine age, the age when she was most prominent in the eyes of Europe and most glorious in her own. For, with all its inventiveness and vigour, the genius of Lope primarily set itself the task of pleasing his public,—the very spirit of whose inner as well as outer life is accordingly mirrored in his dramatic works. In them we have, in the words of Lope’s French translator Baret, “the movement, the clamour, the conflict of unforeseen intrigues suitable to unreflecting spectators; perpetual flatteries addressed to an unextinguishable national pride; the painting of passions dear to a people never tired of admiring itself; the absolute sway of the point of honour; the deification of revenge; the adoration of symbols; buffoonery and burlesque, everywhere beloved of the multitude, but here never defiled by obscenities, for this people has a sense of delicacy, and the foundation of its character is nobility; lastly, the flow of proverbs which at times escape from the gracioso” (the comic servant domesticated in the Spanish drama by Lope)—“the commonplace literature of those who possess no other.”

The plays of Lope, and those of the national Spanish drama in general, are divided into classes which it is naturally not always easy, and which there is no reason to suppose him always to have intended, to keep distinct from one Comedias de capa y espada. another. After in his early youth composing eclogues, pastoral plays, and allegorical moralities in the old style, he began his theatrical activity at Madrid about 1590, and the plays which he thenceforth produced have been distributed under the following heads. The comedias, all of which are in verse, include (1) the so-called c. de capa y espada—not comedies proper, but dramas in which the principal personages are taken from the class of society that wears cloak and sword. Gallantry is their main theme, an interesting and complicated, but well-constructed and perspicuous intrigue their chief feature; and this is usually accompanied by an underplot in which the gracioso plays his part. Their titles are frequently taken from the old proverbs or proverbial phrases of the people52 upon the theme suggested, by which the plays often (as G. H. Lewes admirably expresses it) constitute a kind of gloss (glosa) in action. This is the favourite species of the national Spanish theatre; and to the plots of the plays belonging to it the drama of other nations owes a debt almost incalculable in extent. Heróicas. (2) The c. heróicas are distinguished by some of their personages being of royal or very high rank, and by their themes being often historical and largely53 (though not invariably54) taken from the national annals, or founded on contemporary or recent events.55 Hence they exhibit a greater gravity of tone; but in other respects there is no difference between them and the cloak-and-sword comedies with which they share the element of comic underplots. Occasionally Lope condescended in the opposite direction, to (3) plays of which the scene is laid in common life, but for which no special name appears to have existed.56 Meanwhile, both he and his successors were too devoted sons of the church not to acknowledge in some sort her claim to influence the national drama. This claim she had never relinquished, even when she could no longer retain an absolute control over the stage. For a time, indeed, she was able to reassert even this; for the exhibition of all secular plays was in 1598 prohibited by the dying Philip II., and remained so for two years; and Lope with his usual facility proceeded to supply religious plays of various kinds. After a few dramas on scriptural subjects he turned to the legends of the saints; and Comedias de santos. the comedias de santos, of which he wrote a great number, became an accepted later Spanish variety of the miracle-play. True, however, to the popular instincts of his genius, he threw himself with special zeal and success into the composition of another kind of religious plays—a development of the Corpus Christi pageants, in honour of which all the theatres had to close their doors for a month. Autos sacramentales. These were the famous autos sacramentales (i.e. solemn “acts” or proceedings in honour of the Sacrament), which were performed in the open air by actors who had filled the cars of the sacred procession. Of these Lope wrote about 400. These entertainments were arranged on a fixed scheme, comprising a prologue in dialogue between two or more actors in character (loa), a farce (entremes), and the auto proper, an allegorical scene of religious purport, as an example of which Ticknor cites the Bridge of the World,—in which the Prince of Darkness in vain seeks to defend the bridge against the Knight of the Cross, who finally leads the Soul of Entremeses. Man in triumph across it. Not all the entremeses of Lope and others were, however, composed for insertion in these autos. This long-lived popular species, together with the old kind of dramatic dialogue called eclogues, completes the list of the varieties of his dramatic works.

The example of Lope was followed by a large number of writers, and Spain thus rapidly became possessed of a dramatic literature almost unparalleled in quantity—for in fertility also Lope was but the first among many. The school of Lope. Among the writers of Lope’s school, his friend G. de Castro (1569-1631) must not be passed by, for his Cid57 was the basis of Corneille’s; nor J. P. de Montalban, “the first-born of Lope’s genius,” the extravagance of whose imagination, like that of Lee, culminated in madness. Soon after him died (1639) Juan Ruiz de Alarcon, in whose plays, as contrasted with those of Lope, has been recognized the distinctive element of a moral purpose. To G. Tellez, called Tirso de Molina (d. 1648), no similar praise seems due; but the frivolous gaiety of the inventor of the complete character of Don Juan was accompanied by ingenuity in the construction of his excellent58 though at times “sensational”59 plots. F. de Rojas Zorrilla (b. 1607), who was largely plundered by the French dramatists of the latter half of the century, survived Molina for about a generation. In vain scholars of strictly classical tastes protested in essays in prose and verse against the ascendancy of the popular drama; the prohibition of Philip II. had been recalled two years after his death and was never renewed; and the activity of the theatre spread through the towns and villages of the land, everywhere under the controlling influence of the school of writers who had established so complete a harmony between the drama and the tastes and tendencies of the people.

The glories of Spanish dramatic literature reached their height in P. Calderon de la Barca, though in the history of the Spanish theatre he holds only the second place. He elaborated some of the forms of the national drama, but brought Calderon. about no changes of moment in any of them. Even the brilliancy of his style, glittering with a constant reproduction of the same family of tropes, and the variety of his melodious versification, are mere intensifications of the poetic qualities of Lope, while 509 in their moral and religious sentiments, and their general views of history and society, there is no difference between the two. Like Lope, Calderon was a soldier in his youth and an ecclesiastic in his later years; like his senior, he suited himself to the tastes of both court and people, and applied his genius with equal facility to the treatment of religious and of secular themes. In fertility Calderon was inferior to Lope (for he wrote not many more than 100 plays); but he surpasses the elder poet in richness of style, and more especially in fire of imagination. In his autos (of which he is said to have left not less than 73), Calderon probably attained to his most distinctive excellence; some of these appear to take a wide range of allegorical invention,60 while they uniformly possess great beauty of poetical detail. Other of his most famous or interesting pieces are comedias de santos.61 In his secular plays he treats as wide a variety of subjects as Lope, but it is not a dissimilar variety; nor would it be easy to decide whether a poet so uniformly admirable within his limits has achieved greater success in romantic historical tragedy,62 in the comedy of amorous intrigue,63 or in a dramatic work combining fancy and artificiality in such a degree that it has been diversely described as a romantic caprice and as a philosophical poem.64

During the life of the second great master of the Spanish drama there was little apparent abatement in the productivity of its literature; while the autos continued to flourish in Madrid and elsewhere, till in 1765 (shortly before Contemporaries of Calderon. the expulsion of the Jesuits from Spain) their public representation was prohibited by royal decree. In the world of fashion, the opera had reached Spain already during Calderon’s lifetime, together with other French influences, and the great dramatist had himself written one or two of his plays for performance with music. But the regular national Moreto and the comedia de figuron. drama continued to command popular favour, and with A. Moreto may be said to have actually taken a step in advance. While he wrote in all the forms established by Lope and cultivated by Calderon, his manner seems most nearly to approach the masterpieces of French and later English comedy of character; he was the earliest writer of the comedias de figuron, in which the most prominent personage is (in Congreve’s phrase) “a character of affectation,” in other words, the Spanish fop of real life.65 His masterpiece, a favourite of many stages, is one of the most graceful and pleasing of modern comedies—simple but interesting in plot, and true to nature, with something like Shakespearian truth.66 Other writers trod more closely in the footsteps of the masters without effecting any noticeable changes in the form of the Spanish drama; even the saynete (tit-bit), which owes its name to Benavente (fl. 1645), was only a kind of entremes. The Spanish drama in all its forms retained its command over the nation, because they were alike popular in origin and character; nor is there any other example of so complete an adaptation of a national art to the national taste and sentiment in its ethics and aesthetics, in the nature of the plots of the plays (whatever their origin), in the motives of their actions, in the conduct and tone and in the very costume of their characters.

National as it was, and because of this very quality, the Spanish drama was fated to share the lot of the people it so fully represented. At the end of the 17th century, when the Spanish throne at last became the declared apple of Decay of the national Spanish drama. discord among the governments of Europe, the Spanish people lay, in the words of an historian of its later days, “like a corpse, incapable of feeling its own impotence.” That national art to which it had so faithfully clung had fallen into decline and decay with the spirit of Spain itself. By the time of the close of the great war, the theatre had sunk into a mere amusement of the populace, which during the greater part of the 18th century, while allowing the old masters the measure of favour which accords with traditional esteem, continued to uphold the representatives of the old drama in its degeneracy—authors on the level of their audiences. But the Spanish court was now The French school of the 18th century. French, and in the drama, even more than in any other form of art, France was the arbiter of taste in Europe. With the restoration of peace accordingly began isolated attempts to impose the French canons of dramatic theory, and to follow the example of French dramatic practice; and in the middle of the century these endeavours assumed more definite form. Montiano’s bloodless tragedy of Virginia (1750), which was never acted, was accompanied by a discourse endeavouring to reconcile the doctrines of the author with the practice of the old Spanish dramatists; the play itself was in blank verse (a metre never used by Calderon, though occasionally by Lope), instead of the old national ballad-measures (the romance-measure with assonance and the rhymed redondilla quatrain) preferred by the old masters among the variety of metres employed by them. The earliest Spanish comedy in the French form (a translation only, though written in the national metre)67 (1751), and the first original Spanish comedy on the same model, Nicolas Moratin’s Petimetra (Petite-Maîtresse), printed in 1726 with a critical dissertation, likewise remained unacted. In 1770, however, the same author’s Hormesinda, an historic drama on a national theme and in the national metre, but adhering to the French rules, appeared on the stage; and similar attempts followed in tragedy by the same writer and others (including Ayala, who ventured in 1775 to compete with Cervantes on the theme of Numantia), and in comedy by Iriarte and Jovellanos (afterwards minister under Godoy), who produced a sentimental comedy in Diderot’s manner.68 But Other later dramatists. these endeavours failed to effect any change in the popular theatre, which was with more success raised from its deepest degradation by R. de la Cruz, a fertile author of light pieces of genuine humour, especially saynetes, depicting the manners of the middle and lower classes. In literary circles Garcia de la Huerta’s voluminous collection of the old plays (1785) gave a new impulse to dramatic productivity, and the conflict continued between representatives of the old school, such as Luciano Francisco Comella (1716-1779) and of the new, such as the younger Moratin, whose comedies—of which the last and most successful69 was in prose—raised him to the foremost position among the dramatists of his age. In tragedy N. de Cienfuegos likewise showed some originality. After, however, the troubles of the French domination and the war had come to an end, the precepts and examples of the new school failed to reassert themselves.

Already in 1815 an active critical controversy was carried on by Böhl de Faber against the efforts of J. Faber and Alcalá Galiano to uphold the principles of classicism; and with the aid of the eminent actor Máiquez the old romantic masterpieces were easily reinstated in the public favour, which as a matter of fact they had never forfeited. The Spanish dramatists of the 19th century, after passing, as in the instance of F. Martinez de la Rosa and Bréton de los Herreros, from the system of French comedy to the manner of the national drama, appear either to have stood under the influence of the French romantic school, or to have returned once more to the old Spanish models. Among the former class A. Gil y Zarate, of the latter J. Zorrilla, are mentioned as specially prominent. The most renowned Spanish dramatist at the opening of the 20th century was the veteran politician and man of letters J. Echegaray.

Meanwhile, the old religious performances are not wholly extinct in Spain, and the relics of the solemn pageantry with which they were associated may long continue to survive there, as in the case of the pasos, which claim to have been exhibited in Holy Week at Seville for at least three centuries. As to the theatre itself, there can be no fear either that the imitation 510 of foreign examples will satisfy Spanish dramatists—especially when, like the author of Doña Perfecta (Perez Galdos), they have excellent home material of their own for adaptation,—or that the Spanish public itself, with fine actors and actresses still upholding the lofty traditions of the national drama, will remain too fatigued to consume the drama unless bit by bit—in the shape of zarzuelas and similar one-act confections. Whatever may be the future of one of the noblest of modern dramatic literatures, it may confidently be predicted that, so long as Spain is Spain, her theatre will not be permanently either denationalized or degraded.

(d) Portugal.

The Portuguese drama in its earlier phases, especially before in the latter part of the 14th century the nation completely achieved its independence, seems to have followed much the same course as the Spanish; and the religious The Portuguese drama. drama in all its prevailing forms and direct outgrowths retained its popularity even by the side of the products of the Renaissance. In the later period of that movement translations of classical dramas into the vernacular were stimulated by the cosmopolitan example of George Buchanan, who for a time held a post in the university of Coimbra; to this class of play Teive’s Johannes (1553) may be supposed to have belonged. In the next generation Antonio Ferreira70 and others still wrote comedies more or less on the classical model. But the rather vague title of “the Plautus of Portugal” is accorded to an earlier comic writer, the celebrated Gil Vicente, who died about 1536, after, it is stated, producing forty-two plays. He was the founder of popular Portuguese comedy, and his plays were called autos, or by the common name of praticas.71 Among his most gifted successors are mentioned A. Ribeiro, called Chiado (the mocking-bird), who died in 1590;72 his brother Jeronymo, B. Dias, A. Pires, J. Pinto, H. Lopes and others. The dramatic efforts of the illustrious poet Luis de Camões (Camoens) are relatively of slight importance; they consist of one of the many modern versions of the Amphitruo, and of two other comedies, of which the earlier (Filodemo) was acted at Goa in 1553, the subjects having a romantic colour.73 Of greater importance were the contributions to dramatic literature of F. de Sá de Miranda, who, being well acquainted with both Spanish and Italian life, sought early in his career to domesticate the Italian comedy of intrigue on the Portuguese stage;74 but he failed to carry with him the public taste, which preferred the autos of Gil Vicente. The followers of Miranda were, however, more successful than he had been himself, among them the already-mentioned Antonio Ferreira; the prose plays of Jorge Ferreira de Vasconcellos, which bear some resemblance to the Spanish Celestina, are valuable as pictures of contemporary manners in city and court.75

The later Portuguese dramatic literature seems also to have passed through phases corresponding to those of the Spanish, though with special features of its own. In the 18th century Alcino Mycenio (1728-1770), known as Domingos dos Reis Quito in everyday life, in which his avocation was that of Allan Ramsay, was remarkably successful with a series of plays,76 including of course an Inez de Castro, which in a subsequent adaptation by J. B. Gomes long held the national stage. Another dramatist, of both merit and higher aspirations, was Lycidas Cynthio (alias Manoel de Figueiredo, 1725-1801).77 But the romantic movement was very late in coming to Portugal. Curiously enough, one of its chief representatives, the viscount da Almeida Garrett, exhibited his sympathy with French, revolutionary and anti-English ideas by a tragedy on the subject of Cato;78 but his later works were mainly on national subjects.79 The expansive tendencies of later Portuguese dramatic literature are illustrated by the translations of A. F. de Castilho, who even ventured upon Goethe’s Faust (1872). Among 19th-century dramatists are to be noted Pereira da Cunha, R. Cordeiro, E. Biester, L. Palmeirin, and Garrett’s disciple F. G. de Amorim, by whom both political and social themes have been freely treated. The reaction against romanticism observable in Portuguese poetic literature can hardly fail to affect (or perhaps has already affected) the growth of the national drama; for the receptive qualities of both are not less striking than the productive.

(e) France.

France was the only country, besides Italy, in which classical tragedy was naturalized. In 1531 the Benedictine Barthélemy of Loches printed a Christus Xylonicus; and a very notable impulse was given both to the translation and The French regular drama. to the imitation of ancient models by a series of efforts made in the university of Paris and other French places of learning. The most successful of these attempts was the Johannes Baptistes of George Buchanan, who taught in Paris for five years and at a rather later date resided at Bordeaux, where in 1540 he composed this celebrated tragedy (afterwards translated into four or five modern languages), in which it is now ascertained that he had in view the trial and condemnation of Sir Thomas More. He also wrote Jephthah, and translated into Latin the Medea and Alcestis of Euripides. At a rather later date the great scholar M. A. Muret (Muretus) produced his Julius Caesar, a work perhaps superior in correctness to Buchanan’s tragic masterpiece, but inferior to it in likeness to life. About the same time the enthusiasm of the Paris classicists showed itself in several translations of Sophoclean and Euripidean tragedies into French verse.80

Thus the beginnings of the regular drama in France, which, without absolutely determining, potently swayed its entire course, came to connect themselves directly with the great literary movement of the Renaissance. Du Bellay sounded the note of attack which converted that movement in France into an endeavour to transform the national literature; and in Ronsard the classical school of poetry put forward its conquering hero and sovereign lawgiver. Among the disciples who gathered Jodelle. round Ronsard, and with him formed the “Pleiad” of French literature, Étienne Jodelle, the reformer of the French theatre, soon held a distinguished place. The stage of this period left ample room for the enterprise of this youthful writer. The popularity of the old entertainments had reached its height when Louis XII., in his conflict with Pope Julius II., had not scrupled to call in the aid of Pierre Gringoire (Gringon), and when the Mère sotte had mockingly masqueraded in the petticoats of Holy Church. In the reign of Francis I. the Inquisition, and on occasion the king himself, had to some extent succeeded in repressing the audacity of the actors, whose follies were at the same time an utter abomination in the eyes of the Huguenots. For a time the very mysteries of the Brethren of the Passion had been prohibited; while the moralities and farces had sunk to an almost contemptible level. Yet to this reign belong the contributions to farce-literature of three writers so distinguished as Rabelais (non-extant), Clément Marot and Queen Margaret of Navarre. Meanwhile isolated translations of Italian81 as well as classical dramas had in literature begun the movement which Jodelle now transferred to the stage itself. His tragedy Cléopatre captive was produced there on the same day as his comedy L’Eugène, in 1552, his Didon se sacrifiant following in 1558. Thus at a time when a national theatre was perhaps impossible in a country distracted by civil and religious 511 conflicts, whose monarchy had not yet welded together a number of provinces attached each to its own traditions, and whose population, especially in the capital, was enervated by frivolity or enslaved by fanaticism, was born that long-lived artificial growth, the so-called classical tragedy of France. For French comedy, though subjected to the same influences as tragedy, had a national basis upon which to proceed, and its history is partly that of a modification of old popular forms.

The history of French tragedy begins with the Cléopâtre captive, in the representation of which the author, together with other members of the “Pleiad,” took part. It is a tragedy in the manner of Seneca, devoid of action French tragedy in the 16th century. and provided with a ghost and a chorus. Though mainly written in the five-foot Iambic couplet, it already contains passages in the Alexandrine metre, which soon afterwards J. de La Péruse by his Médée (pr. 1556) established in French tragedy, and which Jodelle employed in his Didon. Numerous tragedies followed in the same style by various authors, among whom Gabriel Bounyn produced the first French regular tragedy on a subject neither Greek nor Roman,82 and the brothers de la Taille,83 and J. Grévin,84 distinguished themselves by their style. In the reign of Charles IX. a vain attempt was made by Nicolas Filleul to introduce the pastoral style of the Italians into French tragedy;85 and the Brotherhood of the Passion was intermingling with pastoral plays its still continued reproductions of the old entertainments, and the religious drama making its expiring efforts, among which T. Le Coq’s interesting mystery of Cain (1580) should be noted. Beza’s Abraham sacrifiant (1550), J. de Coignac’s Goliath (dedicated to Edward VI.), Rivandeau’s Haman (1561), belong to a group of Biblical tragedies, inspired by Calvinist influences. But these more and more approached to the examples of the classical school, which, in spite of all difficulties and rivalries, prevailed. Among its followers Montchrétien exhibited unusual vigour of rhetoric,86 and in R. Garnier French tragedy reached the greatest height in nobility and dignity of style, as well as in the exhibition of dramatic passion, to which it attained before Corneille. In his tragedies87 choruses are still interspersed among the long Alexandrine tirades of the dialogue.

During this period comedy had likewise been influenced by classical models; but the distance was less between the national farces and Terence, than between the mysteries and moralities, and Seneca and the Greeks. L’Eugène Comedy under Italian influence. differs little in style from the more elaborate of the old farces; and while it satirizes the foibles of the clergy without any appreciable abatement of the old licence, its theme is the favourite burden of the French comic theatre in all times—le cocuage. The examples, however, which directly facilitated the productivity of the French comic dramatists of this period, among whom Jean de la Taille was the first to attempt a regular comedy in prose,88 were those of the Italian stage, which in 1576 established a permanent colony in France, destined to survive there till the close of the 17th century, by which time it had adopted the French language, and was ready to coalesce with French actors, without, however, relinquishing all remembrance of its origin. R. Belleau, a member of the “Pleiad,” produced a comedy in which the type (already approached by Jodelle) of the swaggering captain appears,89 J. Grévin copied Italian intrigue, characters and manners;90 O. de Turnèbe (d. 1581) borrowed the title of one Italian play91 and perhaps parts of the plots of others; the Florentine F. d’Amboise (d. 1558) produced versions of two Italian comedies;92 and the foremost French comic poet of the century, P. de Larivey, likewise an Italian born (of the name of Pietro Giunto), openly professed to imitate the poets of his native country. His plays are more or less literal translations of L. Dolce,93 Secchi94 and other Italian dramatists; and this lively and witty author, to whom Molière owes much, thus connects two of the most important and successful growths of the modern comic drama.

The close conjunction between the history of a living dramatic literature and that of the theatre can least of all be ignored in the case of France, where the actor’s art has gone through so ample an evolution, and where the theatre has so long and continuously formed an important part of the national life. By the middle of the 16th century not only had theatrical representations, now quite emancipated from clerical control, here and there already become matters of speculation and business, but the acting profession was beginning to organize itself as such; strolling companies of actors had become a more or less frequent experience; and the attitude of the church and of civic respectability were once more coming to be systematically hostile to the stage and its representatives.

Before, however, either tragedy or comedy in France entered into the period of their history when genius was to illuminate both of them with creations of undying merit, and before the theatre had associated itself enduringly French tragedy and comedy in the 17th century before Corneille. with the artistic and literary divisions of court and society and the people at large, the country had passed through a new phase of the national life. When the troubles and terrors of the great civil and religious wars of the 16th century were over at last, they were found to have produced a reaction towards culture and refinement which spread from certain spheres of society whose influence was for a time prevailing. The seal had been set upon the results of the Renaissance by Malherbe, the father of French style. The masses meanwhile continued to solace or distract their weariness and their sufferings with the help of the accredited ministers of that half-cynical gaiety which has always lighted up the darkest hours of French popular life. In the troublous days preceding Richelieu’s definitive accession to power (1624), the tabarinades—a kind of street dialogue recalling the earliest days of the popular drama—had made the Pont-Neuf the favourite theatre of the Parisian populace. Meanwhile the influence of Spain, which Henry IV. had overcome in politics, had throughout his reign and afterwards been predominant in other spheres, and not the least in that of literature. The stilo culto, of which Gongora was the native Spanish, Marino the Italian, and Lyly the English representative, asserted its dominion over the favourite authors of French society; the pastoral romance of Honoré d’Urfé—the text-book of pseudo-pastoral gallantry—was the parent of the romances of the Scudérys, de La Calprenède and Mme de La Fayette; the Hôtel de Rambouillet was in its glory; the true (not the false) précieuses sat on the heights of intellectual society; and J. L. G. de Balzac (ridiculed in the earliest French dramatic parody)95 and Voiture were the dictators of its literature. Much of the French drama of this age is of the same kind as its romance-literature, like which it fell under the polite castigation of Boileau’s satire. Heroic love (quite a technical passion), “fertile in tender sentiments,” seized hold of the theatre as well as of the romances; and La Calprenède, G. de Scudéry96 and his sister and others were equally fashionable in both species. The Gascon Cyrano de Bergerac, though not altogether insignificant as a dramatist,97 gained his chief literary reputation by a Rabelaisian fiction. Meanwhile, Spanish and Italian models continued to influence both branches of the drama. Everybody knew by heart Gongora’s version of the story of “young Pyramus and his love Thisbe,” as dramatized by Th. Viaud (1590-1626); and the sentiment of Tristan98 (1601-1655) overpowered Herod on the stage, and drew tears from Cardinal Richelieu in the audience. J. Mairet was noted for superior vigour.99 P. Du Ryer’s style is described as, while otherwise superior to that of his contemporaries, 512 Italian in its defects. A mixture of the forms of classical comedy with elements of Spanish and of the Italian pastoral was attempted with great temporary success by A. Hardy, a playwright who thanked Heaven that he knew the precepts of his art while preferring to follow the demands of his trade. The mixture of styles begun by him was carried on by the marquis de Racan,100 J. de Rotrou and others; and among these comedies of intrigue in the Spanish manner the earliest efforts of Corneille himself101 are to be classed. Rotrou’s noteworthier productions102 are later in date than the event which marks an epoch in the history of the French drama, the appearance of Corneille’s Cid (1636).

P. Corneille is justly revered as the first, and in some respects the unequalled, great master of French tragedy, whatever may have been unsound in his theories, or defective in his practice. The attempts of his predecessors had been Corneille. without life, because they lacked really tragic characters and the play of really tragic passions; while their style had been either pedantically imitative or a medley of plagiarisms. He conquered tragedy at once for the national theatre and for the national literature—and this, not by a long tentative process of production, but by a few masterpieces, which may be held to be comprehended within the ten years 1636 to 1646; for in his many later tragedies he never again proved fully equal to himself. The French tragedy, of which the great age begins with the Cid, Horace, Cinna, Polyeucte and Rodogune, was not, whatever it professed to be, a copy of the classical tragedy of Greeks or Romans, or an imitation of the Italian imitations of these; nor, though in his later tragedies Corneille depended less and less upon characters, and more and more, after the fashion of the Spaniards, upon situations, and even upon spectacle, were the forms of the Spanish drama able to assert their dominion over the French tragic stage. The mould of French tragedy was cast by Corneille; but the creative power of his genius was unable to fill it with more than a few examples. His range of passions and characters was limited; he preferred, he said, the reproach of having made his women too heroic to that of having made his men effeminate. His actions inclined too much to the exhibition of conflicts political rather than broadly ethical in their significance. The defects of his style are of less moment; but in this, as in other respects, he was, with all his strength and brilliancy, not one of those rarest of artists who are at the same time the example and the despair of their successors. The examens which he printed of all his plays up to 1660 show how much self-criticism (though it may not always be as in this case conscious) contributes to the true fertility of genius.

In comedy also Corneille begins the first great original epoch of French dramatic literature; for it was to him that Molière owed the inspiration of the tone and style which he made those of the higher forms of French comedy. But Le Menteur (the parent, with its sequel, of a numerous dramatic progeny103) was itself derived from a Spanish original,104 which it did not (as was the case with the Cid) transform into something new. French tragi-comedy Corneille can hardly be said to have invented;105 and of the mongrel growths of sentimental comedy and of domestic drama or drame, he rather suggested than exemplified the conditions.

The tragic art of Racine supplements rather than surpasses that of his older contemporary. His works reflect the serene and settled formality of an age in which the sun of monarchy shone with an effulgence no clouds seemed Racine. capable of obscuring, and in which the life of a nation seemed reducible to the surroundings of a court. The tone of the poetic literature of such an age is not necessarily unreal, because the range of its ideas is limited, and because its forms seem to exist by an immutable authority. That Racine should permanently hold the position which belongs to him in French dramatic literature is due to the fact that to him it was given to present these forms—the forms approved by his age—in what may reasonably be called perfection; and, from the point of view of workmanship, Sophocles could not have achieved more. What his plays contain is another question. They suit themselves so well to the successive phases in the life of Louis XIV., that Madame de Sévigné described Racine as having in his later years loved God as he had formerly loved his mistresses; and this sally at all events indicates the range of passions which inspired his tragic muse. His heroes are all of one type—that of a gracious gloriousness; his heroines vary in their fortunes, but they are all the “trophies of love,”106 with the exception of the scriptural figures, which stand apart from the rest.107 T. Corneille, Campistron, Joseph Duché (1668-1704), Antoin de Lafosse (c. 1653-1708) and Quinault were mere followers of one or both of the great masters of tragedy, though the last named achieved a reputation of his own in the bastard species of the opera.

The type of French tragedy thus established, like everything else which formed part of the “age of Louis XIV.,” proclaimed itself as the definitively settled model of its kind, and was accepted as such by a submissive world. Proud Characteristics of French classical tragedy. of its self-imposed fetters, French tragedy dictatorially denied the liberty of which it had deprived itself to the art of which it claimed to furnish the highest examples. Yet, though calling itself classical, it had not caught the essential spirit of the tragedy of the Greeks. The elevation of tone which characterizes the serious drama of the age of Louis XIV. is a true elevation, but its heights do not lose themselves in a sphere peopled by the myths of a national religion, still less in the region of great thoughts which ask Heaven to stoop to the aspirations and the failures of man. The personages of this drama are conventional like its themes, but the convention is with itself only; Orestes and Iphigenia have not brought with them the cries of the stern goddesses and the flame on the altar of Artemis; their passions like their speech are cadenced by a modern measure. In construction, the simplicity and regularity of the ancient models are stereotyped into a rigid etiquette by the exigencies of the court-theatre, which is but an apartment of the palace. The unities of time and place, with the Greeks mere rules of convenience, French tragedy imposes upon itself as a permanent yoke. The Euripidean prologue is judiciously exchanged for the exposition of the first act, and the lyrical element essential to Greek tragedy is easily suppressed in its would-be copy; lyrical passages still occur in some of Corneille’s early masterpieces,108 but the chorus is consistently banished, to reappear only in Racine’s latest works109 as a scholastic experiment appropriate to a conventual atmosphere. Its uses for explanation and comment are served by the expedient, which in its turn becomes conventional, of the conversations with confidants and confidantes, which more than sufficiently supply the foil of general sentiments. The epical element is allowed full play in narrative passages, more especially in those which relate parts of the catastrophe,110 and, while preserving the stage intact from realisms, suit themselves to the generally rhetorical character of this species of the tragic drama. This character impressed itself more and more upon the tragic art of a rhetorical nation in an age when the loftiest themes were in the pulpit receiving the most artistic oratorical treatment, and developed in the style of French classical tragedy the qualities which cause it to become something between prose and poetry—or to appear (in the phrase of a French critic) like prose in full dress. The force of this description is borne out by the fact that the distinction between the versification of French tragedy and that of French comedy seems at times imperceptible.

The universal genius of Voltaire found it necessary to shine in all branches of literature, and in tragedy to surpass predecessors whom his own authority declared to have surpassed 513 the efforts of the Attic muse. He succeeded in impressing the world with the belief that his innovations had imparted a fresh Voltaire. vitality to French tragedy; in truth, however, they represent no essential advance in art, but rather augmented the rhetorical tendency which paralyses true dramatic life. Such life as his plays possess lies in their political and social sentiments, their invective against tyranny,111 and their exposure of fanaticism.112 In other respects his versatility was barren of enduring results. He might take his themes from French history,113 or from Chinese,114 or Egyptian,115 or Syrian,116 from the days of the Epigoni117 or from those of the Crusades;118 he might appreciate Shakespeare, with a more or less partial comprehension of his strength, and condescendingly borrow from and improve the barbarian.119 But he added nothing to French tragedy where it was weakest—in character; and where it was strongest—in diction—he never equalled Corneille in fire or Racine in refinement. While the criticism to which French tragedy in this age at last began to be subjected has left unimpaired the real titles to immortality of its great masters, the French theatre itself has all but buried in respectful oblivion the dramatic works bearing the name of Voltaire—a name persistently belittled, but second to none in the history of modern progress and of modern civilization.

As it is of relatively little interest to note the ramifications of an art in its decline, the contrasts need not be pursued among the contemporaries of Voltaire, between his imitator Bernard Joseph Saurin (1706-1781), Saurin’s royalist French classical tragedy in its decline. rival de Belloy, Racine’s imitator Lagrange-Chancel and Voltaire’s own would-be rival, the “terrible” Crébillon the elder, who professed to vindicate to French tragedy, already mistress of the heavens through Corneille, and of the earth through Racine, Pluto’s supplementary realm, but who, though thus essaying to carry tragedy lower, failed to carry it farther. In the latter part of the 18th century French classical tragedy as a literary growth was dying a slow death, however numerous might be the leaves which sprouted from the decaying tree. Its form had been permanently fixed; and even Shakespeare, as manipulated by Ducis120—an author whose tastes were better than his times—failed to bring about a change. “It is a Moor, not a Frenchman, who has written this play,” cried a spectator of Ducis’ Othello (1791); but Talma’s conviction was almost as strong as his capacity was great for convincing his public; and he certainly did much to prepare the influence which Shakespeare was gradually to assert over the French drama, and which was aided by translations, more especially that of Pierre Letourneur (1736-1788), which had attracted the sympathy of Diderot and the execrations of the aged Voltaire.121 Meanwhile, the command which classical French tragedy continued to assert over the stage was due in part, no doubt, to the love of Roman drapery—not always abundant, but always in the grand style—which characterized the Revolution, and which was by the Revolution handed down to the Empire. It was likewise, and more signally, due to the great actors who freed the tragic stage from much of its artificiality and animated it by their genius. No great artist has ever more generously estimated the labours of a predecessor than Talma judged those of Le Kain; but it was Talma himself whose genius was pre-eminently fitted to reproduce the great figures of antiquity in the mimic world, which, like the world outside, both required and possessed its Caesar. He, like Rachel after him, reconciled French classical tragedy with nature; and it is upon the art of great original actors such as these that the theatrical future of this form of the drama in France depends. Mere whims of fashion—even when inspired by political feeling—will not waft back to it a real popularity; nor will occasional literary aftergrowths, however meritorious, such as the admirable Lucrèce of F. Ponsard and the attempts of even more recent writers, suffice to re-establish a living union between it and the progress of the national literature.

The rival influences under which classical tragedy has after a long struggle virtually become a thing of the past in French literature are also to be traced in the history of French comedy, which under the co-operation of other influences Comedy. produced a wide variety of growths. The germs of most of these—though not of all—are to be found in the works of the most versatile, the most sure-footed, and, in some respects, the most consummate master of the comic drama whom the Molière. world has known—Molière. What Molière found in existence was a comedy of intrigue, derived from Spanish or Italian examples, and the elements of a comedy of character, in French and more especially in Italian farce and ballet-pantomime. Corneille’s Menteur had pointed the way to a fuller combination of character with intrigue, and in this direction Molière’s genius exercised the height of its creative powers. After beginning with farces, he produced in the earliest of his plays (from 1652), of which more than fragments remain, comedies of intrigue which are at the same time marvellously lively pictures of manners, and then proceeded, with the École des maris (1661), to begin a long series of masterpieces of comedy of character. Yet even these, the chief of which are altogether unrivalled in dramatic literature, do not exhaust the variety of his productions. To define the range of his art is as difficult as to express in words the essence of his genius. For though he has been copied ever since he wrote, neither his spirit nor his manner has descended in full to any of his copyists, whole schools of whom have missed elements of both. A Molière can only be judged in his relations to the history of comedy at large. He was indeed the inheritor of many forms and styles—remaining a stranger to those of Old Attic comedy only, rooted as it was in the political life of a free imperial city; though even the rich extravagances of Aristophanes’ burlesque was not left wholly unreproduced by him. Molière is both a satirist and a humorist; he displays at times the sentiments of a loyal courtier, at others that gay spirit of opposition which is all but indispensable to a popular French wit. His comedies offer elaborate and subtle—even tender—pictures of human character in its eternal types, lively sketches of social follies and literary extravagances, and broad appeals to the ordinary sources of vulgar merriment. Light and perspicuous in construction, he is master of the delicate play of irony, the penetrating force of wit, and the expansive gaiety of frolicsome fun. Faithful to the canons of artistic taste, and under the sure guidance of true natural humour, his style suits itself to every species attempted by him. His morality is the reverse of rigid, but its aberrations are not those of prurience, nor its laws those of pretence; and, wholly free as he was from the didactic aim which is foreign to all true dramatic representation, the services rendered by him to his art are not the less services rendered to society, concerning which the laughter of genuine comedy tells the truth. He raised the comedy of character out of the lower sphere of caricature, and in his greatest creations subordinated to the highest ends of all dramatic composition the plots he so skilfully built, and the pictures of the manners he so faithfully reproduced.

Even among the French comic dramatists of this age there must have been many who “were not aware” that Molière was its greatest poet. For though he had made the true path luminous to them, their efforts were still often Molière’s contemporaries and successors. of a tentative kind, and one was reviving Pathelin while another was translating the Andria. A more unique attempt was made in one of the very few really modern versions of an Aristophanic comedy, which deserves to be called an original copy—the Plaideurs of Racine. The tragic poets Quinault and Campistron likewise wrote comedies, one122 514 or more of which furnished materials to contemporary English dramatists, as did one of the felicitous plays in which Boursault introduced Mercury and Aesop into the theatrical salon.123 Antoine Montfleury (1640-1685), Baron and Dancourt, who were actors like Molière, likewise wrote comedies. But if the mantle of Molière can be said to have fallen upon any of his contemporaries or successors, this honour must be ascribed to J. F. Regnard, who imitated the great master in both themes and characters,124 while the skilfulness of his plots, and his gaiety of the treatment even of subjects tempting into the by-path of sentimental comedy,125 entitle him to be regarded as a comic poet of original genius. With him C. R. Dufresny occasionally collaborated.

In the next generation (that of Voltaire) comedy gradually—but only gradually—surrendered for a time the very essence of its vitality to the seductions of a hybrid species, which disguised its identity under more than a single name. A. R. le Sage, who as a comic dramatist at first followed successfully in the footsteps of Molière, proved himself on the stage as well as in picturesque fiction a keen observer and inimitable satirist of human life.126 The light texture of the playful and elegant art of J. B. L. Gresset was shown on the stage in a character comedy of merit;127 and in a comedy which reveals something of his pointed wit, A. Piron produced something like a new type of enduring ridiculousness.128 P. C. de Marivaux, the French Spectator, is usually supposed to have formed the connecting link between the “old” French comedy and the “new” and bastard variety. Yet, though his minute analysis of the tender passion excited the scorn of Voltaire, it should not be overlooked that in marivaudage proper the wit holds the balance to the sentiment, and that in some of this frequently misjudged writer’s earlier and most delightful plays the elegance and gaiety of diction are as irresistible as the pathetic sentiment, which is in fact rather an ingredient in his comedy than the pervading characteristic of it.129 Some of the comedies of P. H. Destouches no doubt have a serious basis, and in his later plays he comes near to a kind of drama in which the comic purpose has been virtually submerged.130 The writer who is actually to be credited with the transition to sentimental comedy, and who was fully conscious of the change which he was helping to effect, was Nivelle de La Chaussée, in whose hands French comedy became a champion of the sanctity of marriage, and reproduced the sentiments—in one instance even the characters—of Richardson.131 To his play La Fausse Antipathie the author supplied a critique, amounting to an apology for the new species of which it was designed as an example.

The new species known as comédie larmoyante was now fairly in the ascendant; and it would be easy to show how even Voltaire, who had deprecated the innovation, had to yield to a power greater than his own, and introduced the sentimental element into some of his comedies.132 The further step, by which comédie larmoyante was transformed into tragédie bourgeoise, from which the comic element was to all intents and purposes extruded, was taken by a great French writer, D. Diderot; to whose influence it was largely due that the species which had attained to this consummation for more than a generation ruled supreme in the dramatic literature of Europe. But the final impulse, as Diderot himself virtually acknowledged in the entretiens subjoined by him to his Fils naturel (1757), had been given by a far humbler citizen of the world of letters, the author of The London Merchant. Diderot’s own plays were a literary rather than a theatrical success. Le Fils naturel ou les épreuves de la vertu was not publicly performed till 1771, and then only in deference to the determination of a single actor of the Français (Molé); nor was the performance of it repeated. Diderot’s second play, Le Père de famille, printed in 1758 with a Discours sur la poésie dramatique, went through a few public performances in 1761; and a later revival was unsuccessful. But “at a distance,” as was well said, the effect of Diderot’s endeavours, the earlier in particular, was extremely great, and Lessing, though very critical as to particular points, greatly helped to spread it. Diderot had for the first time consciously sought to proclaim the theatre an agency of social reform, and to entrust to it as its task the propagation of the gospel of philanthropy. Though the execution of his dramatic works fell far short of his aims; though Madame de Staël was not far wrong in denouncing them as exhibiting not nature itself, but “the affectation of nature,” yet they contained, in a measure almost unequalled in the history of the modern drama, the fermenting element which never seems to subside. Their author announced them as examples of a third dramatic form—the genre sérieux—which he declared to be the consummation of the dramatic art. Making war upon the frigid artificiality of classical tragedy, he banished verse from the new species. The effect of these plays was intended to spring from their truth to nature—a truth such as no spectator could mistake, and which should bring home its moral teachings to the business as well as the bosoms of all. The theatre was to become a real and realistic school of the principles of society and of the conduct of life—it was, in other words, to usurp functions with which it has no concern, and to essay the direct reformation of mankind. The idea was neither new nor just; but its speciousness will probably continue to commend it to many enthusiastic minds, whensoever and in whatsoever shape it is revived.

From this point the history of the French drama becomes that of a conflict between an enfeebled artistic school and a tendency which is hardly to be dignified by the name of a school at all. Among the successful dramatists The comedy of the Revolution and the first empire. following on Diderot may be mentioned the critical and versatile J. F. Marmontel, and more especially M. J. Sedaine, who though chiefly working for the opera, produced two comedies of acknowledged merit.133 P. A. C. de Beaumarchais (1732-1799), who for his early sentimental plays,134 in which he imitated Diderot, invented the appellation drame—so convenient in its vagueness that it became the accepted name of the hybrid species to which they belonged—in two works of a very different kind, the famous Barbier de Séville and the still more famous Mariage de Figaro, boldly carried comedy back into its old Spanish atmosphere of intrigue; but, while surpassing all his predecessors in the skill with which he constructed his frivolous plots, he drew his characters with a lightness and sureness of touch peculiar to himself, animated his dialogue with an unparalleled brilliancy of wit, and seasoned action as well as dialogue with a political and social meaning, which caused his epigrams to become proverbs, and which marks his Figaro as a herald of the Revolution. Such plays as these were ill suited to the rule of the despot whose vigilance could not overlook their significance. The comedy of the empire is, in the hands of Collin d’Harleville, Louis Picard (1769-1828), A. Duval, Étienne and others, mainly a harmless comedy of manners; nor was the attempted innovation of N. Lemercier—who was fain to invent a new species, that of historical comedy—more than a flattering self-delusion. The theatre had its share in all the movements and changes which ensued in France; though the most important revolution which the drama itself was to undergo was not one of wholly native origin. Those branches of the drama which belong specifically to the history of the opera, or which associate themselves with it, are here passed by. Among them was the vaudeville (from Val de Vire in Calvados), which 515 began as an interspersion of pantomime with the airs of popular songs, and which, after the Italian masks had been removed Vaudevilles, etc. from it, was cultivated by Ponsard and Marmontel, while Sedaine wrote a didactic poem on the subject (1756). Sedaine was the father of the opéra-comique proper;135 Marmontel,136 as well as Rousseau,137 likewise composed opérettes—a smaller sort of opera, at first of the pastoral variety; and these flexible species easily entered into combination. The melodrama proper, of which the invention is also attributed to Rousseau,138 in its latter development became merely a drama accentuated by music, though usually in little need of any accentuation.

The chief home of the regular drama, however, demanded efforts of another kind. At the Théâtre Français, or Comédie Française, whose history as that of a single company of actors had begun in 1680, the party-strife of the The stage. times made itself audible; and the most prominent tragic poet of the Revolution, M. J. de Chénier, a disciple of Voltaire in dramatic poetry as well as in political philosophy, wrote for the national stage the historical drama—with a political moral139—in which in the memorable year 1789 the actor Talma achieved his first complete triumph. But the victorious Revolution proclaimed among other liberties that of the theatres in Paris, of which soon not less than 50 were open. In 1807 the empire restricted the number to 9, and reinstated the Théâtre Français in sole possession (or nearly such) of the right of performing the Transition to the romantic school. classic drama. No writer of note was, however, tempted or inspired by the rewards and other encouragements offered by Napoleon to produce such a classic tragedy as the emperor would have willingly stamped from out of the earth. The tragedies of C. Delavigne represent the transition from the expiring efforts of the classical to the ambitious beginnings of the romantic school of the French drama.

Of modern romantic drama in France it must suffice to say that it derives some of its characteristics from the general movement of romanticism which in various ways and at various points of time transformed nearly every The romantic school. modern European literature, others from the rhetorical tendency which is a French national feature. Victor Hugo was the founder whom it followed in a spirit of high emprise to success upon success, his own being the most conspicuous of all;140 A. Dumas the elder its unshrinking middleman. The marvellous fire and grandeur of genius of the former, always in extremes but often most sublime at the height of danger, was nowhere more signally such than in the drama; Dumas was a Briareus, working, however, with many hands besides his own. Together with them may, with more or less precision, be classed in the romantic school of dramatists A. de Vigny141 and George Sand,142 neither of whom, however, attained to the highest rank in the drama, and Jules Sandeau;143 A. de Musset, whose originality pervades all his plays, but whose later works, more especially in his prose “proverbs” and pieces of a similar kind, have a flavour of a delicacy altogether indescribable;144 perhaps also P. Mérimée (1803-1870), who invented not only Spanish dramas but a Spanish dramatist, and who was never more audacious than when he seemed most naïf.145

The romantic school was not destined to exercise a permanent control over French public taste; but it can hardly be said to have been overthrown by the brief classical revival begun by F. Ponsard, and continued, though in closer contact with modern ideas, both by him146 and by E. Augier, a dramatist who gradually attained to an extraordinary effectiveness in the self-restrained Modern schools. treatment of social as well as of historical themes.147 While the theatrical fecundity and the remarkable constructive ability of E. Scribe148 supplied a long series of productions attesting the rapid growth of the playwright’s mastery over the secrets of his craft the name of his competitors is legion. Among them may be mentioned, if only as the authors of two of the most successful plays of the historical species produced in the century, two writers of great eminence—C. Delavigne149 and E. Legouvé.150 Later developments of the drama bore the impress of a period of social decay, prepared to probe its own sufferings, while glad at times to take refuge in the gaiety traditional in France in her more light-hearted days, but which even then had not yet deserted either French social life or the theatre which reflected it. After a fashion which would have startled even Diderot, while recalling his efforts in the earnestness of its endeavour to arouse moral interests to which the theatre had long been a stranger, A. Dumas the younger set himself to reform society by means of the stage.151 But the technical skill which he and contemporary dramatists displayed in the execution of their self-imposed task was such as had been undreamt of by Diderot. O. Feuillet, more eminent as a novelist than on the stage, applied himself, though with the aid of fewer prefaces, to the solution of the same or similar problems; while the extraordinary versatility of V. Sardou and his unfailing constructive skill was applied by him to almost every kind of serious, or serio-comic, drama—even the most solid of all.152 In the same period, while E. Pailleron revived some of the most characteristic tendencies of the best French satirical comedy in ridiculing the pompous pretentiousness of learning for its own sake,153 the light-hearted gaiety of E. Labiche changed into something not altogether similar in the productions of the comic muse of L. Halévy and H. Meilhac, ranging from the licence of the musical burlesque which was the congenial delight of the later days of the Second Empire to a species of comedy in which the ingredients of bitterness and even of sadness found a place.154

Dramatic criticism in France has had a material share in the maintenance of a deep as well as wide national interest in the preservation of a high standard of excellence both in the performance of plays and in the plays themselves. Tendencies of the drama and of the theatre in France. Among its modern representatives the foremost place would probably be by common consent allowed to F. Sarcey, whose Monday theatrical feuilleton in the Temps was long awaited week by week as an oracle of dramaturgy. But he was only the first among equals, and the successor and the predecessor of writers who have at least sought to be equal to a function of real public importance. For it seems hardly within the range of probability to suppose that the theatre will for many a generation to come lose the hold which it has established over the intellectual and moral sympathies of nearly the whole of the educated—to say nothing of a great part of the half-educated—population of France. This does not, of course, imply that the creative activity of French dramatic literature is certain to endure. Since the great changes set in which were consequent upon the disastrous war of 1870, French dramatic literature has reflected more than one phase of national sentiment and opinion, and has represented the aspirations, the sympathies and the philosophy of life of more than one class in the community. Thus it has had its episodes of reaction in the midst of an onward flow of which it would be difficult to predict the end. The tendency of what can only vaguely be described as the naturalistic school of writers has corresponded to that even more prominent in the dramatic literatures of 516 certain other European nations; but it must be allowed that a new poetic will have to be constructed if the freedom of development which the dramatic, like all other arts, is entitled to claim is to be reconciled to laws deducible from the whole previous history of the drama. The reaction towards earlier forms has asserted itself in various ways—through the poetic plays of the later years of F. Coppée; in the success (notable for reasons other than artistic) of Vicomte H. de Bornier’s first tragedy; and of late more especially in the dramas—highly original and truly romantic in both form and treatment—of E. Rostand.

The art of acting is not altogether dependent upon the measure of contemporary literary productivity, even in France, where the connexion between dramatic literature and the stage has perhaps been more continuously intimate than in many other countries. Talma and Mlle Mars flourished in one of the most barren ages of the French literary drama; and though this cannot be asserted of the two most brilliant stars of the French 19th century tragic stage, Rachel and Sarah Bernhardt, or of their comic contemporaries from Frédérick-Lemaître down to types less unique than the “Talma of the boulevards,” the constantly accumulating experience of the successive schools of acting in France may here ensure to the art a future not less notable than its past. Moreover, the French theatre has long been, and is more than ever likely to continue, an affair of the state as well as of the nation; and the judicious policy of not leaving the chief theatres at the mercy of shifting fashion and the base demands of idleness and sensuality will remain the surest guarantee for the maintenance of a high standard both in principle and in practice. So long as France continues to maintain her ascendancy over other nations in matters of taste, and in much else that adorns, brightens and quickens social life, the predominant influence of the French theatre over the theatres of other nations is likewise assured. But dramatic literature is becoming international to a degree hardly dreamt of half a century ago; and the distinctive development of the French theatre cannot fail to be affected by the success or failure of the national drama in retaining and developing its own most characteristic qualities. Its history shows periods of marvellously rapid advance, of hardly less swift decline, and of frequent though at times fitful recovery. Its future may be equally varied; but it will remain not less dependent on the conditions which in every people, ancient or modern, have proved to be indispensable to national vigour and vitality.

(A. W. W.)

Recent French Drama.—The last twenty-five years of the 19th century witnessed an important change in the constructive methods, as well as in the moral tendencies, of the French playwrights. Of the two leading dramatists who reigned supreme over the haute comédie in 1875, one, Émile Augier, had almost ended his career, but the other, Alexandre Dumas, was to maintain his ascendancy for many years longer. Sardou’s fertility of invention, and extraordinary cleverness at manipulating a complicated intrigue, were also greatly admired, and much was expected from Edouard Pailleron’s brilliant and—as it seemed—inexhaustible wit in satirizing the whims and weaknesses of high-born and highly-cultured society. Alexandre Dumas had created and still monopolized the problem play, of which Le Demi-monde, Le Fils naturel, La Question d’argent, Les Idées de Madame Aubray, La Femme de Claude, Monsieur Alphonse, La Visite de noces, L’Étrangère, Francillon and Denise may be mentioned as the most characteristic specimens. The problem play is the presentation of a particular case, with a view to a general conclusion on some important question of human conduct. This afforded the author, who was, in his way, a moralist and a reformer, excellent opportunities for humorous discussions and the display of that familiar eloquence which was his greatest gift and most effective faculty. Among other subjects, the social position of women had an all-powerful attraction for his mind, and many of his later plays were written with the object of placing in strong relief the remarkable inequality of the sexes, both as regards freedom of action and responsibility, in modern marriage. Like all the dramatists of his time, he adhered to Scribe’s mode of play-writing—a mixture of the drame bourgeois, as initiated by Diderot, and the comedy of character and manners, long in vogue—from the days of Molière, Regnard, Destouches and Marivaux, down to the beginning of the 19th century. In his prefaces Dumas often undertook the defence of the system which, in his estimation, was best calculated to serve the purpose of the artist, the humorist and the moralist—a dramatist being, as he conceived, a combination of the three.

Though the majority of French playgoers continued to side with him, and to cling to the time-honoured theatrical beliefs, a few young men were beginning to murmur against the too elaborate mechanism and artificial logic. Scribe and his successors, whose plays were a combination of comedy and drama, were wont to devote the first act to a brilliant and witty presentation of personages, then to crowd the following scenes with incidents, until the action was brought to a climax about the end of the fourth act, invariably concluding, in the fifth, with an optimistic dénouement, just before midnight, the time appointed by police regulations for the closing of playhouses. At the same time a more serious and far-reaching criticism was levelled at the very principles on which the conception of human life was then dependent. A new philosophy, based on scientific research, had been gradually gaining ground and penetrating the French mind. A host of bold writers had been trying, with considerable firmness and continuity of purpose, to start a new kind of fiction, writing in perfect accordance with the determinist theories of Auguste Comte, Darwin and Taine. The long-disputed success of the Naturalistic School carried everything before it during the years 1875-1885, and its triumphant leaders were tempted to make the best of their advantage by annexing a new province and establishing a footing on the stage. In this they failed signally, either when they were assisted by professional dramatists or when left to their own resources. It became evident that Naturalism, to be made acceptable on the stage, would have to undergo a special process of transformation and be handled in a peculiar way. Henry Becque succeeded in embodying the new theories in two plays, which at first met with very indifferent success, but were revived at a later period, and finally obtained permanent recognition in the French theatre—even with the acquiescence of the most learned critics, when they discovered, or fancied they discovered, that Becque’s comedies agreed, in the main, with Molière’s conception of dramatic art. In Les Corbeaux and La Parisienne the plot is very simple; the episodes are incidents taken from ordinary life. No extraneous character is introduced to discuss moral and social theories, or to acquaint us with the psychology of the real dramatis personae, or to suggest humorous observations about the progress of the dramatic action. The characters are left to tell their own tale in their own words, which are sometimes very comical, sometimes very repulsive, but purport to be always true to nature. Human will, which was the soul and mainspring of French tragedy in the 17th century, and played such a paramount part in the drame bourgeois and the haute comédie of the 19th, appears in M. Becque’s plays to have fallen from its former exalted position and to have ceased to be a free agent. It is a mere passive instrument to our inner desires and instincts and appetites, which, in their turn, obey natural laws. Thus, in Becque’s comedies, as in the old Greek drama, destiny, not man, is the chief actor, the real but unseen protagonist.

Becque was not a prolific writer, and when he died, in 1899, it was remarked that he had spent the last ten years of his life in comparative inactivity. But during these years his young and ardent disciples had spared no effort in putting their master’s theories to the test. It had occurred to a gifted and enterprising actor-manager, named André Antoine, that the time had come for trying dramatic experiments in a continued and methodical manner. For this purpose he gathered around him a number of young authors, and produced their plays before a select audience of subscribers, who had paid in advance for their season-tickets. The entertainment was a strictly private one. In this way Antoine made himself independent of the censors, and at the same time was no longer obliged to consider the requirements 517 of the average playgoer, as is the case with ordinary managers, anxious, above all things, to secure long runs. At the Théâtre Libre the most successful play was not to be performed for more than three nights.

The reform attempted was to consist in the elimination of what was contrary to nature in Dumas’s and Augier’s comedies: of the intrigue parallèle or underplot, of the over-numerous and improbable incidents which followed the first act and taxed the spectator’s memory to the verge of fatigue; and, lastly, of the conventional dénouement for which there was no justification. A true study of character was to take the place of Sardou’s complicated fabrications and Dumas’s problem plays. The authors would present the spectator with a fragment of life, but would force no conclusion upon him at the termination of the play. The reformation in histrionic art was to proceed apace. The actors and actresses of the preceding period had striven to give full effect to certain witty utterances of the author, or to preserve and to develop their own personal peculiarities or oddities. Antoine and his fellow-artists did their best to make the public realize, in every word and every gesture, the characteristic features and ruling passions of the men and women they were supposed to represent.

It was in the early autumn of 1887 that the Théâtre Libre opened its doors for the first time. It struggled on for eight years amidst unfailing curiosity, but not without encountering some adverse, or even derisive, criticism from a considerable portion of the public and the press. The Théâtre Libre brought under public notice such men as George Courteline and George Ancey, who gave respectively, in Bonbouroche and La Dupe, specimens of a comic vein called the “comique cruel.” Fabre, in L’Argent, approached if not surpassed his master, Henry Becque. Brieux, in Blanchette, gave promise of talent, which he has since in a great measure justified. In Les Fossiles and L’Envers d’une sainte, by François de Curel, were found evidences of dramatic vigour and concentrated energy, allied with a remarkable gift for the minute analysis of feeling. Antoine’s activity was not exclusively confined to the efforts of the French Naturalistic School; he included the Norwegian drama in his programme, and successively produced several of Ibsen’s plays. They received a large amount of attention from the critics, the views then expressed ranging from the wildest enthusiasm to the bitterest irony. Francisque Sarcey was decidedly hostile, and Jules Lemaître, who ranked next to him in authority, ventured to suggest that Ibsen’s ideas were nothing better than long-discarded social and literary paradoxes, borrowed from Pierre Leroux through George Sand, and returned to the French market as novelties. Ibsen was not understood by the French public at large, though his influence could be clearly traced on thoughtful men like Paul Hervieu and François de Curel.

The authors of the Théâtre Libre were sadly wanting in tact and patience. They went at once to extremes, and, while trying to free themselves from an obsolete form of drama, fell into a state of anarchy. If a too elaborate plot is a fault, no plot at all is an absurdity. The old school had been severely taken to task for devoting the first act to the delineation of character, and the delineation of character was now found to have extended over the whole play; and worse still, most of these young men seemed to find pleasure in importing a low vocabulary on to the stage; they made it their special object to place before the spectator revolting pictures of the grossest immorality. In this they were supported by a knot of noisy and unwise admirers, whose misplaced approval largely contributed towards bringing an otherwise useful and interesting undertaking into disrepute. The result was that after the lapse of eight years the little group collected round Antoine had lost in cohesion and spirit, that it was both less hopeful and less compact than it had been at the outset of the campaign. But some authors who had kept aloof from the movement were not slow in reaping the moral and intellectual profit of these tentative experiments. Among them must be cited George de Porto-Riche, Henri Lavedan, Paul Hervieu, Maurice Donnay and Jules Lemaître. Alone among the authors of the Théâtre Libre, É. Brieux secured an assured position on the regular stage. Instead of attacking the vices and follies of his times, he has made a name by satirizing the weak points or the wrong application of certain fundamental principles by which modern institutions are supported. He mocked at universal suffrage in L’Engrenage, at art in Ménages d’artistes, at popular instruction in Blanchette, at charity in Les Bienfaiteurs, at science in L’Évasion, and then at law in La Robe rouge. Of Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont, one is an old maid with a strong bent towards mysticism, another is a star in the demi-monde, and the third is married. Neither religion, nor free love, nor marriage has made one of the three happy. The strange fact about Brieux is that he propounds his uncomfortable ideas with an incredible amount of dash and spirit.

All the plays written by the above-mentioned authors, and by those who follow in their steps, have been said to constitute the “new comedy.” But one may question the advisability of applying the same name to literary works which present so little, if any, family likeness. It was tacitly agreed to remove the intricacies of the plot and the forced dénouement. But no one will trace in those plays the uniformity of moral purpose which would justify us in comprising them under the same head, as products of the same school. Then, before the Naturalistic, or half-Naturalistic, School had attained to a practical result or taken a definite shape, a wave of Romanticism swept over the French public, and in a measure brought back the old artistic and literary dogmas propounded by Victor Hugo and the generation of 1830. Signs of a revival in French dramatic poetry were not lacking. The success of La Fille de Roland, by the Vicomte de Bornier, was restricted to the more cultivated classes, but the vogue of Jean Richepin’s Chemineau was at once general and lasting. Cyrano de Bergerac, produced in the last days of 1897, brought a world-wide reputation to its young author, Edmond Rostand. This play combines sparkling wit and brilliancy of imagination with delightful touches of pathos and delicate tenderness. It was assumed that Rostand was endowed to an extraordinary degree both with theatrical genius and the poetic faculty. L’Aiglon fell short of this too favourable judgment. It is more a dramatic poem than a real drama, and the author handles history with the same childish incompetence and inaccuracy as Hugo did in Cromwell, in Ruy Blas and Hernani. The persistent approbation of the public seemed, however, to indicate a growing taste for poetry, even when unsupported by dramatic interest—a curious symptom among the least poetical of modern European races.

To sum up, the French, as regards the present condition of their drama, were confronted with two alternative movements. Naturalism, furthered by science and philosophy, was contending against traditions three centuries old, and seemed unable to crystallize into masterly works; while romantic drama, founded on vague and exploded theories, had become embodied in productions of real artistic beauty, which have been warmly welcomed by the general playgoer. It should nevertheless be noted that in Cyrano and L’Aiglon human will, which was the main-spring of Corneille’s tragedy and Hugo’s drama, tried to reassert itself, but was baffled by circumstance, and had to submit to inexorable laws. This showed that the victorious school would have to reckon with the doctrines of the defeated party, and suggested that a determinist theatre might be the ultimate outcome of a compromise.

(A. Fi.)

(f) English Drama.

Among the nations of Germanic descent the English alone succeeded, mainly through the influence of the Renaissance movement, in transforming the later growths of the medieval drama into the beginnings of a great and enduring national dramatic literature, second neither in volume nor in splendour to any other in the records of the world. And, although in England, as elsewhere, the preparatory process had been continuing for some generations, its consummation coincided with one of the greatest epochs of English national history, and indeed forms one of the chief glories of that epoch itself; so that, in thinking or speaking of the Elizabethan age and the Elizabethan 518 drama, the one can scarcely be thought or spoken of without the other.

It is of course conceivable that the regular drama, or drama proper, might in England have been called into life without the direct influence of classical examples. Already in the reign of Edward VI. the spirit of the Reformation had Beginnings of the regular drama. (with the aid of a newly awakened desire for the study of history, which was no doubt largely due to Italian examples) quickened the relatively inanimate species of the morality into the beginning of a new development.155 But though the Kyng Johan of Bale (much as this author abhorred the chronicles as written by ecclesiastics) came very near to the chronicle histories, there is no proof whatever that the work, long hidden away for very good reasons, actually served as a transition to the new species; and Bale’s production was entirely unknown to the particular chronicle history which treated the same subject. Before the earliest example of this transitional species was produced, English tragedy had directly connected its beginnings with classical models.

Much in the same way, nothing could have been more natural and in accordance with the previous sluggish evolution of the English drama than that a gradual transition, however complete in the end, should have been effected from the moralities to comedy. It was not, however, John Heywood himself who was to accomplish any such transition; possibly, he was himself the author of the morality Genus humanum performed at the coronation feast of Queen Mary, whose council speedily forbade the performance of interludes without the queen’s licence. Nor are we able to conjecture the nature of the pieces bearing this name composed by Richard Farrant, afterwards the master of the Children of St George’s at Windsor, or of William Hunnis, master under Queen Elizabeth of the Children of the Chapel Royal. But the process of transition is visible in productions, also called interludes, but charged with serious purpose, such as T. Ingeland’s noteworthy Disobedient Child (before 1560), and plays in which the element of abstractions is perceptibly yielding to that of real personages, or in which the characters are for the most part historical or the main element in the action belongs to the sphere of romantic narrative.156 The demonstration would, however, be alien to the purpose of indicating the main conditions of the growth of the English drama. The immediate origin of the earliest extant English comedy must, like that of Imitation of classical examples. the first English tragedy, be sought, not in the development of any popular literary or theatrical antecedents, but in the imitation, more or less direct, of classical models. This cardinal fact, unmistakable though it is, has frequently been ignored or obscured by writers intent upon investigating the origines of our drama, and to this day remains without adequate acknowledgment in most of the literary histories accessible to the great body of students.

It is true that in tracing the entrance of the drama into the national literature there is no reason for seeking to distinguish very narrowly between the several tributaries to the main stream which fertilized this as well as other fields under Renaissance culture. The universities then still remained, and for a time became more prominently than ever, the leading agents of education in all its existent stages; and it is a patent fact that no influence could have been so strong upon the Elizabethan dramatists as that to which they had been subjected during the university life through which the large majority of them had passed. The corporate life of the universities, and the enthusiasms (habitually unanimous) of their undergraduates and younger graduates, communicated this influence, as it were automatically, to the students, and to the learned societies themselves, of the Inns of Court. In the Tudor, as afterwards in the early Stuart, times, these Inns were at once the seminaries of loyalty, and the obvious resort for the supply of young men of spirit desirous of honouring a learned court by contributing to its choicer amusements. Thus, whether we trace them in the universities, in the “bowers” or halls of the lawyers, or in the palaces of the sovereign, the beginnings of the English academical drama, which in later Elizabethan and Jacobean literature cannot claim to be more than a subordinate species of the national drama, in an earlier period served as the actual link between classical tragedy and comedy and the surviving native growths, and supplied the actual impulse towards the beginnings of English tragedy and comedy.

The academical drama of the early years of Elizabeth’s reign and of the preceding part of the Tudor period—including the school-drama in the narrower sense of the term and other performances of academical origin—consisted, The earlier academical drama. apart from actual reproductions of classical plays in original Latin or in Latin versions of the Greek, in adaptations of Latin originals, or of Latin or English plays directly modelled on classical examples. A notable series of plays of this kind was performed in the hall of Christ Church, Oxford, from the first year of Edward VI. onward, when N. Grimald’s Archipropheta, treating in classic form the story of St John the Baptist, but introducing the Vice and comic scenes, was brought out.157 Others were J. Calfhill’s Progne and R. Edwardes’ Palaemon and Arcyte (both 1566), and, from about 1580 onwards, a succession of Latin plays by William Gager, beginning with the tragedy Meleager, and including, with other tragedies,158 a comedy Rivales. Yet another comedy, acted at Christ Church, and extolled in 1591 by Harington for “harmless mirth,” was the Bellum grammaticale, or Civil War between Nouns and Verbs, which may have been a revision of a comedy written by Bale’s friend, R. Radcliff, in 1538, but of which in any case the ultimate origin was a celebrated Italian allegorical treatise.159 In Cambridge, as is not surprising, the activity of the early academical friends and favourers of the drama was even more marked. At St John’s College, where Bishop Watson’s Latin tragedy called Absolom was produced within the years 1534 and 1544, plays were, according to Ascham, repeatedly performed about the middle of the century; at Christ’s a controversial drama in the Lutheran interest called Pammachius, of which Gardiner complained to the privy council, and which seems afterwards to have been translated by Bale, was acted in 1544; and at Trinity there was a long series of performances which began with Christopherson’s Jephtha about 1546, and consisted partly of reproductions of classical works,160 partly of plays and “shows” unnamed; while on one occasion at all events, in 1559, “two English plays” were produced. In 1560 was acted, doubtless in the original Latin, and not in Palsgrave’s English translation (1540) for schoolboys, the celebrated “comedy” of Acolastus, by W. Gnaphaeus, on the story of the Prodigal Son. The long series of Trinity plays interspersed with occasional plays at King’s (where Udall’s Ezechias was produced in English in 1564), at St John’s (where T. Legge’s Richardus III. was first acted in 1573), and, as will be seen below, at Christ’s, continued, with few noticeable breaks, up to the time when the Elizabethan drama was in full activity.161 Among the “academical” plays not traceable to any particular university source may be mentioned, as acted at court so early as the end of 1565 or the beginning of 1566, the Latin Sapientia Solomonis, which generally follows the biblical narrative, but introduces a comic element in the sayings of the popular Marcolph, who here appears as a court fool.


It was under the direct influence of the Renaissance, viewed primarily, in England as elsewhere, as a revival of classical studies, and in connexion with the growing taste in university and cognate circles of society, and at a Influence of Seneca. court which prided itself on its love and patronage of learning, that English tragedy and comedy took their actual beginnings. Those of comedy, as it would seem, preceded those of tragedy by a few years. Already in Queen Mary’s reign, translation was found the readiest form of expression offering itself to literary scholarship; and Italian examples helped to commend Seneca, the most modern of the ancient tragedians, and the imitator of the most human among the masters of Attic tragedy, as a favourite subject for such exercises. In the very year of Elizabeth’s accession—seven years after Jodelle had brought out the earliest French tragedy—a group of English university scholars began to put forth a series of translations of the ten tragedies of Seneca, which one of them, T. Newton, in 1581 collected into a single volume. The earliest of these versions was that of the Troades (1559) by Jasper Heywood, a son of the author of the Interludes. He also published the Thyestes (1560) and the Hercules Furens (1561); the names of his fellow-translators were A. Neville, T. Nuce, J. Studley and the T. Newton aforesaid. These translations, which occasionally include original interpolations (“additions,” a term which was to become a technical one in English dramaturgy), are in no instance in blank verse, the favourite metre of the dialogue being the couplets of fourteen-syllable lines best known through Chapman’s Homer.

The authority of Seneca, once established in the English literary world, maintained itself there long after English drama had emancipated itself from the task of imitating this pallid model, and, occasionally, Seneca’s own prototype, Earliest English tragedies. Euripides.162 Nor can it be doubted that some translation of the Latin tragic poet had at one time or another passed through Shakespeare’s own hands. But what is of present importance is that to the direct influence of Seneca is to be ascribed the composition of the first English tragedy which we possess. Of Gorboduc (afterwards re-named Ferrex and Porrex), first acted on the 18th of January 1562 by the members of the Inner Temple before Queen Elizabeth, the first three acts are stated to have been written by T. Norton; the rest of the play (if not more) was the work of T. Sackville, afterwards Lord Buckhurst and earl of Dorset, whom Jasper Heywood praised for his sonnets, but who is better known for his leading share in The Mirror for Magistrates. Though the subject of Gorboduc is a British legend, and though the action is neither copied nor adapted from any treated by Seneca, yet the resemblance between this tragedy and the Thebais is too strong to be fortuitous. In all formal matters—chorus, messengers, &c.—Gorboduc adheres to the usage of classical tragedy; but the authors show no respect for the unities of time or place. Strong in construction, the tragedy is—like its model, Seneca—weak in characterization. The dialogue, it should be noticed, is in blank verse; and the device of the dumb-show, in which the contents of each act are in succession set forth in pantomime only, is employed at once to instruct and to stimulate the spectator.

The nearly contemporary Apius and Virginia (c. 1563), though it takes its subject—destined to become a perennial one on the modern stage—from Roman story; the Historie of Horestes (pr. 1567); and T. Preston’s Cambises King of Percia (1569-1570), are somewhat rougher in form, and, the first and last of them at all events, more violent in diction, than Gorboduc. They still contain elements of the moralities (above all the Vice) and none of the formal features of classical tragedy. But a Julyus Sesyar seems to have been performed, in precisely the same circumstances as Gorboduc, so early as 1562; and, four years later, G. Gascoigne, the author of the satire The Steele Glass, produced with the aid of two associates (F. Kinwelmersh and Sir Christopher Yelverton, who wrote an epilogue), Jocasta, a virtual translation of L. Dolce’s Giocasta, which was an adaptation, probably, of R. Winter’s Latin translation of the Phoenissae of Euripides.163 Between the years 1567 and 1580 a large proportion of the plays presented at court by choir- or school-boys, and by various companies of actors, were taken from Greek legend or Roman history; as was R. Edwardes’ Damon and Pithias (perhaps as early as 1564-1565), which already shades off from tragedy into what soon came to be called tragi-comedy.164 Simultaneously with the influence, exercised directly or indirectly, of classical literature, that of Italian, both dramatic and narrative, with its marked tendency to treat native themes, asserted itself, and, while diversifying the current of early English tragedy, infused into it a long-abiding element of passion. There are sufficient grounds for concluding that a play on the subject of Romeo and Juliet, which L. da Porto and M. Bandello had treated in prose narrative—that of the latter having through a French version formed itself into an English poem—was seen on an English stage in or before 1562. Gismonde of Salerne, a play founded on Boccaccio, was acted before Queen Elizabeth at the Inner Temple in 1568, nearly a generation before it was published, rewritten in blank verse by R. Wilmot, one of the performers, then in holy orders; G. Whetstone’s Promos and Cassandra, founded on G. Cinthio (from which came the plot of Measure for Measure), followed, printed in 1578; and there were other “casts of Italian devices” belonging to this age, in which the choice of a striking theme still seemed the chief preoccupation of English tragic poets.

From the double danger which threatened English tragedy in the days of its infancy—that it would congeal on the wintry heights of classical themes, or dissolve its vigour in the glowing heat of a passion fiercer than that of the Italians—Ingleso Italianato è un diavolo incarnato—it was preserved more than by any other cause by its happy association with the traditions of the national history. An exceptional position might seem to be in this respect occupied by T. Hughes’ interesting tragedy The Misfortunes of Arthur (1587). But the author of this play—in certain portions of whose framework there were associated with him seven other members of Gray’s Inn, including Francis Bacon, and which was presented before Queen Elizabeth like Gorboduc—in truth followed the example of the authors of that work both in choice of theme, in details of form, and in a general though far from servile imitation of the manner of Seneca; nor does he represent any very material advance upon the first English tragedy.

Fortunately, at the very time when from such beginnings as those just described the English tragic drama was to set forth upon a course in which it was to achieve so much, a new sphere of activity suggested itself. And in this, Chronicle histories. after a few more or less tentative efforts, English dramatists very speedily came to feel at home. In their direct dramatization of passages or portions of English history (in which the doings and sufferings of King Arthur could only by courtesy or poetic licence be included) classical models would be of scant service, while Italian examples of the treatment of national historical subjects, having to deal with material so wholly different, could not be followed with advantage. The native species of the chronicle history, which designedly assumed this name in order to make clear its origin and purpose, essayed nothing more or less than a dramatic version of an existing chronicle. Obviously, while the transition from half historical, half epical narrative often implied carrying over into the new form some of the features of the old, it was only when the subject matter had been remoulded and recast that a true dramatic action could result. But the histories to be found among the plays of Shakespeare and one or two other Elizabethans are true dramas, and it would be inconvenient to include these in the transitional species of those known as chronicle histories. Among these ruder 520 compositions, which intermixed the blank verse introduced on the Stage by Gorboduc with prose, and freely combined or placed side by side tragic and comic ingredients, we have but few distinct examples. One of these is The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth, known to have been acted before 1588; in which both the verse and the prose are frequently of a very rude sort, while it is neither divided into acts or scenes nor, in general, constructed with any measure of dramatic skill. But its vigour and freshness are considerable, and in many passages we recognize familiar situations and favourite figures in later masterpieces of the English historical drama. The second is The Troublesome Raigne of King John, in two parts (printed in 1591), an epical narrative transferred to the stage, neither a didactic effort like Bale’s, nor a living drama like Shakespeare’s, but a far from contemptible treatment of its historical theme. The True Chronicle History of King Leir (acted in 1593) in form resembles the above, though it is not properly on a national subject (its story is taken from Geoffrey of Monmouth); but, with all its defects, it seems only to await the touch of the master’s hand to become a tragedy of supreme effectiveness. A yet further step was taken in the Tragedy of Sir Thomas More (c. 1590)—in which Shakespeare’s hand has been thought traceable, and which deserves its designation of “tragedy” not so much on account of the relative nearness of the historical subject to the date of its dramatic treatment, as because of the tragic responsibility of character here already clearly worked out.

Such had been the beginnings of tragedy in England up to the time when the genius of English dramatists was impelled by the spirit that dominates a great creative epoch of literature to seize the form ready to their hands. Earliest comedies. The birth of English comedy, at all times a process of less labour and eased by an always ready popular responsiveness to the most tentative efforts of art, had slightly preceded that of her serious sister. As has been seen from the brief review given above of the early history of the English academical drama, isolated Latin comedies had been performed in the original or in English versions as early as the reign of Henry VIII.—perhaps even earlier; while the morality and its direct descendant, the interlude, pointed the way towards popular treatment in the vernacular of actions and characters equally well suited for the diversion of Roman, Italian and English audiences. Thus there was no innovation in the adaptation by N. Udal (q.v.) of the Miles Gloriosus of Plautus under the title of Ralph Roister Doister, which may claim to be the earliest extant English comedy. It has a genuinely popular vein of humour, and the names fit the characters after a fashion familiar to the moralities. The second English comedy—in the opinion of at least one high authority our first—is Misogonus, which was certainly written as early as 1560. Its scene is laid in Italy; but the Vice, commonly called “Cacurgus,” is both by himself and others frequently designated as “Will Summer,” in allusion to Henry VIII.’s celebrated jester. Gammer Gurton’s Needle, long regarded as the earliest of all English comedies, was printed in 1575, as acted “not long ago in Christ’s College, Cambridge.” Its authorship was till recently attributed to John Still (afterwards bishop of Bath and Wells), who was a resident M.A. at Christ’s, when a play was performed there in 1566. But the evidence of his authorship is inconclusive, and the play “made by Mr. S., Master of Arts,” may be by William Stevenson, or by some other contemporary. This comedy is slighter in plot and coarser in diction than Ralph Roister Doister, but by no means unamusing.

In the main, however, early English comedy, while occasionally introducing characters and scenes of thoroughly native origin and complexion (e.g. Grim, the Collier of Croydon),165 was content to borrow its themes from classical or Italian sources.166 G. Gascoigne’s Supposes (acted at Gray’s Inn in 1566) is a translation of I Suppositi of Ariosto, remarkable for the flowing facility of its prose. While, on the one hand, the mixture of tragic with comic motives, which was to become so distinctive a feature of the Elizabethan drama, was already leading in the direction of tragi-comedy, the precedent of the Italian pastoral drama encouraged the introduction of figures and stories derived from classical mythology; and the rapid and diversified influence of Italian comedy, in close touch with Italian prose fiction, seemed likely to affect and quicken continuously the growth of the lighter branch of the English drama.

Out of such promises as these the glories of English drama were ripened by the warmth and light of the great Elizabethan age—of which the beginnings may fairly be reckoned from the third decennium of the reign to which it owes Conditions of the early Elizabethan drama. its name. The queen’s steady love of dramatic entertainments could not of itself have led, though it undoubtedly contributed, to such a result. Against the attacks which a nascent puritanism was already directing against the stage by the hands of J. Northbrooke,167 the repentant playwright S. Gosson,168 P. Stubbes,169 and others,170 were to be set not only the frugal favour of royalty and the more liberal patronage of great nobles,171 but the fact that literary authorities were already weighing the endeavours of the English drama in the balance of respectful criticism, and that in the abstract at least the claims of both tragedy and comedy were upheld by those who shrank from the desipience of idle pastimes. It is noticeable that this period in the history of the English theatre coincides with the beginning of the remarkable series of visits made to Germany by companies of English comedians, which did not come to an end till the period immediately before the Thirty Years’ War, and were occasionally resumed after its close. As at home the popularity of the stage increased, the functions of playwright and actor, whether combined or not, began to hold out a reasonable promise of personal gain. Nor, above all, was that higher impulse which leads men of talent and genius to attempt forms of art in harmony with the tastes and tendencies of their times wanting to the group of writers who can be remembered by no nobler name than that of Shakespeare’s predecessors.

The lives of all of these are, of course, in part contemporary with the life of Shakespeare himself; nor was there any substantial difference in the circumstances under which most of them, and he, led their lives as dramatic The predecessors of Shakespeare. authors. A distinction was manifestly kept up between poets and playwrights. Of the contempt entertained for the actor’s profession some fell to the share of the dramatist; “even Lodge,” says C. M. Ingleby, “who had indeed never trod the stage, but had written several plays, and had no reason to be ashamed of his antecedents, speaks of the vocation of the play-maker as sharing the odium attaching to the actor.” Among the dramatists themselves good fellowship and literary partnership only at times asserted themselves as stronger than the tendency to mutual jealousy and abuse; of all chapters of dramatic history, the annals of the early Elizabethan stage perhaps least resemble those of Arcadia.

Moreover, the theatre had hardly found its strength as a powerful element in the national life, when it was involved in a bitter controversy, with which it had originally no connexion, on behalf of an ally whose sympathy with History of the Elizabethan stage. it can only have been of a very limited kind. The Marprelate controversy, into which, among leading playwrights, Lyly and Nashe were drawn, in 1589 led to a stoppage 521 of stage-plays which proved only temporary; but the general result of the attempt to make the stage a vehicle of political abuse and invective was beyond a doubt to coarsen and degrade both plays and players. Scurrilous attempts and rough repression continued during the years 1590-1593; and the true remedy was at last applied, when from about 1594, the chief London actors became divided into two great rival companies—the lord chamberlain’s and the lord admiral’s—which alone received licences. Instead of half a dozen or more companies whose jealousies communicated themselves to the playwrights belonging to them, there were now, besides the Children of the Chapel, two established bodies of actors, directed by steady and, in the full sense of the word, respectable men. To the lord chamberlain’s company, which, after being settled at “the Theater” (opened as early as 1576 or 1577), moved to Blackfriars, purchased by James Burbage, in 1596, and to the Globe on the Bankside in 1599, Shakespeare and Richard Burbage, the greatest of the Elizabethan actors, belonged; the lord admiral’s was managed by Philip Henslowe, the author of the Diary, and Edward Alleyn, the founder of Dulwich College, and was ultimately, in 1600, settled at the Fortune. In these and other houses were performed the plays of the Elizabethan dramatists, with few adventitious aids, the performance being crowded into a brief afternoon, when it is obvious that only the idler sections of the population could attend. No woman might appear at a playhouse, unless masked; on the stage, down to the Restoration, women’s parts continued to be acted by boys.

It is futile to take no account of such outward circumstances as these and many which cannot here be noted in surveying the progress of the literature of the Elizabethan drama. Like that of the Restoration—and like that of the present day—it was necessarily influenced in its method and spirit of treatment by the conditions and restrictions which governed the place and circumstances of the performance of plays, including the construction of theatre and stage, as well as by the social composition of its audiences, which the local accommodation, not less than the entertainment, provided for them had to take into account. But to these things a mere allusion must suffice. It may safely be said, at the same time, that no dramatic literature which has any claim to rank beside the Elizabethan—not that of Athens nor those of modern Italy and Spain, nor those of France and Germany in their classic periods—had to contend against such odds; a mighty inherent strength alone ensured to it the vitality which it so triumphantly asserted, and which enabled it to run so unequalled a course.

Among Shakespeare’s predecessors, John Lyly, whose plays were all written for the Children of the Chapel and the Children of St Paul’s, holds a position apart in English dramatic literature. The euphuism, to which his famous Lyly. romance gave its name, likewise distinguishes his mythological,172 quasi-historical,173 allegorical,174 and satirical175 comedies. But his real service to the progress of English drama is to be sought neither in his choice of subjects nor in his imagery—though to his fondness for fairylore and for the whole phantasmagoria of legend, classical as well as romantic, his contemporaries, and Shakespeare in particular, were indebted for a stimulative precedent, and though in his Endimion at all events he excites curiosity by an allegorical treatment of contemporary characters and events. It does not even lie in the songs interspersed in his plays, though none of his predecessors had in the slightest degree anticipated the lyric grace which distinguishes some of these incidental efforts. It consists in his adoption of Gascoigne’s innovation of writing plays in prose; and in his having, though under the fetters of an affected and pretentious style, given the first example of brisk and vivacious dialogue—an example to Kyd. which even such successors as Shakespeare and Jonson were indebted. Thomas Kyd, the author of the Spanish Tragedy (preceded or followed by the first part of Jeronimo), and probably of several plays whose author was unnamed, possesses some of the characteristics, but none of the genius, of the greatest tragic dramatist who preceded Shakespeare. Marlowe. No slighter tribute than this is assuredly the due of Christopher Marlowe, whose violent end prematurely closed a poetic career of dazzling brilliancy. His earliest play, Tamburlaine the Great, in which the use of blank verse was introduced upon the English public stage, while full of the “high astounding terms” of an extravagant and often bombastic diction, is already marked by the passion which was the poet’s most characteristic feature, and which was to find expression so luxuriantly beautiful in his Doctor Faustus, and so surpassingly violent in his Jew of Malta. His masterpiece, Edward II., is a tragedy of singular pathos and of a dramatic Peele. power unapproached by any of his contemporaries. George Peele was a far more versatile writer even as a dramatist; but, though his plays contain passages of exquisite beauty, not one of them is worthy to be ranked by the side of Marlowe’s Edward II., compared with which, if indeed not absolutely, Peele’s Chronicle of Edward I. still stands on the level of the species to which its title and character alike assign it. His finest play is undoubtedly David and Bethsabe, which resembles Edward I. in construction, but far surpasses it in beauty of language and versification, besides treating its subject with greatly superior dignity. If the difference between Peele and Shakespeare is still, in many respects besides that of genius, an immeasurable one, we seem to come into something like a Greene. Shakespearian atmosphere in more than one passage of the plays of the unfortunate Robert Greene—unfortunate perhaps in nothing more enduringly than in the proof which he left behind him of his supercilious jealousy of Shakespeare. Greene’s genius, most conspicuous in plays treating English life and scenes, could, notwithstanding his academic self-sufficiency, at times free itself from the pedantry apt to beset the flight of Peele’s and at times even of Marlowe’s muse; and his most delightful work176 seems to breathe something of the air, sweet and fresh like no other, which blows over an English countryside. Thomas Lodge, whose dramatic, and much less of course his literary activity, is measured by the only play that we know to have been wholly his;177 Thomas Nashe, the redoubtable pamphleteer and the father of the English picaresque novel;178 Henry Chettle, who worked the chords of both pity179 and terror180 with equal vigour, and Anthony Munday, better remembered for his city pageants than for his plays, are among the other more important writers of the early Elizabethan drama, though not all of them can strictly speaking be called predecessors of Shakespeare. It is not possible here to enumerate the more interesting of the anonymous plays which belong to this “pre-Shakespearian” period of the Elizabethan drama; but many of them are by intrinsic merit as well as for special causes deserving of the attention of the student.

The common characteristics of nearly all these dramatists and plays were in accordance with those of the great age to which they belonged. Stirring times called for stirring themes, such as those of “Mahomet, Scipio and Common characteristics of the early Elizabethans. Tamerlane”; and these again for a corresponding vigour of treatment. Neatness and symmetry of construction were neglected for fulness and variety of matter. Novelty and grandeur of subject seemed well matched by a swelling amplitude and often reckless extravagance of diction. As if from an inner necessity, the balance of rhymed couplets gave way to the impetuous march of blank verse; “strong lines” were as inevitably called for as strong situations and strong characters. Although the chief of these poets are marked off from one another by the individual genius which impressed itself upon both the form and the matter of their works, yet the stamp of the age is upon them all. Writing 522 for the stage only, of which some of them possessed a personal experience and from which none of them held aloof, they acquired an instinctive insight into the laws of dramatic cause and effect, and infused a warm vitality into the dramatic literature which they produced, so to speak, for immediate consumption. On the other hand, the same cause made rapidity of workmanship indispensable to a successful playwright. How a play was produced, how many hands had been at work upon it, what loans and what spoliations had been made in the process, were considerations of less moment than the question whether it was produced, and whether it succeeded. His harness—frequently double or triple—was inseparable from the lusty Pegasus of the early English drama, and its genius toiled, to borrow the phrase of the Attic comedian, “like an Arcadian mercenary.”

This period of the English drama, though it is far from being one of crude effort, could not therefore yet be one of full consummation. In tragedy the advance which had been made in the choice of great themes, in knitting closer Progress of tragedy and comedy before Shakespeare. the connection between the theatre and the national history, in vindicating to passion its right to adequate expression, was already enormous. In comedy the advance had been less decisive and less independent; much had been gained in reaching greater freedom of form and something in enlarging the range of subjects; but artificiality had proved a snare in the one direction, while the licence of the comic stage, upheld by favourite “clowns,” such as Kemp or Tarlton, had not succumbed before less elastic demands. The way of escaping from the dilemma had, however, been already recognized to lie in the construction of suitable plots, for which a full storehouse was open in the popular traditions preserved in national ballads, and in the growing literature of translated foreign fiction, or of native imitations of it. Meanwhile, the aberration of the comic stage to political and religious controversy, which it could never hope to treat with Attic freedom in a country provided with a strong monarchy and a dogmatic religion, seemed likely to extinguish the promise of the beginnings of English romantic comedy.

These were the circumstances under which the greatest of dramatists began to devote his genius to the theatre. Shakespeare’s career as a writer of plays can have differed little in its beginnings from those of his contemporaries Shakespeare. and rivals. Before or while he was proceeding from the re-touching and re-writing of the plays of others to original dramatic composition, the most gifted of those whom we have termed his predecessors had passed away. He had been decried as an actor before he was known as an author; and after living through days of darkness for the theatre, if not for himself, attained, before the close of the century, to the beginnings of his prosperity and the beginnings of his fame. But if we call him fortunate, it is not because of such rewards as these. As a poet, Shakespeare was no doubt happy in his times, which intensified the strength of the national character, expanded the activities of the national mind, and were able to add their stimulus even to such a creative power as his. He was happy in the antecedents of the form of literature which commended itself to his choice, and in the opportunities which it offered in so many directions for an advance to heights yet undiscovered and unknown. What he actually accomplished was due to his genius, whose achievements are immeasurable like itself. His influence upon the progress of English drama divides itself in very unequal proportions into a direct and an indirect influence. To the former alone reference can here be made.

Already the first editors of Shakespeare’s works in a collected form recognized so marked a distinction between his plays taken from English history and those treating other historical subjects (whether ancient or modern) that, Shakespeare and the national historical drama. while they included the latter among the tragedies at large, they grouped the former as histories by themselves. These histories are in their literary genesis a development of the chronicle histories of Shakespeare’s predecessors and contemporaries, the taste for which had greatly increased towards the beginning of his own career as a dramatist, in accordance with the general progress of national life and sentiment in this epoch. Though it cannot be assumed that Shakespeare composed his several dramas from English history in the sequence of the chronology of their themes, his genius gave to the entire series an inner harmony, and a continuity corresponding to that which is distinctive of the national life, such as not unnaturally inspired certain commentators with the wish to prove it a symmetrically constructed whole. He thus brought this peculiarly national species to a perfection which made it difficult, if not impossible, for his later contemporaries and successors to make more than an occasional addition to his series. None of them was, however, found able or ready to take up the thread where Shakespeare had left it, after perfunctorily attaching the present to the past by a work (probably not all his own) which must be regarded as the end rather than the crown of the series of his histories.181 But to furnish such supplements accorded little with the tastes and tendencies of the later Elizabethans; and with the exception of an isolated work,182 the national historical drama in Shakespeare reached at once its perfection and its close. The ruder form of the old chronicle history for a time survived the advance made upon it; but the efforts in this field of T. Heywood,183 S. Rowley,184 and others are, from a literary point of view, anachronisms.

Of Shakespeare’s other plays the several groups exercised a more direct influence upon the general progress of our dramatic literature. His Roman tragedies, though following their authorities with much the same fidelity as that of the English histories, even more effectively taught the great lesson of free dramatic treatment of historic themes, and thus pre-eminently became the perennial models of the modern historic drama. His tragedies on other subjects, which necessarily admitted of a more absolute freedom of treatment, established themselves as the examples for all time of the highest kind of tragedy. Where else is exhibited with the same fulness the struggle between will and obstacle, character and circumstance? Where is mirrored with equal power and variety the working of those passions in the mastery of which over man lies his doom? Here, above all, Shakespeare as compared with his predecessors, as well as with his successors, “is that nature which they paint and draw.” He threw open to modern tragedy a range of hitherto unknown breadth and depth and height, and emancipated the national drama in its noblest forms from limits to which it could never again restrict itself without a consciousness of having renounced its enfranchisement. Happily for the variety of his creative genius on the English stage, no divorce had been proclaimed between the serious and the comic, and no division of species had been established such as he himself ridicules as pedantic when it professes to be exhaustive. The comedies of Shakespeare accordingly refuse to be tabulated in deference to any method of classification deserving to be called precise; and several of them are comedies only according to a purely technical use of the term. In those in which the instinct of reader or spectator recognizes the comic interest to be supreme, it is still of its nature incidental to the progress of the action; for the criticism seems just, as well as in agreement with what we can conclude as to Shakespeare’s process of construction, that among all his comedies not more than a single one185 is in both design and effect a comedy of character proper. Thus in this direction, while the unparalleled wealth of his invention renewed or created a whole gallery of types, he left much to be done by his successors; while the truest secrets of his comic art, which interweaves fancy with observation, draws wisdom from the lips of fools, and imbues with character what all other hands would have left shadowy, monstrous or trivial, are among the things inimitable belonging to the individuality of his poetic genius.

The influences of Shakespeare’s diction and versification upon those of the English drama in general can hardly be overrated, though it would be next to impossible to state them definitely. In these points, Shakespeare’s manner as a writer was progressive; 523 and this progress has been deemed sufficiently well traceable in his plays to be used as an aid in seeking to determine His style and its influence. their chronological sequence. The general laws of this progress accord with those of the natural advance of creative genius; artificiality gives way to freedom, and freedom in its turn submits to a greater degree of regularity and care. In versification as in diction the earliest and the latest period of Shakespeare’s dramatic writing are more easily recognizable than what lies between and may be called the normal period, the plays belonging to which in form most resemble one another, and are least affected by distinguishable peculiarities—such as the rhymes and intentionally euphuistic colouring of style which characterize the earliest, or the feminine endings of the lines and the more condensed manner of expression common to the latest of his plays. But, such distinctions apart, there can be no doubt but that in verse and in prose alike, Shakespeare’s style, so far as it admitted of reproduction, is itself to be regarded as the norm of that of the Elizabethan drama; that in it the prose form of English comedy possesses its first accepted model; and that in it the chosen metre of the English versified drama established itself as irremovable unless at the risk of an artificial experiment.

The assertion may seem paradoxical, that it is by their construction that Shakespeare’s plays exerted the most palpable influence upon the English drama, as well as upon the modern drama of the Germanic nations in general, Influence of his method of construction. and upon such forms of the Romance drama as have been in more recent times based upon it. For it was not in construction that his greatest strength lay, or that the individuality of his genius could raise him above the conditions under which he worked in common with his immediate predecessors and contemporaries. Yet the fact that he accepted these conditions, while producing works of matchless strength and of unequalled fidelity to the demands of nature and art, established them as inseparable from the Shakespearian drama—to use a term which is perhaps unavoidable but has been often misapplied. The great and irresistible demand on the part of Shakespeare’s public was for incident—a demand which of itself necessitated a method of construction different from that of the Greek drama, or of those modelled more or less closely upon it. To no other reason is to be ascribed the circumstance that Shakespeare so constantly combined two actions in the course of a single play, not merely supplementing the one by means of the other as a bye- or under-plot. In no respect is the progress of his technical skill as a dramatist more apparent,—a proposition which a comparison of plays clearly ascribable to successive periods of his life must be left to prove.

Should it, however, be sought to express in one word the greatest debt of the drama to Shakespeare, this word must be the same as that which expresses his supreme gift as a dramatist. It is in characterization—in the drawing His characters. of characters ranging through almost every type of humanity which furnishes a fit subject for the tragic or the comic art—that he remains absolutely unapproached; and it was in this direction that he pointed the way which the English drama could not henceforth desert without becoming untrue to itself. It may have been a mere error of judgment which afterwards held him to have been surpassed by others in particular fields of characterization (setting him down, forsooth, as supremely excellent in male, but not in female, characters). But it was a sure sign of decay when English writers began to shrink from following him in the endeavour to make the drama a mirror of humanity, and when, in self-condemned arrogance, they thrust unreality back upon a stage which he had animated with the warm breath of life, where Juliet had blossomed like a flower of spring, and where Othello’s noble nature had suffered and sinned.

By the numerous body of poets who, contemporary with Shakespeare or in the next generation, cultivated the wide field of the national drama, every form commending itself to the tastes and sympathies of the national genius was essayed. None were neglected except those from which the spirit of English literature had been estranged by the Reformation, and those which had from the first been artificial importations of the Forms of the later Elizabethan drama. Renaissance. The mystery could not in England, as in Spain, produce such an aftergrowth as the auto, and the confines of the religious drama were only now and then tentatively touched.186 The direct imitations of classical examples were, except perhaps in the continued efforts of the academical drama, few and feeble. Chapman, while resorting to use of narrative in tragedy and perhaps otherwise indebted to ancient models, was no follower of them in essentials. S. Daniel (1562-1619) may be regarded as a belated disciple of Seneca,187 while experiments like W. Alexander’s (afterwards earl of Stirling) Monarchicke Tragedies188 (1603-1605) are the mere isolated efforts of a student, and more exclusively so than Milton’s imposing Samson Agonistes, which belongs to a later date (1677). At the opposite end of the dramatic scale, the light gaiety of the Italian and French farce could not establish itself on the English popular stage without more substantial adjuncts; the Englishman’s festive digestion long continued robust, and The pastoral drama. he liked his amusements solid. In the pastoral drama and the mask, however, many English dramatists found special opportunities for the exercise of their lyrical gifts and of their inventive powers. The former could never become other than an exotic, so long as it retained the artificial character of its origin. Shakespeare had accordingly only blended elements derived from it into the action of his romantic comedies. In more or less isolated works Jonson, Fletcher, Daniel, Randolph, and others sought to rival Tasso and Guarini—Jonson189 coming nearest to nationalizing an essentially foreign growth by the fresh simplicity of his treatment, Fletcher190 bearing away the palm for beauty of poetic execution; Daniel being distinguished by simpler beauties of style in both verse and prose.191

The mask (or masque) was a more elastic kind of composition, mixing in varying proportions its constituent elements of declamation and dialogue, music and dancing, decoration and scenery. In its least elaborate literary form—which, The mask. of course, externally was the most elaborate—it closely approached the pageant; in other instances the distinctness of its characters or the fulness of the action introduced into its scheme, brought it nearer to the regular drama. A frequent ornament of Queen Elizabeth’s progresses, it was cultivated with increased assiduity in the reign of James I., and in that of his successor outshone, by the favour it enjoyed with court and nobility, the attractions of the regular drama itself. Most of the later Elizabethan dramatists contributed to this species, upon which Shakespeare expended the resources of his fancy only incidentally in the course of his dramas; but by far the most successful writer of masks was Ben Jonson, of whose numerous compositions of this kind many hold a permanent place in English poetic literature, and “next” whom, in his own judgment, “only Fletcher and Chapman could write a mask.” From a poetic point of view, however, they were at least rivalled by Dekker and Ford; in productivity and favour T. Campion, who was equally eminent as poet and as musician, seems for a time to have excelled. Inasmuch, however, as the history of the mask in England is to a great extent that of “painting and carpentry” and of Inigo Jones, and as, moreover, this kind of piece, while admitting dramatic elements, is of its nature occasional, it need not further be pursued here. The Microcosmus of T. Nabbes (printed 1637), which is very like a morality, seems to have been the first mask brought upon the public stage. It was the performance of a mask by Queen Henrietta Maria and her ladies at Whitehall which had some years previously (1632) been thought to have supplied to the invective of Histrio-Mastix against the stage the occasion for disloyal innuendo; and it was for the performance of a 524 mask in a great nobleman’s castle that Milton—a Puritan of a very different cast—not long afterwards (1634) wrote one of the loftiest and loveliest of English poems. Comus has been judged and condemned as a drama—unjustly, for the dramatic qualities of a mask are not essential to it as a species. Yet its history in England remains inseparably connected with that of the Elizabethan drama. In later times the mask merged into the opera, or continued a humble life of its own apart from contact with higher literary effort. It is strange that later English poets should have done so little to restore to its nobler uses, and to invest with a new significance, a form so capable of further development as the poetic mask.

The annals of English drama proper in the period reaching from the closing years of Elizabeth to the outbreak of the great Revolution include, together with numerous names relatively insignificant, many illustrious in the The later Elizabethan drama. history of our poetic literature. Among Shakespeare’s contemporaries and successors there is, however, but one who by the energy of his genius, not less than by the circumstances of his literary career, reached undisputed primacy among his fellows. Ben Jonson, to whom in his latter days a whole generation of younger writers did filial homage as to their veteran chief, was alone in full truth the founder of a school or family of dramatists. Yet his pre-eminence did not (whatever he or his followers may have thought) extend to both branches of the regular drama. In tragedy he fell short of the highest success; the weight of his learning lay too heavily upon his efforts to draw from deeper sources than those which had sufficed for Shakespeare. Such as they are, his tragic works192 stand almost, though not quite, alone in this period as examples of sustained effort in historic tragedy proper. G. Chapman treated stirring themes, more especially from modern French history,193 always with vigour, and at times with genuine effectiveness; but, though rich in beauties of detail, he failed in this branch of the drama to follow Shakespeare even at a distance in the supreme art of fully developing a character by means of the action. Mention has been made above of Ford’s isolated effort in the direction of historic tragedy, as well as of excursions into the still popular domain of the chronicle history by T. Heywood, Dekker and others, which cannot be regarded as anything more than retrogressions. With the great body of the English dramatists of this and of the next period, tragedy had passed into a phase where its interest depended mainly upon plot and incident. The romantic tragedies and tragi-comedies which crowd English literature in this period constitute together a growth of at first sight astonishing exuberance, and in mere externals of theme—ranging as these plays do from Byzantium to ancient Britain, and from the Caesars of ancient Rome to the tyrants of the Renaissance—of equally astonishing variety. The sources from which these subjects were derived had been perennially augmenting. Besides Italian, Spanish and French fiction, original or translated, besides British legend in its Romance dress, and English fiction in its humbler or in its more ambitious and artificial forms, the contemporary foreign drama, especially the Spanish, offered opportunities for resort. To the English, as to the French and Italian drama, of both this and the following century, the prolific dramatists clustering round Lope de Vega and Calderon, and the native or naturalized fictions from which they drew their materials supplied a whole arsenal of plots, incidents and situations—among others to Middleton, to Webster, and most signally to Beaumont and Fletcher. And, in addition to these resources, a new field of supply was at hand since English dramatists had begun to regard events and episodes of domestic life as fit subjects for tragic treatment. Domestic tragedy of this description was indeed no novelty on the English stage; Shakespeare himself may have retouched with his master-hand more than one effort of this kind;194 but T. Heywood may be set down as the first who achieved any work of considerable literary value of this class,195 to which some of the plays of T. Dekker, T. Middleton, and others likewise more or less belong. Yet, in contrast to this wide variety of sources, and consequent apparent variety of themes, the number of motives employed—at least as a rule—in the tragic drama of this period was comparatively small and limited. Hence it is that, notwithstanding the diversity of subjects among the tragic dramas of such writers as Marston, Webster, Fletcher, Ford and Shirley, an impression of sameness is left upon us by a connected perusal of these works. Scheming ambition, conjugal jealousy, absolute female devotion, unbridled masculine passion—such are the motives which constantly recur in the Decameron of our later Elizabethan drama. And this impression is heightened by the want of moderation, by the extravagance of passion, which these dramatists so habitually exhibit in the treatment of their favourite themes. All the tragic poets of this period are not equally amenable to this charge; in J. Webster,196 master as he is of the effects of the horrible, and in J. Ford,197 surpassingly seductive in his sweetness, the monotony of exaggerated passion is broken by those marvellously sudden and subtle touches through which their tragic genius creates its most thrilling effects. Nor will the tendency to excess of passion which F. Beaumont and J. Fletcher undoubtedly exhibit be confounded with their distinctive power of sustaining tenderly pathetic characters and irresistibly moving situations in a degree unequalled by any of their contemporaries—a power seconded by a beauty of diction and softness of versification which for a time raised them to the highest pinnacle of popular esteem, and which entitles them in their conjunction, and Fletcher as an independent worker, to an enduring pre-eminence among their fellows. In their morals Beaumont and Fletcher are not above the level of their age. The manliness of sentiment and occasionally greater width of outlook which ennoble the rhetorical genius of P. Massinger, and the gift of poetic illustration which entitles J. Shirley to be remembered not merely as the latest and the most fertile of this group of dramatists, have less direct bearing upon the general character of the tragic art of the period. The common features of the romantic tragedy of this age are sufficiently marked; but they leave unobscured the distinctive features in its individual writers of which a discerning criticism has been able to take note.

In comedy, on the other hand, the genius and the insight of Jonson pointed the way to a steady and legitimate advance. His theory of “humours” (which found the most palpable expression in two of his earliest plays198), if translated into the ordinary language of dramatic art, signifies the paramount importance in the comic drama of the presentation of distinctive human types. As such it survived by name into the Restoration age199 and cannot be said to have ever died out. In the actual reproduction of humanity in its infinite but never, in his hands, alien variety, it was impossible that Shakespeare should be excelled by Jonson; but in the consciousness with which he recognized and indicated the highest sphere of a comic dramatist’s labours, he rendered to the drama a direct service which the greater master had left unperformed. By the rest of his contemporaries and his successors, some of whom, such as R. Brome, were content avowedly to follow in his footsteps, Jonson was only occasionally rivalled in individual instances of comic creations; in the entirety of its achievements his genius as a comic dramatist remained unapproached. The favourite types of Jonsonian comedy, to which Dekker, J. Marston and Chapman had, though to no large extent, added others of their own, were elaborated with incessant zeal and remarkable effect by their contemporaries and successors. It was after a very different fashion from that in which the Roman comedians reiterated the ordinary types of the New Attic comedy, that the inexhaustible verve of T. Middleton, the buoyant productivity of Fletcher, the observant humour of N. Field, and the artistic 525 versatility of Shirley—not to mention many later and not necessarily minor names200—mirrored in innumerable pictures of contemporary life the undying follies and foibles of mankind. As comedians of manners more than one of these surpassed the old master, not indeed in distinctness and correctness—the fruits of the most painstaking genius that ever fitted a learned sock to the representation of the living realities of life—but in a lightness not incompatible with sureness of touch; while in the construction of plots the access of abundant new materials, and the greater elasticity in treatment resulting from accumulated experience, enabled them to advance from success to success. Thus the comic dramatic literature from Jonson to Shirley is unsurpassed as a comedy of manners, while as a comedy of character it at least defies comparison with any other national literary growth preceding or contemporaneous with it. Though the younger generation, of which W. Cartwright may be taken as an example, was unequal in originality or force to its predecessors, yet so little exhausted was the vitality of the species, that its traditions survived the interregnum of the Revolution, and connected themselves more closely than is sometimes assumed with later growths of English comedy.

Such was also the case with a special growth which had continued side by side, but in growing frequency of contact, with the progress of the national drama. The academical drama of the later Elizabethan period and The later academical drama. of the first two Stuart reigns by no means fell off either in activity or in variety from that of the preceding generations. At Oxford, after an apparent break of several years—though in the course of these one or two new plays, including a Tancred by Sir Henry Wotton at Queen’s, seem to have been produced—a long succession of English plays, some in Latin doubtless from time to time intervening, were performed, from the early years of the 17th century onwards to the dark days of the national theatre and beyond. The production of these plays was distributed among several colleges, among which the most conspicuously active were Christ Church and St John’s, where a whole series of festal performances took place under the collective title of The Christmas Prince (i.e. master of the Christmas revels). They included a wide variety of pieces, from the treatment by an author unnamed of the story of “Ovid’s owne Narcissus” (1602) and S. Daniel’s Queen’s Arcadia (1606) to Barten Holiday’s Technogamia (1618), a complicated allegory on the relations between the arts and sciences quite in the manner of the moralities; interspersed by romantic dramas of the ordinary contemporary type by T. Goffe (1591-1629), W. Cartwright, J. Maine (1604-1672) and others. At Cambridge the list of Latin and English academical plays, performed in the latter half of Elizabeth’s reign at Trinity, St John’s, Queen’s and a few other colleges, contains several examples in each language which for one reason or another possess a special interest. Thus E. Forsett’s Pedantius, probably acted at Trinity in 1581, ridicules a personage who lived very near the rose—the redoubtable Gabriel Harvey;201 a Laelia, acted at Queen’s in 1590 and again in 1598, resembles Twelfth Night in part of its plot; while in Silvanus, performed in 1596, probably at St John’s, there are certain striking similarities to As You Like It. These are in Latin, as are the comedies Hispanus (containing some curious allusions to the Armada, Drake and Dr Lopez) and Machiavellus, acted at St John’s in 1597.202 By far the most interesting of the English plays of the later Cambridge series, and, it may be averred, of the remains of the English academical drama as a whole, are the Parnassus Plays (q.v.), successively produced at St John’s in 1598-1602, which illustrate with much truthfulness as well as fancy the relations between university life and the outside world, including the world of letters and of the stage. Upon a different, but also a very notable, aspect of English university life—the relations between town and gown—a partisan light is thrown by Club-Law, acted at Clare in 1599—and in G. Ruggle’s celebrated Latin comedy of Ignoramus, twice acted by members of Clare at Trinity in 1615 before King James I. On one of these occasions were also produced in English T. Tomkis’ comedy Albumazar (a play absurdly attributed to Shakespeare), and Phineas Fletcher’s Sicelides, a “piscatory” (i.e. a pastoral drama in which the place of the shepherds is taken by fishermen). Latin and English plays continued to be brought out in Cambridge till the year of the outbreak of the Civil War, T. Randolph and A. Cowley203 being among the authors of some of the latest so produced; and with the Restoration the usage recommenced, the Adelphi of Terence and other Latin comedies being performed as they had been a century earlier. A complete survey and classification of the English academical drama, for which the materials are at last being collected and compared, will prove of an importance which is only beginning to be recognized to the future historian of the English drama.

To return to the general current of that drama. The rivals against which it had to contend in the times with which its greatest epoch came to an end have in their turn been noticed. From the masks and triumphs at court and The stage. at the houses of the nobility, with their Olympuses and Parnassuses built by Inigo Jones, and filled with goddesses and nymphs clad in the gorgeous costumes designed by his inventive hand, to the city pageants and shows by land and water—from the tilts and tournaments at Whitehall to the more philosophical devices at the Inns of Court and the academical plays at the universities—down even to the brief but thrilling theatrical excitements of Bartholomew Fair and the “Ninevitical motions” of the puppets—in all these ways the various sections of the theatrical public were tempted aside. Foreign performers—French and Spanish actors, and even French actresses—paid visits to London. But the national drama held its ground. The art of acting maintained itself at least on the level to which it had been brought by Shakespeare’s associates and contemporaries, Burbage and Heminge, Alleyn, Lewin, Taylor, and others “of the older sort.” The profession of actor came to be more generally than of old separated from that of playwright, though they were still (as in the case of Field) occasionally combined. But this rather led to an increased appreciation of the artistic merit of actors who valued the dignity of their own profession and whose co-operation the authors learnt to esteem as of independent significance. The stage was purged from the barbarism of the old school of clowns. Women’s parts were still acted by boys, many of whom attained to considerable celebrity; and a practice was thus continued which must assuredly have placed the English theatre at a considerable disadvantage as compared with the Spanish (where it never obtained), and which may, while it has been held to have facilitated freedom of fancy, more certainly encouraged the extreme licence of expression cherished by the dramatists. The arrangement of the stage, which facilitated a rapid succession of scenes without any necessity for their being organically connected with one another, remained essentially what it had been in Shakespeare’s days; though the primitive expedients for indicating locality had begun to be occasionally exchanged for scenery more or less appropriate to the place of action. Costume was apparently cultivated with much greater care; and the English stage of this period had probably gone a not inconsiderable way in a direction to which it is obviously in the interests of the dramatic art to set some bounds, if it is to depend for its popular success upon its qualities as such, and upon the interpretation of its agents upon the stage. At the same time, the drama had begun largely to avail itself of adventitious aids to favour. The system of prologues and epilogues, and of dedications to published plays, was more 526 uniformly employed than it had been by Shakespeare as the conventional method of recommending authors and actors to the favour of individual patrons, and to that of their chief patron, the public.

Up to the outbreak of the Civil War the drama in all its forms continued to enjoy the favour or good-will of the court, although a close supervision was exercised over all attempts to make the stage the vehicle of political The drama and Puritanism. references or allusions. The regular official agent of this supervision was the master of the revels; but under James I. a special ordinance, in harmony with the king’s ideas concerning the dignity of the throne, was passed “against representing any modern Christian king in plays on the stage.” The theatre could hardly expect to be allowed a liberty of speech in reference to matters of state denied to the public at large; and occasional attempts to indulge in the freedom of criticism dear to the spirit of comedy met with more or less decisive repression and punishment.204 But the sympathies of the dramatists were so entirely on the side of the court that the real difficulties against which the theatre had to contend came from a directly opposite quarter. With the growth of Puritanism the feeling of hostility to the stage increased in a large part of the population, well represented by the civic authorities of the capital. This hostility found many ways of expressing itself. The attempts to suppress the Blackfriars theatre (1619, 1631, 1633) proved abortive; but the representation of stage-plays continued to be prohibited on Sundays, and during the prevalence of the plague in London in 1637 was temporarily suspended altogether. The desire of the Puritans of the more pronounced type openly aimed at a permanent closing of the theatres. The war between them and the dramatists was accordingly of a life-and-death kind. On the one hand, the drama heaped its bitterest and often coarsest attacks upon whatever savoured of the Puritan spirit; gibes, taunts, caricatures in ridicule and aspersion of Puritans and Puritanism make up a great part of the comic literature of the later Elizabethan drama and of its aftergrowth in the reigns of the first two Stuarts. This feeling of hostility, to which Shakespeare was no stranger,205 though he cannot be connected with the authorship of one of its earliest and coarsest expressions,206 rose into a spirit of open defiance in some of the masterpieces of Ben Jonson;207 and the comedies of his contemporaries and successors208 abound in caricatured reproductions of the more common or more extravagant types of Puritan life. On the other hand, the moral defects, the looseness of tone, the mockery of ties sanctioned by law and consecrated by religion, the tendency to treat middle-class life as the hunting-ground for the diversions of the upper classes, which degraded so much of the dramatic literature of the age, intensified the Puritan opposition to all and any stage plays. A patient endeavour to reform instead of suppressing the drama was not to be looked for from such adversaries, should they ever possess the means of carrying out their views; and whenever Puritanism should victoriously assert itself in the state, the stage was doomed. Among the attacks directed against it in its careless heyday of prosperity Prynne’s Histrio-Mastix (1632), while it involved its author in shamefully cruel persecution, did not remain wholly without effect upon the tone of the dramatic literature of the subsequent period; but the quarrel between Puritanism and the theatre was too old and too deep to end in any but one way, so soon as the latter was deprived of its Closing of the theatres. protectors. The Civil War began in August 1642; and early in the following month was published the ordinance of the Lords and Commons, which, after a brief and solemn preamble, commanded “that while these sad causes and set-times of humiliation do continue, public stage plays shall cease and be forborne.” Many actors and playwrights followed the fortunes of the royal cause in the field; some may have gone into a more or less voluntary exile; upon those who lingered on in the familiar haunts the hand of power lay heavy; and, though there seems reason to believe that dramatic entertainments of one kind or another continued to be occasionally presented, stringent ordinances gave summary powers to magistrates against any players found engaged in such proceedings (1647), and bade them treat all stage-players as rogues, and pull down all stage galleries, seats and boxes (1648). A few dramatic works were published in this period;209 while at fairs about the country were acted farces called “drolls,” consisting of the most vulgar scenes to be found in popular plays. Thus, the life of the drama was not absolutely extinguished; and its darkest day proved briefer than perhaps either its friends or its foes could have supposed.

Already “in Oliver’s time” private performances took place from time to time at noblemen’s houses and (though not undisturbed) in the old haunt of the drama, the Red Bull. In 1656 the ingenuity of Sir William Davenant Revival of the drama. whose name (though not really so significant in the dramatic as in another field of English literature) is memorable as connecting together two distinct periods in it, ventured on a bolder step in the production of a quasi-dramatic entertainment “of declamation and music”; and in the following year he brought out with scenery and music a piece which was afterwards in an enlarged form acted and printed as the first part of his opera, The Siege of Rhodes. This entertainment he afterwards removed from the private house where it had been produced to the Cockpit, where he soon ventured upon the performance of regular plays written by himself. Thus, under the cover of two sister arts, whose aid was in the sequel to prove by no means altogether beneficial to its progress, the English drama had boldly anticipated the Restoration, and was no longer hiding its head when that much-desired event was actually brought about. Soon after Charles II.’s entry into London, two theatrical companies are known to have been acting in the capital. For these companies patents were soon granted, under the names of “the Duke (of York)’s” and “the King’s Servants,” to Davenant and one of the brothers Killigrew respectively—the former from 1662 acting at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, then at Dorset Garden in Salisbury Court, the latter from 1663 at the Theatre Royal near Drury Lane. These companies were united from 1682, a royal licence being granted in 1695 to a rival company which performed in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and which migrated to Covent Garden in 1733. Meanwhile, Vanbrugh had in 1705 built the theatre in the Haymarket; and a theatre in Goodman’s Fields—afterwards rendered famous by the first appearance of Garrick—led a fitful existence from 1729 to 1733. The act of 1737 deprived the crown of the power of licensing any more theatres; so that the history of the English stage for a long period was confined to a restricted area. The rule which prevailed after the Restoration, that neither of the rival companies should ever attempt a play produced by the other, operated beneficially both upon the activity of dramatic authorship and upon the progress of the art of acting, which was not exposed to the full effects of that deplorable spirit of personal rivalry which too often leads even most intelligent actors to attempt parts for which they have no special qualification. There can be little doubt that the actor’s art has rarely flourished more in England than in the days of T. Betterton and his contemporaries, among whose names those of Hart, Mohun, Kynaston, Nokes, Mrs Barry, Mrs Betterton, Mrs Bracegirdle and Mrs Eleanor Gwyn have, together with many others, survived in various connexions among the memories of the Restoration age. No higher praise has ever been given to an actor than that which Addison bestowed upon Betterton, in describing his performance of Othello as a proof that Shakespeare could not have written the most striking passages of the character otherwise than he has done.


It may here be noticed that the fortunes of the Irish theatre in general followed those of the English, of which of course it was merely a branch. Of native dramatic compositions in earlier times not a trace remains in Ireland; and the The Irish stage. drama was introduced into that country as an English exotic—apparently already in the reign of Henry VIII., and more largely in that of Elizabeth. The first theatre in Dublin was built in 1635; but in 1641 it was closed, and even after the Restoration the Irish stage continued in a precarious condition till near the end of the century. About that time an extraordinarily strong taste for the theatre took possession of Irish society, and during the greater part of the 18th century the Dublin stage rivalled the English in the brilliancy of its stars. Betterton’s rival, R. Wilks, Garrick’s predecessor in the homage paid to Shakespeare, Macklin, and his competitor for favour, the “silver-tongued” Barry, were alike products of the Irish stage, as were Mrs Woffington and other well-known actresses. Nor should it be forgotten that three of the foremost English writers of comedy in its later days, Congreve, Farquhar and Sheridan, were Irish, the first by education, and the latter two by birth also.

Already in the period preceding the outbreak of the Civil War the English drama had perceptibly sunk from the height to which it had been raised by the great Elizabethans. When it had once more recovered possession of that The later Stuart drama. arena with which no living drama can dispense, it would have been futile to demand that the dramatists should return altogether into the ancient paths, unaffected by the influences, native or foreign, in operation around them. But there was no reason why the new drama should not, like the Elizabethan, have been true in spirit to the higher purposes of the dramatic art, to the nobler tendencies of the national life, and to the demands of moral law. Because the later Stuart drama as a whole proved untrue to these, and, while following its own courses, never more than partially returned from the aberrations to which it condemned itself, its history is that of a decay which the indisputable brilliancy, borrowed or original, of many of its productions is incapable of concealing.

Owing in part to the influence of the French theatre, which by this time had taken the place of the Spanish as the ruling drama of Europe, the separation between tragedy and comedy is clearly marked in post-Restoration plays. Tragedy. Comic scenes are still occasionally introduced into tragedies by some dramatists who adhered more closely to the Elizabethan models (such as Otway and Crowne), but the practice fell into disuse; while the endeavour to elevate comedy by pathetic scenes and motives is one of the characteristic marks of the beginning of another period in English dramatic literature. The successive phases through which English tragedy passed in the later Stuart times cannot be always kept distinct from one another; and the guidance offered by the theories put forth by some of the dramatists in support of their practice is often delusive. Following the example of Corneille, Dryden and his contemporaries and successors were fond of proclaiming their adherence to this or that principle of dramatic construction or form, and of upholding, with much show of dialectical acumen, maxims derived by them from French or other sources, or elaborated with modifications and variations of their own, but usually amounting to little more than what Scott calls “certain romantic whimsical imitations of the dramatic art.” Students of the drama will find much entertainment and much instruction in these prefaces, apologies, dialogues and treatises. They will acknowledge that Dryden’s incomparable vigour does not desert him either in the exposing or in the upholding of fallacies, while le bon sens, which he hardly ever fails to exhibit, and which is a more eclectic gift than common-sense, serves as a sure guide to the best intelligence of his age. Even Rymer,210 usually regarded as having touched the nadir of dramatic criticism, will be found to be not wholly without grains of salt. But Restoration tragedy itself must not be studied by the light of Restoration criticism. So long as any dramatic power remained in the tragic poets—and it is absent from none of the chief among them from Dryden to Rowe—the struggle between fashion (disguised as theory) and instinct (tending in the direction of the Elizabethan traditions) could never wholly determine itself in favour of the former.

Lord Orrery, in deference, as he declares, to the expressed tastes of his sovereign King Charles II. himself, was the first to set up the standard of heroic plays.211 This new species of tragedy (for such it professed to be) commended itself by its novel choice of themes, to a large extent supplied by recent French romance—the romans de longue haleine of the Scudérys and their contemporaries—and by French plays treating similar themes. It likewise borrowed from France that garb of rhyme which the English drama had so long abandoned, and which now reappeared in the heroic couplet. But the themes which to readers of novels might seem of their nature inexhaustible could not long suffice to satisfy the more capricious appetite of theatrical audiences; and the form, in the application which it was more or less sought to enforce for it, was doomed to remain an exotic. In conjunction with his brother-in-law Sir R. Howard,212 and afterwards more confidently by himself,213 Dryden threw the incomparable vigour and brilliancy of his genius into the scale, which soon rose to the full height of fashionable popularity. At first he claimed for English tragedy the right to combine her native inheritance of freedom with these valuable foreign acquisitions.214 Nor was he dismayed by the ridicule which the celebrated burlesque (by the duke of Buckingham and others) of The Rehearsal (1671) cast upon heroic plays, without discriminating between them and such other materials for ridicule as the contemporary drama supplied to its facetious authors, but returned215 to the defence of a species which he was himself in the end to abandon.216 The desire for change proved stronger than the love of consistency—which in Dryden was never more than theoretical. After summoning tragedy to rival the freedom (without disdaining the machinery) of opera—with whose birth its own revival was as a matter of fact simultaneous—he came to recognize in characterization the truest secret of the master-spirit of the Elizabethan drama,217 and after audaciously, but in one instance not altogether unhappily, essaying to rival Shakespeare on his own ground,218 produced under the influence of the same views at least one work of striking merit.219 But he was already growing weary of the stage itself as well as of the rhymed heroic drama; and, though he put an end to the species to which he had given temporary vitality, he failed effectively to point the way to a more legitimate development of English tragedy. Among the other tragic poets of this period, N. Lee, in the outward form of his dramas, accommodated his practice to that of Dryden, with whom he occasionally co-operated as a dramatist, and like whom he allowed political partisanship to intrude upon the stage.220 His rhetorical genius was not devoid of genuine energy, nor is he to be regarded as a mere imitator. T. Otway, the most gifted tragic poet of the younger generation contemporary with Dryden, inherited something of the spirit of the Elizabethan drama; he possessed a real gift of tragic pathos and melting tenderness; but his genius had a worse alloy than stageyness, and, though he was often happy in his novel choice of themes, his most successful efforts fail to satisfy tests supplementary to that of the stage.221 Among dramatists who contributed to the vogue of the “heroic” play may be mentioned J. Bankes, J. Weston, C. Hopkins, E. Cooke, R. Gould, S. Pordage, T. Rymer and Elkanah Settle. The productivity of J. Crowne (d. c. 1703)222 covers part of the earlier period as well as of the later, to which properly belong T. Southerne, a writer gifted with much 528 pathetic power, but probably chiefly indebted for his long-lived popularity to his skill in the discovery of “sensational” plots; and Lord Lansdowne (“Granville the polite”) (c. 1667-1735). Congreve, by virtue of a single long celebrated but not really remarkable tragedy,223 and N. Rowe, may be further singled out from the list of the tragic dramatists of this period, many of whom were, like their comic contemporaries, mere translators or adapters from the French. The tragedies of Rowe, whose direct services to the study of Shakespeare deserve remembrance, indicate with singular distinctness the transition from the fuller declamatory style of Dryden to the calmer and thinner manner of Addison.224 In tragedy (as to a more marked degree in comedy) the excesses (both of style and subject) of the past period of the English drama had produced an inevitable reaction; decorum was asserting its claims on the stage as in society; and French tragedy had set the example of sacrificing what passion—and what vigour—it retained in favour of qualities more acceptable to the “reformed” court of Louis XIV. Addison, in allowing his Cato to take its chance upon the stage, when a moment of political excitement (April 1713) ensured to it an extraordinary success, to which no feature in it corresponds, except an unusual number of lines predestined to become familiar quotations, unconsciously sealed the doom of English national tragedy. The “first reasonable English tragedy,” as Voltaire called it, had been produced, and the oscillations of the tragic drama of the Restoration were at an end.

English comedy in this period displayed no similar desire to cut itself off from the native soil, though it freely borrowed the materials for its plots and many of its figures from Spanish, and afterwards more generally from French, Comedy. originals. The spirit of the old romantic comedy had long since fled; the graceful artificialities of the pastoral drama, even the light texture of the mask, ill suited the demands of an age which made no secret to itself of the grossness of its sensuality. With a few unimportant exceptions, such poetic elements as admitted of being combined with the poetic drama were absorbed by the opera and the ballet. No new species of the comic drama formed itself, though towards the close of the period may be noticed the beginnings of modern English farce. Political and religious partisanship, generally in accordance with the dominant reaction against Puritanism, were allowed to find expression in the directest and coarsest forms upon the stage, and to hasten the necessity for a more systematic control than even the times before the Revolution had found requisite. At the same time the unblushing indecency which the Restoration had spread through court and capital had established its dominion over the comic stage, corrupting the manners, and with them the morals, of its dramatists, and forbidding them, at the risk of seeming dull, to be anything but improper. Much of this found its way even into the epilogues, which, together with the prologues, proved so important an adjunct of the Restoration drama. These influences determine the general character of what is with a more than chronological meaning termed the comedy of the Restoration. In construction, the national love of fulness and solidity of dramatic treatment induced its authors to alter what they borrowed from foreign sources, adding to complicated Spanish plots characters of native English directness, and supplementing single French plots by the addition of others.225 At the same time, the higher efforts of French comedy of character, as well as the refinement of expression in the list of their models, notably in Molière, were alike seasoned to suit the coarser appetites and grosser palates of English patrons. The English comic writers often succeeded in strengthening the borrowed texture of their plays, but they never added comic humour without at the same time adding coarseness of their own. Such were the productions of Sir George Etheredge, Sir Charles Sedley, and the “mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease”; nor was there any signal difference between their productions and those of a playwright-actor such as J. Lacy (d. 1681), and a professional dramatist of undoubted ability such as J. Crowne. Such, though often displaying the brilliancy of a genius which even where it sank could never wholly abandon its prerogative, were, it must be confessed, the comedies of Dryden himself. On the other hand, the lowest literary deeps of the Restoration drama were sounded by T. D’Urfey, while of its moral degradation the “divine Astraea,” the “unspeakable” Mrs Aphra Behn, has an indefeasible title to be considered the most faithful representative. T. Shadwell, fated, like the tragic poet Elkanah Settle, to be chiefly remembered as a victim of Dryden’s satire, deserves more honourable mention. Like J. Wilson, whose plays seem to class him with the pre-Restoration dramatists, Shadwell had caught something not only of the art, but also of the spirit, of Ben Jonson; but in most of his works he was, like the rest of his earlier contemporaries, and like the brilliant group which succeeded them, content to take his moral tone from the reckless society for which, or in deference to the tastes of which, he wrote.226 The absence of a moral sense, which, together with a grossness of expression often defying exaggeration, characterizes English comic dramatists from the days of Dryden to those of Congreve, is the main cause of their failure to satisfy the demands which are legitimately to be made upon their art. They essayed to draw character as well as to paint manners, but they rarely proved equal to the former and higher task; and, while choosing the means which most readily commended their plays to the favour of their immediate public, they achieved but little as interpreters of those essential distinctions which their art is capable of illustrating.227 Within these limits, though occasionally passing beyond them, and always with the same deference to the immoral tone which seemed to have become an indispensable adjunct of the comic style, even the greatest comic authors of this age moved. W. Wycherley was a comic dramatist of real power, who drew his characters with vigour and distinctness, and constructed his plots and chose his language with natural ease. He lacks gaiety of spirit, and his wit is of a cynical turn. But, while he ruthlessly uncloaks the vices of his age, his own moral tone is affected by their influence in as marked a degree as that of the most light-hearted of his contemporaries.228 The most brilliant of these was indisputably W. Congreve, who is not only one of the very wittiest of English writers, but equally excels in the graceful ease of his dialogue, and draws his characters and constructs his plots with the same masterly skill. His chief fault as a dramatist is one of excess—the brilliancy of the dialogue, whoever be the speaker, overpowers the distinction between the “humours” of his personages. Though he is less brutal in expression than “manly” Wycherley, and less coarse than the lively Sir J. Vanbrugh, licentiousness in him as in them corrupts the spirit of his comic art; but of his best though not most successful play229 it must be allowed that the issue of the main plot is on the side of virtue. G. Farquhar, whose morality is on a par with that of the other members of this group, is inferior to them in brilliancy; but as pictures of manners in a wider sphere of life than that which contemporary comedy usually chose to illustrate, two of his plays deserve to be noticed, in which we already seem to be entering the atmosphere of the 18th-century novel.230 His influence upon Lessing is a remarkable fact in the international history of dramatic literature.

The improvement which now begins to manifest itself in the moral tone and spirit of English comedy is partly due to the reaction against the reaction of the Restoration, partly to the punishment which the excesses of the comic stage had brought 529 upon it in the invective of Jeremy Collier231 (1698), of all the assaults the theatre in England has had to undergo the best-founded, Sentimental comedy. and that which produced the most perceptible results. The comic poets, who had always been more or less conscious of their sins, and had at all events not defended them by the ingenious sophistries which it has pleased later literary criticism to suggest on their behalf, now began with uneasy merriment to allude in their prologues to the reformation which had come over the spirit of the town. Writers like Mrs Centlivre became anxious to reclaim their offenders with much emphasis in the fifth act; and Colley Cibber—whose Apology for his Life furnishes a useful view of this and the subsequent period of the history of the stage, with which he was connected as author, manager and actor (excelling in this capacity as representative of those fools with which he peopled the comic stage)232—may be credited with having first deliberately made the pathetic treatment of a moral sentiment the basis of the action of a comic drama. But he cannot be said to have consistently pursued the vein which in his Careless Husband (1704) he had essayed. His Non-Juror is a political adaptation of Tartuffe; and his almost equally celebrated Provoked Husband only supplied a happy ending to Vanbrugh’s unfinished play. Sir R. Steele, in accordance with his general tendencies as a writer, pursued a still more definite moral purpose in his comedies; but his genius perhaps lacked the sustained vigour necessary for a dramatist, and his humour naturally sought the aid of pathos. From partial233 he passed to more complete234 experiment; and thus these two writers, who transplanted to the comic stage a tendency towards the treatment of domestic themes noticeable in such writers of Restoration tragedy as Southerne and Rowe, became the founders of sentimental comedy, a species which exercised a most depressing influence upon the progress of English drama, and helped to hasten the decline of its comic branch. With Cato English tragedy committed suicide, though its pale ghost survived; with The Conscious Lovers English comedy sank for long into the tearful embraces of artificiality and weakness.

During the 18th century the productions of dramatic literature were still as a rule legitimately designed to meet the demands of the stage, from which its higher efforts afterwards to so large an extent became dissociated. The goodwill The drama and stage in the period before Garrick. of most sections of the public continued to be steadily accorded to a theatre which had ceased to defy the accepted laws and traditions of morality; and the opposition still aroused by it was confined to a small minority of thinkers, though these included some who were far from being puritans. John Dennis was not thought to have the worst of the controversy, when he defended the stage against the attack of an opponent far above him in stature—the great mystic William Law235—and to John Wesley himself it seemed that “a great deal more might be said in defence of seeing a serious tragedy” than of taking part in the amusements of bear-baiting and cock-fighting. On the other hand, the demands of the stage and those of its patrons and of the public of the “Augustan” age, and of that which succeeded it, were, in general, fast bound by the trammels of a taste with which a revival of the poetic drama long remained irreconcilable. There is every reason to conclude that the art of acting progressed in the same direction of artificiality, and became stereotyped in forms corresponding to the “chant” which represented tragic declamation in a series of actors ending with Quin and Macklin. In the latter must be recognized features of a precursor, but it was reserved to the genius of Garrick, whose Garrick. theatrical career extended from 1741 to 1776, to open a new era in his art. His unparalleled success was due in the first instance to his incomparable natural gifts; yet these were indisputably enhanced by a careful and continued literary training, and ennobled by a purpose which prompted him to essay the noblest, as he was capable of performing the most various, range of English theatrical characters. By devoting himself as actor and manager with special zeal to the production of Shakespeare, Garrick permanently popularized on the national stage the greatest creations of English drama, and indirectly helped to seal the doom of what survived of the tendency to maintain in the most ambitious walks of dramatic literature the nerveless traditions of the pseudo-classical school. A generation of celebrated actors and actresses, many of whom live for us in the drastic epigrams of Churchill’s Rosciad (1761), were his helpmates or his rivals; but their fame has paled, while his is destined to endure as that of one of the typical masters of his art.

The contrast between the tragedy of the 18th century and those plays of Shakespeare and one or two other Elizabethans which already before Garrick were known to the English stage, was weakened by the mutilated form Decline of tragedy. in which the old masterpieces generally, if not always, made their appearance there. Even so, however, there are perhaps few instances in theatrical history in which so unequal a competition was so long sustained. In the hands of the tragic poets of the age of Pope, as well as that of Johnson, tragedy had hopelessly stiffened into the forms of its accepted French models. Direct reproductions of these continued, as in Ambrose Philips’s and Charles Johnson’s (1679-1748) translations from Racine, and Aaron Hill’s from Voltaire. Among other tragic dramatists of the earlier part of the century may be mentioned J. Hughes, who, after assisting Addison in his Cato, produced at least one praiseworthy tragedy of his own;236 E. Fenton, a joint translator of “Pope’s Homer” and the author of one extremely successful drama on a theme of singularly enduring interest,237 and L. Theobald the first hero of the Dunciad, who, besides translations of Greek dramas, produced a few more or less original plays, one of which he was daring enough to father upon Shakespeare.238 A more distinguished name is that of J. Thomson, whose unlucky Sophonisba and subsequent tragedies are, however, barely remembered by the side of his poems (The Seasons, &c.). The literary genius of E. Young, on the other hand, possessed vigour and variety enough to distinguish his tragedies from the ordinary level of Augustan plays; in one of them he seems to challenge comparison in the treatment of his theme with a very different rival,239 but by his main characteristics as a dramatist he belongs to the school of his contemporaries. The endeavour of G. Lillo, in his London Merchant, or George Barnwell (1731), to bring the tragic lessons of terror and pity directly home to his fellow-citizens exercised an extraordinarily widespread as well as enduring effect on the history of the 18th-century drama. At home, they gave birth to the new, or, more properly speaking, to the revived, species of domestic tragedy, which connects itself more or less closely with a notable epoch in the history of English prose-fiction as well as of English painting. Abroad, this play—whose success was of the kind which nothing can kill—supplied the text to the teachings of Diderot, as well as an example to his own dramatic attempts; and through Diderot the impulse communicated itself to Lessing, and long exercised a great effect upon the literature of the German stage. At the same time, it must be allowed that Lillo’s pedestrian muse failed in the end to satisfy higher artistic demands than those met in his most popular play, while in another240 she was less consciously guilty of an aberration towards that “tragedy of destiny,” which, in the modern drama at least, obscures the ethical character of all tragic actions. “Classical” tragedy in the generation of Dr Johnson pursued the even tenor of its way, the dictator himself treading with solemn footfall in the accustomed path,241 and W. Mason making the futile attempt to produce a close imitation of Greek 530 models.242 The best-remembered tragedy of the century, Home’s Douglas (1757), was the production of an author whose famous kinsman, David Hume (though no friend of the contemporary English stage), had advised him “to read Shakespeare, but to get Racine and Voltaire by heart.” The indisputable merits of the play cannot blind us to the fact that Douglas is the offspring of Merope.

While thus no high creative talent arose to revive the poetic genius of English tragedy, comedy, which had to contend against the same rivals, naturally met the demands of the conflict with greater buoyancy. The history of English opera. the most formidable of those rivals, Music, forms no part of this sketch; but the points of contact between its progress and the history of dramatic literature cannot be altogether left out of sight. H. Purcell’s endeavours to unite English music to the words of English poets were now a thing of the past; analogous attempts in the direction of musical dialogue, which have been insufficiently noticed, had likewise proved transitory; and the isolated efforts of Addison243 and others to recover the operatic stage for the native tongue had proved powerless. Italian texts, which had first made their entrance piecemeal, in the end asserted themselves in their entirety; and the marvellously assimilative genius of Handel completed the triumphs of a form of art which no longer had any connexion with the English drama, and which reached the height of its fashionable popularity about the time when Garrick began to adorn the national stage. In one form, however, the English opera was preserved as a pleasing species of the popular drama. The pastoral drama had (in 1725) produced an isolated aftergrowth in Allan Ramsay’s Gentle Shepherd, which, with genuine freshness and humour, but without a trace of burlesque, transferred to the scenery of the Pentland Hills the lovely tale of Florizel and Perdita. The dramatic form of this poem is only an accident, but it doubtless suggested an experiment of a different kind to the most playful of London wits. Gay’s “Newgate Pastoral” of The Beggar’s Opera (1728), in which the amusing text of a burlesque farce was interspersed with songs set to popular airs, caught the fancy of the town by this novel combination, and became the ancestor of a series of agreeable productions, none of which, however, not even its own continuation, Polly (amazingly successful in book form, after its production was forbidden by the lord chamberlain), have ever rivalled it in success or celebrity. Among these may be mentioned the pieces of I. Bickerstaffe244 and C. Dibdin.245 The opera in England, as elsewhere, thus absorbed what vitality remained to the pastoral drama, while to the ballet and the pantomime (whose glories in England began at Covent Garden in 1733, and to whose popularity even Garrick was obliged to defer) was left (in the 18th century at all events) the inheritance of the external attractions of the mask and the pageant.

In the face of such various rivalries it is not strange that comedy, instead of adhering to the narrow path which Steele and others had marked out for her, should have permitted herself some vagaries of her own. Gay’s Comedy. Burlesque. example pointed the way to a fatally facile form of the comic art; and burlesque began to contribute its influence to the decline of comedy. In an age when party-government was severely straining the capabilities of its system, dramatic satire had not far to look for a source of effective seasonings. The audacity of H. Fielding, whose regular comedies (original or adapted) have secured no enduring remembrance, but whose love of parody was afterwards to suggest to him the theme of the The Licensing Act. first of the novels which have made his name immortal, accordingly ventured in two extravaganzas246 (so we should call them in these days) upon a larger admixture of political with literary and other satire. A third attempt247 (which never reached the stage) furnished the offended minister, Sir Robert Walpole, with the desired occasion for placing a curb upon the licence of the theatre, such as had already been advocated by a representative of its old civic adversaries. The famous act of 1737 asserted no new principle, but converted into legal power the customary authority hither exercised by the lord chamberlain (to whom it had descended from the master of the revels). The regular censorship which this act established has not appreciably affected the literary progress of the English drama, and the objections which have been raised against it seem to have addressed themselves to practice rather than to principle. The liberty of the stage is a question differing in its conditions from that of the liberty of speech in general, or even from that of the liberty of the press; and occasional lapses of official judgment weigh lightly in the balance against the obvious advantages of a system which in a free country needs only the vigilance of public opinion to prevent its abuse. The policy of the restraint which the act of 1737 put upon the number of playhouses is a different, but has long become an obsolete, question.248

Brought back into its accustomed grooves, English comedy seemed inclined to leave to farce the domain of healthy ridicule, and to coalesce with domestic tragedy in the attempt to make the stage a vehicle of homespun didactic Comedy in the latter half of the 18th century. morality. Farce had now become a genuine English species, and has as such retained its vitality through all the subsequent fortunes of the stage; it was actively cultivated by Garrick as both actor and author; and he undoubtedly had more than a hand in the very best farce of this age, which is ascribed to clerical authorship.249 S. Foote, whose comedies250 and farces are distinguished both by wit and by variety of characters (though it was an absurd misapplication of a great name to call him the English Aristophanes), introduced into comic acting the abuse of personal mimicry, for the exhibition of which he ingeniously invented a series of entertainments, the parents of a long progeny of imitations. Meanwhile, the domestic drama of the sentimental kind achieved, though not immediately, a success only inferior to that of The London Merchant, in The Gamester of E. Moore, to which Garrick seems to have directly contributed;251 and sentimental comedy courted sympathetic applause in the works of A. Murphy, the single comedy of W. Whitehead,252 and the earliest of H. Kelly.253 It cannot be said that this species was extinguished, as it is sometimes assumed to have been, by O. Goldsmith; but he certainly published a direct protest against it between the production of his admirable character-comedy of The Good-Natured Man, and his delightfully brisk and fresh She Stoops to Conquer, which, after startling critical propriety from its self-conceit, taught comedy no longer to fear being true to herself. The most successful efforts of the elder G. Colman254 had in them something of the spirit of genuine comedy, besides a finish which, however playwrights may shut their eyes to the fact, is one of the qualities which ensure a long life to a play. And in the masterpieces of R. B. Sheridan some of the happiest features of the comedy of Congreve were revived, together with its too uniform brilliancy of dialogue, but without its indecency of tone. The varnish of the age is indeed upon the style, and the hollowness of its morality in much of the sentiment (even where that sentiment is meant for the audience) of The Rivals and The School for Scandal; but in tact of construction, in distinctness of characters, and in pungency of social satire, they are to be ranked among the glories 531 of English comedy. Something in Sheridan’s style, but quite without his brilliancy, is the most successful play255 of the unfortunate General Burgoyne. R. Cumberland, who too consciously endeavoured to excel both in sentimental morality and in comic characterization, in which he was devoid of depth, closes the list of authors of higher pretensions who wrote for the theatre.256 Like him, Mrs Cowley257 (“Anna Matilda”), T. Holcroft,258 and G. Colman the younger,259 all writers of popular comedies, as well as the prolific J. O’Keefe (1746-1833), who contributed to nearly every species of the comic drama, survived into the 19th century. To an earlier date belong the favourite burlesques of O’Keefe’s countryman K. O’Hara260 (d. 1782), good examples of a species the further history of which may be left aside. In the hands of at least one later writer, J. R. Planché, it proved capable of satisfying a more refined taste than his successors have habitually consulted.

The decline of dramatic composition of the higher class, perceptible in the history of the English theatre about the beginning of the 19th century, was justly attributed by Sir Walter Scott to the wearing out of the French The English drama of the 19th century. model that had been so long wrought upon; but when he asserted that the new impulse which was sought in the dramatic literature of Germany was derived from some of its worst, instead of from its noblest, productions—from Kotzebue rather than from Lessing, Schiller and Goethe—he showed a very imperfect acquaintance with a complicated literary movement which was obliquely reflected in the stage-plays of Iffland and his contemporaries. The change which was coming over English literature was in truth of a wider and deeper nature than it was possible for even one of its chief representatives to perceive. As that literature freed itself from the fetters so long worn by it as indispensable ornaments, and threw aside the veil which had so long obscured both the full glory of its past and the lofty capabilities of its future, it could not resort except tentatively to a form which like the dramatic is bound by a hundred bonds to the life of the age itself. Soon, the poems with which Scott and Byron, and the unrivalled prose fictions with which Scott, both satisfied and stimulated the imaginative demands of the public, diverted the attention of the cultivated classes from dramatic literature, which was unable to escape, with the light foot of verse or prose fiction, into “the new, the romantic land.” New themes, new ideas, new forms occupied a new generation of writers and readers; nor did the drama readily lend itself as a vessel into which to pour so many fermenting elements. In Byron the impressions produced upon a mind not less open to impulses from without than subjective in its way of recasting them, called forth a series of dramatic attempts betraying a more or less wilful ignorance of the demands of dramatic compositions; his beautiful Manfred, partly suggested by Goethe’s Faust, and his powerful Cain, have but the form of plays; his tragedies on Italian historical subjects show some resemblance in their political rhetoric to the contemporary works of Alfieri; his Sardanapalus, autobiographically interesting, fails to meet the demands of the stage; his Werner (of which the authorship has been ascribed to the duchess of Devonshire) is a hastily dramatized sensation novel. To Coleridge (1772-1834), who gave to English literature a splendidly loose translation of Schiller’s Wallenstein, the same poet’s Robbers (to which Wordsworth’s only dramatic attempt, the Borderers, is likewise indebted) had probably suggested the subject of his tragedy of Osorio, afterwards acted under the title of Remorse. Far superior to this is his later drama of Zapolya, a genuine homage to Shakespeare, out of the themes of two of whose plays it is gracefully woven. Scott, who in his earlier days had translated Goethe’s Götz von Berlichingen, gained no reputation by his own dramatic compositions. W. S. Landor, apart from those Imaginary Conversations upon which he best loved to expend powers of observation and characterization such as have been given to few playwrights, cast in a formally dramatic mould studies of character of which the value is far from being confined to their wealth in beauties of detail. Of these the magnificent, but in construction altogether undramatic, Count Julian, is the most noteworthy. Shelley’s The Cenci, on the other hand, is not only a poem of great beauty, but a drama of true power, abnormally revolting indeed in theme, but singularly pure and delicate in treatment. A humbler niche in the temple of dramatic literature belongs to some of the plays of C. R. Maturin,261 Sir T. N. Talfourd,262 and Dean Milman.263

Divorced, except for passing moments, from the stage, English dramatic literature could during much the greater part of the 19th century hardly be regarded as a connected national growth; though, already in the last decades of the Victorian age, the revival of public interest in the theatre co-operated with a gradual change in poetic taste to awaken the hope of a future living reunion. Among English poets who lived in this period, Sir Henry Taylor probably approached nearest to the objective treatment and the amplitude of style characteristic of the Elizabethan drama.264 R. H. Horne, long an almost solitary survivor of the romantic school, was able in at least one memorable dramatic attempt to revive something of the early Elizabethan spirit.265 Of the chief poets of the age, Tennyson only in his later years addressed himself to a form of composition little suited to his genius, though the very fact of the homage paid by him to the national forms of the historic drama and of romantic comedy could not fail to ennoble the contemporary stage.266 Matthew Arnold’s stately revival of the traditions of classical tragedy proper, on the other hand, deliberately excluded itself from any such contact;267 while Longfellow’s refined literary culture and graceful facility of form made ready use of a quasi-dramatic medieval vesture.268 William Morris’s single “morality,” too, cannot be regarded as a contribution to dramatic literature proper.269 Of very different importance are the excursions into dramatic composition of Robert Browning, whose place in the living inheritance of the English drama has in one instance at least been not unsuccessfully vindicated by a later age, and some of whose greatest gifts are beyond a doubt displayed in his dramatic work;270 and the sustained endeavours of A. C. Swinburne, after adding a flower of exquisite beauty to the wreath which the lovers of the Attic muse have laid at her feet, to enrich the national historic drama by a trilogy instinct with the ardent eloquence of passion.271 Until a date too near the times in which we live to admit of its being fixed with precision, most of the English writers who sought to preserve a connexion between their dramatic productions and the demands of the stage addressed themselves to the theatrical rather than the literary public—for the distinction, in those times at all events, was by no means without a difference. The modestly simple and judiciously concentrated efforts of Joanna Baillie deserve a respectful remembrance in the records of literature as well as of the stage, though the day has passed when the theory which suggested her Plays on the Passions could find acceptance among critics, or her exemplifications of it satisfy the demands of playgoers. Sheridan Knowles, on the other hand, composed his conventional semblances of genuine tragedy and comedy with a thorough knowledge of stage effect, and some of them can hardly yet be said to have vanished from the stage.272 The first Lord Lytton, though his plays were for the most part of a lighter texture, showed even more artificiality of sentiment in their conception and execution; but the romantic touch which he imparted to at least one of them accounts for its long-lived popularity. Among later Victorian playwrights T. W. Robertson brought back a breath of naturalness into the acted comic drama; Tom Taylor, rivalling Lope in fertility, made little pretence to original invention, but adapted with an instinct that rarely failed him, and materially helped to keep the theatrical diversions of his 532 age sound and pure; an endeavour in which he had the co-operation of Charles Reade and that of most of those who competed with them for the favour of generations of playgoers more easily contented than their successors. The one deplorable aspect of this age of the English drama was to be found neither in the sphere of tragedy nor in that of comedy—nor even in that of farce. It was presented in the low depths of contemporary burlesque, which had degenerated from the graceful extravaganza of J. R. Planché into witless and tasteless emptiness.

Curiously enough, it was at this point that something like real originality—discovering a new sub-species of its own—first began, with the aid of a sister-art, to renovate the English popular comic stage. At the beginning of the 19th century the greatest tragic actress of the English theatre, Mrs Siddons, had passed her prime; and before its second decade had closed, not only she (1812) but her brother John Kemble (1817), the representative of a grand style of acting which later generations might conceivably find overpowering, had withdrawn from the boards. Mrs Siddons was soon followed into retirement by her successor Miss O’Neill (1819); while Kemble’s brilliant later rival, Edmund Kean, an actor the intuitions of whose genius seem to have supplied, so far as intuition ever can supply, the absence of a consecutive self-culture, remained on the stage till his death in 1833. Young, Macready, and others handed down some of the traditions of the older school of acting to the very few artists who remained to suggest its semblance to a later generation. Even these—among them S. Phelps, whose special merit it was to present to a later age, accustomed to elaborate theatrical environments, dramatic masterpieces as dependent upon themselves and adequate interpretation; and the foremost English actress of the earlier Victorian age, Helen Faucit (Lady Martin)—were unable to leave a school of acting behind them. Still less was this possible to Charles Kean the younger, with whom the decorative production of Shakespearian plays really had its beginning; or even to Sir Henry Irving, an actor of genius, but also an irrepressible and almost eccentric theatrical personality, whose great service to the English drama was his faith in its masterpieces. The comic stage was fortunate in an ampler aftergrowth, from generation to generation, of the successors of the old actors who live for us all in the reminiscences of Charles Lamb; nor were the links suddenly snapped which bound the humours of the present to those of the past. In the first decade of the 20th century a generation still survived which could recall, with many other similar joys, the brilliant levity of Charles Mathews the younger; the not less irresistible stolidity of J. B. Buckstone; the solemn fooling of H. Compton (1805-1877); the subtle humours of J. L. Toole, and the frolic charm of Marie Wilton (Lady Bancroft), the most original comic actress of her time.

(A. W. W.)

Recent English Drama.—In England the whole mechanism of theatrical life had undergone a radical change in the middle decades of the 19th century. At the root of this change lay the immense growth of population and the enormously increased facilities of communication between London and the provinces. Similar causes came into operation, of course, in France, Germany and Austria, but were much less distinctly felt, because the numerous and important subventioned theatres of these countries remained more or less unaffected by economic influences. Free trade in theatricals (subject only to certain licensing regulations and to a court censorship of new plays) was established in England by an act of 1843, which abolished the long moribund monopoly of the “legitimate drama” claimed by the “Patent Theatres” of Drury Lane and Covent Garden. The drama was thus formally subjected to the operation of the law of supply and demand, like any other article of commerce, and managers were left, unaided and unhampered by any subvention or privilege, to cater to the tastes of a huge and growing community. Theatres very soon multiplied, competition grew ever keener, and the long run, with its accompaniments of ostentatious decoration and lavish advertisement, became the one object of managerial effort. This process of evolution may be said to have begun in the second quarter of the 19th century and completed itself in the 3rd. The system which obtains to-day, almost unforeseen in 1825, was in full operation in 1875. The repertory theatre, with its constant changes of programme, maintained on the continent partly by subventions, partly by the mere force of artistic tradition, had become in England a faint and far-off memory. There was not a single theatre in London at which plays, old and new, were not selected and mounted solely with a view to their continuous performance for as many nights as possible, anything short of fifty nights constituting an ignominious and probably ruinous failure. It was found, too, that those theatres were most successful which were devoted exclusively to exploiting the talent of an individual actor. Thus when the fourth quarter of the century opened, the long “run” and the actor-manager were in firm possession of the field.

The outlook was in many ways far from encouraging. It was not quite so black, indeed, as it had been in the late ’fifties and early ’sixties, when the “legitimate” enterprises of Phelps at Sadler’s Wells and Charles Kean at the Princess’s had failed to hold their ground, and when modern comedy and drama were represented almost exclusively by adaptations from the French. There had been a slight stirring of originality in the series of comedies produced by T. W. Robertson at the Prince of Wales’s theatre, where, under the management of Bancroft (q.v.) a new school of mounting and acting, minutely faithful (in theory at any rate) to everyday reality, had come into existence. But the hopes of a revival of English comedy seemed to have died with Robertson’s death. One of his followers, James Albery, possessed both imagination and wit, but had not the strength of character to do justice to his talent, and sank into a mere adapter. In the plays of another disciple, H. J. Byron, the Robertsonian or “cup-and-saucer” school declined upon sheer inanity. Of the numerous plays signed by Tom Taylor some were original in substance, but all were cast in the machine-made French mould. Wilkie Collins, in dramatizing some of his novels, produced somewhat crude anticipations of the modern “problem play.” The literary talent of W. S. Gilbert displayed itself in a group of comedies both in verse and prose; but Gilbert saw life from too peculiar an angle to represent it otherwise than fantastically. The Robertsonian impulse seemed to have died utterly away, leaving behind it only five or six very insubstantial comedies and a subdued, unrhetorical method in acting. This method the Bancrofts proceeded to apply, during the ’seventies, to revivals of stage classics, such as The School for Scandal, Money and Masks and Faces, and to adaptations from the French of Sardou.

While the modern drama appeared to have relapsed into a comatose condition, poetic and romantic drama was giving some signs of life. At the Lyceum in 1871 Henry Irving had leapt into fame by means of his performance of Mathias in The Bells, an adaptation from the French of Erckmann-Chatrian. He followed this up by an admirably picturesque performance of the title-part in Charles I. by W. G. Wills. In the autumn of 1874 the great success of Irving’s Hamlet was hailed as the prelude to a revival of tragic acting. As a matter of fact, it was the prelude to a long series of remarkable achievements in romantic drama and melodrama. Irving’s lack of physical and vocal resources prevented him from scaling the heights of tragedy, and his Othello, Macbeth, and Lear could not be ranked among his successes; but he was admirable in such parts as Richard III., Shylock, Iago and Wolsey, while in melodramatic parts, such as Louis XI. and the hero and villain of The Lyons Mail, he was unsurpassed. Mephistopheles in a version of Faust (1885), perhaps the greatest popular success of his career, added nothing to his reputation for artistic intelligence; but on the other hand his Becket in Tennyson’s play of that name (1893) was one of his most masterly efforts. His management of the Lyceum (1878-1899) did so much to raise the status of the actor and to restore the prestige of poetic drama, that the knighthood conferred upon him in 1895 was felt to be no more than an appropriate recognition of his services. But his managerial career had scarcely any significance for the living English drama. He seldom experimented with a new play, 533 and, of the few which he did produce, only The Cup and Becket by Lord Tennyson have the remotest chance of being remembered.

To trace the history of the new English drama, then, we must go back to the Prince of Wales’s theatre. Even while it seemed that French comedy of the school of Scribe was resuming its baneful predominance, the seeds of a new order of things were slowly germinating. Diplomacy, an adaptation of Sardou’s Dora, produced in 1878, brought together on the Prince of Wales’s stage Mr and Mrs Bancroft, Mr and Mrs Kendal, John Clayton and Arthur Cecil—in other words, the future managers of the Haymarket, the St James’s and the Court theatres, which were destined to see the first real stirrings of a literary revival. Mr and Mrs Kendal, who, in conjunction with John Hare, managed the St James’s theatre from 1879 to 1888, produced A. W. Pinero’s first play of any consequence, The Money-Spinner (1881), and afterwards The Squire (1882) and The Hobby Horse (1887). The Bancrofts, who, after entirely rebuilding the Haymarket theatre, managed it from 1880 till their retirement in 1885, produced in 1883 Pinero’s Lords and Commons; and Messrs Clayton and Cecil produced at the Court theatre between 1885 and 1887 his three brilliant farces, The Magistrate, The Schoolmistress and Dandy Dick, which, with the sentimental comedy, Sweet Lavender, produced at Terry’s theatre in 1888, assured his position as an original and fertile dramatic humorist of no small literary power. It is to be noted, however, that Pinero was almost the only original playwright represented under the Bancroft, Hare-Kendal and Clayton-Cecil managements, which relied for the rest upon adaptations and revivals. Adaptations of French vaudevilles were the staple productions of Charles Wyndham’s management at the Criterion from its beginning in 1876 until 1893, when he first produced an original play of any importance. When Herbert Beerbohm Tree went into management at the Haymarket in 1887, he still relied largely on plays of foreign origin. George Alexander’s first managerial ventures (Avenue theatre, 1890) were two adaptations from the French. Until well on in the ’eighties, indeed, adaptation from the French was held the normal occupation of the British playwright, and original composition a mere episode. Robertson, Byron, Albery, Gilbert, Tom Taylor, Charles Reade, Herman Merivale, G. W. Godfrey, all produced numerous adaptations; Sydney Grundy was for twenty years occupied almost exclusively in this class of work; Pinero himself has adapted more than one French play. The ’eighties, then, may on the whole be regarded as showing a very gradual decline in the predominance of France on the English stage, and an equally slow revival of originality, so far as comedy and drama were concerned, manifesting itself mainly in the plays of Pinero.

The reaction against French influence, however, was no less apparent in the domain of melodrama and operetta than in that of comedy and drama. Until well on in the ’seventies, D’Ennery and his disciples, adapted and imitated by Dion Boucicault and others, ruled the melodramatic stage. The reaction asserted itself in two quarters—in the East End at the Grecian theatre, and in the West End at the Princess’s. In The World, produced at Drury Lane in 1880, Paul Meritt (d. 1895) and Henry Pettitt (d. 1893) brought to the West End the “Grecian” type of popular drama; and at Drury Lane it survived in the elaborately spectacular form imparted to it by Sir Augustus Harris, who managed that theatre from 1879 till his death in 1896. The production of G. R. Sims’s Lights o’ London at the Princess’s in 1881, under Wilson Barrett’s management, also marked a new departure. This style of melodrama was chiefly cultivated at the Adelphi theatre, from 1882 until the end of the century, when it died out there as a regular institution, apparently because a host of suburban theatres drew away its audiences. Of all these English melodramas, only one, The Silver King, by Henry Arthur Jones (Princess’s, 1882), could for a moment compare in invention or technical skill with the French dramas they supplanted. The fact remains, however, that even on this lowest level of dramatic art the current of the time set decisively towards home-made pictures of English life, however crude and puerile.

For twenty-five years, from 1865 to 1890, the English stage was overrun with French operettas of the school of Offenbach. Hastily adapted by slovenly hacks, their librettos (often witty in the original) became incredible farragos of metreless doggrel and punning ineptitude. The great majority of them are now so utterly forgotten that it is hard to realize how, in their heyday, they swarmed on every hand in London and the provinces. The reaction began in 1875 with the performance at the Royalty theatre of Trial by Jury, by W. S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan. This was the prelude to that brilliant series of witty and melodious extravaganzas which began with The Sorcerer at the Opera Comique theatre in 1877, but was mainly associated with the Savoy theatre, opened by R. D’Oyly Carte (d. 1901) in 1881. Little by little the Gilbert and Sullivan operettas (of which the most famous, perhaps, were H.M.S. Pinafore, 1878, Patience, 1881, and The Mikado, 1885) undermined the popularity of the French opera-bouffes, and at the same time that of the indigenous “burlesques” which, graceful enough in the hands of their inventor J. R. Planché, had become mere incoherent jumbles of buffoonery, devoid alike of dramatic ingenuity and of literary form. When, early in the ’nineties, the collaboration between Gilbert and Sullivan became intermittent, and the vogue of the Savoy somewhat declined, a new class of extravaganza arose, under the designation of “musical comedy” or “musical farce.” It first took form in a piece called In Town, by Messrs “Adrian Ross” and Osmond Carr (Prince of Wales’s theatre, 1892), and rapidly became very popular. In these plays the scene and costumes are almost always modern though sometimes exotic, and the prose dialogue, setting forth an attenuated and entirely negligible plot, is frequently interrupted by musical numbers. The lyrics are often very clever pieces of rhyming, totally different from the inane doggrel of the old opera-bouffes and burlesques. In other respects there is little to be said for the literary or intellectual quality of “musical farce”; but, being an entirely English (or Anglo-American) product, it falls into line with the other indications we have noted of the general decline—one might almost say extinction—of French influence on the English stage.

To what causes are we to trace this gradual disuse of adaptation? In the domain of modern comedy and drama, to two causes acting simultaneously: the decline in France of the method of Scribe, which produced “well-made,” exportable plays, more or less suited to any climate and environment; and the rise in England of a generation of playwrights more original, thoughtful and able than their predecessors. It is not at all to be taken for granted that the falling off in the supply of exportable plays meant a decline in the absolute merit of French drama. The historian of the future may very possibly regard the movement in France, no less than the movement in England, as a step in advance, and may even see in the two movements co-ordinate manifestations of one tendency. Be this as it may, the fact is certain that as the playwrights of the Second Empire gradually died off, and were succeeded by the authors of the “new comedy,” plays which would bear transplantation became ever fewer and farther between. Of recent years Henri Bernstein, author of Le Voleur and Samson, has been almost the only French dramatist whose works have found a ready and steady market in England. Attempts to acclimatize French poetical drama—Pour la Couronne, Le Chemineau, Cyrano de Bergerac—were all more or less unsuccessful.

Having noted the decline of adaptation, we may now trace a stage farther the development of the English drama. The first stage, already surveyed, ends with the production of Sweet Lavender in 1888. Up to this point its author, Pinero (b. 1855), stood practically alone, and had won his chief successes as a humorist. Henry Arthur Jones (b. 1851) was known as little more than an able melodramatist, though in one play, Saints and Sinners (1884), he had made some attempt at a serious study of provincial life. R. C. Carton (b. 1856) had written, in collaboration, one or two plays of slight account. Sydney Grundy (b. 1848) had produced scarcely any original work. The second stage may be taken as extending from 1889 to 1893. 534 On the 24th of April 1889 John Hare opened the new Garrick theatre with The Profligate, by Pinero—an unripe and superficial piece of work in many ways, but still a great advance, both in ambition and achievement, upon any original work the stage had seen for many a year.

With all its faults, it may be said that The Profligate notably enlarged at one stroke the domain open to the English dramatist. And it did not stand alone. The same year saw the production of two plays by H. A. Jones, Wealth and The Middleman, in which a distinct effort towards a serious criticism of life was observable, and of two plays by Sydney Grundy, A Fool’s Paradise and A White Lie, which, though very French in method, were at least original in substance. Jones during the next two years made a steady advance with Judah (1890), The Dancing Girl and The Crusaders (1891). Pinero in these years was putting forth less than his whole strength in The Cabinet Minister (1890), Lady Bountiful and The Times (1891), and The Amazons (March 1893). But meanwhile new talents were coming forward. The management of George Alexander, which opened at the Avenue theatre in 1890, but was transferred in the following year to the St James’s, brought prominently to the front R. C. Carton, Haddon Chambers and Oscar Wilde. Carton’s two sentimental comedies, Sunlight and Shadow (1890) and Liberty Hall (1892), showed excellent workmanship, but did not yet reveal his true originality as a humorist. Haddon Chambers’s work (notably The Idler, 1891) was as yet sufficiently commonplace; but in Lady Windermere’s Fan (1892) Oscar Wilde showed himself at his first attempt a brilliant and accomplished dramatist. Wilde’s subsequent plays, A Woman of No Importance (1893) and An Ideal Husband and The Importance of being Earnest (1895), though marred by mannerism and insincerity, did much to promote the movement we are here tracing.

As the production of The Profligate marked the opening of the second period in the revival of English drama, so the production of the same author’s The Second Mrs Tanqueray is very clearly the starting-point of the third period. Before attempting to trace its course we may do well to glance at certain conditions which probably influenced it.

In the first place, economic conditions. The Bancroft-Robertson movement at the old Prince of Wales’s, between 1865 and 1870, was of even more importance from an economic than from a literary point of view. By making their little theatre a luxurious place of resort, and faithfully imitating in their productions the accent, costume and furniture of upper and upper-middle class life, the Bancrofts had initiated a reconciliation between society and the stage. Throughout the middle decades of the century it was the constant complaint of the managers that the world of wealth and fashion could not be tempted to the theatre. The Bancroft management changed all that. It was at the Prince of Wales’s that half-guinea stalls were first introduced; and these stalls were always filled. As other theatres adopted the same policy of upholstery, both on and off the stage, fashion extended its complaisance to them as well. In yet another way the reconciliation was promoted—by the ever-increasing tendency of young men and women of good birth and education to seek a career upon the English stage. The theatre, in short, became at this period one of the favourite amusements of fashionable (though scarcely of intellectual) society in London. It is often contended that the influence of the sensual and cynical stall audience is a pernicious one. In some ways, no doubt, it is detrimental; but there is another side to the case. Even the cynicism of society marks an intellectual advance upon the sheer rusticity which prevailed during the middle years of the 19th century and accepted without a murmur plays (original and adapted) which bore no sort of relation to life. In a celebrated essay published in 1879, Matthew Arnold (whose occasional dramatic criticisms were very influential in intellectual circles) dwelt on the sufficiently obvious fact that the result of giving English names and costumes to French characters was to make their sayings and doings utterly unreal and “fantastic.” During the years of French ascendancy, audiences had quite forgotten that it was possible for the stage to be other than “fantastic” in this sense. They no longer thought of comparing the mimic world with the real world, but were content with what may be called abstract humour and pathos, often of the crudest quality. The cultivation of external realism, coinciding with, and in part occasioning, the return of society to the playhouse, gradually led to a demand for some approach to plausibility in character and action as well as in costume and decoration. The stage ceased to be entirely “fantastic,” and began to essay, however imperfectly, the representation, the criticism of life. It cannot be denied that the influence of society tended to narrow the outlook of English dramatists and to trivialize their tone of thought. But this was a passing phase of development; and cleverly trivial representations of reality are, after all, to be preferred to brainless concoctions of sheer emptiness.

Quite as important, from the economic point of view, as the reconciliation of society to the stage, was the reorganization of the mechanism of theatrical life in the provinces which took place between 1865 and 1875. From the Restoration to the middle of the 19th century the system of “stock companies” had been universal. Every great town in the three kingdoms had its established theatre with a resident company, playing the “legitimate” repertory, and competing, often by illegitimate means, for the possession of new London successes. The smaller towns, and even villages, were grouped into local “circuits,” each served by one manager with his troupe of strollers. The “circuits” supplied actors to the resident stock companies, and the stock companies served as nurseries to the patent theatres in London. Metropolitan “stars” travelled from one country theatre to another, generally alone, sometimes with one or two subordinates in their train, and were “supported,” as the phrase went, by the stock company of each theatre. Under this system, scenery, costumes and appointments were often grotesquely inadequate, and performances almost always rough and unfinished. On the other hand, the constant practice in a great number and variety of characters afforded valuable training for actors, and developed many remarkable talents. As a source of revenue to authors, the provinces were practically negligible. Stageright was unprotected by law; and even if it had been protected, it is doubtful whether authors could have got any considerable fees out of country managers, whose precarious ventures usually left them a small enough margin of profit.

The spread of railways throughout the country gradually put an end to this system. The “circuits” disappeared early in the ’fifties, the stock companies survived until about the middle of the ’seventies. As soon as it was found easy to transport whole companies, and even great quantities of scenery, from theatre to theatre throughout the length and breadth of Great Britain, it became apparent that the rough makeshifts of the stock company system were doomed. Here again we can trace to the old Prince of Wales’s theatre the first distinct impulse towards the new order of things. Robertson’s comedies not only encouraged but absolutely required a style of art, in mounting, stage-management and acting, not to be found in the country theatres. To entrust them to the stock companies was well-nigh impossible. On the other hand, to quote Sir Squire Bancroft, “perhaps no play was ever better suited than Caste to a travelling company; the parts being few, the scenery and dresses quite simple, and consequently the expenses very much reduced.” In 1867, then, a company was organized and rehearsed in London to carry round the provincial theatres as exact a reproduction as possible of the London performance of Caste and Robertson’s other comedies. The smoothness of the representation, the delicacy of the interplay among the characters, were new to provincial audiences, and the success was remarkable. About the same time the whole Haymarket company, under Buckstone’s management, began to make frequent rounds of the country theatres; and other “touring combinations” were soon organized. It is manifest that the “combination” system and the stock company system cannot long coexist, for a manager cannot afford to keep a stock company idle while a London combination is occupying his theatre. The stock companies, therefore, soon dwindled away, and were probably quite extinct before the end 535 of the ’seventies. Under the present system, no sooner is a play an established success in London than it is reproduced in one, two or three exact copies and sent round the provincial theatres (and the numerous suburban theatres which have sprung up since 1895), Company A serving first-class towns, Company B the second-class towns, and so forth. The process is very like that of taking plaster casts of a statue, and the provincial companies often stand to their London originals very much in the relation of plaster to marble. Even the London scenery is faithfully reproduced in material of extra strength, to stand the wear-and-tear of constant removal. The result is that, instead of the square pegs in round holes of the old stock company system, provincial audiences now see pegs carefully adjusted to the particular holes they occupy, and often incapable of fitting any other. Instead of the rough performances of old, they are now accustomed to performances of a mechanical and soulless smoothness.

In some ways the gain in this respect is undeniable, in other ways the loss is great. The provinces are no longer, in any effective sense, a nursery of fresh talents for the London theatres, for the art acquired in touring combinations is that of mimicry rather than of acting. Moreover, provincial playgoers have lost all personal interest and pride in their local theatres, which have no longer any individuality of their own, but serve as a mere frame for the presentation of a series of ready-made London pictures. Christmas pantomime is the only theatrical product that has any really local flavour in it, and even this is often only a second-hand London production, touched up with a few topical allusions. Again, the railways which bring London productions to the country take country playgoers by the thousand to London. The wealthier classes, in the Lancashire, Yorkshire and Midland towns at any rate, do almost all their theatre-going in London, or during the autumn months when the leading London companies go on tour. Thus the better class of comedy and drama has a hard fight to maintain itself in the provinces, and the companies devoted to melodrama and musical farce enjoy an ominous preponderance of popularity.

On the whole, however—and this is the main point to be observed with regard to the literary development of the drama—the economic movement of the five- and twenty years between 1865 and 1890 was enormously to the advantage of the dramatic author. A London success meant a long series of full houses at high prices, on which he took a handsome percentage. The provinces, in which a popular playwright would often have three or four plays going the rounds simultaneously, became a steady source of income. And, finally, it was found possible, even before international copyright came into force, to protect stageright in the United States, so that about the beginning of the ’eighties large receipts began to pour in from America. Thus successful dramatists, instead of living from hand to mouth, like their predecessors of the previous generation, found themselves in comfortable and even opulent circumstances. They had leisure for reading, thought and careful composition, and they could afford to gratify their ambition with an occasional artistic experiment. Failure might mean a momentary loss of prestige, but it would not spell ruin. A distinctly progressive spirit, then, began to animate the leading English dramatists—a spirit which found intelligent sympathy in such managers as John Hare, George Alexander, Beerbohm Tree and Charles Wyndham. Nor must it be forgotten that, though the laws of literary property, internal and international, remained far from perfect, it was found possible to print and publish plays without incurring loss of stageright either at home or in America. The playwrights of the present generation have accordingly a motive for giving literary form and polish to their work which was quite inoperative with their predecessors, whose productions were either kept jealously in manuscript or printed only in miserable and totally unreadable stage editions. It is no small stimulus to ambition to know that even if a play prove to be in advance of the standards of taste or thought among the public to which it is originally presented, it will not perish utterly, but will, if it have any inherent vitality, continue to live as literature.

Having now summed up the economic conditions which made for progress, let us glance at certain intellectual influences which tended in the same direction. The establishment of the Théâtre Libre in Paris, towards the close of 1887, Influence of foreign drama. unquestionably marked the beginning of a period of restless experiment throughout the theatrical world of Europe. A. Antoine and his supporters were in open rebellion against the artificial methods of Scribe and the Second Empire playwrights. Their effort was to transfer to the stage the realism, the so-called “naturalism,” which had been dominant in French fiction since 1870 or earlier; and this naturalism was doubtless, in its turn, the outcome of the scientific movement of the century. New methods (or ideals) of observation, and new views as to the history and destiny of the race, could not fail to produce a profound effect upon art; and though the modern theatre is a cumbrous contrivance, slow to adjust its orientation to the winds of the spirit, even it at last began to revolve, like a rusty windmill, so as to fill its sails in the main current of the intellectual atmosphere. Within three or four years of its inception, Antoine’s experiment had been imitated in Germany, England and America. The “Freie Bühne” of Berlin came into existence in 1889, the Independent Theatre of London in 1891. Similar enterprises were set on foot in Munich and other cities. In America several less formal experiments of a like nature were attempted, chiefly in Boston and New York. Nor must it be forgotten that in Paris itself the Théâtre Libre did not stand alone. Many other théâtres à côté sprang up, under such titles as “Théâtre d’Art,” “Théâtre Moderne,” “Théâtre de l’Avenir Dramatique.” The most important and least ephemeral was the “Théâtre de l’Œuvre,” founded in 1893 by Alex. Lugné-Poë, which represented mainly, though not exclusively, the symbolist reaction against naturalism.

The impulse which led to the establishment of the Théâtre Libre was, in the first instance, entirely French. If any foreign influence helped to shape its course, it was that of the great Russian novelists. Tolstoi’s Puissance des ténèbres was the only “exotic” play announced in Antoine’s opening manifesto. But the whole movement was soon to receive a potent stimulus from the Norwegian poet Henrik Ibsen.

Ibsen’s early romantic plays had been known in Germany since 1875. In 1878 Pillars of Society and in 1880 A Doll’s House achieved wide popularity, and held the German stage side by side with A Bankruptcy, by Björnstjerne Björnson. But these plays had little influence on the German drama. Their methods were, indeed, not essentially different from those of the French school of the Second Empire, which were then dominant in Germany as well as everywhere else. It was Ghosts (acted in Augsburg and Meiningen 1886, in Berlin 1887) that gave the impulse which, coalescing with the kindred impulse from the French Théâtre Libre, was destined in the course of a few years to create a new dramatic literature in Germany. During the middle decades of the century Germany had produced some dramatists of solid and even remarkable talent, such as Friedrich Hebbel, Heinrich Laube, Karl Gutzkow and Gustav Freytag. Even the generation which held the stage after 1870, and included Paul Heyse, Paul Lindau and Adolf Wilbrandt, with numerous writers of light comedy and farce, such as E. Wichert, O. Blumenthal, G. von Moser, A. L’Arronge and F. von Schönthan, had produced a good many works of some merit. But, in the main, French artificiality and frivolity predominated on the German stage. In point of native talent and originality, the Austrian popular playwright Ludwig Anzengruber was well ahead of his North German contemporaries. It was in 1889, with the establishment of the Berlin Freie Bühne, that the reaction definitely set in. In Berlin, as afterwards in London, Ghosts was the first play produced on the outpost stage, but it was followed in Berlin by a very rapid development of native talent. Less than a month after the performance of Ibsen’s play, Gerhart Hauptmann came to the front with Vor Sonnenaufgang, an immature piece of almost unrelieved Zolaism, which he soon followed up, however, with much more important works. In Das Friedensfest (1890) and Einsame Menschen 536 (1891) he transferred his allegiance from Zola to Ibsen. His true originality first manifested itself in Die Weber (1892); and subsequently he produced plays in several different styles, all bearing the stamp of a potent individuality. His most popular productions have been the dramatic poems Hannele and Die versunkene Glocke, the low-life comedy Der Biberpelz, and the low-life tragedy Fuhrmann Henschel. Other remarkable playwrights belonging to the Freie Bühne group are Max Halbe (b. 1865), author of Jugend and Mutter Erde, and Otto Erich Hartleben (b. 1864), author of Hanna Jagert and Rosenmontag. These young men, however, so quickly gained the ear of the general public, that the need for a special “free stage” was no longer felt, and the Freie Bühne, having done its work, ceased to exist. Unlike the French Théâtre Libre and the English Independent theatre, it had been supported from the outset by the most influential critics, and had won the day almost without a battle. The productions of the new school soon made their way even into some of the subventioned theatres; but it was the unsubventioned Deutsches Theater of Berlin that most vigorously continued the tradition of the Freie Bühne. One or two playwrights of the new generation, however, did not actually belong to the Freie Bühne group. Hermann Sudermann produced his first play, Die Ehre, in 1888, and his most famous work, Heimat, in 1892. In him the influence of Ibsen is very clearly perceptible; while Arthur Schnitzler of Vienna, author of Liebelei, may rather be said to derive his inspiration from the Parisian “new comedy.” Originality, verging sometimes on abnormality, distinguishes the work of Frank Wedekind (b. 1864), author of Erdgeist and Frühlingserwachen. Hugo von Hofmannsthal (b. 1874), in his Elektra and Ödipus, rehandles classic themes in the light of modern anthropology and psychology.

The promoters of the Théâtre Libre had probably never heard of Ibsen when they established that institution, but three years later his fame had reached France, and Les Revenants was produced by the Théâtre Libre (29th May 1890). Within the next two or three years almost all his modern plays were acted in Paris, most of them either by the Théâtre Libre or by L’Œuvre. Close upon the heels of the Ibsen influence followed another, less potent, but by no means negligible. The exquisite tragic symbolism of Maurice Maeterlinck began to find numerous admirers about 1890. In 1891 his one-act play L’Intruse was acted; in 1893, Pelléas et Mélisande. By this time, too, the reverberation of the impulse which the Théâtre Libre had given to the Freie Bühne began to be felt in France. In 1893 Hauptmann’s Die Weber was acted in Paris, and, being frequently repeated, made a deep and lasting impression.

The English analogue to the Théâtre Libre, the Independent theatre, opened its first season (March 13, 1891) with a performance of Ghosts. This was not, however, the first introduction of Ibsen to the English stage. On the 7th of June 1889 (six weeks after the production of The Profligate) A Doll’s House was acted at the Novelty theatre, and ran for three weeks, amid a storm of critical controversy. In the same year Pillars of Society was presented in London. In 1891 and 1892 A Doll’s House was frequently acted; Rosmersholm was produced in 1891, and again in 1893; in May and June 1891 Hedda Gabler had a run of several weeks; and early in 1893 The Master Builder enjoyed a similar passing vogue. During these years, then, Ibsen was very much “in the air” in England, as well as in France and Germany. The Independent theatre, in the meantime, under the management of J. T. Grein, found but scanty material to deal with. It presented translations of Zola’s Thérèse Raquin, and of A Visit, by the Danish dramatist Edward Brandes; but it brought to the front only one English author of any note, in the person of George Bernard Shaw, whose “didactic realistic play,” Widowers’ Houses, it produced in December 1892.

None the less is it true that the ferment of fresh energy, which between 1887 and 1893 had created a new dramatic literature both in France and in Germany, was distinctly felt in England as well. England did not take at all kindly to it. The productions of Ibsen’s plays, in particular, were received with an outcry of reprobation. A great part of this clamour was due to sheer misunderstanding; but some of it, no doubt, arose from genuine and deep-seated distaste. As for the dramatists of recognized standing, they one and all, both from policy and from conviction, adopted a hostile attitude towards Ibsen, expressing at most a theoretical respect overborne by practical dislike. Yet his influence permeated the atmosphere. He had revealed possibilities of technical stagecraft and psychological delineation that, once realized, were not to be banished from the mind of the thoughtful playwright. They haunted him in spite of himself. Still subtler was the influence exerted over the critics and the more intelligent public. Deeply and genuinely as many of them disliked Ibsen’s works, they found, when they returned to the old-fashioned play, the adapted frivolity or the homegrown sentimentalism, that they disliked this still more. On every side, then, there was an instinctive or deliberate reaching forward towards something new; and once again it was Pinero who ventured the decisive step.

On the 27th of May 1893 The Second Mrs Tanqueray was produced at the St James’s theatre. With The Second Mrs Tanqueray the English acted drama ceased to be a merely insular product, and took rank in the literature of Europe. Here was a play which, whatever its faults, was obviously comparable with the plays of Dumas, of Sudermann, of Björnson, of Echegaray. It might be better than some of these plays, worse than others; but it stood on the same artistic level. The fact that such a play could not only be produced, but could brilliantly succeed, on the London stage gave a potent stimulus to progress. It encouraged ambition in authors, enterprise in managers. What Hernani was to the romantic movement of the ’thirties, and La Dame aux camélias to the realistic movement of the ’fifties, The Second Mrs Tanqueray was to the movement of the ’nineties towards the serious stage-portraiture of English social life. All the forces which we have been tracing—Robertsonian realism of externals, the leisure for thought and experiment involved in vastly improved financial conditions, the substitution in France of a simpler, subtler technique for the outworn artifices of the Scribe school, and the electric thrill communicated to the whole theatrical life of Europe by contact with the genius of Ibsen—all these slowly converging forces coalesced to produce, in The Second Mrs Tanqueray, an epoch-marking play.

Pinero followed up Mrs Tanqueray with a remarkable series of plays—The Notorious Mrs Ebbsmith, The Benefit of the Doubt, The Princess and the Butterfly, Trelawny of the “Wells,” The Gay Lord Quex, Iris, Letty, His House in Order and The Thunderbolt—all of which show marked originality of conception and intellectual force. In January 1893 Charles Wyndham initiated a new policy at the Criterion theatre, and produced an original play, The Bauble-Shop, by Henry Arthur Jones. It belonged very distinctly to the pre-Tanqueray order of things; but the same author’s The Case of Rebellious Susan, in the following year, showed an almost startlingly sudden access of talent, which was well maintained in such later works as Michael and his Lost Angel (1896), that admirable comedy The Liars (1897), and Mrs Dane’s Defence (1900). Sydney Grundy produced after 1893 by far his most important original works, The Greatest of These (1896) and The Debt of Honour (1900). R. C. Carton, breaking away from the somewhat laboured sentimentalism of his earlier manner, produced several light comedies of thoroughly original humour and of excellent literary workmanship—Lord and Lady Algy, Wheels within Wheels, Lady Huntworth’s Experiment, Mr Hopkinson and Mr Preedy and the Countess. Haddon Chambers, in The Tyranny of Tears (1899) and The Awakening (1901), produced two plays of a merit scarcely foreshadowed in his earlier efforts.

What was of more importance, a new generation of playwrights came to the front. Its most notable representatives were J. M. Barrie, who displayed his inexhaustible gift of humorous observation and invention in Quality Street (1902), The Admirable Crichton (1903), Little Mary (1903), Peter Pan (1904), Alice Sit-by-the-Fire (1905) and What Every Woman Knows (1908); Mrs Craigie (“John Oliver Hobbes”), who produced in The Ambassador (1898) a comedy of fine accomplishment; 537 and H. V. Esmond, Alfred Sutro, Hubert Henry Davies, W. S. Maugham, Rudolf Besier, Roy Horniman and J. B. Fagan.

Meanwhile, the efforts to relieve the drama from the pressure of the long-run system had not been confined to the Independent theatre. Several other enterprises of a like nature had proved more or less short-lived; but the Stage Society, founded in 1900, was conducted with more energy and perseverance, and became a real force in the dramatic world. After two seasons devoted mainly to Bernard Shaw, Ibsen, Maeterlinck and Hauptmann, it produced in its third season The Marrying of Ann Leete, by Granville Barker (b. 1877), who had developed in its service his remarkable gifts as a producer of plays. A year or two later, Barker staged for another organization, the New Century theatre, Professor Gilbert Murray’s rendering of the Hippolytus of Euripides; and it was partly the success of this production that suggested the Vedrenne-Barker partnership at the Court theatre, which, between 1904 and 1907, gave an extraordinary impulse to the intellectual life of the theatre. Adopting the “short-run” system, as a compromise between the long-run and the repertory systems, the Vedrenne-Barker management made the plays of Bernard Shaw (both old and new) for the first time really popular. Of the plays already published You Never Can Tell and Man and Superman were the most successful; of the new plays, John Bull’s Other Island, Major Barbara and The Doctor’s Dilemma. But though Shaw was the mainstay of the enterprise, it gave opportunities to several other writers, the most notable being John Galsworthy (b. 1867), author of The Silver Box and Strife, St John Hankin (1869-1909), author of The Return of the Prodigal and The Charity that began at Home, and Granville Barker himself, whose plays The Voysey Inheritance and Waste (1907) were among the most important products of this movement. It should also be noted that the production of the Hippolytus was followed up by the production of the Trojan Women, the Electra and the Medea of Euripides, all translated by Gilbert Murray.

The impulse to which were due the Independent theatre, the Stage Society and the Vedrenne-Barker management, combined with local influences to bring about the foundation in Dublin of the Irish National theatre. Its moving spirit was the poet W. B. Yeats (b. 1865), who wrote for it Cathleen-ni-Hoolihan, The Hour-Glass, The King’s Threshold and one or two other plays. Lady Gregory, Padraic Collum, Boyle and other authors also contributed to the repertory of this admirable little theatre; but its most notable products were the plays of J. M. Synge (1871-1909), whose Riders to the Sea, Well of the Saints and Playboy of the Western World showed a fine and original dramatic faculty combined with extraordinary beauty of style.

Both in Manchester and in Glasgow endeavours have been made, with considerable success, to counteract the evils of the touring system, by the establishment of resident companies acting the better class of modern plays on a “short-run” plan, similar to that of the Vedrenne-Barker management. The Manchester enterprise was to some extent subsidized by Miss E. Horniman, and may therefore claim to be the first endowed theatre in England. The need for endowment on a much larger scale was, however, strongly advocated in the early years of the 20th century by the more progressive supporters of English drama, and in 1908 found a place in the scheme for a Shakespeare National theatre, which was then superimposed on the earlier proposal for a memorial commemorating the Shakespeare tercentenary, organized by an influential committee under the chairmanship of the Lord Mayor of London. The scheme involved the raising of £500,000, half to be devoted to the requisite site and building, while the remainder would be invested so as to furnish an annual subvention.

It remains to say a few words of the English literary drama, as opposed to the acted drama. The two classes are not nearly so distinct as they once were; but plays continue to be produced from time to time which are wholly unfitted for the theatre, and others which, though they may be experimentally placed on the stage, make their appeal rather to the reading public. Tennyson had essayed in his old age an art which is scarcely to be mastered after the energy of youth has passed. He continued to the last to occupy himself more or less with drama, and all his plays, except Harold, found their way to the stage. The Cup and Becket, as we have seen, met with a certain success, but The Promise of May (1882), an essay in contemporary drama, was a disastrous failure, while The Falcon (1879) and The Foresters (acted by an American company in 1893) made little impression. Lord Tennyson was certainly not lacking in dramatic faculty, but he worked in an outworn form which he had no longer the strength to renovate. Swinburne continued now and then to cast his creations in the dramatic mould, but it cannot be said that his dramas attained either the vitality or the popularity of his lyrical poems. Mary Stuart (1881) brought his Marian trilogy to a close. In Locrine he produced a tragedy in heroic couplets—a thing probably unattempted since the age of Dryden. The Sisters is a tragedy of modern date with a medieval drama inserted by way of interlude. Rosamund, Queen of the Lombards (1899), perhaps approached more nearly than any of his former works to the concentration essential to drama. It may be doubted, however, whether his copious and ebullient style could ever really subject itself to the trammels of dramatic form. Of other dramas on the Elizabethan model, the most notable, perhaps, were the works of two ladies who adopt the pseudonym of “Michael Field”; Callirrhoë (1884), Brutus Ultor (1887), and many other dramas, show considerable power of imagination and expression, but are burdened by a deliberate artificiality both of technique and style. Alfred Austin put forth several volumes in dramatic form, such as Savonarola (1881), Prince Lucifer (1887), England’s Darling (1896), Flodden Field (1905). They are laudable in intention and fluent in utterance. Notable additions to the purely literary drama were made by Robert Bridges in his Prometheus (1883), Nero (1885), The Feast of Bacchus (1889), and other solid plays in verse, full of science and skill, but less charming than his lyrical poems. Sir Lewis Morris made a dramatic experiment in Gycia, but was not encouraged to repeat it.

From the outset of his career, John Davidson (1857-1909) was haunted by the conviction that he was a born dramatist; but his earlier plays, such as Smith: a Tragedy (1886), Bruce: a Chronicle Play (1884) and Scaramouch in Naxos (1888), contained more poetry than drama; and his later pieces, such as Self’s the Man (1901), The Theatrocrat (1905) and the Triumph of Mammon (1907), showed a species of turbulent imagination, but became more and more fantastic and impracticable. Stephen Phillips (b. 1867), on the other hand, having had some experience as an actor, wrote always with the stage in view. In his first play, Paolo and Francesca (1899; produced in 1902), he succeeded in combining great beauty of diction with intense dramatic power and vitality. The same may be said of Herod (1900); but in Ulysses (1902) and Nero (1906) a great falling-off in constructive power was only partially redeemed by the fine inspiration of individual passages.

The collaboration of Robert Louis Stevenson with William Ernest Henley produced a short series of interesting experiments in drama, two of which, Beau Austin (1883) and Admiral Guinea (1884), had more than a merely experimental value. The former was an emotional comedy, treating with rare distinction of touch a difficult, almost an impossible, subject; the latter was a nautical melodrama, raised by force of imagination and diction into the region of literature. Incomparably the most important of recent additions to the literary drama is Thomas Hardy’s vast panorama of the Napoleonic wars, entitled The Dynasts (1904-1908). It is rather an epic in dialogue than a play; but however we may classify it we cannot but recognize its extraordinary intellectual and imaginative powers.

United States.—American dramatists have shown on their own account a progressive tendency, quite as marked as that which we have been tracing in England. Down to about 1890 the influence of France had been even more predominant in America than in England. The only American dramatist of eminence, Bronson Howard (1842-1908), was a disciple, though a very able one, of the French school. A certain stirring of native 538 originality manifested itself during the ’eighties, when a series of semi-improvised farces, associated with the names of two actor-managers, Harrigan and Hart, depicted low life in New York with real observation, though in a crude and formless manner. About the same time a native style of popular melodrama began to make its appearance—a play of conventional and negligible plot, which attracted by reason of one or more faithfully observed character-types, generally taken from country life. The Old Homestead, written by Denman Thompson, who himself acted in it, was the most popular play of this class. Rude as it was, it distinctly foreshadowed that faithfulness to the external aspects, at any rate, of everyday life, in which lies the strength of the native American drama. It was at a sort of free theatre in Boston that James A. Herne (1840-1901) produced in 1891 his realistic drama of modern life, Margaret Fleming, which did a great deal to awaken the interest of literary America in the theatrical movement. Herne, an actor and a most accomplished stage-manager, next produced a drama of rural life in New England, Shore Acres (1892), which made an immense popular success. It was a play of the Old Homestead type, but very much more coherent and artistic. His next play, Griffith Davenport (1898), founded on a novel, was a drama of life in Virginia during the Civil War, admirable in its strength and quiet sincerity; while in his last work, Sag Harbour (1900), Herne returned to the study of rustic character, this time in Long Island. Herne showed human nature in its more obvious and straightforward aspects, making no attempt at psychological subtlety; but within his own limits he was an admirable craftsman. The same preoccupation with local colour is manifest in the plays of Augustus M. Thomas, a writer of genuine humour and originality. His localism announces itself in the very titles of his most popular plays—Alabama, In Mizzoura, Arizona. He also made a striking success in The Witching Hour, a play dealing with the phenomena of hypnotism and suggestion. Clyde Fitch (1865-1909), an immensely prolific playwright of indubitable ability, after becoming known by some experiments in quasi-historic drama (notably Nathan Hale, 1898; Barbara Frietchie, 1899), devoted himself mainly to social drama on the French model, in which his most notable efforts have been The Climbers (1900), The Truth (1906), and The Girl with the Green Eyes (1902). In popular drama, with elaborate scenic illustration, William Gillette (b. 1856), David Belasco (b. 1859) and Charles Klein (b. 1867) have done notable work. William Vaughn Moody (b. 1869) produced in The Great Divide (1907) a play of somewhat higher artistic pretensions; Eugene Walter in Paid in Full (1908) and The Easiest Way (1909) dealt vigorously with characteristic themes of modern life; and Edward Sheldon produced in Salvation Nell a slum drama of very striking realism. The poetic side of drama was mainly represented by Percy Mackaye (b. 1875), whose Jeanne d’Arc (1906) and Sappho and Phaon showed a high ambition and no small literary power. On the whole it may be said that, though the financial conditions of the American stage are even more unfortunate than those which prevail in England, they have failed to check a very strong movement towards nationalism in drama. Season by season, America writes more of her own plays, good or bad, and becomes less dependent on imported work, whether French or English.

(W. A.)

(g) German Drama.

The history of the German drama differs widely from that of the English, though a close contact is observable between them at an early point, and again at relatively recent points, in their annals. The dramatic literature of Germany, though in its beginnings intimately connected with the great national movement of the Reformation, soon devoted its efforts to a sterile imitation of foreign models; while the popular stage, persistently suiting itself to a robust but gross taste, likewise largely due to the influence of foreign examples, seemed destined to a hopeless decay. The literary and the acted drama were thus estranged from one another during a period of extraordinary length; nor was it till the middle of the 18th century that, with the opening of a more hopeful era for the life and literature of the nation, the reunion of dramatic literature and the stage began to accomplish itself. Before the end of the same century the progress of the German drama in its turn began to influence that of other nations, and by the widely comprehensive character of its literature, as well as by the activity of its stage, to invite a steadily increasing interest.

It should be premised that in its beginnings the modern German drama might have seemed likely to be influenced even more largely than the English or the French by the copious imitation of classical models which marked The Latin drama in Germany. the periods of the Renaissance and the Reformation; but here the impulse of originality was wanting to bring about a speedy and gradually a complete emancipation, and imitative reproduction continued in an all but endless series. The first German (and indeed the earliest transalpine) writer to follow in the footsteps of the modern Latin drama of the Italians was the famous Strassburg humanist Jacob Wimpheling (1450-1528), whose comedy of Stylpho (1480), an attack upon the ignorance of the pluralist beneficed clergy, marks a kind of epoch in the history of German dramatic effort. It was succeeded by many other Latin plays of various kinds, among which may be mentioned J. Kerckmeister’s Codrus (1485), satirizing pedantic schoolmasters; a series of historical dramas in a moralizing vein, partly on the Turkish peril, as well as of comedies, by Jacob Locher (1471-1528); two plays by the great Johann Reuchlin, of which the so-called Henno went through more than thirty editions; and the Ludus Dianae, with another play likewise in honour of the emperor Maximilian I., by the celebrated Viennese scholar Conrad Celtes (1459-1508). Sebastian Brant’s Hercules in Bivio (1512) is lost; but Wilibald Pirckheimer’s Eckius dedolatus (1520) survives as a dramatic contribution to Luther’s controversy with one of his most active opponents. The Acolastus (1525) of W. Gnaphaeus (alias Fullonius, his native name was de Volder) should also be mentioned in the present connexion, as, though a Dutchman by birth, he spent most of his literary life in Germany. This Terentian version of the parable of the Prodigal Son was printed in an almost endless number of editions, as well as in various versions in modern tongues, among which reference has already been made to the English, for the use of schools, by J. Palsgrave (1540). Macropedius (Langhveldt) belongs wholly to the Low Countries. In Germany the stream of these compositions continued to flow almost without abatement throughout the earlier half of the 16th century; but in the days of the Reformation it takes a turn to scriptural subjects, and during the latter part of the century remains on the whole faithful to this preference.273 These Latin plays may be called school-dramas in the most precise sense; for they were both performed in the schools and read in class with commentaries specially composed for them; nor was it except very reluctantly that in this age the vernacular drama was allowed to intrude into scholastic circles. It should be noticed that the Jesuit order, which afterwards proved so The Jesuit drama. keenly alive to the influence which dramatic performances exercise over the youthful mind, only very gradually abandoned the principle, formally sanctioned in their Ratio studiorum, that the acting of plays (these being always in the Latin tongue) should only rarely be permitted in their seminaries. The flourishing period of the Jesuit drama begins with the spread of the order in the west and south-west of the Empire in the last decade of the 16th century, and then continues, through the vicissitudes of good and evil, with a curious intermixture of Latin and German plays, during the whole of the 17th and the better part of the 18th. These productions, which ranged in their subjects from biblical and classical story to themes of contemporary history (such as the relief of Vienna by Sobiesky and the peace of Ryswick), seem generally to bear the mark of their authorship—that of teachers appointed by their superiors to execute this among other tasks allotted to them; but, as it seems unnecessary to return to this special growth, it may be added that the 539 extraordinary productiveness of the Jesuit dramatists, and the steadiness of self-repetition which is equally characteristic of them, should warn us against underrating its influence upon a considerable proportion of the nation’s educational life during a long succession of generations.

While the scholars of the German Renaissance, who became so largely the agents of the Reformation, eagerly dramatized scriptural subjects in the Latin, and sometimes (as in the case of Luther’s protégé P. Rebhun274) in the native Beginnings of the vernacular German drama. tongue, the same influence made itself felt in another sphere of dramatic activity. Towards the close of the middle ages, as has been seen, dramatic performances had in Germany, as in England, largely fallen into the hands of the civic gilds, and the composition of plays was more especially cultivated by the master-singers of Nuremberg and other towns. It was thus that, under the influence of the Reformation, and of the impulse given by Luther and others to the use of High German as the popular literary tongue, Hans Sachs, the immortal Hans Sachs. shoemaker of Nuremberg, seemed destined to become the father of the popular German drama. In his plays, “spiritual,” “secular,” and Fastnachtsspiele alike, the interest indeed lies in the dialogue rather than in the action, nor do they display any attempt at development of character. In their subjects, whether derived from Scripture or from popular legend and fiction,275 there is no novelty, and in their treatment no originality. But the healthy vigour and fresh humour of this marvellously fertile author, and his innate sympathy with the views and sentiments of the burgher class to which he belonged, were elements of genuine promise—a promise which the event was signally to disappoint. Though the manner of Hans Sachs found a few followers, and is recognizable in the German popular drama even of the beginning of the 17th century, the literature of the Reformation, of which his works may claim to form part, was soon absorbed in labours of a very different kind. The stage, after admitting novelties introduced from Italy or (under Jesuit supervision) from Spain, was subjected to another and enduring influence. Among the foreign actors of various nations who flitted through the innumerable The English comedians. courts of the empire, or found a temporary home there, special prominence was acquired, towards the close of the 16th and in the early years of the 17th century, by the “English comedians,” who appeared at Cassel, Wolfenbuttel, Berlin, Dresden, Cologne, &c. Through these players a number of early English dramas found their way into Germany, where they were performed in more or less imperfect versions, and called forth imitations by native authors. Duke Henry Julius of Brunswick-Luneburg276 (1564-1613) and Jacob Ayrer (a citizen of Nuremberg, where he died, 1605) represent the endeavours of the early German drama to suit its still uncouth forms to themes suggested by English examples; and in their works, and in those of contemporary playwrights, there reappears no small part of what we may conclude to have been the “English comedians’” répertoire.277 (The converse influence of German themes brought home with them by the English actors, or set in motion by their strolling ubiquity, cannot have been equal in extent, though Shakespeare himself may have derived the idea of one of his plots278 from such a source). But, though welcome to both princes and people, the exertions of these foreign comedians, and of the native imitators who soon arose in the earliest professional companies of actors known in Germany, instead of bringing about a union between the stage and literature, led to a directly opposite result. The popularity of these strollers was owing partly to the (very real) blood and other horrors with which their plays were deluged, partly to the buffoonery with which they seasoned, and the various tricks and feats with which they diversified, their performances. The representatives of the English clowns had learnt much on their way from their brethren in the Netherlands, where in this period the art of grotesque acting greatly flourished. Nor were the aids of other arts neglected,—to this day in Germany professors of the “equestrian drama” are known by the popular appellation of “English riders.” From these true descendants of the mimes, then, the professional actors in Germany inherited a variety of tricks and traditions; and soon the favourite figures of the popular comic stage became conventional, and were stereotyped by the use of masks. Among these an acknowledged supremacy was acquired by the native Hans Wurst (Jack Pudding)—of whose name Luther disavowed the invention, and who is known already to Hans Sachs—the privileged buffoon, and for a long series of generations the real lord and master, of the German stage. If that stage, with its grossness and ribaldry, Separation between the stage and literature. seemed likely to become permanently estranged from the tastes and sympathies of the educated classes, the fault was by no means entirely its own and that of its patron the populace. The times were evil times for a national effort of any kind; and poetic literature was in all its branches passing into the hands of scholars who were often pedants, and whose language was a jargon of learned affectations. Thus things continued, till the awful visitation of the Thirty Years’ War cast a general blight upon the national life, and the traditions of the popular theatre were left to the guardianship of the marionettes (Puppenspiele)!

When, in the midst of that war, German poets once more began to essay the dramatic form, the national drama was left outside their range of vision. M. Opitz, who holds an honoured place in the history of the German language The literary drama of the 17th century. and literature, in this branch of his labours contented himself with translations of classical dramas and of Italian pastorals—among the latter one of Rinuccini’s Daphne, with which the history of the opera in Germany begins. A. Gryphius, though as a comic dramatist lacking neither vigour nor variety, and acquainted with Shakespearian279 as well as Latin and Italian examples, chiefly devoted himself to the imitation of Latin, earlier French, and Dutch tragedy, the rhetorical dialogue of which he effectively reproduced in the Alexandrine metre.280 Neither the turgid dramas of D. C. von Lohenstein (1665-1684), for whose Cleopatra the honour of having been the first German tragedy has been claimed, nor even the much healthier comedies of Chr. Weise (1642-1708) were brought upon the stage; while the religious plays of J. Klay (1616-1656) are mere recitations connected with the Italian growth of the oratorio. The frigid allegories commemorative of contemporary events, with which the learned from time to time supplied the theatre, and the pastoral dramas with which the idyllic poets of Nuremberg—“the shepherds of the Pegnitz”—after the close of the war gratified the peaceful longings of their fellow-citizens, were alike mere scholastic efforts. These indeed continued in the universities and gymnasia to keep alive the love of both dramatic composition and dramatic representation, and to encourage the theatrical taste which led so many students into the professional companies. But neither these dramatic exercises nor the ludi Caesarei in which the Jesuits at Vienna revived the pomp and pageantry, and the mixture of classical and Christian symbolism, of the Italian Renaissance, had any influence upon the progress of the popular drama.

The history of the German stage remains to about the second decennium of the 18th century one of the most melancholy, as it is in its way one of the most instructive, chapters of theatrical history. Ignored by the world of letters, The stage before its reform. the actors in return deliberately sought to emancipate their art from all dependence upon literary material. Improvisation reigned supreme, not only in farce, where Hans Wurst, with the aid of Italian examples, never ceased to charm 540 his public, but in the serious drama likewise (in which, however, he also played his part) in those Haupt- und Staatsactionen (high-matter-of-state-dramas), the plots of which were taken from the old stores of the English comedians, from the religious drama and its sources, and from the profane history of all times. The hero of this period is “Magister” J. Velthen (or Veltheim), who at the head of a company of players for a time entered the service of the Saxon court, and, by reproducing comedies of Molière and other writers, sought to restrain the licence which he had himself carried beyond all earlier precedent, but who had to fall back into the old ways and the old life. His career exhibits the climax of the efforts of the art of acting to stand alone; after his death (c. 1693) chaos ensues. The strolling companies, which now included actresses, continued to foster the popular love of the stage, and even under its most degraded form to uphold its national character against the rivalry of the opera, and that of the Italian commedia dell’ arte. From the latter was borrowed Harlequin, with whom Hans Wurst was blended, and who became a standing figure in every kind of popular play.281 He established his sway more especially at Vienna, where from about 1712 the first permanent German theatre was maintained. But for the actors in general there was little permanence, and amidst miseries of all sorts, and under the growing ban of clerical intolerance, the popular stage seemed destined to hopeless decay. A certain vitality of growth seems, under clerical guidance, to have characterized the plays of the people in Bavaria and parts of Austria.

The first endeavours to reform what had thus apparently passed beyond all reach of recovery were neither wholly nor generally successful; but this does not diminish the honour due to two names which should never be F. K. Neuber, Gottsched, and the Leipzig school. mentioned without respect in connexion with the history of the drama. Friederike Karoline Neuber’s (1697-1760) biography is the story of a long-continued effort which, notwithstanding errors and weaknesses, and though, so far as her personal fortunes were concerned, it ended in failure, may almost be described as heroic. As directress of a company of actors which from 1727 had its headquarters at Leipzig (hence the new school of acting is called the Leipzig school), she resolved to put an end to the formlessness of the existing stage, to separate tragedy and comedy, and to extinguish Harlequin. In this endeavour she was supported by the Leipzig professor J. Chr. Gottsched, who induced her to establish French tragedy and comedy as the sole models of the regular drama. Literature and the stage thus for the first time joined hands, and no temporary mischance or personal misunderstanding can obscure the enduring significance of the union. Not only were the abuses of a century swept away from a representative theatre, but a large number of literary works, designed for the stage, were produced on it. It is true that they were but versions or imitations from the French (or in the case of Gottsched’s Dying Cato from the French and English),282 and that at the moment of the regeneration of the German drama new fetters were thus imposed upon it, and upon the art of acting at the same time. But the impulse had been given, and the beginning made. On the one hand, men of letters began to subject their dramatic compositions to the test of performance; the tragedies and comedies of J. E. Schlegel, the artificial and sentimental comedies of Chr. F. Gellert and others, together with the vigorous popular comedies of the Danish dramatist Holberg, were brought into competition with translations from the French. On the other hand, the Ekhof Leipzig school exercised a continuous effect upon the progress of the art of acting, and before long K. Ekhof began a career which made his art a fit subject for the critical study of scholars, and his profession one to be esteemed by honourable men.

Among the authors contributing to Mme. Neuber’s Leipzig enterprise had been a young student destined to complete, after a very different fashion and with very different aims, the work which she and Gottsched had begun. The critical genius of G. Lessing. E. Lessing is peerless in its comprehensiveness, as in its keenness and depth; but if there was any branch of literature and art which by study and practice he made pre-eminently his own, it was that of the drama. As bearing upon the progress of the German theatre, his services to its literature, both critical and creative, can only be described as inestimable. The Hamburgische Dramaturgie, a series of criticisms of plays and (in its earlier numbers) of actors, was undertaken in furtherance of the attempt to establish at Hamburg the first national German theatre (1767-1769). This fact alone would invest these papers with a high significance; for, though the theatrical enterprise proved abortive, it established the principle upon which the progress of the theatre in all countries depends—that for the dramatic art the immediate theatrical public is no sufficient court of appeal. But the direct effect of the Dramaturgie was to complete the task which Lessing had in previous writings begun, and to overthrow the dominion of the arbitrary French rules and the French models established by Gottsched. Lessing vindicated its real laws to the drama, made clear the difference between the Greeks and their would-be representatives, and established the claims of Shakespeare as the modern master of both tragedy and comedy. His own dramatic productivity was cautious, tentative, progressive. His first step was, by his Miss Sara Sampson (1755), to oppose the realism of the English domestic drama to the artificiality of the accepted French models, in the forms of which Chr. F. Weisse (1726-1804) was seeking to treat the subjects of Shakespearian plays.283 Then, in his Minna von Barnhelm (1767), which owed something to Farquhar, he essayed a national comedy drawn from real life, and appealing to patriotic sentiments as well as to broad human sympathies. It was written in prose (like Miss Sara Sampson), but in form held a judicious mean between French and English examples.

The note sounded by the criticisms of Lessing met with a ready response, and the productivity displayed by the nascent dramatic literature of Germany is astonishing, both in the efforts inspired by his teachings and in those Efforts of the theatre and of literature. which continued to controvert or which aspired to transcend them. On the stage, Harlequin and his surroundings proved by no means easy to suppress, more especially at Vienna, the favourite home of frivolous amusement; but even here a reform was gradually effected, and, under the intelligent rule of the emperor Joseph II., a national stage grew into being. The mantle of Ekhof fell upon the shoulders of his eager younger rival, F. L. Schröder, who was the first to domesticate Shakespeare upon the German stage. In dramatic literature few of Lessing’s earlier contemporaries produced any works of permanent value, unless the religious dramas of F. G. Klopstock—a species in which he had been preceded by J. J. Bodmer—and the patriotic Bardietten of the same author be excepted. S. Gessner, J. W. L. Gleim, and G. K. Pfeffel (1736-1809) composed pastoral plays. But a far more potent stimulus prompted the efforts of the younger generation. The translation of Shakespeare, begun in 1762 by C. M. Wieland, whose own plays possess no special significance, and completed in 1775 by Eschenburg, which furnished the text for many of Lessing’s criticisms, helps to mark an epoch in German literature. Under the influence of Shakespeare, or of their conceptions of his genius, arose a youthful group of writers who, while worshipping their idol as the representative of nature, displayed but slight anxiety to harmonize their imitations of him with the demands of art. The notorious Ugolino of H. W. von Gerstenberg seemed a premonitory sign that the coming flood might merely rush back to the extravagances and horrors of the old popular stage; and it was with a sense of this danger in prospect that Lessing in his third important drama, the prose tragedy Emilia Galotti (1772), set the example of a work of incomparable nicety in its adaptation of means to end. But successful as it proved, it could not stay the excesses of the Sturm und Drang period 541 which now set in. Lessing’s last drama, Nathan der Weise (1779), was not measured to the standard of the contemporary stage; but it was to exercise its influence in the progress of time—not only by causing a reaction in tragedy from prose to blank verse (first essayed in J. W. von Brawe’s Brutus, 1770), but by ennobling and elevating by its moral and intellectual grandeur the branch of literature to which in form it belongs.

Meanwhile the young geniuses of the Sturm und Drang had gone forth, as worshippers rather than followers of Shakespeare, to conquer new worlds. The name of this group of writers, more remarkable for their collective significance The Sturm und Drang. than for their individual achievements, was derived from a drama by one of the most prolific of their number, M. F. von Klinger;284 other members of the fraternity were J. A. Leisewitz285 (1752-1806), M. R. Lenz286 and F. Müller287 the “painter.” The youthful genius of the greatest of German poets was itself under the influences of this period, when it produced the first of its masterpieces. But Goethe’s Götz von Berlichingen (1773), both by the choice and treatment of its national theme, and by the incomparable freshness and originality of its style, holds a position of its own in German dramatic literature. Though its defiant irregularity of form prevented its complete success upon the stage, yet its influence is far from being represented by the series of mostly feeble imitations to which it gave rise. The Ritterdramen (plays of chivalry) had their day like similar fashions in drama or romance; but the permanent effect of Götz was, that it crushed as with an iron hand the last remnants of theatrical conventionality (those of costume and scenery included), and extinguished with them the lingering respect for rules and traditions of dramatic composition which even Lessing had treated with consideration. Its highest significance, however, lies in its having been the first great dramatic work of a great national poet, and having definitively associated the national drama with the poetic glories of the national literature.

Thus, in the classical period of that literature, of which Goethe and Schiller were the ruling stars, the drama had a full share of the loftiest of its achievements. Of these, the dramatic works of Goethe vary so widely in form and Goethe. character, and connect themselves so intimately with the different phases of the development of his own self-directed poetic genius, that it was impossible for any of them to become the starting-points of any general growths in the history of the German drama. His way of composition was, moreover, so peculiar to himself—conception often preceding execution by many years, part being added to part under the influence of new sentiments and ideas and views of art, flexibly followed by changes of form—that the history of his dramas cannot be severed from his general poetic and personal biography. His Clavigo and Stella, which succeeded Götz, are domestic dramas in prose; but neither by these, nor by the series of charming pastorals and operas which he composed for the Weimar court, could any influence be exercised upon the progress of the national drama. In the first conception of his Faust, he had indeed sought the suggestion of his theme partly in popular legend, partly in a domestic motive familiar to the authors of the Sturm und Drang (the story of Gretchen); the later additions to the First Part, and the Second Part generally, are the results of metaphysical and critical studies and meditations belonging to wholly different spheres of thought and experience. The dramatic unity of the whole is thus, at the most, external only; and the standard of judgment to be applied to this wondrous poem is not one of dramatic criticism. Egmont, originally designed as a companion to Götz, was not completed till many years later; there are few dramas more effective in parts, but the idea of a historic play is lost in the elaboration of the most graceful of love episodes. In Iphigenia and Tasso, Goethe exhibited the perfection of form of which his classical period had enabled him to acquire the mastery; but the sphere of the action of the former (perfect though it is as a dramatic action), and the nature of that of the latter, are equally remote from Schiller. the demands of the popular stage. Schiller’s genius, unlike Goethe’s, was naturally and consistently suited to the claims of the theatre. His juvenile works, The Robbers, Fiesco, Kabale und Liebe, vibrating under the influence of an age of social revolution, combined in their prose form the truthful expression of passion with a considerable admixture of extravagance. But, with true insight into the demands of his art, and with unequalled single-mindedness and self-devotion to it, Schiller gradually emancipated himself from his earlier style; and with his earliest tragedy in verse, Don Carlos, the first period of his dramatic authorship ends, and the promise of the second announces itself. The works which belong to this—from the Wallenstein trilogy to Tell—are the acknowledged masterpieces of the German poetic drama, treating historic themes reconstructed by conscious dramatic workmanship, and clothing their dialogue in a noble vestment of rhetorical verse. The plays of Schiller are the living embodiment of the theory of tragedy elaborated by Hegel, according to which its proper theme is the divine, or, in other words, the moving ethical, element in human action. In one of his later plays, The Bride of Messina, Schiller attempted a new use of the chorus of Greek tragedy; but the endeavour was a splendid error, and destined to exercise no lasting effect. The reaction against Schiller’s ascendancy began with writers who could not reconcile themselves with the cosmopolitan and non-national elements in his genius, and is still represented by eminent critics; but the future must be left to settle the contention.

Schiller’s later dramas had gradually conquered the stage, over which his juvenile works had in this time triumphantly passed, but on which his Don Carlos had met with a cold welcome. For a long time, however, its favourites The popular stage. were authors of a very different order, who suited themselves to the demands of a public tolerably indifferent to the literary progress of the drama. After popular tastes had oscillated between the imitators of Gotz and those of Emilia Galotti, they entered into a more settled phase, as the establishment of standing theatres at the courts and in the large towns increased the demand for good “acting” plays. Famous actors, such as Schröder and A. W. Iffland, sought by translations or compositions of their own to meet the popular likings, which largely took the direction of that irrepressible favourite of theatrical audiences, the sentimental domestic drama.288 But the most successful purveyor of such wares was an author who, though not himself an actor, understood the theatre with a professional instinct—August von Kotzebue. His productivity ranged from the domestic drama and comedy of all kinds to attempts to rival Schiller and Shakespeare in verse; and though his popularity (which ultimately proved his doom) brought upon him the bitterest attacks of the romantic school and other literary authorities, his self-conceit is not astonishing, and the time has come for saying that there is some exaggeration in the contempt which has been lavished upon him by posterity.289 Nor should it be forgotten that German literature had so far failed to furnish the comic stage with any successors to Minna von Barnhelm; for Goethe’s efforts to dramatize characteristic events or figures of the Revolutionary age290 must be dismissed as failures, not from a theatrical point of view only. The joint efforts of Goethe and Schiller for the Weimar stage, important in many respects for the history of the German drama, at the same time reveal the want of a national dramatic literature sufficient 542 to supply the needs of a theatre endeavouring to satisfy the demands of art.

Meanwhile the so-called romantic school of German literature was likewise beginning to extend its labours to original dramatic composition. From the universality of sympathies proclaimed by this school, to whose leaders Germany The romantic school. owed its classical translation of Shakespeare,291 and an introduction to the dramatic literatures of so many ages and nations,292 a variety of new dramatic impulses might be expected; while much might be hoped for the future of the national drama (especially in its mixed and comic species) from the alliance between poetry and real life which they preached, and which some of them sought personally to exemplify. But in practice universality presented itself as peculiarity or even as eccentricity; and in the end the divorce between poetry and real life was announced as authoritatively as their union had been. Outside this school, the youthful talent of Th. Körner, whose early promise as a dramatist293 might perhaps have ripened into a fulness enabling him not unworthily to occupy the seat left vacant by his father’s friend Schiller, was extinguished by a patriotic death. The efforts of M. von Collin (1779-1824) in the direction of the historical drama remained isolated attempts. But of the leaders of the romantic school, A. W.294 and F. von Schlegel295 contented themselves with frigid classicalities; and L. Tieck, in the strange alembic of his Phantasus, melted legend and fairy-tale, novel and drama,296 poetry and satire, into a compound, enjoyable indeed, but hardly so in its entirety, or in many of its parts, to any but the literary mind.

F. de La Motte Fouqué infused a spirit of poetry into the chivalry drama. Klemens Brentano was a fantastic dramatist unsuited to the stage. Here a feeble outgrowth of the romanticists, the “destiny dramatists” Z. Werner297—the Later dramatists. most original of the group—A. Müllner,298 and Baron C. E. v. Houwald,299 achieved a temporary furore; and it was with an attempt in the same direction300 that the Austrian dramatist F. Grillparzer began his long career. He is assuredly, what he pronounced himself to be, the foremost of the later dramatic poets of Germany, unless that tribute be thought due to the genius of H. von Kleist, who in his short life produced, besides other works, a romantic drama301 and a rustic comedy302 of genuine merit, and an historical tragedy of singular originality and power.303 Grillparzer’s long series of plays includes poetic dramas on classical themes304 and historical subjects from Austrian history,305 or treated from an Austrian point of view. The romantic school, which through Tieck had satirized the drama of the bourgeoisie and its offshoots, was in its turn satirized by Count A. von Platen-Hallermund’s admirable imitations of Aristophanic comedy.306 Among the objects of his banter were the popular playwright E. Raupach, and K. Immermann, a true poet, who is, however, less generally remembered as a dramatist. F. Hebbel307 is justly ranked high among the foremost later dramatic poets of his country, few of whom equal him in intensity. The eminent lyrical (especially ballad) poet L. Uhland left behind him a large number of dramatic fragments, but little or nothing really complete. Other names of literary mark are those of C. D. Grabbe, J. Mosen, O. Ludwig308 (1813-1865), a dramatist of great power, and “F. Halm” (Baron von Münch-Bellinghausen) (1806-1871), and, among writers of a more modern school, K. Gutzkow,309 G. Freytag,310 and H. Laube.311 L. Anzengruber, a writer of real genius though restricted range, imparted a new significance to the Austrian popular drama,312 formerly so commonplace in the hands of F. Raimund and J. Nestroy.

During the long period of transition which may be said to have ended with the establishment of the new German empire, the German stage in some measure anticipated the developments which more spacious times were to witness in The German stage of the latter half of the 19th century. the German drama. The traditions of the national theatre contemporary with the great epoch of the national literature were kept alive by a succession of eminent actors—such as the nephews of Ludwig Devrient, himself an artist of the greatest originality, whose most conspicuous success, though nature had fitted him for Shakespeare, was achieved in Schiller’s earliest play.313 Among the younger generation of Devrients the most striking personality was that of Emil; his elder brother Karl August, husband of Wilhelmine Schröder-Devrient, the brilliant star of the operatic stage, and their son Friedrich, were also popular actors; yet another brother, Eduard, is more widely remembered as the historian of the German stage. Partly by reason of the number and variety of its centres of intellectual and artistic life, Germany was long enabled both to cherish the few masterpieces of its own drama, and, with the aid of a language well adapted for translation, to give admittance to the dramatic masterpieces of other nations also, and to Shakespeare in particular, without going far in the search for theatrical novelty or effect. But a change came over the spirit of German theatrical management with the endeavours of H. Laube, from about the middle of the century onwards, at Vienna (and Leipzig), which avowedly placed the demands of the theatre as such above those of literary merit or even of national sentiment. In a less combative spirit, F. Dingelstedt, both at Munich, which under King Maximilian he had made a kindly nurse of German culture, and, after his efforts there had come to an untimely end,314 at Weimar and at Vienna, raised the theatre to a very high level of artistic achievement. The most memorable event in the annals of his managements was the production on the Weimar stage of the series of Shakespeare’s histories. At a rather later period, of which the height extended from 1874 to 1890, the company of actors in the service, and under the personal direction, of Duke George of Saxe-Meiningen, created a great effect by their performances both in and outside Germany—not so much by their artistic improvements in scenery and decoration, as by the extraordinary perfection of their ensemble. But no dramaturgic achievement in the century could compare in grandeur either of conception or of execution with Richard Wagner’s Bayreuth performances, where, for the first time in the history of the modern stage, the artistic instinct ruled supreme in all the conditions of the work and its presentment. Though the Ring of the Nibelungs and its successors belong to opera rather than drama proper, the importance of their production (1876) should be overlooked by no student of the dramatic art. Potent as has been the influence of foreign dramatic literatures—whether French or Scandinavian—and that of a movement which has been common to them all, and from which the German was perhaps the least likely to exclude itself, the most notable feature in the recent history of the German drama has been its quick response to wholly new demands, which, though the attempt was made with some persistence, could no longer be met without an effort to span the widths and sound the depths of a more spacious and more self-conscious era.315


(h) Dutch Drama.

Among other modern European dramas the Dutch is interesting both in its beginnings, which to all intents and purposes form part of those of the German, and because of the special influence of the so-called chambers of the rederykers (rhetoricians), from the early years of the 15th century onwards, which bear some resemblance to the associations of the master-singers in contemporary higher Germany. The earliest of their efforts, which so effectively tempered the despotism of both church and state, seem to have been of a dramatic kind; and a manifold variety of allegories, moralities and comic entertainments (esbatementen or comedies, kluiten and factien or farces) enhanced the attractions of those popular pageants in which the Netherlands surpassed all other countries of the North. The Low Countries responded more largely to the impulse of the Renaissance than, with some local exceptions, any other of the Germanic lands. They necessarily had a considerable share in the cultivation of the modern Latin drama; and, while the author of Acolastus may be claimed as its own by the country of his adoption as well as by that of his birth, G. M. Macropedius (Langhveldt) (c. 1475-1508), who may be regarded as the foremost Latin dramatist of his age, was born and died at Hertogenbosch or in its immediate vicinity. Macropedius, who belonged to the fraternity of the Common Life, was a writer of great realistic power as well as of remarkable literary versatility.316 The art of acting flourished in the Low Countries even during the troubles of the great revolt; but the birth of the regular drama was delayed till the advent of quieter times. Dutch dramatic literature begins, under the influence of the classical studies cherished in the seats of learning founded before and after the close of the war, with the classical tragedies of S. Koster (c. 1585-c. 1650). The romantic dramas and farces of Gerbrand Bredero (1585-1618) and the tragedies of P. Hooft (1581-1647) belong to the same period; but its foremost dramatic poet was J. van den Vondel, who from an imitation of classical models passed to more original forms of dramatic composition, including a patriotic play and a dramatic treatment of part of what was to form the theme of Paradise Lost.317 But Vondel had no successor of equal mark. The older form of Dutch tragedy—in which the chorus still appeared—was, especially under the influence of the critic A. Pels, exchanged for a close imitation of the French models, Corneille and Racine; nor was the attempt to create a national comedy successful. Thus no national Dutch drama was permanently called into life.

(i) Scandinavian Drama.

Still more distinctly, the dramatic literature of the Scandinavian peoples springs from foreign growths. In Denmark, where the beginnings of the drama in the plays of the schoolmaster Chr. Hansen recall the mixture of Denmark. religious and farcical elements in contemporary German efforts, the drama in the latter half of the 16th century remained essentially scholastic, and treated scriptural or classical subjects, chiefly in the Latin tongue. J. Ranch (1539-1607) and H. S. Sthen were authors of this type. But often in the course of the 17th century, German and French had become the tongues of Danish literature and of the Danish theatre; in the 18th Denmark could boast a comic dramatist of thorough originality and of a wholly national cast. L. Holberg, one of the most noteworthy comic poets of modern literature, not only marks an epoch in the dramatic literature of his native land, but he contributed to overthrow the trivialities of the German stage in its worst period, which he satirized with merciless humour,318 and set an example, never surpassed, of a series of comedies319 deriving their types from popular life and ridiculing with healthy directness those vices and follies which are the proper theme of the most widely effective species of the comic drama. Among his followers, P. A. Heiberg is specially noted. Under the influence of the Romantic school, whose influence has nowhere proved so long-lived as in the Scandinavian north, A. Ohlenschläger began a new era of Danish literature. His productivity, which belongs partly to his native and partly to German literary history, turned from foreign320 to native themes; and other writers followed him in his endeavours to revive the figures of The modern Norwegian drama. Northern heroic legend. But these themes have in their turn given way in the Scandinavian theatre to subjects coming nearer home to the popular consciousness, and treated with a direct appeal to the common experience of human life, and with a searching insight into the actual motives of human action. The most remarkable movement to be noted in the history of the Scandinavian drama, and one of the most widely effective of those which mark the more recent history of the Western drama in general, had its origin in Norway. Two Norwegian dramatists, H. Ibsen and Björnsterne Björnson, standing as it were side by side, though by no means always judging eye to eye, have vitally influenced the whole course of modern dramatic literature in the direction of a fearlessly candid and close delineation of human nature. The lesser of the pair in inventive genius, and in the power of exhibiting with scornful defiance the conflict between soul and circumstance, but the stronger by virtue of the conviction of hope which lies at the root of achievement, is Björnson.321 Ibsen’s long career as a dramatist exhibits a succession of many changes, but at no point any failure in the self-trust of his genius. His early masterpieces were dramatic only in form.322 His world-drama of Emperor and Galilean was still unsuited to a stage rarely trodden to much purpose by idealists of Julian’s type. The beginnings of his real and revolutionary significance as a dramatist date from the production of his first plays of contemporary life, the admirable satirical comedy The Pillars of Society (1877), the subtle domestic drama A Doll’s House (1879), and the powerful but repellent Ghosts (1881),323 which last, with the effects of its appearance, modern dramatic literature may even to this day be said to have failed altogether to assimilate. Ibsen’s later prose comedies—(verse, he writes, has immensely damaged the art of acting, and a tragedy in iambics belongs to the species Dodo)—for the most part written during an exile which accounts for the note of isolation so audible in many of them, succeeded one another at regular biennial intervals, growing more and more abrupt in form, cruel in method, and intense in elemental dramatic force. The prophet at last spoke to a listening world, but without the amplitude, the grace and the wholeheartedness which are necessary for subduing it. But it may be long before the art which he had chosen as the vehicle of his comments on human life and society altogether ceases to show the impress of his genius.

(j) Drama of the Slav Peoples.

As to the history of the Slav drama, only a few hints can be here given. Its origins have not yet—at least in works accessible to Western students—been authoritatively traced. The Russian drama in its earliest or religious beginnings is stated to have been introduced from Poland early in the 12th century; and, again, it would seem that, when the influence of the Renaissance touched the east of Europe, the religious drama was cultivated in Poland in the 16th, but did not find its way into Russia till the 17th century. It is probable that the species was, like so many other elements of culture, imported into the Carpathian lands in the 15th or 16th century from Germany. How far indigenous growths, such as the Russian popular puppet-show called vertep, which about the middle of the 17th century began to treat secular and popular themes, helped to foster dramatic tendencies and tastes, cannot here be estimated. The regular drama of eastern Europe is to all intents and purposes of Western origin. Thus, the history of the Polish drama may be fairly 544 dated as beginning with the reign of the last king of Poland, Stanislaus II. Augustus, who in 1765 solemnly opened a national Polish. theatre at Warsaw. This institution was carried on till the fatal year 1794, and saw the production of a considerable number of Polish plays, mostly translated or adapted, but in part original—as in the case of one or two of those from the active pen of the secretary to the educational commission, Zablonski. But it was not till after the last partition that, paradoxically though not wholly out of accordance with the history of the relations between political and literary history, the attempts of W. Bogulawski and J. N. Kaminski to establish and carry on a Polish national theatre were crowned with success. Its literary mainstay was a gifted Franco-Pole, Count Alexander Fredro (1793-1876), who in the period between the Napoleonic revival and the long exodus fathered a long-lived species of modern Polish comedy, French in origin (for Fredro was a true disciple of Molière), and wholly out of contact with the sentiment that survived in the ashes of a doomed nation.324 His complaint as to the exiguity of the Polish literary public—a brace of theatres and a bookseller’s handcart—may have been premature; but a national drama was most certainly impossible in a denationalised and dismembered land, in whose historic capital the theatre in which Polish plays continued to be produced seemed garrisoned by Cossack officers.

Much in the same way, though with a characteristic difference, the Russian regular drama had its origin in the cadet corps at St Petersburg, a pupil of which, A. Sumarokov (1718-1777), has been regarded as the founder of the modern Russian. Russian theatre. As a tragic poet he seems to have imitated Racine and Voltaire, though treating themes from the national history, among others the famous dramatic subject of the False Demetrius. He also translated Hamlet. As a comic dramatist he is stated to have been less popular than as a tragedian; yet it is in comedy that he would seem to have had the most noteworthy successors. Among these it is impossible to pass by the empress Catherine II., whose comedies seem to have been satirical sketches of the follies and foibles of her subjects, and who in one comedy as well as in a tragedy had the courage to imitate Shakespeare. Comedy aiming at social satire long continued to temper the conditions of Russian society, and had representatives of mark in such writers as A. N. Ostrovsky of Moscow and Griboyedov, the author of Gore et uma.

In any survey of the Slav drama that of the Czech peoples, whose national consciousness has so fully reawakened, must not be overlooked. A Czech theatre was called into life at Prague as early as the 18th century; and in the 19th its demands, centring in a sense of nationality, were met by J. N. Stepinek (1783-1844), W. C. Klicpera (1792-1859) and J. C. Tyl (1808-1856); and later writers continued to make use of the stage for a propaganda of historical as well as political significance.

Bibliography.—The following works treat the general theory of the drama and the dramatic art, together with the principles of dramaturgy and of the art of acting. Works which have reference to the drama of a particular period or of a particular nation only are mentioned separately. Works which deal with special authors only have been intentionally omitted in this bibliography, as being mentioned in the articles in the several authors.

Aristotle’s Poetics (text and transl. by S. H. Butcher, London, 1895; transl. by T. Twining, London, 1812; see also Donaldson’s Theatre of the Greeks); H. Baumgart, Aristoteles, Lessing, u. Goethe. Über das ethische u. ästhetische Princip der Tragödie (Leipzig, 1877); H. A. Bulthaupt, Dramaturgie des Schauspiels (4 vols., Oldenburg u. Leipzig, 1893-1902); L. Campbell, Tragic Drama in Aeschylus, Sophocles and Shakespeare (London, 1904); P. Corneille, Discours du poëme dramatique—de la tragédie—des trois unités, Œuvres, vol. i. (Paris, 1862); W. L. Courtney, The Idea of Tragedy in Ancient and Modern Drama (Westminster, 1900); Diderot, De la poésie dramatique. Entretiens sur le Fils Naturel, Œuvres complètes, vii. (Paris, 1875); J. Dryden, Essay of Dramatic Poesy and other critical essays (Essays of J. Dryden, ed. W. P. Ker, 2 vols., Oxford, 1900); G. Freytag, Die Technik des Dramas (5th ed., Leipzig, 1886); G. W. F. Hegel, Vorlesungen über Ästhetik, ed. H. G. Hotho, bd. 3, chap. iii. c. Die dramatische Poesie (Werke, x. 3; Berlin, 1838); G. Larroumet, Études d’histoire et de critique dramatiques, 2 sér. (Paris, 1892-1899); G. E. Lessing, Hamburgische Dramaturgie. Erlautert von F. Schroter u. R. Thiele (Halle, 1877); Materialien zu Lessing’s Hamburgische Dramaturgie, von W. Cosack (Paderborn, 1876); G. H. Lewes, On Actors and the Art of Acting (London, 1875); Sir T. Martin, Essays on the Drama (London, 1874); K. Mantzius, History of Theatrical Art in Ancient and Modern Times, transl. by L. von Cossel (London, 1903, &c.); G. Meredith, Essay on Comedy (Westminster, 1897); R. Prolss, Katechismus der Dramaturgie (Leipzig, 1877); H. T. Rotscher, Die Kunst der dramatischen Darstellung (3 vols., Berlin, 1841-1846); Jahrbucher fur dramatische Kunst u. Literatur (Berlin and Frankfort, 1848-1849); P. de Saint-Victor, Les Deux Masques, tragédie—comédie (3rd ed., 3 vols., Paris, 1881, &c.); Saint-Marc Girardin, Cours de littérature dramatique (7th ed., 5 vols., Paris, 1868); A. W. von Schlegel, Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature (Eng. transl., London, 1846); Sir W. Scott, Essays on Chivalry, Romance and the Drama (including his article “Drama” written for the Supplement to the 4th edition of the Ency. Brit., and reprinted in the 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th editions); F. T. Vischer, Ästhetik, vol. iv. (Stuttgart, 1857).

The fullest general history of the drama extant is J. L. Klein’s Geschichte des Dramas, 13 vols. and index (Leipzig, 1865-1886). See also, for encyclopaedic information, W. Davenport Adams, A Dictionary of the Drama, vol. i. (London, 1904); C. M. E. Béquet, Encyclopédie de l’art dramatique (Paris, 1886); A. Pougin, Dictionnaire historique et pittoresque du théâtre et des arts qui s’y rattachent (Paris, 1885).

The drama of the Eastern nations is generally treated in:—A. P. Brozzi, Teatri e spettacoli dei popoli orientali Ebrei, Arabi, Persani, Indiani, Cinesi, Giapponesi e Giavanesi (Milan, 1887); Comte J. A. de Gobineau, Les Religions et les philosophies dans l’Asie centrale (2nd ed., Paris, 1866).

The following works deal with the Indian drama:—M. Schuyler, Bibliography of the Sanskrit Drama (Columbia Univ., Indo-Iranian, ser. iii., New York, 1906); H. H. Wilson, Select Specimens of the Theatre of the Hindus, transl. from the original Sanskrit (with introduction on the dramatic system of the Hindus), 3rd ed., 2 vols. (London, 1871); S. Levi, Le Théâtre indien (supplements Wilson) (Paris, 1891).

For Chinese:—Tscheng-Ki-Tong, Le Théâtre des Chinois (Paris, 1886); see also H. A. Giles, History of Chinese Literature (London, 1901).

For Japanese:—C. Florenz, Gesch. d. japan. Litteratur, vol. i. 1 (Leipzig, 1905); see also F. Brinkley, Japan, its History, Arts and Literature, vol. iii. (Boston and Tokyo, 1901).

For Persian:—A. Chodzko, Théâtre persan. Choix de téaziés ou drames, traduits pour la première fois du persan par A. Chodzko (Paris, 1878); E. Montet, Le Théâtre en Perse (Geneva, 1888); Sir L. Pelly, The Miracle Play of Hasan and Husain, collected from oral tradition; revised with explanatory notes by A. N. Wollaston (2 vols., London, 1879).

Of works treating of the ancient Greek and Roman drama only a small selection can be given here. In the case of the Greek drama, the chief histories of literature—such as G. Bernhardy’s, K. O. Muller’s (Eng. tr. by Sir G. C. Lewis, with continuation by J. W. Donaldson) and G. Murray’s—and general histories—such as Grote’s, Thirlwall’s, Curtius’s, &c.—should also be consulted; and for the administration and finance of the Attic theatre, Boeckh’s Public Economy of Athens, Eng. tr. (London, 1842). Much useful information will be found in A Companion to Greek Studies, ed. by L. Whibley (Cambridge, 1905). The standard collective edition of the ancient Greek dramatic poets is the Poetae scenici Graeci, ed. C. W. Dindorf (5th ed., Leipzig, 1869), and that of the Comic poets A. Meineke’s Historia critica comicorum Graecorum. Cum fragmentis (5 vols., Berlin, 1839-1857). Aristotle’s Poetics, cited above, will of course be consulted for the theory of the Greek drama in particular; and much valuable critical matter will be found in passages of Bentley’s Phalaris (1699), which are reprinted in Donaldson’s Theatre of the Greeks. The following later works, some of which treat of the ancient classical drama in general, may be noted:—E. A. Chaignet, La Tragédie grecque (Paris, 1877); J. Denys, Histoire de la comédie grecque (2 vols., Paris, 1886); J. W. Donaldson, The Theatre of the Greeks (7th ed., London, 1860); Du Méril, Histoire de la comédie. Période primitive (Paris, 1864); Histoire de la comédie ancienne (Paris, 1869); A. E. Haigh, The Tragic Drama of the Greeks (Oxford, 1896); The Attic Theatre (Oxford, 1898); G. Korting, Gesch. des Theaters in seinen Beziehungen zur Kunstentwickelung der dramatischen Dichtkunst, Bd. i. Gesch. des griechischen u. romischen Theaters (Paderborn, 1897); R. G. Moulton, The Ancient Classical Drama (Oxford, 1898); M. Patin, Étude sur les tragiques grecs (3 vols., Paris, 1861); C. M. Rapp, Gesch. des griechischen Schauspiels vom Standpunkt der dramatischen Kunst (Tubingen, 1862); H. Weil, Études sur le drame antique (Paris, 1897); F. G. Welcker, “Die griechischen Tragodien, mit Rucksicht auf den epischen Cyklus” (Rhein. Mus. Suppl. ii.) 3 pts. (Bonn, 1839-1841).

In addition to the works of individual Roman dramatists, and critical writings concerning them, see Scaenicae Romanorum poesis fragmenta, 2 vols. (I. Tragic, II. Comic) ed. by O. Ribbeck (3rd ed. Leipzig, 1897-1898). W. S. Teuffel’s History of Roman Literature, Eng. tr. (2 vols., London, 1891-1892), and M. Schanz’ Gesch. der romischen Litteratur bis Justinian (2 vols., Munich, 1890-1892), may be consulted for a complete view of the course of the Roman drama. For its later developments consult Dean Merivale’s History of the 545 Romans under the Empire, and S. Dill’s Roman Society in the Last Days of the Western Empire (London, 1898). See also L. Friedländer, Darstellungen aus der Sittengeschichte Roms, 6th ed., vol. ii. (Leipzig, 1889); M. Meyer, Étude sur le théâtre latin (Paris, 1847); O. Ribbeck, Die römische Tragödie im Zeitalter der Republik (Leipzig, 1875).

The following works treat of the medieval drama, religious or secular, of its origins and of usages connected with it:—H. Anz, Die lateinischen Magierspiele (Leipzig, 1905); E. K. Chambers, The Medieval Stage (2 vols., Oxford, 1903), with full bibliography; E. de Coussemaker, Drames liturgiques du moyen âge (Paris, 1861); du Méril, Theatri liturgici quae Latina supersunt monumenta (Caen and Paris, 1849); C. A. Hase, Miracle Plays and Sacred Dramas (Eng. tr.), (London, 1880); Hilarius, Versus et ludi, ed. Champollion-Figeac (Paris, 1838); R. Froning, Das Drama des Mittelalters (3 vols., Stuttgart, 1891, &c.); Edwin Norris, Ancient Cornish Drama (ed. and tr. 2 vols., 1859); W. Hone, Ancient Mysteries Described (London, 1823); A. von Keller, Fastnachtsspiele aus dem 15. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1858); C. Magnin, Les Origines du théâtre moderne, vol. i. only (Paris, 1838); F. J. Mone, Schauspiele des Mittelalters (2 vols., Karlsruhe, 1846); A. Reiners, Die Tropen-, Prosen-, u. Präfations-Gesänge (Luxemburg, 1884); J. de Rothschild, Le Mistère du Viel Testament, ed. J. de Rothschild (6 vols., Paris, 1878-1891); M. Sepet, Le Drame chrétien au moyen âge (Paris, 1878); Origines catholiques du théâtre moderne. Les drames liturgiques (Paris, 1901); T. Wright, Early Mysteries and other Latin Poems of the 12th and 13th Centuries (London, 1838); C. A. G. von Zezschwitz, Das mittelalterliche Drama (Leipzig, 1881).

For French medieval drama in particular:—L. Clédat, Le Théâtre en France au moyen âge (Paris, 1896); E. Fournier, Le Théâtre français avant la Renaissance (Paris, 1872); Miracles de Notre Dame par personnages, ed. G. Paris and U. Robert (8 vols., Paris, 1876-1893); L. J. N. Monmerqué and F. Michel, Théâtre français au moyen âge (Paris, 1839); L. Petit de Julleville, Histoire du théâtre en France au moyen âge (5 vols., Paris, 1880-1886); E. L. N. Viollet-le-Duc, Ancien Théâtre français (10 vols., Paris, 1854-1857).

For the medieval Italian in particular:—A. d’Ancona, Sacre rappresentazioni dei secoli XIV., XV. e XVI. (Florence, 1872).

For medieval English in particular:—Ahn, English Mysteries and Miracle Plays (Trèves, 1867); S. W. Clarke, The Miracle Play in England (London, 1897); F. W. Fairholt, Lord Mayors’ Pageants, 2 vols. (Percy Soc.) (London, 1843-1844); A. W. Pollard, English Miracle Plays, Moralities and Interludes (3rd ed., Oxford 1898); Chester Plays ed. T. Wright, 2 vols. (Shakespeare Soc.) (London, 1843), re-ed. by H. Deimling (part only) (E.E.T.S.) (London, 1893); Coventry Plays, Ludus Coventriae, ed. J. O. Halliwell (-Phillipps) (Shakespeare Soc.) (London, 1841); Coventry Plays. Dissertation on the pageants or mysteries at Coventry, by T. Sharp (Coventry, 1825); Digby Plays, ed. F. J. Furnivall (E.E.T.S.) (London, 1896); Towneley Mysteries, ed. G. England and A. W. Pollard (E.E.T.S.) (London, 1897); York Plays, ed. L. T. Smith (Oxford, 1885).

For the German in particular:—F. J. Mone, Altteutsche Schauspiele (Quedlinburg, 1841); H. Reidt, Das geistliche Schauspiel des Mittelalters in Deutschland (Frankfort, 1868); E. Wilken, Gesch. der geistlichen Spiele in Deutschland (Göttingen, 1872).

The revival of the classical drama in the Renaissance age is treated in P. Bahlmann’s Die Erneuerer des antiken Dramas und ihre ersten dramatischen Versuche, 1314-1478 (Münster, 1896); A. Chassang’s Des essais dramatiques imités de l’antiquité au XIV^e et XV^e siècle (Paris, 1852); and in V. de Amitis’ L’Imitazione latina nella commedia del XVI. secolo (Pisa, 1871).

Both the medieval and portions of the later drama are treated in W. Cloetta, Beiträge zur Litteraturgeschichte des Mittelalters und der Renaissance (2 vols., Halle, 1890-1892); W. Creizenach, Geschichte des neueren Dramas, vols. i.-iii. (Halle, 1893-1903); R. Prölss, Geschichte des neueren Dramas (3 vols., Leipzig, 1881-1883). See also L.-V. Gofflot, Le Théâtre au collège, du moyen âge à nos jours, Préface par Jules Claretie (Paris, 1907).

The history of the modern Italian drama, in its various stages, is treated by A. d’Ancona, Origini del teatro italiano (2nd ed., 2 vols., Turin, 1891); J. Dornis, Le Théâtre italien contemporain (Paris, 1904); H. Lyonnet, Le Théâtre en Italie (Paris, 1900); L. Riccoboni, Histoire du théâtre italien (2 vols., Rome, 1728-1731); J. C. Walker, Historical Memoir on Italian Tragedy (London, 1799). See also A. Gaspary, History of Early Italian Literature, transl. by H. Oelsner (London, 1901).

Some information as to the modern Greek drama is given in R. Nicolai, Geschichte der neugriechischen Literatur (Leipzig, 1876).

Modern Spanish drama:—M. A. Fée, Études sur l’ancien théâtre espagnol (Paris 1873); A. Gassier, Le Théâtre espagnol (Paris, 1898); G. H. Lewes, The Spanish Drama (London, 1846); H. Lyonnet, Le Théâtre en Espagne (Paris, 1897); A. Schäffer, Gesch. des spanischen Nationaldramas (2 vols., Leipzig, 1890); L. de Viel-Castel, Essai sur le théâtre espagnol (2 vols., Paris, 1882). See also G. Ticknor, History of Spanish Literature (3 vols., London, 1863).

Modern Portuguese:—H. Lyonnet, Le Théâtre au Portugal (Paris, 1898); see also K. von Reinhardstoettner’s Portugiesische Literaturgeschichte (Sammlung Göschen) (Leipzig, 1904), which contains a useful bibliography.

Regular French drama (tragedy and comedy):—F. Brunetière, Les Epoques du théâtre français, 1636-1850 (Paris, 1892); E. Chasles, La Comédie en France au XVI^{e} siècle (Paris, 1862); E. Faguet, La Tragédie française au XVI^{e} siècle (Paris, 1883); A. Filon, The Modern French Drama (London, 1898); V. Fournel, Le Théâtre au XVII^{e} siècle (Paris, 1892); E. Fournier, Le Théâtre français au XVI^{e} et au XVII^{e} siècle (2 vols., Paris, s.d.); F. Hawkins, Annals of the French Stage (London, 1884); H. Lucas, Hist. philosophique et littéraire du théâtre français depuis son origine (3 vols., Paris); Parfait, Hist. du théâtre français (15 vols., Paris, 1745-1749); L. Petit de Julleville, Le théâtre en France depuis ses origines jusqu’à nos jours (Paris, 1899); E. Rigal, Le théâtre français avant la période classique (Paris, 1901); E. Roy, Études sur le théâtre français du XV^{e} et du XVI^{e} siècle (Dijon, 1901).

The connexion between the Italian and French theatre in the 17th century is traced in L. Moland, Molière et la comédie italienne (2nd ed., Paris, 1867). See also J. C. Démogeot’s, H. von Laun’s and Saintsbury’s histories of French Literature.

Of the ample literature concerned with the modern English drama the following works may be specially mentioned, as dealing with the entire range of the English drama, or with more than one of its periods:—D. E. Baker, Biographia dramatica (continued to 1811 by J. Reed and S. Jones) (3 vols., London, 1812); J. P. Collier, History of English Dramatic Poetry, new ed. (3 vols., London, 1879); C. Dibdin, A complete History of the English Stage (5 vols., London, 1800); J. J. Jusserand, Le Théâtre en Angleterre (2nd ed., Paris, 1881); G. Langbaine, Lives and Characters of the English Dramatic Poets (London, 1699); The Poetical Register: or lives and characters of the English dramatick poets (London, 1719); C. M. Rapp, Studien über das englische Theater, 2 parts (Tübingen, 1862); “G. S. B.”, Study of the Prologue and Epilogue in English Literature (London, 1884); The Thespian Dictionary: or dramatic biography of the 18th century (London, 1802); A. W. Ward, History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death of Queen Anne (2nd ed., 3 vols., London, 1899); see also the histories of English Literature or Poetry, by Warton, Taine, ten Brinck, Courthope, Saintsbury, &c.

The following works contain the most complete lists of English plays:—W. W. Greg, A List of English Plays written before 1643 and published before 1700 (Bibliogr. Soc.) (London, 1900); J. O. Halliwell (-Phillipps), Dictionary of Old English Plays (London, 1860); W. C. Hazlitt, A Manual for the Collector and Amateur of Old English Plays (London, 1892); R. W. Lowe, Bibliographical Account of English Dramatic Literature (London, 1888) is a valuable handbook for the whole of English theatrical literature and matters connected with it. The unique work of Genest, Some Account of the English Stage from 1660-1830 (10 vols., Bath, 1832), includes, with a chronological series of plays acted on the English stage, notices of unacted plays, and critical remarks on plays and actors. “A Compleat List” of English dramatic poets and plays to 1747 was published with T. Whincop’s Scanderbeg in that year.

The following are the principal collections of English plays—Ancient British Drama, ed. Sir W. Scott (3 vols., London, 1810); Modern British Drama, ed. Sir W. Scott (5 vols., London, 1811); W. Bang, Materialien zur Kunde des älteren englischen Dramas (Louvain, 1902, &c.); A. H. Bullen, Collection of Old English Plays (4 vols., London, 1882); R. Dodsley, A Select Collection of Old Plays, 4th ed. by W. C. Hazlitt (15 vols., London, 1874-1876); Dramatists of the Restoration (14 vols., Edinburgh, 1872-1879); Early English Dramatists, ed. J. S. Farmer (London, 1905, &c.); C. M. Gayley, Representative English Comedies (vol. i., New York, 1903); T. Hawkins, Origin of the English Drama (3 vols., Oxford, 1773); Mrs Inchbald, British Theatre, new ed. (20 vols., London, 1824), Modern Theatre (10 vols., London, 1811), Collection of Farces and Afterpieces (7 vols., London, 1815); Malone Society publications (London, 1907, &c.); J. M. Manly, Specimens of the Pre-Shakespearean Drama (3 vols., London, 1897); Mermaid Series of Old Dramatists, ed. Havelock Ellis (London, 1887. &c.); Old English Drama (2 vols., London, 1825); Pearson’s Reprints of Elizabethan and Jacobean Plays (London, 1871, &c.).

The following deal with the Elizabethan and Jacobean drama in especial:—W. Creizenach, Die Schauspiele der englischen Komödianten (Berlin, 1895); J. W. Cunliffe, The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy (London, 1893); F. G. Fleay, A Chronicle History of the London Stage, 1559-1642 (London, 1890), A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama, 1559-1642 (London, 1891); W. C. Hazlitt, The English Drama and Stage under the Tudor and Stuart Princes, 1543-1664 (London, 1869); W. Hazlitt, Dramatic Literature of the Age of Elizabeth (Works, ed. A. R. Waller, vol. v.) (London, 1902); A. F. von Schack, Die englischen Dramatiker vor, neben, und nach Shakespeare (Stuttgart, 1893); J. A. Symonds, Shakspere’s Predecessors in the English Drama (London, 1884).

As to the Latin academical drama of the Elizabethan age see G. B. Churchill and W. Keller, “Die latein. Universitäts-Dramen Englands in der Zeit d. Königin Elizabeth” in Jahrbuch der deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft. For a short bibliography of the Oxford academical drama, 1547-1663, see the introduction to Miss M. L. Lee’s edition of Narcissus (London, 1893). A list of Oxford plays will also be found in Notes and Queries, ser. vii., vol. ii. For a list of Cambridge plays from 1534 to 1671, the writer of this article is indebted to Prof. G. C. Moore-Smith of the university of Sheffield.

For an account of the Mask see R. Brotanek, Die englischen Maskenspiele (Vienna and Leipzig, 1902); H. A. Evans, English Masques 546 (London, 1897); W. W. Greg, A List of Masques, Pageants, &c. (Bibliogr. Soc.) (London, 1902).

As to early London theatres see T. F. Ordish, Early London Theatres (London, 1894).

Some information as to puppet-plays, &c., will be found in Henry Morley’s Memoirs of Bartholomew Fair (London, 1859).

Among earlier critical essays on the Elizabethan and Stuart drama should be mentioned those of Sir Philip Sidney, G. Puttenham and W. Webbe, T. Rymer and Dryden. For recent essays and notes on the Elizabethan drama in general, see, besides the essays of Coleridge, Lamb (including the introductory remarks in the Specimens), Hazlitt, &c., and the remarkable series of articles in the Retrospective Review (1820-1828), the Publications and Transactions of the Old and New Shakespeare Societies (1841, &c.; 1874, &c.), which also contain reprints of early works of great importance for the history of the Elizabethan drama and stage, such as Henslowe’s Diary, &c., the Jahrbuch der deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft (1865, &c.), as well as the German journals Anglia, Englische Studien, &c., and the Modern Language Review (Cambridge).

The later English drama from the reopening of the theatres (1660) is treated in L. N. Chase, The English Heroic Play (New York, 1903); C. Cibber, Apology for the Life of C. Cibber, written by himself, new ed. by R. W. Lowe (2 vols., London, 1889), who has also edited Churchill’s Rosciad and Apology (London, 1891); J. Doran, Their Majesties’ Servants: annals of the English Stage (3 vols., London, 1888); A. Filon, Le Théâtre anglais: hier, aujourd’hui, demain (Paris, 1896); W. Hazlitt, A View of the English Stage (Works, ed. A. R. Waller, vol. viii.) (London, 1903); W. Nicholson, The Struggle for a Free Stage in London (Westminster, 1907).

The following treat of the modern German drama in particular periods:—R. Prölss, Gesch. der deutschen Schauspielkunst von den Anfangen bis 1850 (Leipzig, 1900); R. E. Prutz, Vorlesungen über die Geschichte des deutschen Theaters (Berlin, 1847); R. Froning, Das Drama der Reformationszeit (Stuttgart, 1900); C. Heine, Das Schauspiel der deutschen Wanderbuhne vor Gottsched (Halle, 1889); J. Minor, Die Schicksalstragodie in ihren Hauptvertretern (Frankfort, 1883); M. Martersteig, Das deutsche Theater im XIX^{ten} Jahrh. (Leipzig, 1904). See also G. G. Gervinus, Geschichte der deutschen Dichtung (5th ed., 5 vols., Leipzig, 1871-1874); and the literary histories of K. Goedeke (Grundriss), A. Koberstein, &c. A special aspect of the drama in modern Germany is dealt with in P. Bahlmann, Die lateinischen Dramen von Wimpheling’s Stylpho bis zur Mitte des XVI^{ten} Jahrhunderts, 1480-1550 (Münster, 1893), and the same author’s Jesuiten-Dramen der niederrheinischen Ordensprovinz (Leipzig, 1896).

The standard history of the modern German stage is Eduard Devrient, Gesch. der deutschen Schauspielkunst (2 vols., Leipzig, 1848-1861); see also R. Prölss, Gesch. der deutschen Schauspielkunst von den Anfangen bis 1850 (Leipzig, 1900); O. G. Flüggen, Biographisches Buhnen-Lexikon der deutschen Theater (Munich, 1892).

A good account of the history of the Dutch drama is F. von Hellwald’s Geschichte des hollandischen Theaters (Rotterdam, 1874). See also the authorities under J. van den Vondel.

Information concerning the Danish drama will be found in the autobiographies of Holberg, Öhlenschläger and Andersen; see also vol. i. of G. Brandes’s Main Currents in Nineteenth Century Literature (Eng. tr., London, 1901). As to the modern Norwegian drama see the same writer’s Ibsen-Bjornson Studies (Eng. tr., London, 1899); also E. Tissot, Le Drame norvégien (Paris, 1893).

The Russian drama is treated in P. O. Morozov’s Istoria Russkago Teatra (History of the Russian Theatre), vol. i. (St Petersburg, 1889); see also P. de Corvin, Le Théâtre en Russie (Paris, 1890). A. Brückner, Geschichte der russischen Literatur (Leipzig, 1905), may be consulted with advantage. Information as to the dramatic portions of other Slav literatures will be found in A. Pipin and V. Spasovich’s Istoria Slavianskikh Literatur (History of Slavonic Literatures), German translation by T. Pech (2 vols., Leipzig, 1880-1884).

(A. W. W.)

1 Gallicanus, part ii.; Sapientia.

2 Gallicanus, part i.; Callimachus; Abraham; Paphnutius.

3 The passion-play of Oberammergau, familiar in its present artistic form to so many visitors, was instituted under special circumstances in the days of the Thirty Years’ War (1634). Various reasons account for its having been allowed to survive.

4 To the earliest group belong The Castle of Perseverance; Wisdom who is Christ; Mankind; to the second, or early Tudor group, Medwell, Nature; The World and the Child; Hycke-Scorner, &c.

5 Magnyfycence.

6 New Custome; N. Woodes, The Conflict of Conscience, &c.

7 Albyon Knight.

8 Rastell, Nature of the Four Elements; Redford, Wit and Science; The Trial of Treasure; The Marriage of Wit and Science.

9 The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom; The Contention between Liberality and Prodigality.

10 Jack Juggler; Tom Tiler and his Wife, &c.

11 The Four P’s, &c.

12 The Disobedient Child (c. 1560).

13 The Χριστὀς πάσχων, an artificial Byzantine product, probably of the 11th century, glorifying the Virgin in Euripidean verse, was not known to the Western world till 1542.

14 Of G. Manzini della Motta’s Latin tragedy on the fall of Antonio della Scala only a chorus remains. He died after 1389. Probably to the earlier half of the century belongs the Latin prose drama Columpnarium, the story of which, though it ends happily, resembles that of The Cenci. Later plays in Latin of the historic type are the extant Landivio de’ Nobili’s De captivitate Ducis Jacobi (the condottiere Jacopo Piccinino, d. 1464); C. Verardi’s Historia Baetica (the expulsion of the Moors from Granada) (1492), and the game author’s Ferdinandus (of Aragon) Servatus, which is called a tragi-comedy because it is neither tragic nor comic. The Florentine L. Dali’s Hiempsal (1441-1442) remains in MS. A few tragedies on sacred subjects were produced in Italy during the last quarter of the 15th century, and a little later. Such were the religious dramas written for his pupils by P. Domizio, on which Politian cast contempt; and the tragedies, following ancient models, of T. da Prato of Treviso, B. Campagna of Verona, De passione Redemptoris; and G. F. Conti, author of Theandrothanatos and numerous vanished plays.

15 Imber aureus (Danae), &c.

16 L. Bruni’s Poliscena (c. 1395); Sicco Polentone’s (1370-1463) jovial Lusus ebriorum s. De lege bibia; the papal secretary P. Candido Decembrio’s (1399-1477) non-extant Aphrodisia; L. B. Alberti’s Philodoxios (1424); Ugolino Pisani of Parma’s (d. before 1462) Philogenia and Confutatio coquinaria (a merry students’ play); the Fraudiphila of A. Tridentino, also of Parma, who died after 1470 and perhaps served Pius II.; Eneo Silvio de’ Piccolomini’s own verse comedy, Chrisis, likewise in MS., written in 1444; P. Domizio’s Lucinia, acted in the palace of Lorenzo de’ Medici in 1478, &c.

17 Mondella, Isifile (1582); Fuligni, Bragadino (1589).

18 Home, Douglas.

19 Lazzaroni, Ulisse il giovane (1719).

20 Didone abbandonata, Siroe, Semiramide, Artaserse, Demetris, &c.

21 Cleopatra, Antigone, Octavia, Mirope, &c.

22 e.g. Bruto I. and II.

23 Filippo; Maria Stuarda.

24 Pellico, Francesca da Rimini; Niccolini, Giovanni da Procida; Beatrice Cenci; Giacometti, Cola di Rienzi (Giacometti’s masterpiece was La Marte civile).

25 Pyrogopolinices in the Miles Gloriosus.

26 The masked characters, each of which spoke the dialect of the place he represented, were (according to Baretti) Pantalone, a Venetian merchant; Dottore, a Bolognese physician; Spaviento, a Neapolitan braggadocio; Pullicinella, a wag of Apulia; Giangurgulo and Coviello, clowns of Calabria; Gelfomino, a Roman beau; Brighella, a Ferrarese pimp; and Arlecchino, a blundering servant of Bergamo. Besides these and a few other such personages (of whom four at least appeared in each play), there were the Amorosos or Innamoratos, men or women (the latter not before 1560, up to which time actresses were unknown in Italy) with serious parts, and Smeraldina, Colombina, Spilletta, and other servettas or waiting-maids. All these spoke Tuscan or Roman, and wore no masks.

27 Pasitea.

28 Amicizia.

29 Milesia.

30 La Lena; Il Negromante.

31 La Cassaria; I Suppositi.

32 Of Machiavelli’s other comedies, two are prose adaptations from Plautus and Terence, La Clizia (Casina) and Andria; of the two others, simply called Commedie, and in verse, his authorship seems doubtful.

33 La Cortigiana, La Talanta, Il Ipocrito, Il Filosofo.

34 Momolo Cortesan (Jerome the Accomplished Man); La Bottega del caffé, &c.

35 La Vedova scaltra (The Cunning Widow); La Putta onorata (The Respectable Girl); La Buona Figlia; La B. Sposa; La B. Famiglia; La B. Madre (the last of which was unsuccessful; “goodness,” says Goldoni, “never displeases, but the public weary of every thing”), &c.; and Il Burbero benefico, called in its original French version Le Bourru bienfaisant.

36 Molière; Terenzio; Tasso.

37 Pamela; Pamela Maritata; Il Filosofo Inglese (Mr Spectator).

38 L’ Amore delle tre melarancie (The Three Lemons); Il Corvo.

39 Turandot; Zobeïde.

40 L’ Amore delle tre m. (against Goldoni); L’ Angellino Belverde (The Small Green Bird), (against Helvetius, Rousseau and Voltaire).

41 Aspasia; Polyxena.

42 Ephemeridophobos.

43 Timoleon; Konstantinos Palaeologos; Rhigas of Pherae.

44 The Three Hundred, or The Character of the Ancient Hellene (Leonidas); The Death of the Orator (Demosthenes); A Scion of Timoleon, &c.

45 The term is the same as that used in the old French collective mysteries (journées).

46 In some of his plays (Comedia Serafina; C. Tinelaria) there is a mixture of languages even stranger than that of dialects in the Italian masked comedy.

47 Necromanticus, Lena, Decepti, Suppositi.

48 Los Engaños (Gli Ingannati).

49 Cornelia (Il Negromante).

50 Lope, Armelina (Medea and Neptune as deus ex machina—si modo machina adfuisset).

51 Menennos.

52 El Azero de Madrid (The Steel Water of Madrid); Dineros son Calidad (= The Dog in the Manger), &c.

53 La Estrella de Sevilla (The Star of Seville, i.e. Sancho the Brave); El Nuevo Mundo (Columbus), &c.

54 Roma Abrasada (R. in Ashes—Nero).

55 Arauco domado (The Conquest of Arauco, 1560).

56 La Moza de cantaro (The Water-maid).

57 Las Mocedades (The Youthful Adventures) del Cid.

58 Don Gil de las calzas verdes (D. G. in the Green Breeches).

59 El Burlador de Sevilla y Convivado de piedra (The Deceiver of Seville, i.e. Don Juan, and the Stone Guest).

60 El Divino Orfeo, &c.

61 El Magico prodigioso; El Purgatorio de San Patricio; La Devocion de la Cruz.

62 El Principe constante (Don Ferdinand of Portugal).

63 La Dama duende (The Fairy Lady).

64 Vida es sueño (Life is a Dream).

65 El Lindo Don Diego (Pretty Don Diego).

66 Desden con el desden (Disdain against Disdain).

67 Luzan, La Razon contra la mode (La Chaussée, Le Préjugé à la mode).

68 El Delinquente honrado (The Honoured Culprit).

69 El Sí de las niñas (The Young Maidens’ Consent).

70 O cioso (The Jealous Man), &c. His Inez de Castro is a tragedy with choruses, partly founded on the Spanish play of J. Bermudez.

71 Don Duardos, Amadis, &c.

72 Auto das Regateiras (The Market-women), Pratica de compadres (The Gossips), &c.

73 Emphatriŏes, Filodemo, Seleuco.

74 Os Estrangeiros, Os Vilhalpandos (The Impostors).

75 Eufrosina, Ulyssipo (Lisbon), Aulegrafia.

76 Astarte, Hermione, Megara.

77 These assumptions of names remind us that we are in the period of the “Arcadias.”

78 Catāo.

79 Manoel de Sousa, &c.

80 Antigone and Electra; Hecuba; and Iphigenia in Aulis. The Andria was also translated, and in 1540 Ronsard translated the Plutus of Aristophanes.

81 Trissino, Sofonisba, by de Saint-Gelais.

82 La Soltane (1561).

83 Daïre (Darius).

84 La Mort de César.

85 Achille (1563).

86 Les Lacènes; Marie Stuart or L’Écossaise.

87 La Juive, &c.

88 Les Corivaux (1573).

89 La Reconnue (Le Capitaine Rodomont).

90 Les Esbahis.

91 Les Contens (S. Parabosco, I Contenti).

92 Les Néapolitaines; Les Désespérades de l’amour.

93 Le Laquais (Il Ragazzo).

94 Les Tromperies (Gli Inganni).

95 “L. du Peschier” (de Barry), La Comédie des comédies.

96 L’Amour tyrannique.

97 Agrippine, Le Pédant joué.

98 Marianne.

99 Sophonisbe.

100 Les Bergeries.

101 Mélite; Clitandre, &c.

102 Le Véritable Saint Genest; Venceslas.

103 Steele, The Lying Lover; Foote, The Liar; Goldoni, Il Bugiardo.

104 Ruiz de Alarcon, La Verdad sospechosa.

105 L’Illusion comique is antithetically mixed.

106 Andromaque; Phèdre; Bérénice, &c.

107 Esther; Athalie.

108 Le Cid; Polyeucte.

109 Esther; Athalie.

110 Corneille, Rodogune; Racine, Phèdre.

111 Brutus; La Mort de César; Sémiramis.

112 Œdipe; Le Fanatisme (Mahomet).

113 Adélaïde du Guesclin.

114 L’Orphelin de la Chine.

115 Tanis et Zélide.

116 Les Guèbres.

117 Olimpie.

118 Tancrède.

119 La Mort de César; Zaïre (Othello).

120 Hamlet; Le Roi Léar, &c.

121 The lectures delivered by the late Professor A. Beljame at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1905-1906 may be mentioned as valuable contributions to our knowledge of the growth of Shakespeare’s influence in France.

122 Quinault, L’Amour indiscret (Newcastle and Dryden’s Sir Martin Mar-all).

123 Le Mercure galant; Ésope à la ville; Ésope à la cour (Vanbrugh, Aesop).

124 Le Bal (M. de Pourceaugnac); Geronte in Le Légataire universel (Argan in Le Malade imaginaire); La Critique du L. (La C. de l’école des femmes).

125 Le Joueur; Le Légataire universel.

126 Crispin rival de son maître; Turcaret.

127 Le Méchant.

128 La Métromanie.

129 Le Jeu de l’amour et du hasard; Le Legs; La Surprise de l’amour; Les Fausses Confidences; L’Épreuve.

130 Le Philosophe marié; Le Glorieux; Le Dissipateur.

131 La Fausse Antipathie; Le Préjugé à la mode; L’École des amis; Méluside; Paméla. L’École des mères was the play which Frederick the Great described as turning the stage into a bureau général de la fadeur.

132 See especially Nanine, founded on the original Paméla.

133 Le Philosophe sans le savoir; La Gageure imprévue.

134 e.g. Eugénie (the original of Goethe’s Clavigo) and Les Deux Amis, or Le Négociant de Lyon.

135 Richard Cœur de Lion, &c.

136 Zémire et Azor; Jeannot et Jeannette.

137 Les Muses galantes; Le Devin du village.

138 Pygmalion.

139 Charles IX, ou l’école des rois.

140 Hernani (1839); Le Roi s’amuse; Ruy Blas; Les Burgraves, &c. Even in Torquemada, the fruit of its author’s old age, and full of bombast, the original power has not altogether gone out.

141 Chatterton.

142 François le champi; Claudie.

143 Le Gendre de M. Poirier.

144 On ne badine pas avec l’amour, as interpreted by Delaunay, must always remain the most exquisite type of this inimitable genre.

145 Théâtre de Clara Gazul. La Famille Carvajal, one of these pieces, treats the same story as that of The Cenci.

146 Lucrèce (1843); L’Honneur et l’argent; Charlotte Corday.

147 La Ciguë; L’Aventurière; Gabrielle; Le Fils de Giboyer, &c.

148 Valérie; Bertrand et Raton; Le Verre d’eau, &c.

149 Louis XI.

150 Adrienne Lecouvreur.

151 La Dame aux camélias; Le Demi-monde; Le Supplice d’une femme; Les Idées de Mme Aubray; L’Étrangère; Francillon.

152 Les Pattes de mouche; Nos bons villageois; Patrie.

153 Le Monde où l’on s’ennuie.

154 Frou-frou.

155 As has been already seen, Sir David Lyndsay’s celebrated Satyre of the Three Estaits, a dramatic manifesto in favour of the Reformation, is in form a morality pure and simple.

156 Tom Tiler and his Wife (1578); A Knack to know a Knave (c. 1594); Sir Clyomon and Sir Clamydes (misattributed to G. Peele), (printed 1599).

157 An earlier drama by him, Christus redivivus, is said to have been printed at Cologne.

158 Oedipus; Dido; Ulysses redux.

159 By A. Guarna.

160 Pax; Troas; Menaechmi; Oedipus; Mostellaria; Hecuba; Amphytruo; Medea. These fall between 1546 and 1560. The date and place of the production of William Goldingham of Trinity Hall’s Herodes, some time after 1567, are unknown.

161 The date and place of performance of the Latin Fatum Vortigerni are unknown; but it was not improbably produced at a later time than Shakespeare’s Richard II., which it seems in certain points to resemble.

162 Latin “academical” plays directly imitated from Seneca, but of unknown date, are Solymannidae (or the story of Solyman II. and his son Mustapha), and Tomumbeius (Tuman Bey, sultan of Egypt, 1516); yet others exhibit his influence.

163 ”Supposes” and “Jocasta,” ed. J. W. Cunliffe.

164 His Palamon and Arcyte (produced in Christ Church hall, Oxford, in 1566) is not preserved; or we should be able to compare with The Two Noble Kinsmen this early dramatic treatment of a singularly fine theme.

165 The History of the Collier.

166 A Historie of Error (1577), one of the many imitations of the Menaechmi, may have been the foundation of the Comedy of Errors. In the previous year was printed the old Taming of a Shrew, founded on a novel of G. F. Straparola. Part of the plot of Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew may have been suggested by The Supposes.

167 Treatise wherein Dicing, Dauncing, Vaine Playes or Enterluds ... are reproved, &c. (1577).

168 The School of Abuse.

169 The Anatomy of Abuses.

170 H. Denham, G. Whetstone (the author of Promos and Cassandra), W. Rankine.

171 It may be mentioned that the practice of companies of players, of one kind or another, being taken into the service of members of the royal family, or of great nobles, dates from much earlier times than the reign of Elizabeth. So far back as 1400/1 the corporation of Shrewsbury paid rewards to the histriones of Prince Henry and of the earl of Stafford, and in 1408/9 reference is made to the players of the earl and countess of Arundel, of Lord Powys, of Lord Talbot and of Lord Furnival.

172 The Woman in the Moone; Sapho and Phao.

173 Alexander and Campaspe.

174 Endimion; Mydas.

175 Gallathea.

176 Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay.

177 The Wounds of Civil War. With Greene he wrote A Looking-Glass for London.

178 Summer’s Last Will and Testament is his sole entire extant play. Dido, Queen of Carthage, is by him and Marlowe.

179 Patient Grissil (with Dekker and Haughton).

180 Hoffman, or A Revenge for a Father.

181 Henry VIII.

182 Ford, Perkin Warbeck.

183 Edward IV.; If You Know Not Me, &c.

184 Henry VIII.

185 The Merry Wives of Windsor.

186 Massinger, The Virgin Martyr; Shirley, St Patrick for Ireland.

187 Cleopatra; Philotas.

188 Darius; Croesus; Julius Caesar; The Alexandraean Tragedy.

189 The Sad Shepherd.

190 The Faithful Shepherdess.

191 The Queen’s Arcadia.

192 Sejanus his Fall; Catiline his Conspiracy.

193 Bussy d’Ambois; The Revenge of B. d’A.; The Conspiracy of Byron; The Tragedy of B.; Chabot, Admiral of France (with Shirley).

194 Arden of Faversham; A Yorkshire Tragedy.

195 A Woman killed with Kindness; The English Traveller.

196 Vittoria Coromboni; The Duchess of Malfi.

197 ’Tis Pity She’s a Whore; The Broken Heart.

198 Every Man in his Humour; Every Man out of his Humour.

199 Shadwell, The Humorists.

200 It is impossible in a summary survey to seek to discriminate by any kind of evidence the respective shares in many Elizabethan plays, and the respective credit due to them, of the joint writers. Yet some such inquiry is necessary before judging the claims to remembrance of highly-gifted dramatists such as William Rowley, his namesake Samuel, John Day, and not a few others.

201 The Latin comedy Victoria by Abraham Fraunce of St John’s was written some time before 1583, and dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney; but there is no evidence to show that it was ever acted.

202 (Bishop) Hacket’s Loyola was acted at Trinity in 1623.

203 Naufragium joculare—The Guardian (rewritten later as The Cutter of Coleman Street).

204 Chapman, Marston (and Jonson), Eastward Hoe (1605); Middleton, A Game at Chess (1624); Shirley and Chapman, The Ball (1632); Massinger(?), The Spanish Viceroy (1634).

205 Twelfth Night.

206 The Puritan, or the Widow of Watling Street, by “W. S.” (Wentworth Smith?).

207 The Alchemist; Bartholomew Fair.

208 Chapman, An Humorous Day’s Mirth; Marston, The Dutch Courtesan; Middleton, The Family of Love.

209 Among these was Sir Richard Fanshawe’s English version of the Pastor fido (1646); after his death were published his translations of two plays by A. de Mendoza.

210 A Short View of Tragedy (1693).

211 The Black Prince; Tryphon; Herod the Great; Altemira.

212 The Indian Queen.

213 The Indian Emperor; Tyrannic Love; The Conquest of Granada.

214 Essay of Dramatic Poesy.

215 Essay of Heroic Plays.

216 A direct satirical invective against rhymed tragedy of the “heroic” type is to be found in Arrowsmith’s comedy Reformation (1673).

217 The Grounds of Criticism in Tragedy.

218 All for Love (Antony and Cleopatra).

219 Don Sebastian.

220 The Rival Queens; Lucius Junius Brutus; The Massacre of Paris.

221 Don Carlos; The Orphan; Venice Preserved.

222 Oroonoko; The Fatal Marriage.

223 The Mourning Bride.

224 The Fair Penitent; Jane Shore.

225 A notable influence was exercised upon English comedy as well as upon other branches of literature by C. de Saint-Evremond, a soldier and man of fashion who was possessed of great intellectual ability and of a charming style. Though during his long exile in England—from 1670 to his death—he never learned English, his critical works included Remarks on English Comedy (1677), and one of his own comedies, the celebrated Sir Politick Would-be, professed to be composed “à la manière angloise.”

226 Epsom Wells; The Squire of Alsatia; The Volunteers.

227 A dramatic curiosity of a rare kind would be The Female Rebellion (1682), which has been, on evidence rather striking at first sight, attributed to Sir Thomas Browne. It is more likely to have been by his son.

228 The Country Wife; The Plain-Dealer.

229 The Double Dealer.

230 The Recruiting Officer; The Beaux’ Stratagem.

231 A Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage.

232 Sir Novelty Fashion (Lord Foppington), &c.

233 The Lying Lover; The Tender Husband.

234 The Conscious Lovers.

235 The Absolute Unlawfulness of Stage Entertainments fully Demonstrated; The Stage defended, &c. (1726).

236 The Siege of Damascus.

237 Mariamne.

238 The Double Falsehood.

239 The Revenge (Othello).

240 Fatal Curiosity.

241 Irene (1749); The Patriot attributed to Johnson, is by Joseph Simpson.

242 Elfrida; Caractacus.

243 Rosamunda.

244 Love in a Village, &c.

245 The Waterman, &c.

246 Pasquin; The Historical Register for 1736.

247 The Golden Rump.

248 The first dramatic performance licensed by the lord chamberlain after the passing of the act was appropriately entitled The Nest of Plays, and consisted of three comedies named respectively The Prodigal Reformed, In Happy Constancy and The Trial of Conjugal Love. It is a curious fact that in the first decade of the reign of George III. a severe control of the theatre was very actively exerted after a positive as well as a negative fashion—objectionable passages being ruthlessly suppressed and plays actually written and licensed for the purpose of upholding the existing régime.

249 J. Townley, High Life Below Stairs (1759).

250 The Minor; Taste; The Author, &c.

251 This celebrated play was at first persistently attributed to Miss Elizabeth Carter.

252 The School for Lovers.

253 False Delicacy.

254 The Jealous Wife; The Clandestine Marriage.

255 The Heiress.

256 The West Indian; The Jew.

257 The Belle’s Stratagem; A Bold Stroke for a Husband, &c.

258 The Road to Ruin, &c.

259 John Bull; The Heir at Law, &c.

260 Midas; The Golden Pippin.

261 Bertram.

262 Ion.

263 Fazio.

264 Philip van Artevelde.

265 The Death of Marlowe.

266 Becket; The Cup.

267 Merope.

268 The Golden Legend.

269 Love is Enough.

270 Strafford; The Blot on the Scutcheon.

271 Atalanta in Calydon; Bothwell; Chastelard; Mary Stuart.

272 Virginius; The Hunchback.

273 A drama entitled Speculum vitae humanae is mentioned as produced by Archduke Ferdinand of the Tirol in 1584.

274 Susanna (Geistliches Spiel) (1536), &c. Sixt Birk also brought out a play on the story of Susanna, which he had previously treated in a Latin form, in the vernacular (1552).

275 Siegfried; Eulenspiegel, &c.

276 Susanna; Vincentius Ladislaus, &c.

277 Mahomet; Edward III.; Hamlet; Romeo and Juliet, &c.

278 The Tempest (Ayrer, Comedia v. d. schonen Sidea).

279 Herr Peter Squenz (Pyramus and Thisbe); Horribilicribrifax (Pistol?).

280 His son, Christian Gryphius, was author of a curious dramatic summary (or revue) of German history, both literary and political; but the title of this school-drama is far too long for quotation.

281 One of his aliases was Pickelharnig. In 1702 the electress Sophia is found requesting Leibniz to see whether a more satisfactory specimen of this class cannot be procured from Berlin than is at present to be found at Hanover.

282 Deschamps and Addison.

283 Richard III.; Romeo and Juliet.

284 Die Zwillinge (The Twins); Die Soldaten, &c.

285 Julius von Tarent.

286 Der Hofmeister (The Governor), &c.

287 Genoveva, &c.

288 Iffland’s best play is Die Jager (1785), which recently still held the stage. From Mannheim he in 1796 passed to Berlin by desire of King Frederick William II., who thus atoned for the hardships which he had allowed the pietistic tyranny of his minister Wollner to inflict upon the Prussian stage as a whole.

289 Die deutschen Kleinstadter is his most celebrated comedy and Menschenhass und Reue one of the most successful of his sentimental dramas. According to one classification he wrote 163 plays with a moral tendency, 5 with an immoral, and 48 doubtful.

290 Der Groosskophta (Cagliostro); Der Burgergeneral.

291 A. W. von Schlegel and Tieck’s (1797-1833).

292 A. W. von Schlegel, Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature, &c.

293 Zriny, &c.

294 Ion.

295 Alarcos.

296 Kaiser Octavianus; Der gestiefelte Kater (Puss in Boots), &c.

297 Der 24. Februar (produced on the Weimar stage with Goethe’s sanction).

298 Der 29. Februar; Die Schuld (Guilt).

299 Das Bild (The Picture); Der Leuchtthurm (The Lighthouse).

300 Die Ahnfrau (The Ancestress).

301 Das Kathchen (Kate) von Heilbronn.

302 Der zerbrochene Krug (The Broken Pitcher).

303 Prinz Friedrich von Homburg.

304 Sappho, Medea, &c.

305 Konig Ottokar’s Glück und Ende (Fortune and Fall); Der Bruderzwist (Fraternal Feud) in Habsburg.

306 Die verhangnissvolle Gabel (The Fatal Fork); Der romantische Oedipus.

307 Die Nibelungen; Judith, &c.

308 Der Erbforster.

309 Uriel Acosta; Der Königslieutenant.

310 Die Valentine.

311 Die Karlsschüler.

312 Der Pfarrer von Kirchfeld; Der Meineidbauer; Die Kreuzelschreiber; Das vierte Gebot.

313 The Robbers (Franz Moor). His next most famous part was Lear.

314 In connexion with the production in 1855 of “F. Halm’s” Fechter von Ravenna, of which the authorship was claimed by a half-demented schoolmaster.

315 As to more recent developments of German theatrical literature see the article German Literature, and the remarks on the influence of foreign works in the section on Recent English Drama above.

316 Aluta; Asotus; Hecastus, &c.

317 Gysbrecht van Aemstel; Lucifer.

318 Ulysses of Ithaca.

319 The Politician-Tinman; Jean de France or Hans Franzen; The Lying-In, &c.

320 Aladdin; Corregio.

321 Maria Stuart; A Bankruptcy; Leonarda.

322 Brand; Peer Gynt.

323 Samfundets Stöttere; Et Dukkehjem; Gengangere.

324 Pan Jowialski; Oludki i Poeta (The Misanthrope and the Poet).

DRAMBURG, a town of Germany in the kingdom of Prussia, on the Drage, a tributary of the Oder, 50 m. E. of Stettin, on the railway Ruhnow-Neustettin. Pop. 5800. It contains an Evangelical church, a gymnasium, a hospital and various administrative offices, and carries on cotton and woollen weaving, tanning, brewing and distilling.

DRAMMEN, a seaport of Norway, in Buskerud and Jarlsberg-Laurvik amter (counties), at the head of Drammen Fjord, a western arm of Christiania Fjord, 33 m. by rail S. W. from Christiania. Pop. (1900) 23,093. Its situation, at the mouth of the broad Drammen river, between lofty hills, is very beautiful. It is the junction of railways from Christiania to Haugsund, Kongsberg and Hönefos, and to Laurvik and Skien. The town is modern, having suffered from fires in 1866, 1870 and 1880. It consists of three parts: Bragernaes on the north, divided by the river from Strömsö and the port, Tangen, on the south. The prosperity of Drammen depends mainly on the timber trade; and saw-milling is an active industry, the logs being floated down the river from the upland forests. Timber and wood-pulp are exported (over half of each to Great Britain), with paper, ice and some cobalt and nickel ore. The chief imports are British coal and German machinery. Salmon are taken in the upper reaches of the Drammen.

DRANE, AUGUSTA THEODOSIA (1823-1894), English writer, was born at Bromley, near Bow, on the 29th of December 1823. Brought up in the Anglican creed, she fell under the influence of Tractarian teaching at Torquay, and joined the Roman Catholic Church in 1850. She wrote, and published anonymously, an essay questioning the Morality of Tractarianism, which was attributed to John Henry Newman. In 1852, after a prolonged stay in Rome, she joined the third order of St Dominic, to which she belonged for over forty years. She was prioress (1872-1881) of the Stone convent in Staffordshire, where she died on the 29th of April 1894. Her chief works in prose and verse are: The History of Saint Dominic (1857; enlarged edition, 1891); The Life of St Catherine of Siena (1880; 2nd ed., 1899); Christian Schools and Scholars (1867); The Knights of St John (1858); Songs in the Night (1876); and the Three Chancellors (1859), a sketch of the lives of William of Wykeham, William of Waynflete and Sir Thomas More.

A complete list of her writings is given in the Memoir of Mother Francis Raphael, O.S.D., Augusta Theodosia Drane, edited by B. Wilberforce, O.P. (London, 1895).

DRAPER, JOHN WILLIAM (1811-1882), American scientist, was born at St Helen’s, near Liverpool, on the 5th of May 1811. He studied at Woodhouse Grove, at the University of London, and, after removing to America in 1832, at the medical school of the University of Pennsylvania in 1835-1836. In 1837 he was elected professor of chemistry in the University of the City of New York, and was a professor in its school of medicine in 1840-1850, president of that school in 1850-1873, and professor of chemistry until 1881. He died at Hastings, New York, on the 4th of January 1882. He made important researches in photo-chemistry, made portrait photography possible by his improvements (1839) on Daguerre’s process, and published a Text-book on Chemistry (1846), Text-book on Natural Philosophy (1847), Text-book on Physiology (1866), and Scientific Memoirs (1878) on radiant energy. He is well known also as the author of The History of the Intellectual Development of Europe (1862), applying the methods of physical science to history, a History of the American Civil War (3 vols., 1867-1870), and a History of the Conflict between Religion and Science (1874).

His son, Henry Draper (1837-1882), graduated at the University of New York in 1858, became professor of natural science there in 1860, and was professor of physiology (in the medical school) and dean of the faculty in 1866-1873. He succeeded his father as professor of chemistry, but only for a year, dying in New York on the 20th of November 1882. Henry Draper’s most important contributions to science were made in spectroscopy; he ruled metal gratings in 1869-1870, made valuable spectrum photographs after 1871, and proved the presence of oxygen in the sun in a monograph of 1877. Edward C. Pickering carried on his study of stellar spectra with the funds of the Henry Draper Memorial at Harvard, endowed by his widow (née Mary Anna Palmer).

See accounts by George F. Barker in Biographical Memoirs of the National Academy of Science, vols. 2 and 3 (Washington, 1886, 1888).

DRAPER, one who deals in cloth or textiles generally. The Fr. drap, cloth, from which drapier and Eng. “draper” are derived, is of obscure origin. It is possible that the Low Lat. drappus or trappus (the last form giving the Eng. “trappings”) may be connected with words such as “drub,” Ger. treffen, beat; the original sense would be fulled cloth. “Drab,” dull, pale, brown, is also connected, its first meaning being a cloth of a natural undyed colour. The Drapers’ Company is one of the great livery companies of the city of London. The fraternity is of very early origin. Henry Fitz-Alwyn (d. 1212?), the first mayor of London, is said to have been a draper. The first charter was granted in 1364. The Drapers’ Gild was one of the 547 numerous subdivisions of the clothing trade, and appeared to have been confined to the retailing of woollen cloths, the linen-drapers forming in the 15th century a separate fraternity, which disappeared or was merged in the greater company. It is usual for drapers to combine the sale of “drapery,” i.e. of textiles generally, with that of millinery, hosiery, &c. In Wills v. Adams (reported in The Times, London, Nov. 20, 1908), the term “drapery” in a restrictive covenant was held not to include all goods that a draper might sell, such as furs or fur-lined goods.

DRAUGHT (from the common Teutonic word “to draw”; cf. Ger. Tracht, load; the pronunciation led to the variant form “draft,” now confined to certain specific meanings), the act or action of drawing, extending, pulling, &c. It is thus applied to animals used for drawing vehicles or loads, “draught oxen,” &c., to the quantity of fish taken by one “drag” of a net, to a quantity of liquid taken or “drawn in” to the mouth, and to a current of air in a chimney, a room or other confined space. In furnaces the “draught” is “natural” when not increased artificially, or “forced” when increased by mechanical methods (see Boiler). The water a ship “draws,” or her “draught,” is the depth to which she sinks in the water as measured from her keel. The word was formerly used of a “move” in chess or similar games, and is thus, in the plural, the general English name of the game known also as “checkers” (see Draughts). The spelling “draft” is generally employed in the following usages. It is a common term for a written order “drawn on” a banker or other holder of funds for the payment of money to a third person; thus a cheque (q.v.) is a draft. A special form of draft is a “banker’s draft,” an instruction by one bank to another bank, or to a branch of the bank making the instruction, to pay a sum of money to the order of a certain specified person. Other meanings of “draft” are an outline, plan or sketch, or a preliminary drawing up of an instrument, measure, document, &c., which, after alteration and amendment, will be embodied in a final or formal shape; an allowance made by merchants or importers to those who sell by retail, to make up a loss incurred in weighing or measuring; and a detachment or body of troops “drawn off” for a specific purpose, usually a reinforcement from the depot or reserve units to those abroad or in the field. For the use of the term “draft” or “draught” in masonry and architecture see Drafted Masonry.

DRAUGHTS (from A.S. dragan, to draw), a game played with pieces (or “men”) called draughtsmen on a board marked in squares of two alternate colours. The game is called Checkers in America, and is known to the French as Les Dames and to the Germans as Damenspiel. Though the game is not mentioned in the Complete Gamester, nor the Académie de jeux, and is styled a “modern invention” by Strutt, yet a somewhat similar game was known to the Egyptians, some of the pieces used having been found in tombs at least as old as 1600 b.c., and part of Anect Hat-Shepsa’s board and some of her men are to be seen in the Egyptian gallery of the British Museum. An Egyptian vase also shows a lion and an antelope playing at draughts, with five men each, the lion making the winning move and seizing the bag or purse that contains the stakes. Plato ascribes the invention of the game of πεσσοί, or draughts, to Thoth, the Egyptian Hermes Trismegistus, and Homer represents Penelope’s suitors as playing it (Odyss. i. 107). In one form of the game as played by the Greeks there were 25 squares, and each player had 5 men which were probably moved along the lines. In another there were 4 men and 16 squares with a “sacred enclosure,” a square of the same size as the others, marked in the exact centre and bisected by one of the horizontal lines, which was known as the “sacred line.” From the incident in the game of a piece hemmed in on this line by a rival piece having to be pushed forward as a last resort, arose the phrase “to move the man from the sacred line” as synonymous with being hard pressed. This and other phrases based on incidents in the game testify to the vogue the game enjoyed in ancient Greece. The Roman game of Latrunculi was similar, but there were officers (kings in modern draughts) as well as men. When a player’s pieces were all hemmed in he was stale-mated, to use a chess phrase (ad incitas redactus est), and lost the game. Other explanations of this phrase are, however, given (see Les Jeux des anciens, by Becq de Fouquières). The fullest account of the Roman game is to be found in the De laude Pisonis, written by an anonymous contemporary of Nero (see Calpurnius, Titus). Unfortunately the texts are full of obscurities, so that it is difficult to make any definite statements as to how the game was played.

As early as the 11th century some form of the game was practised by the Norsemen, for in the Icelandic saga of Grettir the Strong the board and men are mentioned more than once.

The history of the modern forms of the game starts with El Ingenio o juego de marro, de punto o damas, published by Torquemada at Valencia in 1547. Another Spaniard, Juan Garcia Canalejas, is said to have published in 1610 the first edition of his work, a better-known edition of which appeared in 1650. The third Spanish classic, that of Joseph Carlos Garcez, was printed in Madrid in 1684. It is noteworthy that in an illustration in Garcez’s book the pieces depicted resemble somewhat some of those used by the Egyptians, and are not unlike the pawns used in chess.

In 1668 Pierre Mallet had published the first French work on the game, and elementary though his knowledge of the game seems to have been, even in comparison with that of Canalejas or Garcez, the historical notes, rules and instructions which he gave, served as a basis for many later works. Mallet wrote on Le Jeu de dames à la française, which was almost identical with the modern English game. The old French game is, however, no longer practised in France, having been superseded by Le Jeu de dames à la polonaise. Manoury gives reasons for believing that the latter game originated in Paris about 1727.

About 1736 a famous player named Laclef published the first book on Polish draughts, but the first important book on the game is Manoury’s Jeu de dames à la polonaise, in the production of which it is said that the author had the assistance of Diderot and other encyclopédistes. This book, which appeared in 1787, was to the new game all that Mallet’s was to the old French game, and until the appearance of Poirson Prugneaux’s Encyclopédie du jeu de dames in 1855 it remained the standard authority on so-called Polish draughts. The Polish game early attained popularity in Holland, and in 1785 the standard Dutch work, Ephraim van Embden’s Verhandeling over het Damspel, was produced. In German-speaking countries the progress of the new game was slower, and the works produced in the first half of the 19th century generally treat of the older game as well as the Polish game. This is also the case with Petroff’s book published in St Petersburg in 1827; and similarly Zongono’s, which dates from 1832, deals with the new game and with the older Italian game.

In 1694 Hyde wrote Historia dami ludi seu latrinculorum, in which he tried to prove the identity of draughts with ludus latrinculorum. This work is historical and descriptive, but contains nothing concerning the game as played in Great Britain. The authentic history of draughts in England commences with William Payne’s Introduction to the Game of Draughts, the dedication of which was written by Samuel Johnson. Payne’s games and problems were incorporated in a much more important work, namely Sturges’s Guide to the Game of Draughts, which appeared in 1800 and has gone through a score of editions. About this time the game was much practised in both England and Scotland, but the first important production of the Scottish school was Drummond’s Scottish Draught Player, the first part of which dates from 1838, additional volumes appearing in 1851-1853 and 1861. In 1852 Andrew Anderson published his Game of Draughts Simplified. A first edition had appeared in 1848, but the later print is the important one, as it standardized the laws of the game, fixed the nomenclature of the openings, introduced a better arrangement of the play, and, since Anderson was one of the finest players of the game, excelled in accuracy. In Anderson’s time little was known about the openings commencing with any move other than 11-15, and it was not until more than thirty years later that the other openings received 548 more adequate recognition. This was done in Robertson’s Guide to the Game of Draughts, and perhaps better in Lees’ Guide (1892).

Andrew Anderson was the first recognized British champion player of the game. He and Wyllie, better known as “the herd laddie,” contested five matches for the honour, Anderson winning four to Wyllie’s one. After his victory in 1847 Anderson retired from match play and the title fell to Wyllie, who made the game his profession and travelled all over the English-speaking world to play it. In 1872 he successfully defended his position against Martins, the English champion, and in 1874 against W. R. Barker, the American champion, but two years later he was beaten by Yates, a young American. On the latter’s retirement from the game, the championship lapsed to Wyllie, who held it successfully until his defeat by Ferrie, the Scottish champion, in 1894. Two years later Ferrie was beaten in his turn by Richard Jordan of Edinburgh, who had just gained the Scottish championship; and the new holder defeated Stewart, who challenged him in 1897, and successfully defended his title against C. F. Barker, the American champion, to meet whom he visited Boston in 1900 and played a drawn match.

In 1884 the first international match between England and Scotland took place, and resulted in so decisive a victory for the northerners that the contest was not renewed for ten years. The matches played in 1894 and 1899 also went strongly in favour of the Scots, but in 1903 the Englishmen gained their first victory.

In 1905 a British team visited America and defeated a side representing the United States.

The tournament for the Scottish championship has been held annually in Glasgow since 1893. The number and skill of the Scottish players have given this tournament its pre-eminence; but if the levelling up of the standards of play in Scotland and England continues, the competition which is held biennially by the English Draughts Association is likely to rank as a serious rival to the Glasgow tourney.


The English Game.—Draughts as played now in English-speaking countries is a game for two persons with a board and twenty-four men—twelve white and twelve black—which at starting are placed as follows: the black men on the squares numbered 1 to 12, and the white men on the squares numbered 21 to 32 on the diagram below. In printed diagrams the men are usually shown on the white squares for the sake of clearness, but in actual play the black squares are generally used now. In playing on the black squares the board must be placed with a black square in the left-hand corner. The game is played by moving a man forward, one square at a time except when making a capture, along the diagonals to the right or left. Thus a white man placed on square 18 in the diagram can move to 15 or 14. Each player moves alternately, black always moving first. If a player touch a piece he must move that piece and no other. If the piece cannot be moved, or if it is not the player’s turn to move, he forfeits the game. As soon as a man reaches one of the squares farthest from his side of the board, he is “crowned” by having one of the unused or captured men of his own colour placed on him, and becomes a “king.” A king has the power of moving and taking backwards as well as forwards.

If a man is on the square adjacent to an opponent’s man, and there is an unoccupied square beyond, the unprotected man must be captured and removed from the board. Thus, if there is a white man on square 18, and a black man on square 14, square 9 being vacant, and white having to move, he jumps over 14 and remains on square 9, and the man on 14 is taken up.

If two or more men are so placed that one square intervenes between each they may all be taken at one move. Thus if white having to move has a man on 28, and black men on 24, 16 and 8, the intermediate squares and square 3 being vacant, white could move from 28 to 3, touching 19 and 12 en route, and take the men on 24, 16, and 8; but if there is a piece on 7 and square 10 is vacant, the piece on 7 cannot be captured, for becoming a king ends the move.

It is compulsory to take if possible. If a player can take a man (or a series of men) but makes a move that does not capture (or does not capture all that is possible), his adversary may allow the move to stand, or he may have the move retracted and compel the player to take, or he may allow the move to stand and remove the piece, that neglected to capture from the board (called “huffing”). “Huff and move” go together, i.e. the player who huffs then makes his move. When one player has lost all his pieces, or has all those left on the board blocked, he loses the game.

The game is drawn when neither of the players has sufficient advantage in force or position to enable him to win.

The losing game, or “first off the board,” is a form of draughts not much practised now by expert draught players. The player wins who gets all his pieces taken first. There is no “huffing”; a player who can take must do so.

Draughts Openings.—As there are seven possible first moves, with seven possible replies to each, or forty-nine in all, there is an abundant variety of openings; but as two of these (9-14, 21-17 and 10-14, 21-17) are obviously unsound, the number is really reduced to forty-seven. Much difference of opinion exists regarding the relative strength of the various openings. It was at one time generally held that for the black side 11-15 was the best opening move.

Towards the end of the 19th century this view became much modified, and though 11-15 still remained the favourite, it was recognized that 10-15, 9-14 and 11-16 were little, if at all, inferior; 10-14 and 12-16 were rightly rated as weaker than the four moves named above, whilst 9-13, the favourite of the “unscientific” player, was found to be weakest of all.

The white replies to 11-15 have gone through many vicissitudes. The seven possible moves have each at different times figured as the general favourite. Thus 24-19, which analysis proved to be the weakest of the seven, was at one period described by the title of “Wyllie’s Invincible.” In course of time it came to be regarded as decidedly weak, and its name was altered to the less pretentious title of “Second Double Corner.” In the Scottish Tournament of 1894 this opening was played between Ferrie and Stewart, and the latter won the game with white, introducing new play which has stood the test of analysis, and so rehabilitating the opening in public favour. The 21-17 reply to 11-15 was introduced by Wyllie, who was so successful with it that it became known as the “Switcher.” This opening perhaps lacks the solid strength of some of the others, but it so abounds in traps as to be well worthy of its name. The other five replies to 11-15, namely 24-20, 23-19, 23-18, 22-18 and 22-17, are productive of games which give equal chances to both sides.

The favourite replies to 10-15 are 23-18, 22-18 and 21-17, but they do not appear to be appreciably stronger than the others, with the possible exception of 24-20.

In response to 11-16, 23-18 is held to give white a trifling advantage, but it is more apparent than real. With the exception of 23-19, which is weak, the other replies are of equal strength, and are only slightly, if at all, inferior to the more popular 23-18. 9-14 is most frequently encountered by 22-18, but all white’s replies are good, except of course 21-17 which loses a man, and 23-18 which weakens the centre of white’s position.

Against 10-14 the most popular move is 22-17, which gives white an advantage. Next in strength come 22-18 and 24-19. 23-18 is weak.

The strongest reply to 12-16 is 24-20. The others, except 23-19, which is weak, give no initial advantage to either side.

As already mentioned, 9-13 is black’s weakest opening move, both 22-18 and 24-19 giving white a distinct advantage. Nevertheless 9-13 is a favourite début with certain expert players, especially when playing with inferior opponents.

The term “opening” is frequently applied in a more restricted sense than that used above. When practically all games started with 11-15 it was convenient to assign names to the more popular lines of play. Thus 11-15, 23-19, 8-11, 22-17, if followed by 11-16, was called the “Glasgow”; if followed by 9-13, 17-14, the “Laird and Lady”; if by 3-8, the “Alma.”

The variety possible in the opening is a fair reply to the objection sometimes heard that the game does not afford sufficient scope for variation. As a matter of fact a practically unlimited number of different games might be played on any one opening.

The three following games are typical examples of the play arising from three of the most frequently played openings:—


Game No. 1.—“Ayrshire Lassie” Opening.

a 11-15 25-18 10-15 22-17 b 15-18 24-6 
a 24-20 3-8  23-19 13-22 24-20 2-9 
8-11 26-22 6-10 26-17 18-27 17-10
28-24 5-9  {c & d} 27-23 11-16 31-24 8-11
9-13 30-26 9-14 20-11 16-23 Drawn.
22-18 1-5  18-9  7-16 20-16 R. Jordan.
15-22 32-28 5-14 29-25 12-19  

a. 11-15, 24-20 forms the “Ayrshire Lassie” opening, so named by Wyllie. It is generally held to admit of unusual scope for the display of critical and brilliant combinations.

b. 16-20, 25-22, 20-27, 31-24, 8-11, 17-13, 2-6, 21-17, 14-21, 22-17, 21-25, 17-14, 10-17, 19-1. Drawn. R. Jordan.


26-23 28-19 20-16 7-11 14-10 15-10
9-14 2-6  6-10 19-24 26-23 23-18
18-9  20-11 16-11 11-18 10-7  10-15
5-14 8-24 10-15 24-27 4-8  20-16
29-25 27-20 11-7  18-15 7-3  15-22
11-16 10-15 14-18 27-31 8-12 16-7 
20-11 31-26 7-3  22-18 3-7  Drawn.
7-16 15-19 18-23 31-27 27-24 A. B. Scott.
24-20 23-16 3-7  18-14 7-11 v.
15-24 12-19 23-30 30-26 24-20 R. Jordan.


19-16 7-10 23-19 11-15 16-11 25-30
12-19 6-1  15-24 27-24 18-25 20-16
22-17 9-14 28-19 22-25 17-14 Drawn.
15-22 26-23 8-11 29-22 10-17 R. Jordan.
24-6  11-15 19-16 14-18 21-14  

Game No. 2.—“Kelso-Cross” Opening.

a 10-15 8-12 13-22 5-9  14-18 22-25
a 23-18 25-21 26-17 20-16 17-14 29-22
12-16 1-6  d 19-26 2-7  10-17 17-26
21-17 32-27 30-23 24-19 21-14 5-1 
9-13 12-16 15-22 15-24 6-10 26-30
17-14 27-23 24-19 23-19 14-9  1-5 
16-19 7-10 9-14 24-27 10-14 30-26
24-20 14-7  19-12 31-24 19-15 5-9 
6-9  3-10 11-15 9-13 14-17 26-23
b 27-24 c 22-17 28-24 24-20 9-5  Drawn.
          R. Jordan.

a. These two moves form the “Kelso-Cross” opening.

b. 27-23 is also a strong line for white to adopt.

c. 30-25, 4-8, 18-14, 9-27, 22-18, 15-22, 24-15, 11-18, 20-4, 27-32, 26-17, 13-22, 4-8, 22-26, and black appears to have a winning advantage. R. Jordan.

d. Taking the piece on 18 first seems to lose, thus:—

15-22 e 9-13 13-17 6-9  5-14  
24-8  17-14 23-18 14-10 10-7  White
4-11 10-17 17-21 9-14 2-6  wins.
31-27 21-14 28-24 18-9  7-2  Dallas.

e. 2-7, 27-24, 22-26, 23-18, 26-31, 18-15, 11-18, 20-2, 9-13, 2-9, 5-14, 24-19, 13-22, 30-26. White wins.

Game No. 3.—“Dundee” Opening.

12-16 11-15 c 8-12 4-8  9-14 1-26
24-20 20-11 17-13 18-15 26-22 31-22
8-12 7-16 5-9  2-7  14-17 19-23
28-24 24-20 22-18 30-26 21-14 13-9 
9-14 b 16-19 15-22 10-14 18-23 12-19
22-17 23-16 25-18 29-25 27-18 9-6 
3-8  12-19 14-23 14-18 6-10 7-11
a 26-22 20-16 27-18 32-27 15-6  Drawn.
          R. Jordan.

a. This move is the favourite at this point on account of its “trappiness,” but 25-22 is probably stronger, thus: 25-22, 16-19, 24-15, 11-25, 29-22, 8-11, 17-13, 11-16, 20-11, 7-16, and white can with advantage continue by 27-24, 22-17, 23-19 or 22-18.

b. 15-19, 20-11, 8-15, 23-16, 12-19, 17-13, 5-9, 30-26, 4-8, 27-23, 8-12, 23-16, 12-19, 31-27, 1-5, 27-23, 19-24, 32-27, 24-31, 22-17. White wins. C. F. Barker.

c 8-11 27-18 15-18 14-10 24-27 7-10
16-7  15-22 14-10 19-24 31-24 27-31
2-11 25-18 6-15 10-7  16-20 10-26
22-18 10-15 17-14 18-23 3-7  31-22
14-23 18-14 11-16 7-3  20-27 30-25
Drawn. R. Stewart v. R. Jordan.

Problem No. 1 is the simplest form of that known to draughts-players as the “First Position.” It is of more frequent occurrence in actual play than any other end-game, and is, besides, typical of a class of draughts problems which may be described as analytical, in contradistinction to “strokes.”

Problem No. 1, by Wm. Payne.
White to move and win.


27-32 18-15 15-11 11-15 28-32 19-24
28-24 2-28-24 12-16 19-24 27-31 White
23-18 32-28 28-32 32-28 15-19 wins.
3-a-24-28 1-24-20 16-19 24-27 31-26  

a. 12-16 same as Var. I. at 5th move.

Var. I.

24-27 18-15 19-16 28-32 8-12 15-11
15-18 b 16-20 18-23 8-12 23-18 White
12-16 15-18 16-11 32-27 12-8  wins.
28-32 24-19 23-19 12-8  18-15  
27-24 32-28 11-8  27-23 8-12  

b. 24-28 same as Var. II. at 1st move.

Var. II. 12-16, 15-11, 16-19, 32-27, 28-32, 27-31, 32-28, 11-16, 19-23, 16-19. White wins.

Var. III. 24-19, 32-28, c 19-16, 28-24, 16-11, 24-20, 11-8, 18-15. White wins.

c. 12-16, 28-32, 19-24 or 16-20, same as Var. II. at 5th and 9th moves respectively. White wins.

Problem No. 2.
White to move and win.

Problem No. 2 is a fine example of another class of problems, namely, “strokes.” It is formed from the “Paisley” opening, thus:—

11-16 22-17 11-16 26-19 9-13 15-10
24-19 9-13 25-21 4-8  25-22 a 2-7 
8-11 17-14 6-9  29-25 7-11  
28-24 10-17 23-18 13-17 19-15  
16-20 21-14 16-23 31-26 12-16  

a. This forms the position on the diagram. The solution is as follows:—

27-23 7-14 18-9  14-23 26-3 
20-27 9-6  5-14 21-7  27-31
14-9  1-10 23-18 3-10 3-7 

White wins. Jacques and Campbell.

Other Varieties.—The forms of draughts practised on the European continent differ in some respects from the English variety, chiefly in respect of the power assigned to a man after “crowning.” The game of Polish Draughts is played in France, Holland, Belgium and Poland, where it has entirely superseded Le Jeu de dames à la française. It is played on a board of 100 squares with 20 men a side. The men move and capture as in English draughts, except that in capturing they move either forward or backward. A crowned man becomes a queen, and can move any number of squares along the diagonal. In her capture she takes any unguarded man or queen in any diagonal she commands, leaping over the captured man or queen and remaining on any unoccupied square she chooses of the same diagonal, beyond the piece taken. But if there is another unguarded man she is bound to choose the diagonal on which it can be taken. For example (using an English draught-board) place a queen on square 29 and adverse men at squares 22, 16, 24, 14. The queen is bound to move from 29 to 11, 20, 27, and having made the captures to remain at 9 or 5, whichever she prefers. The capturing queen or man must take all the adverse pieces that are en prise, or 550 that become so by the uncovering of any square from which a piece has been removed during the capture, e.g. white queen at square 7, black at squares 10, 18, 19, 22 and 27, the queen captures at 10, 22, 27 and 19, and the piece at 22 being now removed, she must go to 15, take the man at 18, and stay at 22, 25 or 29. In consequence of the intricacy of some of these moves, it is customary to remove every captured piece as it is taken. If a man arrives at a crowning square when taking, and he can still continue to take, he must do so, and not stay on the crowning square as at draughts. Passing a crowning square in taking does not entitle him to be made a queen. In capturing, the player must choose the direction by which he can take the greatest number of men or queens, or he may be huffed. Numerical power is the criterion, e.g. three men must be taken in preference to two queens. If the numbers are equal and one force comprises more queens than the other, the player may take whichever lot he chooses. This form of draughts, played on a board of 144 squares with 30 men a side, is extensively practised by British soldiers in India.

The German Damenspiel is Polish draughts played on a board of the same size and with the same number of men as in the English game. It is sometimes called Minor Polish draughts, and is practised in Germany and Russia.

The Italian game differs from the English in two important particulars—a man may not take a king, and when a player has the option of capturing pieces in more than one way he must take in the manner which captures most pieces. There is a difference too in the placing of the board, the black square in the corner of the board being at the player’s right hand, but until a king is obtained the differences from the English system are unimportant in practice.

In Spanish draughts the board is set as for the Italian game. The men move as in English draughts, but, in capturing, the largest possible number of pieces must be taken, and the king has the same powers as in the Polish game. The game does not differ essentially from the English game until a king is obtained, and many games from Spanish works will be found incorporated in English books. Sometimes the game is played with 11 men and a king, or 10 men and 2 kings a side, instead of the regulation 12 men.

Turkish draughts differs widely from all other modern varieties of the game. It is played on a board of 64 squares, all of which are used in play. Each player has 16 pieces, which are not placed on the two back rows of squares, as in chess, but on the second and third back rows. The pieces do not move diagonally as in other forms of the game, but straight forward or to the right or left horizontally. The king has the same command of a horizontal or vertical row of squares that the queen in Polish draughts has over a diagonal. Capturing is compulsory, and the greatest possible number of pieces must be taken, captured pieces being removed one at a time as taken.

Authorities.—Falkener’s Games Ancient and Oriental; Lees’ Guide to the Game of Draughts; Drummond’s Scottish Draught Players (Kear’s reprint); Gould’s Memorable Matches and Book of Problems, &c. The Draughts World is the principal magazine devoted to the game. In Dunne’s Draught Players’ Guide and Companion a section is devoted to the non-English varieties.

(J. M. M. D.; R. J.)

DRAUPADI, in Hindu legend, the daughter of Drupada, king of Panchala, and wife of the five Pandava princes. She is an important character in the Mahabharata.

DRAVE, or Drava (Ger. Drau, Hung. Dráva, Lat. Dravus), one of the principal right-bank affluents of the Danube, flowing through Austria and Hungary. It rises below the Innichner Eck, near the Toblacher Feld in Tirol, at an altitude of a little over 4000 ft., runs eastward, and forms the longest longitudinal valley of the Alps. The Drave has a total length of 450 m., while the length of its Alpine valley to Marburg is 150 m., and to its junction with the Mur 250 m. Owing to its great extent and easy accessibility the valley of the Drave was the principal road through which the invading peoples of the East, as the Huns, the Slavs and the Turks, penetrated the Alpine countries. The Drave flows through Carinthia and Styria, and enters Hungary near Friedau, where up to its confluence with the Danube, at Almas, 14 m. E. of Esseg, it forms the boundary between that country and Croatia-Slavonia. At its mouth the Drave attains a breadth of 1055 ft. and a depth of 20 ft. The Drave is navigable for rafts only from Villach, and for steamers from Bárcs, a distance of 95 m. The principal affluents of the Drave are: on the left the Isel, the Gurk, the Lavant, and the largest of all, the Mur; and on the right the Gail and the Drann.

DRAVIDIAN (Sanskrit Draviḍa), the name given to a collection of Indian peoples, and their family of languages1 comprising all the principal forms of speech of Southern India. Their territory, which also includes the northern half of Ceylon, extends northwards up to an irregular line drawn from a point on the Arabian Sea about 100 m. below Goa along the Western Ghats as far as Kolhapur, thence north-east through Hyderabad, and farther eastwards to the Bay of Bengal. Farther to the north we find Dravidian dialects spoken by small tribes in the Central Provinces and Chota Nagpur, and even up to the banks of the Ganges in the Rajmahal hills. A Dravidian dialect is, finally, spoken by the Brāhūīs of Baluchistan in the far north-west. The various Dravidian languages, with the number of speakers returned at the census of 1901, are as follows:—

Tamil 17,494,901
Malayālam 6,022,131
Kanarese 10,368,515
Tulu 535,210
Kodagu 39,191
Toda 805
Kōta 1,300
Kuruχ 609,721
Malto 60,777
Gōndī 1,125,479
Kui 494,099
Telugu 20,697,264
Brāhūī 48,589
Total 57,497,982

Of these Tamil and Malayālam can be considered as two dialects of one and the same language, which is, in its turn, closely related to Kanarese. Tulu, Kodagu, Toda and Kōta can be described as lying between Tamil-Malayālam and Kanarese, though they are more nearly related to the latter than to the former. The same is the case with Kuruχ and Malto, while Kui and Gōndī gradually approach Telugu, which latter language seems to have branched off from the common stock at an early date. Finally, the Brāhūī dialect of Baluchistan has been so much influenced by other languages that it is no longer a pure Dravidian form of speech.

The Dravidian languages have for ages been restricted to the territory they occupy at the present day. Moreover, they are gradually losing ground in the north, where they meet with Aryan forms of speech. If we compare the caste tables and the language tables in the Indian census of 1901 we find that only 1,125,479 out of the 2,286,913 Gōnds returned were stated to speak the Dravidian Gōndī. Similarly only 1505 out of 17,187 Kōlāms entered their language as Kōlāmī. Such tribes are gradually becoming Hinduized. Their language adopts an ever-increasing Aryan element till it is quite superseded by Aryan speech. In the north-eastern part of the Dravidian territory, to the east of Chanda and Bhandara, the usual state of affairs is that Dravidian dialects are spoken in the hills while Aryan forms of speech prevail in the plains. The Dravidian Kui thus stands out as an isolated island in the sea of Aryan speech.

This process has been going on from time immemorial. The Dravidians were already settled in India when the Aryans arrived from the north-west. The fair Aryans were at once struck by their dark hue, and named them accordingly kṛiṣṇa tvac, the black skin. In the course of time, however, the two races began to mix, and it is still possible to trace a Dravidian element in the Aryan languages of North India.

The teaching of anthropology is to the same effect. Most speakers of Dravidian languages belong to a distinct anthropological type which is known as the Dravidian. “The Dravidian race,” says Sir H. Risley, “the most primitive of the Indian types, occupies the oldest geological formation in India, the medley of forest-clad ranges, terraced plateaus, and undulating plains which stretches, roughly speaking, from the Vindhyas to Cape Comorin. On the east and west of the peninsular area the domain of the Dravidian is conterminous with the Ghats, 551 while farther north it reaches on one side to the Aravallis and on the other to the Rajmahal hills.”

This territory is the proper home of the race. A strong Dravidian element can, however, also be traced in the population of northern India. In Kashmir and Punjab, where the Aryans had already settled in those prehistoric times when the Vedic hymns were composed, the prevailing type is the Aryan one. The same is the case in Rajputana. From the eastern frontier of the Punjab, on the other hand, and eastwards, a Dravidian element can be traced. This is the case in the valleys of the Ganges and the Jumna, where the Aryans only settled at a later period. Anthropologists also state that there is a Dravidian element in the population of western India, from Gujarat to Coorg.

It is thus probable that Dravidian languages have once been spoken in many tracts which are now occupied by Aryan forms of speech. The existence of a Dravidian dialect in Baluchistan seems to show that Dravidian settlers have once lived in those parts. The tribe in question, the Brāhūīs, are, however, now Eranians and not Dravidians by race, and it is not probable that there has ever been a numerous Dravidian population in Baluchistan. The Brāhūīs are most likely the descendants of settlers from the south.

There is no indication that the Dravidians have entered India from outside or superseded an older population. For all practical purposes they can accordingly be considered as the aborigines of the Deccan, whence they appear to have spread over part of northern India. Their languages form an isolated group, and it has not been possible to prove a connexion with any other family of languages. Such attempts have been made with reference to the Munda family, the Tibeto-Burman languages, and the dialects spoken by the aborigines of the Australian continent. The arguments adduced have not, however, proved to be sufficient, and only the Australian hypothesis can still lay claim to some probability. Till it has been more closely tested we must therefore consider the Dravidian family as an isolated group of languages, with several characteristic features of its own.

The pronunciation is described as soft and mellifluous. Abruptness and hard combinations of sounds are avoided. There is, for example, a distinct tendency to avoid pronouncing a short consonant at the end of a word, a very short vowel being often added after it. Thus the pronoun of the third person singular, which is avan, “he,” in Tamil, is pronounced avanu in Kanarese; the Sanskrit word vāk, “speech,” is borrowed in the form vāku in Tamil; the word gurram, “horse,” is commonly pronounced gurramu in Telugu, and so on. Combinations of consonants are further avoided in many cases where speakers of other languages do not experience any difficulty in pronouncing them. This tendency is well illustrated by the changes undergone by some borrowed words. Thus the Sanskrit word brāhmaṇa, “a Brahmin,” becomes barāmaṇa in Kanarese and pirāmaṇa in Tamil; the Sanskrit Dramiḍa, “Dravidian,” is borrowed by Tamil under the form Tirāmiḍa. Dramiḍa, which also occurs as Draviḍa, is in its turn developed from an older Damiḷa, which is identical with the word Tamiṛ, Tamil.

The forms pirāmaṇa and Tirāmiḍa in Tamil illustrate another feature of Dravidian enunciation. There is a tendency in all of them, and in Tamil and Malayālam it has become a law, against any word being permitted to begin with a stopped voiced consonant (g, j, , d, b), the corresponding voiceless sounds (k, c, , t, p, respectively) being substituted. In the middle of a word or compound, on the other hand, every consonant must be voiced. Thus the Sanskrit word danta, “tooth,” has been borrowed by Tamil in the form tandam, and the Telugu anna, “elder brother,” tammulu, “younger brother,” become when compounded annadammulu, “elder and younger brothers.”

There is no strongly marked accent on any one syllable, though there is a slight stress upon the first one. In some dialects this equilibrium between the different parts of a word is accompanied by a tendency to approach to each other the sound of vowels in consecutive syllables. This tendency, which has been called the “law of harmonic sequence,” is most apparent in Telugu, where the short u of certain suffixes is replaced by i when the preceding syllable contains one of the vowels i (short and long) and ei. Compare the dative suffix ku, ki, in gurramu-ku, “to a horse”; but tammuni-ki, “to a younger brother.” This tendency does not, however, play a prominent rôle in the Dravidian languages.

Words are formed from roots and bases by means of suffixed formative additions. The root itself generally remains unchanged throughout. Thus from the Tamil base per, “great,” we can form adjectives such as per-iya and per-um, “great”; verbs such as per-u-gu, “to become increased”; per-u-kku, “to cause to increase,” and so on.

Many bases can be used at will as nouns, as adjectives, and as verbs. Thus the Tamil kaḍu can mean “sharpness,” “sharp,” and “to be sharp.” Other bases are of course more restricted in their respective spheres.

The inflection of words is effected by agglutination, i.e. various additions are suffixed to the base in order to form what we would call cases and tenses. Such additions have probably once been separate words. Most of them are, however, now only used as suffixes. Thus from the Tamil base kōn, “king,” we can form an accusative kōn-ei, a verb kōn-en, “I am king,” and so on.

Dravidian nouns are divided into two classes, which Tamil grammarians called high-caste and casteless respectively. The former includes those nouns which denote beings endowed with reason, the latter all others. Gender is only distinguished in the former class, while all casteless nouns are neuter. The gender of animals (which are irrational) must accordingly be distinguished by using different words for the male and the female, or else by adding words meaning male, female, respectively, to the name of the animal—processes which do not, strictly speaking, fall under the head of grammar.

There are two numbers, the singular and the plural. The latter is formed by adding suffixes. It, however, often remains unmarked in the case of casteless nouns.

Cases are formed by adding postpositions and suffixes, usually to a modified form of the noun which is commonly called the oblique base. Thus we have the Tamil maram, “tree”; maratt-āl, “from a tree”; maratt-u-kku, “to a tree”; vīḍu, “a house”; vīṭṭ-āl, “from a house.” The case terminations are the same in the singular and in the plural. The genitive, which precedes the governing noun, is often identical with the oblique base, or else it is formed by adding suffixes.

The numeral system is decimal and higher numbers are counted in tens; thus Tamil pattu, “ten”; iru-badu, “two tens,” “twenty.”

The personal pronoun of the first person in most dialects has a double form in the plural, one including and the other excluding the person addressed. Thus, Tamil nām, “we,” i.e. I and you; nāṅgal, “we,” i.e. I and they.

There is no relative pronoun. Relative clauses are effected by using relative participles. Thus in Telugu the sentence “the book which you gave to me” must be translated mīru nāku iccina pus-takamu, i.e. “you me-to given book.” There are several such participles in use. Thus from the Telugu verb koṭṭa, “to strike,” are formed koṭṭ-ut-unna, “that strikes,” koṭṭ-i-na, “that struck,” koṭṭē, “that would strike,” “that usually strikes.” By adding pronouns, or the terminations of pronouns, to such forms, nouns are derived which denote the person who performs the action. Thus from Telugu koṭṭē and vāḍu, “he,” is formed koṭṭē-vāḍu, “one who usually strikes.” Such forms are used as ordinary verbs, and the usual verbal forms of Dravidian languages can broadly be described as such nouns of agency. Thus, the Telugu, koṭṭināḍu, “he struck,” can be translated literally “a striker in the past.”

Verbal tenses distinguish the person and number of the subject by adding abbreviated forms of the personal pronouns. Thus in Kanarese we have māḍid-enu, “I did”; māḍid-i, “thou didst”; māḍid-evu, “we did”; māḍid-aru, “they did.”

One of the most characteristic features of the Dravidian verb is the existence of a separate negative conjugation. It usually has only one tense and is formed by adding the personal terminations to a negative base. Thus, Kanarese māḍ-enu, “I did not”; māḍ-evu, “we did not”; māḍ-aru, “they did not.”

The vocabulary has adopted numerous Aryan loan-words. This was a necessary consequence of the early connexion with the superior Aryan civilization.

The oldest Dravidian literature is largely indebted to the Aryans though it goes back to a very early date. Tamil, Malayālam, Kanarese and Telugu are the principal literary languages. The language of literature in all of them differs considerably from the colloquial. The oldest known specimen of a Dravidian language occurs in a Greek play which is preserved in a papyrus of the 2nd century a.d. The exact period to which the indigenous literature can be traced back, on the other hand, has not been fixed with certainty.

Bibliography.—Bishop R. Caldwell, A Comparative Grammar of the Dravidian or South-Indian Family of Languages (London, 1856; 2nd edition, 1875); Dr Friedrich Müller, Reise der österreichischen Fregatte Novara um die Erde in den Jahren 1857, 1858, 1859, unter den Befehlen des Commodore B. von Wüllerstorff-Urbair: Linguistischer Theil. (Wien, 1867, pp. 73 and ff.); Dr Friedrich Müller, Grundriss der Sprachwissenschaft, vol. iii. (Wien, 1884), pp. 106 and ff.; G. A. Grierson, Linguistic Survey of India, vol. iv. “Munda and Dravidian Languages” (Calcutta, 1906), pp. 277 and ff. by Sten Konow.

(S. K.)

1 In Dravidian words a line above a vowel shows that it is long. The dotted consonants ṭ, ḍ, and ṇ are pronounced by striking the tip of the tongue against the centre of the hard palate. The dotted ḷ is distinguished from l in a similar way. Its sound, however, differs in the different districts. A Greek χ marks the sound of ch in “loch”; is the English sh; c the ch in “church”; and ṛi is an r which is used as a vowel. In the list of Dravidian languages the names are spelt fully, with all the necessary diacritical marks. In the rest of the article dots under consonants have been omitted in these words.

DRAWBACK, in commerce, the paying back of a duty previously paid upon the exportation of excisable articles or upon the re-exportation of foreign goods. The object of a drawback is to enable commodities which are subject to taxation to be exported 552 and sold in a foreign country on the same terms as goods from countries where they are untaxed. It differs from a bounty in that the latter enables commodities to be sold abroad at less than their cost price; it may occur, however, under certain conditions that the giving of a drawback has an effect equivalent to that of a bounty, as in the case of the so-called sugar bounties in Germany (see Sugar). The earlier tariffs contained elaborate tables of the drawbacks allowed on the exportation or re-exportation of commodities, but so far as the United Kingdom is concerned the system of “bonded warehouses” practically abolished drawbacks, as commodities can be warehoused (placed “in bond”) until required for subsequent exportation.

DRAWING, in art. Although the verb “to draw” has various meanings, the substantive drawing is confined by usage to its artistic sense, delineation or design. The word “draw,” from a root common to the Teutonic languages (Goth, dragan, O.H.G. drahan, Mod. Ger. tragen, which all have the sense of “carry,” O. Norse draga, A.S. drazan, drazen, “draw,” cf. Lat. trahere), means to pull or “drag” (a word of the same origin) as distinct from the action of pushing. It is thus used of traction generally, whether by men, animals or machines. The same idea is preserved in “drawing” as applied to the fine arts. We do not usually say, or think, that a sculptor is drawing when he is using his chisel, although he may be expressing or defining forms, nor that an engraver is drawing when he is pushing the burin with the palm of the hand, although the result may be the rendering of a design. But we do say that an artist is drawing when he uses the lead pencil, and here we have a motion bearing some resemblance to that of traction generally. The action of the artist in drawing the pencil point with his fingers along the paper is analogous, e.g., to that of a horse or man drawing a pole over soft ground and leaving a mark behind. The same analogy may be observed between two of the senses in which the French verb tirer is frequently employed. This word, the origin of which is quite uncertain, was formerly used by good writers in the two senses of the verb to draw. Thus Lafontaine says, “Six forts chevaux tiraient un coche”; and Caillières wrote, “Il n’y a pas longtemps que je me suis fait tirer par Rigaud,” meaning that Rigaud had drawn or painted his portrait. At the present day the verb tirer has fallen into disuse amongst cultivated Frenchmen with regard to drawing and painting, but it is still universally used for all kinds of design and even for photography by the common people. The cultivated use it still for printing, as for example “cette gravure sera tirée à cent exemplaires,” in the sense of pulling. A verb much more nearly related to the English verb to draw is the French traire (Lat. trahere), which has trait for its past participle. Traire is now used exclusively for milking cows and other animals, and though the analogy between this and artistic drawing is not obvious at first, nevertheless there is a certain analogy of motion, since the hand passing down the teat draws the milk downwards. The word trait is much more familiar in connexion with art as “les traits du visage,” the natural markings of the face, and it is very often used in a figurative sense, as we say “traits of character.” It is familiar in the English portrait, derived from protrahere. The ancient Romans used words which expressed more clearly the conception that drawing was done in line (delineare) or in shade (adumbrare), though there are reasons for believing that the words were often indiscriminately applied. Although the modern Italians have both traire and trarre, they use delineare still in the sense of artistic drawing, and also adombrare. The Greek verb γράφειν appears in English in “graphic” and in many compounds, such as photograph, &c. It is worth observing that the Greeks seem to have considered drawing and writing (q.v.) as essentially the same process, since they used the same word for both. This points to the early identity of the two arts when drawing was a kind of writing, and when such writing as men had learned to practise was essentially what we should call drawing, though of a rude and simple kind. Even in the present day picture writing is not unfrequently resorted to by travellers as a means of making themselves intelligible. There is also a kind of art which is writing in the modern sense and drawing at the same time, such as the work of the medieval illuminators in their manuscripts.


The Art of Drawing.—Rather than attempt here a historical survey of the various so-called “styles” of drawing, or write a personal appreciation of them, it seems of greater use to give a logical account of drawing as an art, applicable to all times and countries. Reference to the teaching of drawing will be occasionally given rather to illustrate the argument than with a view to its being of practical use.

At the outset a distinction must be made between drawing as a means of symbolic or literary expression and drawing as the direct and only means of expressing the beauty of form. If Pharaoh wants to have it known that a hundred ducks were consumed at one meal in his court, he employs a draughtsman to register the fact on a frieze by picturing a row of cooks occupied in preparing the hundred ducks. The artist in this case does not represent the scene as he must have known it in the kitchen, with all its variety of movement and composition (as an early Greek vase painter conceived the interior of a vase factory), but all he does and is required to do is to give the sufficient number of figures and ducks. The more uniform the figures the greater will be the effect of number. Drawing has been employed here to tell a story, and it succeeds in so far as it tells the spectator plainly what could be told, perhaps less conveniently, in words. It matters not whether the figures and objects be feelingly rendered and harmoniously composed. So, to-day, a child, or any one who has a simple trick of symbolizing figures and objects in nature, can describe any event or moral by this process, provided the plot be not too elaborate to be expressed by a scene, or series of scenes, enacted by dumb symbolic figures. It is plain that the amusing pictures in Punch or Fliegende Blätter would be none the more amusing if they were done by the hand of Michelangelo, nor would the mystic designs of Blake be more full of meaning if drawn by Rembrandt, for in neither case do these works depend upon any subtle rendering of the forms of nature for their success, but upon the dramatic or intellectual imagination of the man who conceived them. When the witty or ethical man is at the same time a master draughtsman his work has two values, the “literary” content and the beauty of his drawing of natural objects. But it must be borne in mind that these values are fundamentally distinct; so much so that the spectator who has no appreciation of the forms of nature enjoys the story told and remains blind to the qualities of draughtsmanship, whilst the lover of nature’s forms may or may not trouble to unravel the literary plot but finds perfect satisfaction in the drawing. By far the greater part of illustration, and of artistic production generally, must be classed as symbolic art. Magazine stories to-day are sometimes illustrated even by photography, for the hand of the artist is not required. Symbolic art describes indirectly and in a necessarily limited scope what literature can do directly and with unlimited powers. The only content of symbolic drawing is its literary meaning; as drawing it may be quite worthless.

Pure drawing, however, whether it represent a dramatic event or a knee-joint, has a content that cannot be expressed by words, and is not necessarily directed towards literary expression. Just as a fragment of good sculpture pleases the connoisseur without any reference either to the whole original or to its spiritual significance, fine drawing can appeal to the lover of nature independently of indirect considerations.

What is the content of pure drawing? It is held by some that drawing or monochrome can suggest colour, and many people, some consciously, others unconsciously, attempt to represent in drawings the colours of figures and landscape. It seems a strange aberration to argue that by different intensities of the one colour various other colours can be suggested: it would not be more unreasonable to maintain that E flat and F could be suggested by striking the note G with varying strength. Now the draughtsman employs various intensities of his monochrome as light and shade by which to give roundness to his forms. But if on the same drawing he uses the same means in his attempt to express colour, a conflict would be at once set up 553 between that which makes for form and that which would make for colour, and the result would generally be a confusion. Again, let one attempt to give red hair to a monochrome drawing of a man, and if the red be plain and unmistakable to all who are not the artist’s accomplices, then the artist has succeeded; otherwise it is bootless to treat of colour and colour values (which of course must depend upon the existence of colour) in monochrome. Apart from theory, if we examine the drawings, etchings and monochromes of great artists, where do we find them attempting to give colour or colour values? The hundreds of costume studies by Rembrandt might have been done from white plaster models, and there are only a few exceptions where a man has, for instance, a black hat or cloak. But in these few instances the “colour” tone is applied with such discretion that the true representation of the form is scarcely, perhaps only theoretically, impaired: they certainly have gained nothing in colour value because no specific colour is manifest in them. In Rembrandt’s, Claude’s or Turner’s drawings of landscapes the formation of the country, the architecture, &c., is expressed by line, light and shade, and enhanced by shadows cast from clouds and trees. If, in the drawings of masters, we should find objects darker or lighter than their position in the light would warrant, they have value (perhaps not quite a legitimate one) for balancing the composition as a flat pattern. They were never intended to suggest colour, nor do they. Yet, in spite of the failure to succeed, and contrary to logical argument and the practice of great draughtsmen, the student of most of the schools of Europe and America still persists in doing the hair dark, and, by attempting to give colour values to the clothes, breaks up the consistency of the whole. For the same reason that the sculptor uses uniformly coloured material in order that the natural light and shade may have full opportunity of making his forms manifest to the spectator, the draughtsman confines himself to giving light and shade only. If a monochrome has “colour tones,” the effect is similar to that produced by a draped statue made out of variously coloured marbles—an inartistic jumble.

As the immediate purpose and content of drawing there remains the representation of form only. Drawing is, therefore, essentially the same activity as sculpture, and has no additional scope. “Pupils,” says Donatello, “I give you the whole art of sculpture when I tell you to draw” (cited by Holroyd, Michel Angelo, p. 2 95), and the only practical teaching of drawing might be summed up by the inversion of the above.

Now if everything in nature—men, mountains or clouds—were as flat targets, i.e. two-dimensional, drawing could be legitimately reduced to a mechanical process,—to trace their contours upon a glass screen or even photograph them would be all that would be required. Indeed, provided the size of the drawing, the local colour and the texture be the same as those of the original, a complete illusion would be the result, in fact the proper end of one’s labours. But the presence of the third dimension in all objects causes light and shade, which in their turn bring about radical changes of the local colour, even in uniformly coloured objects. Now since drawing cannot suggest colour, local or atmospherical, any attempt to effect an illusion by a monochrome is at once defeated. If the end of drawing were to approach imitation or illusion as nearly as possible, how is it that a mere “sketch” by a master draughtsman can be for itself as valuable as his highly finished drawing? And surely a masterly outline drawing of a figure or landscape does not pretend to be an illusion. If then the draughtsman does not, and cannot hope to imitate nature, he is compelled to state only his ideas of it, ideas of three-dimensional form. For this reason only drawing must be treated as an art, and not as a mechanical act of getting an illusion.

(From a Greek vase in the British Museum (E. 46).
Fig. 1.
(From Bulletino arch. Napol. (1843, tom. 1, tav. 7).
Fig. 2.
(From a drawing by Michelangelo (1854, 5, 13, i.),
Print Room, British Museum).

Fig. 3.

It is interesting to trace in the history of an indigenous art the development of drawing that shall ultimately express ideas of three-dimensional form. Prof. Emanuel Loewy, in his Rendering of Nature in Early Greek Art, demonstrates how the early Greek sculpture (and that of all primitive peoples, children and ungifted artists) shows an aversion from depth. Their reliefs are of the flattest description, almost raised contours, and their figures in the round have at first only one aspect, or flat façade, so to speak, then three and four aspects, and finally at the date of Lysippus the figures are fully rounded out, and the members project at liberty in all directions. Then for the first time Greek sculpture showed a complete conception of the body’s corporeity (Körperlichkeit). The primitive artist, however well he may be intellectually aware of the three dimensions of an object, does not fully apprehend its true aspect as offered to the eye from one point of view. Following this conclusion, it is easy to see also in the drawing of the early Greeks, children and so on, the same lack of idea of the third dimension. The figures on the vases of the “finest period” (about 475 b.c.), despite occasional foreshortenings, have, when considered as representations of solid forms, a papery appearance. They have not half the draughtsmanship shown by the latter period of the vase industry, where the figures, though careless, stereotyped and ill-composed, come forwards (to use Prof. Loewy’s description of later sculpture), go backwards, twist and turn in space in a manner which cannot be excelled. The reproductions in figs. 1, 2, 3 will illustrate the development. The primitive draughtsman is at first bound by the silhouette. Later, he desires to fill out the interior, but this cannot be done without in great part modifying his contour lines, because they are generally merely indications of the disappearing and reappearing inner modelling, i.e. of the figure’s third dimension. Finally, the draughtsman in full possession of a feeling for the corporeity of the object will determine his contour entirely from within, a procedure which is the exact opposite to that of his first beginnings. He conceives the length, breadth and depth of an object and all its parts as solid wholes. To him a body in violent foreshortening is as easy as a simple 554 profile, and, though it may not be as attractive, it is perhaps more interesting because its contours are more bound up with, and dependent upon, the inner modelling; in other words, it has more depth. The draughtsman’s idea of a form in nature is not a “flat idea,” but one containing three dimensions. This idea he seeks to express either by line alone or by light and shade. If an artist has not a three-dimensional “grasp” of forms, and, like a child, confines himself to the primitive tracing of the silhouette, his compositions may be of excellent flat pattern, and equal to any of the designs of ancient carpets or early Greek vases; but in the light of the above argument, and when compared with the productions of mature draughtsmen of all ages and countries, they cannot be said to be complete drawings, any more than the early unifacial statues of the Greeks can be called true plastic, simply because in neither case has the artist yet reached the highest possible development of corporeous conception, by which truly to interpret the solid objects of nature as we know them, and as master draughtsmen see them.

An attempt should be made to explain the psycho-physiological process that must take place in the mind of the real draughtsman. When we look at an object in nature we know its length and breadth by the flat image on the retina; we see also the light and shade, which at once gives us a correct idea of the object’s depth or relief. But we do not, nor could we, have this idea from the flat image on the retina alone, i.e. from the mere perception of the light and shade: our knowledge of its depth is the result of experience, i.e. of our having from infancy remarked a certain dispensation of light and shade on, and peculiar to, every form we have touched or traversed, and so, by association and inference, being early enabled to have ideas of the depth of things by their various arrangements of lights and darks without having to touch or traverse them. Nevertheless the act (generally, but by no means always, an unconscious one) of visually touching a form must necessarily take place before we can apprehend the third dimension of a form. It is, then, by the combination of the ideas derived from pure vision and the ideas derived from touch that we know the length, breadth and depth of a solid form. We have shown that the art of drawing is not an imitation, but an expression of the artist’s ideas of form; therefore all drawing of forms that merely reproduces the image on the retina, and leaves unconsulted the ideas of touch, is incomplete and primitive, because it does not express a conception of form which is the result of an association of the two senses; in other words, it does not contain an idea of the object’s relief or solidity. And all teaching of drawing that does not impress upon the student the necessity of combining the sense of vision with that of touch is erroneous, for it is thereby limiting him to a mechanical task, viz. the tracing of the flat image on the retina, which could be equally well done by mechanical means, or by photography alone.

Fig. 4.

In most of the schools of Europe and America it is true that great stress is laid upon the importance of giving life-like relief to drawings, but the method by which the students are allowed to get the relief is by employing the sense of vision only. Tracing the silhouette of the figure as minutely as possible, they then fill it out with inner-modelling, which also is done by vision alone, for the lights and darks of the original are copied down as so many flat patterns fitted together and gradated like a child’s puzzle, and are not used merely as indication by which to “feel” the depth of the object. Such a procedure is as if in drawing a brick of which three sides were visible, one were first to draw the entire contour (fig. 4, a), the subtle perspective of which he might get correct with some mechanical apparatus or by infinite mechanical pains, and then fill up the interior with its “shading” (fig. 4, b). The method would be plainly laborious, unintelligent and unedifying, and in drawing the most complicated foreshortened forms of the human body it would seem still more illogical. That this principle of instruction does not help the student to grasp the three-dimensional character properly can be proved by the twenty-minute studies of the average student who in his fourth year has won a gold medal for an astounding piece of life-like stippling. They are still unintelligent contour tracings, as if of cardboard figures, with a few irrelevant patches of dark here and there within the silhouette.

But high modelling that would make for illusion of reality is not the first aim of draughtsmanship, nor have the best draughtsmen employed it save by exception. Michelangelo, Ingres, Holbein and Rembrandt have shown us that it is possible to give sufficient relief with a mere outline drawing. Again, the desire for salience often blunts the student’s sense of the real character of the forms he is rounding out. So his elaborately modelled portrait may look very “life-like,” but when compared with the original it will generally be seen that the whole and each of the individual forms of the drawing lack the peculiar character of those of the original. It is by carefully watching for the character of each fresh variety in figure and feature that great draughtsmen have excelled, and not by “life-like” relief, or even a sophisticated exposition of anatomical details at the expense of character. Can it be seriously maintained that a masterly sudden grasp of true formal character can be developed in a student by a system in which he patiently spends many days and weeks in stippling into plastic appearance one drawing which has originally been “laid in” by a mechanical process?

It has been shown that to attempt to make an illusion of nature is neither within the power of monochrome nor has been the chief aim of draughtsmen, but that the art of drawing consists in giving a plain statement of one’s ideas, be they slight or studied, of the solid forms of nature. But the question may still be asked: Why is it that a rigorously accurate and finished drawing by a student or artist with no such ideas or conception is not good drawing, containing as it must do all that can be seen in the original, missing only its complete illusion? Why, in a word, is not a photograph a work of art?

The common explanation of the above important question is that the artist “selects and eliminates from the forms of nature.” But surely this is the principle of the caricaturist and virtuoso? A beautiful drawing, however slight, is but the precipitate of the whole in the artist’s mind. And a highly finished drawing by a master does not show even any apparent selection or elimination. The adoption of the principle of selection to differentiate art from mechanical reproduction is fundamentally vicious, and could be shown to be wholly inapplicable to the so-called formative arts. Nor could the theory of “selection” be used as a principle of teaching, for if to the first question the pupil would make, “What am I to select?” it were answered, “Only the important things,” then the next question, “What are the important things?” could be answered only by saying, “That alone the real artist knows, but cannot teach.” Certainly there are important things that can be taught the student in the initial stage of “laying-in” a figure, but when to begin selecting or eliminating no teacher could tell him, simply because he must be aware that a true draughtsman can afford to eliminate nothing when the truth of the whole is at stake. The artist’s conception and its expression may be slight or elaborate, but in neither case can selection or elimination take place, for a true conception must be founded upon the character of the whole, which is determined by the entire complex of all the parts.

To explain the essential difference between art and mechanical drawing or mechanical reproduction, a more applicable theory must be found. Compare the art of telling a story. If, to describe an incident in the street you had the entire affair reenacted on the same spot, you would have but made a mechanical reproduction of it, leaving the spectator to simplify the affair, and construct his own conception of it. You have not given your ideas of the event, and so you have not made a work of art. So, if a man draws an object detail for detail by any mechanical process, or traces over its photograph, he has but reduplicated 555 the real aspect of the object, and has failed to give the spectator a simple and intelligible idea of it. Starting out with the generous notion of giving all, that there may be “something for everyone,” he has given nothing. He did not originally form an intelligible and simplified idea of the figure, so how can his drawing be expected to give one to others?

But how can forms be made more simple and intelligible than by reproducing their aspect with absolute accuracy? Our combined sense of vision and touch comprehends very easily certain elementary solid forms, the sphere, the cube, the pyramid and the cylinder. No forms but these, and their modifications, can be apprehended by the mind in one and the same act of vision. Every complex form, even so simple as that of a kidney, for instance, must be first broken up into its component parts before it can be fully apprehended or remembered. Analogously with the above, Prof. Wundt has shown how the mind can apprehend as separate units any number, of marbles for instance, up to five, after which every number must be split up into lots of twos, threes, fours and fives, or twenties, thirties and so on, before it can realize the full content of that number in one and the same mental picture. So the only way to receive an intelligible idea of a complex form, such as a human figure, is first to discover in the figure itself, and then in all its parts, only modifications of the above elementary solid forms, and the drawing of a conception thus informed must needs be a very clear and intelligible one. The more the artist is capable and practised, the more clearly will he conceive and distinguish in nature each subtle modification of these elementary forms, their direction, their relation to, and their dependence upon one another. The only difference between a good draughtsman and a bad one is the degree of subtlety of his apprehension. Unless the draughtsman has seen some such clear forms in his original, his labour to produce a work of art will be grievous and fruitless. All good drawing is stamped with this kind of structural insight. The more the artist adheres to nature, and the more finished his drawing, the more will the lines and forms that he makes be, so to speak, in excess of those of nature, or dull imitation or photography. It is not to be supposed that able draughtsmen work, or need ever have worked, consciously in this manner. It is, indeed, the virtue peculiar to the artist, as interpreter of form, that he instinctively comprehends the real elemental character of complex forms, whilst the majority of people (on the showing of their own drawings) entertain but confused or no ideas of them. It is because a good drawing reduces the chaos of ideas supplied by the raw material of nature, to one intelligible manner of seeing it, that all lovers of nature welcome it with joy. It is this process of discovery and interpretation that marks the essential difference between art and mechanical drawing or reproduction. Art gives intelligible ideas of the forms of nature, mechanism attempts to reduplicate their aspects.

There are some who hold that drawing is not exclusively a matter of interpreting form, but that great artists have their own “personalities” which they infuse into their work. They will ask, How is it otherwise to be explained that two equally good draughtsmen will invariably make different drawings of the same figure? Is it not for the same reason that one man will divide up a row of eight marbles into groups of four, and another into five and three? The subjectivity of experience governs the different conceptions that good draughtsmen will form of the same object. Accordingly as a draughtsman feels form so will he draw it, and it is only because our sense apparatuses are more or less similarly constituted that we can understand and appreciate one another’s conceptions.

But if the master draughtsman gives the true character of his model’s form, why is it that his drawings are not pleasing to all alike? Whence the doubts and criticism that have been called forth by all original artists? If we first examine the attitude of the average man, artist or layman, towards nature, we can better explain his attitude towards works of art. The average man or artist has not a highly developed appreciation of form per se, whether it be the form of natural or manufactured objects. And it would seem that he is still less a disinterested spectator of the forms and features of his fellow beings and animals, their movements, their colour, their value in a room or landscape. He has sentimental, moral or intellectual preferences. In other words, he likes or dislikes only those faces or figures which hundreds of personal associations have taught him to like or dislike. The riding man’s admiration for the look of a particular horse is based upon the fact that it looks like “a horse to go,” and hence it is what he calls beautiful, while the artist, in the capacity of artist and not of sportsman, is not particular in his choice of horse-flesh, but finds each animal equally interesting for itself alone. Consequently in art any face, figure or object that does not come into the category of what the average man cares for is condemned by him even as it would be in real life, since he is no lover of form for form’s sake, but provided the subject or moral be pleasing the quality of the draughtsmanship is of small account. The picture of a dwarf, or of an anatomy lesson, or of a group of ordinary bourgeois folk would not really please him, even though he were told that the work was by Velazquez, Rembrandt or Manet. We have only to listen to the common criticism of works of art to know that it is founded upon personal predilection only. We do not hear such personal criticism upon drawings of landscape, not because artists do them better, but because natural landscape has no interest for any one other than for its form, or, at least, people do not hold such definite personal likes or dislikes with regard to its various manifestations. But the artist, though his own personal predilections may, and generally do, lead him to work within that agreeable milieu, has, in the capacity of artist, no subjective prejudices; indeed, if he had them, he could not represent them by line, light and shade. He seeks always new varieties of form; hence his subjects, and his manner of posing them, are often unpleasing to the man who is busy with other affairs, and has no great experience of nature’s forms. Let a good draughtsman make a successful likeness of the mother of some average man, and the latter will be delighted, but it by no means follows that he will delight in a drawing of the wife of the artist, though done by the same hand and with equal skill.

If drawing is the art of giving one’s ideas of the forms of nature, then all criticism of drawing must be based upon the question, “How far does such and such a work show an intimate knowledge of or intelligent visualization of the forms we know in nature?” and no other principle of judgment can be applicable to all drawing alike. Hence only those who have by natural endowment a clear sense of the forms of things, and who have made more than ordinary study of them, are in a position to apply to drawings the above criterion with any approach to infallibility. It is a fact that there are, and always have been, a certain number of people who agree perfectly in their appreciation of the works of certain draughtsmen of different times and countries, and who can state reasons for their appreciation in definite and almost identical terms, for it is based upon knowledge and experience. To such people all fine draughtsmanship owes its public fame, and its immortality lies in their safe keeping.

It may be argued that each has a right to his own opinion about form and its representation, on the supposed ground that we all see form in different ways. But there is a fallacy in this argument. If we take the average man’s drawing of any form more complex than a loaf of bread as a fair and only testimony of his power of visualization of forms, we must conclude that most of us see not differently, but wrongly, or rather confusedly and disconnectedly, and that some can visualize form scarcely at all. If this be true, the average person’s sight and ability to judge drawing is seriously diminished. If, then, drawing can be judged and appreciated only by knowledge and experience of the forms of nature, no critical formula could be made out so as to enable a child or savage or ordinary civilized adult to estimate or enjoy it. If it be argued that drawings are to be judged from some abstract or symbolic point of view, independently of its subtle representation of form, then incompetent drawing might be as beautiful as the competent, which would be absurd. However, if the competent characterization of form were admitted as at least the first condition of beautiful drawing, it would follow 556 that any abstract value it might have must be wholly dependent upon the manner in which form is represented, and so it would be superfluous to judge it by any standard other than the direct, definite and concrete one of form. Abstract beauty, since no one has yet defined it agreeably to all, is, apparently, with those who affect a feeling for it, a matter of individual taste, and therefore cannot be questioned. But the clear visualization of the forms of nature is based upon a special endowment and knowledge, and can be criticized by demonstration. People may differ in their tastes, but they may not, nor do they, differ upon questions of real knowledge. Drawing, as the activity of giving one’s ideas of form, must therefore be judged not by taste but by knowledge.

In view of the purpose and content of drawing as here demonstrated, there is no other principle of judgment that is relevant. Yet we often hear drawing judged by criteria which are founded upon no such concrete base but upon certain vague abstractions; or, again, upon a literary or moral base which could be applicable only to symbolic art.

It is said that this or that draughtsman excels in “beauty of line.” Now in spite of the labours of many painters and theorists, it cannot reasonably be held that one purely abstract line or curve is more beautiful than another, for the simple reason that people have no common ground upon which to establish the nature of abstract beauty. It may be, however, that even as certain simple forms are more easily apprehended than complex ones, there is the same distinction with regard to lines. If then an artist of clean vision sees in an object of reality such clear characteristic lines, he draws them not for their abstract beauty, but merely because by them alone can he express his idea of the form before him. The early Greek vase painters, and all great artists of primitive periods, being attracted only by the silhouette, became very subtle to observe nature’s outlines in their most intelligible character, and to this capacity is due their “beauty of line,” and not to any preconceived notion of an abstract line of perfect beauty, and nowhere will “beauty of line” be found on Greek vases, or elsewhere, that is not informed by, and does not express, a fine conception of nature’s contours. So too in later three-dimensional drawing there is no beauty of line which does not intelligibly express not only the directions and angles of the main contour, but the inner modelling, i.e. the relief of the figure. It is only a superficial judgment that would prefer one drawing to another, even if both may be equally good, because the line of one is neat and the other “tormented.” Contour being in nature an ideal line between one form and another, it is illogical to treat it or criticize it in a drawing as an actual and specific thing, apart from the forms that make it and are made by it. If an artist drew a dragon with deliberate disregard for animal construction, his drawing would be silly, and only by a profound knowledge of the forms of nature could it be made to have beautiful lines. Truth to nature is always originality, and it is the only originality worth the name.

Again, some people judge one drawing as better than another in that it shows more “individuality” or “temperament.” Now a man’s individuality is, presumably, a vague feeling in our minds produced by the net result of the ways in which he sees, hears, loves, thinks and so on, so that we could not tell a man’s individuality from any single one of his manifestations. With his entire work as an artist before us, i.e. his manner of seeing, we could do no more than infer, with the help of outside data, from the subjects he chooses, and the neatness or boldness of his line, something about his general character, and that with small degree of certainty. To regard a man’s works of art, or indeed any of his manifestations, from this point of view, is, after all, nothing but a kind of inquisitive cheiromancy. Those who pretend to like the drawings of Watteau or Michelangelo “because they show more individuality” than the incompetent work of a beginner or poor artist cannot be skilled in their own business, because the lady who tells your character by your handwriting finds as much individuality in bad writing as in good,—sometimes even more. It may be entertaining to some to guess at the artist’s character from his works by this process of inference and comparison, but it is unreasonable to imagine that “individuality,” as such, can be made a serious criterion of aesthetic judgment. The only individuality a draughtsman can show directly by his drawing is his individual way of conceiving the forms of nature, and even this is immaterial provided the conception and drawing be good.

A word or two are necessary upon “style,” which unfortunate word has made much mystery in criticism. The great draughtsmen of every time and country are known by their own words, as well as their works, to have been infinitely respectful to the form of every detail in nature. Their drawings always recall to our minds reality as we ourselves have seen it (provided we have studied from nature and not from pictures). The drawing of a hand, for instance, by Hokusai, Ingres or Dürer, revives in us our own impressions of the forms and aspects of real hands. In short there is manifest in all good drawings, whatever their difference of medium or superficial appearance, an entire dependence upon the forms of nature. Hence we cannot imagine that they were conceived and executed with the conscious effort to obtain some abstract style independent of the material treated. The style they plainly have can spring from this common quality, their truthful and well understood representation of forms. Style, then, is the expression of a clear understanding of the material from which the artist works. Unless a drawing shows this understanding it would be as impossible as it would be gratuitous to argue that it could have style. But it would seem that some people mean by style nothing more than the mere superficial appearance of the work. They would have a draughtsman draw “in the style of Holbein,” but not “in the style” of Rembrandt. This kind of preference, as remarked above, is superficial, for it overlooks the main issue and purpose of drawing, viz. the representation, by any means whatever, of the artist’s ideas of form. It is as though one should prefer a letter from Holbein to one from Rembrandt, though both were equally expressive, simply because Holbein’s handwriting was prettier than Rembrandt’s. Each draughtsman manifests a kind of handwriting peculiar to himself even in his most faithful rendering of form; and by this we can immediately recognize the artist; many, for instance Hogarth and some Japanese, seem to have let their quirks, full stops and so on, get the upper hand at the expense of serious, sensitive draughtsmanship.

It is fair to suppose that all abstract principles of aesthetic judgment, such as beauty of line, personality, style, nobility of thought, romanticism, are merely pretexts set up by people who would still affect to admire the drawings of recognized masters when they have neither the knowledge of, nor the care for, the forms of nature by virtue of which alone these drawings are what they are, and by which alone they can be immediately appreciated.

(J. R. Fo.)

Drawing-Office Work.—In modern engineering, few pieces of mechanism are ever produced in the shops until their design has been settled in the “drawing office,” and embodied in suitable drawings showing general and detailed views. This is a broad statement to which there are exceptions, to be noted presently.

Drawing-office work is divisible into four principal groups. First, there is the actual designing, by far the most difficult work, which is confined to relatively few well-paid men. The qualifications necessary for it are a good scientific, mathematical and engineering training, and a specialized experience gathered in the particular class of mechanism to which the designing relates. Second, there is the work of the rank and file who take instructions from the chiefs, and elaborate the smaller details and complete the drawings. Third, there are the tracers, either youths or girls, who copy drawings on tracing paper without necessarily understanding them. Fourth, there is a printing department in which phototypes are produced on sensitized paper from tracings.

The character of the drawings used includes the general drawings, or those which show a mechanism complete; and the detailed drawings, which illustrate portions isolated from their connexions and relationships. The first are retained in the office 557 for reference, and copies are only sent out to the men who have to assemble or erect and complete mechanisms. The second are distributed to the several shops and departments where sectional portions are being prepared, as pattern shop, smithy, turnery, machine shop, &c. General drawings are, as a rule, drawn to a small scale, ranging say from 18 in. to 1 in. to the foot; but details are either to actual size, or to a large scale, as from 1½ in. to the foot or 3 in. or 6 in. to the foot.

A large number of minutiae are omitted from general drawings, but in the detailed ones that are sent into the shops nothing is apparently too trivial for insertion. In this respect, however, there is much difference observable in the practice of different firms, and in the best practice of the present compared with that of former years. In the detailed drawings issued by many firms now, every tiny element and section is not only drawn to actual size, but also fully dimensioned, and the material to be used is specified in every case. This practice largely adds to the work of the drawing-office staff, but it pays.

The present tendency therefore is to throw more responsibility than of old on the drawing-office staff, in harmony with the tendency towards greater centralization of authority. Much of detail that was formerly left to the decision of foremen and skilled hands is now determined by the drawing-office staff. Heterogeneity in details is thus avoided, and the drawings reflect accurately and fully the past as well as the present practice of the firm. To so great an extent is this the case that the preparation of the tools, appliances, templets, jigs and fixtures used in the shops is often now not permitted to be undertaken until proper drawings have been prepared for them, though formerly the foreman’s own hand sketches generally sufficed. The practice of turret work has been contributory to this result. In many establishments now the designing of shop tools and fixtures is done in a department of the office specially set apart for that kind of work.

The growing specialization of the engineer’s work is reflected in the drawing office. Specialists are sought after, and receive the highest rates of pay. A man is required to be an expert in some one branch, as electric cranes or hydraulic machines, steel works plant, lathes, or heavy or light machine tools. The days are past in which all-round men were in request. In those firms which manufacture a large range of machinery, the drawing-office staff is separated into departments, each under its own chief, and there is seldom any transference of men from one to another.

Although in the majority of instances designs and drawings are completed before the manufacture is undertaken, exceptions to this rule occur in connexion with the work of standardizing machines and motors, for repetitive and interchangeable manufacture on a large scale. Here it is so essential to secure the most minute economies in manufacture that the first articles made are of a more or less experimental character. Only after no further improvement seems for the time being possible are the drawings made or completed for standard use and reference. In some modern shops even standardized drawings are scarcely used, but their place is taken by the templets, jigs and fixtures which are employed by the workmen as their sole guides in machining and assembling parts. By the employment of these aids locations and dimensions are embodied and fixed absolutely for any number of similar parts; reference to drawings thus becomes unnecessary, and they therefore fall into disuse.

The mechanical work of the drawing office is confined strictly to orthographic projections and sections of objects. Perspective views are of no value, though occasionally an object is sketched roughly in perspective as an aid to the rapid grasp of an idea. Drawings involve plans, elevations, and sectional views, in vertical and angular relations.

There are a good many conventionalities adopted which have no correspondences in fact, with the object of saving the draughtsman’s time; or else, as in the case of superposition of plans and sections, to show in one view what would otherwise require two drawings. Among the convenient conventionalities are the indications of toothed wheels by their pitch lines only, of screws by parallel lines and by diagonal shade lines; and of rivets, bolts and studs by their centres only. The adoption of this practice never leads to error.

In the preliminary preparation of drawings in pencil no distinction is made between full or unbroken lines, and dotted or centre lines, and the actual outlines of the objects. These differences are made when the inking-in is being done. Indian or Chinese ink is used, because it does not run when colours are applied. There are conventional colours used to indicate different materials. But colouring is not adopted so much as formerly, because of the practice of making sun prints instead of the more expensive tracings for the multiplication of drawings. When tracings are coloured the colour is applied on the back instead of on the side where the ink lines are drawn.

The economical importance of the printing department of the drawing office cannot be overestimated. Before its introduction drawings could only be reproduced by laborious tracing on paper or cloth, the first being flimsy, the second especially liable to absorb grease from the hands of the workmen. By the sun copying processes (see Sun Copying) any number of prints can be taken from a single tracing. But even the fickle sun is being displaced by electricity, so that prints can be made by night as well as day, on cloudy days as well as on bright ones. Twenty minutes of bright sunshine is required for a print, but the electric light produces the same result within five minutes. Prints are blue, white or brown. The advantage of white is that they can be coloured. But the majority are blue (white lines on blue ground). All can be had on stout, thin or medium paper.

An innovation in drawing-office equipment is that of vertical boards, displacing horizontal or sloping ones. They have the advantage that the draughtsman is able to avoid a bending posture at his work. The objection on the ground that the tee-square must be held up constantly with one hand is overcome by supporting and balancing it with cords and weights.

(J. G. H.)

DRAWING AND QUARTERING, part of the penalty anciently ordained in England for treason. Until 1870 the full punishment for the crime was that the culprit be dragged on a hurdle to the place of execution; that he be hanged by the neck but not till he was dead; that he should be disembowelled or drawn and his entrails burned before his eyes; that his head be cut off and his body divided into four parts or quartered. This brutal penalty was first inflicted in 1284 on the Welsh prince David, and on Sir William Wallace a few years later. In Richard III.’s reign one Collingbourne, for writing the famous couplet “The Cat, the Rat and Lovel the Dog, Rule all England under the Hog,” was executed on Tower Hill. Stow says, “After having been hanged, he was cut down immediately and his entrails were then extracted and thrown into the fire, and all this was so speedily done that when the executioners pulled out his heart he spoke and said ’Jesus, Jesus.’” Edward Marcus Despard and his six accomplices were in 1803 hanged, drawn and quartered for conspiring to assassinate George III. The sentence was last passed (though not carried out) upon the Fenians Burke and O’Brien in 1867. There is a tradition that Harrison the regicide, after being disembowelled, rose and boxed the ears of the executioner.

DRAWING-ROOM (a shortened form of “with-drawing room,” the longer form being usual in the 16th and 17th centuries), the English name generally employed for a room used in a dwelling-house for the reception of company. It originated in the setting apart of such a room, as the more private and exclusive preserve of the ladies of the household, to which they withdrew from the dining-room. The term “drawing-room” is also used in a special sense of the formal receptions or “courts” held by the British sovereign or his representative, at which ladies are presented, as distinguished from a “levee,” at which men are presented.

DRAYTON, MICHAEL (1563-1631), English poet, was born at Hartshill, near Atherstone, in Warwickshire in 1563. Even in childhood it was his great ambition to excel in writing verses. At the age of ten he was sent as page into some great family, and a little later he is supposed to have studied for some time at Oxford. Sir Henry Goodere of Powlesworth became his patron, and introduced him to the countess of Bedford, and for 558 several years he was esquire to Sir Walter Aston. How the early part of his life was spent, however, we possess no means of ascertaining. It has been surmised that he served in the army abroad. In 1590 he seems to have come up to London, and to have settled there.

In 1591 he produced his first book, The Harmony of the Church, a volume of spiritual poems, dedicated to Lady Devereux. The best piece in this is a version of the Song of Solomon, executed with considerable richness of expression. A singular and now incomprehensible fate befell the book; with the exception of forty copies, seized by the archbishop of Canterbury, the whole edition was destroyed by public order. It is probable that he had come up to town laden with poetic writings, for he published a vast amount within the next few years. In 1593 appeared Idea: The Shepherd’s Garland, a collection of nine pastorals, in which he celebrated his own love-sorrows under the poetic name of Rowland. The circumstances of this passion appear more distinctly in the cycle of 64 sonnets, published in 1594, under the title of Idea’s Mirror, by which we learn that the lady lived by the river Ankor in Warwickshire. It appears that he failed to win his “Idea,” and lived and died a bachelor. In 1593 appeared the first of Drayton’s historical poems, The Legend of Piers Gaveston, and the next year saw the publication of Matilda, an epical poem in rhyme royal. It was about this time, too, that he brought out Endimion and Phoebe, a volume which he never republished, but which contains some interesting autobiographical matter, and acknowledgments of literary help from Lodge, if not from Spenser and Daniel also. In his Fig for Momus, Lodge has reciprocated these friendly courtesies. In 1596 Drayton published his long and important poem of Mortimerades, which deals with the Wars of the Roses, and is a very serious production in ottava rima. He afterwards enlarged and modified this poem, and republished it in 1603 under the title of The Barons’ Wars. In 1596 also appeared another historical poem, The Legend of Robert, Duke of Normandy, with which Piers Gaveston was reprinted. In 1597 appeared England’s Heroical Epistles, a series of historical studies, in imitation of those of Ovid. These last poems, written in the heroic couplet, contain some of the finest passages in Drayton’s writings.

With the year 1597 the first half of the poet’s literary life closes. He had become famous by this rapid production of volumes, and he rested on his oars. It would seem that he was much favoured at the court of Elizabeth, and he hoped that it would be the same with her successor. But when, in 1603, he addressed a poem of compliment to James I., on his accession, it was ridiculed, and his services rudely rejected. His bitterness of spirit found expression in a satire, The Owl, which he printed in 1604, although he had no talent in this kind of composition. Not much more entertaining was his scriptural narrative of Moses in a Map of his Miracles, a sort of epic in heroics printed the same year. In 1605 Drayton reprinted his most important works, that is to say, his historical poems and the Idea, in a single volume which ran through eight editions during his lifetime. He also collected his smaller pieces, hitherto unedited, in a volume undated, but probably published in 1605, under the title of Poems Lyric and Pastoral; these consisted of odes, eclogues, and a fantastic satire called The Man in the Moon. Some of the odes are extremely spirited. In this volume he printed for the first time the famous Ballad of Agincourt.

He had adopted as early as 1598 the extraordinary resolution of celebrating all the points of topographical or antiquarian interest in the island of Great Britain, and on this laborious work he was engaged for many years. At last, in 1613, the first part of this vast work was published under the title of Poly-Olbion, eighteen books being produced, to which the learned Selden supplied notes. The success of this great work, which has since become so famous, was very small at first, and not until 1622 did Drayton succeed in finding a publisher willing to undertake the risk of bringing out twelve more books in a second part. This completed the survey of England, and the poet, who had hoped “to crown Scotland with flowers,” and arrive at last at the Orcades, never crossed the Tweed. In 1627 he published another of his miscellaneous volumes, and this contains some of his most characteristic and exquisite writing. It consists of the following pieces: The Battle of Agincourt, an historical poem in ottava rima (not to be confused with his ballad on the same subject), and The Miseries of Queen Margaret, written in the same verse and manner; Nimphidia, the Court of Faery, a most joyous and graceful little epic of fairyland; The Quest of Cinthia and The Shepherd’s Sirena, two lyrical pastorals; and finally The Moon Calf, a sort of satire. Of these Nimphidia is perhaps the best thing Drayton ever wrote, except his famous ballad on the battle of Agincourt; it is quite unique of its kind and full of rare fantastic fancy.

The last of Drayton’s voluminous publications was The Muses’ Elizium in 1630. He died in London on the 23rd of December 1631, was buried in Westminster Abbey, and had a monument placed over him by the countess of Dorset, with memorial lines attributed to Ben Jonson. Of the particulars of Drayton’s life we know almost nothing but what he himself tells us; he enjoyed the friendship of some of the best men of the age. He corresponded familiarly with Drummond; Ben Jonson, William Browne, George Wither and others were among his friends. There is a tradition that he was a friend of Shakespeare, supported by a statement of John Ward, once vicar of Stratford-on-Avon, that “Shakespear, Drayton and Ben Jonson had a merry meeting, and it seems, drank too hard, for Shakespear died of a feavour there contracted.” In one of his poems, an “elegy” or epistle to Mr Henry Reynolds, he has left some valuable criticisms on poets whom he had known. He was even engaged in the labour of the dramatists; at least he had a share, with Munday, Chettle and Wilson, in writing Sir John Oldcastle, which was printed in 1600. That he was a restless and discontented, as well as a worthy, man may be gathered from his own admissions.

The works of Drayton are bulky, and, in spite of the high place that he holds in critical esteem, it cannot be pretended that he is much read. For this his ponderous style is much to blame. The Poly-Olbion, the most famous but far from the most successful of his writings, is tedious and barren in the extreme. It was, he tells us, a “Herculean toil” to him to compose it, and we are conscious of the effort. The metre in which it is composed, a couplet of alexandrines, like the French classical measure, is wholly unsuited to the English language, and becomes excessively wearisome to the reader, who forgets the learning and ingenuity of the poet in labouring through the harsh and overgrown lines. His historical poems, which he was constantly rewriting and improving, are much more interesting, and often rise to a true poetic eloquence. His pastorals are brilliant, but overladen with colour and sweet to insipidity. He is, with the one magnificent exception of “Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part,” which was first printed in 1619, an indifferent sonneteer. The poet with whom it is most natural to compare him is Daniel; he is more rough and vigorous, more varied and more daring than the latter, but Daniel surpasses him in grace, delicacy and judgment. In their elegies and epistles, however, the two writers frequently resemble each other. Drayton, however, approaches the very first poets of the Elizabethan era in his charming Nimphidia, a poem which inspired Herrick with his sweet fairy fancies and stands alone of its kind in English literature; while some of his odes and lyrics are inspired by noble feeling and virile imagination.

In 1748 a folio edition of Drayton’s complete works was published under the editorial supervision of William Oldys, and again in 1753 there appeared an issue in four volumes. But these were very unintelligently and inaccurately prepared. A complete edition of Drayton’s works with variant readings was projected by Richard Hooper in 1876, but was never carried to a conclusion; a volume of selections, edited by A. H. Bullen, appeared in 1883. See especially Oliver Elton, Michael Drayton (1906).

(E. G.)

DREAM (from a root dreug, connected with Germ. trügen, to deceive), the state of consciousness during sleep; it may also be defined as a hallucination or illusion peculiarly associated with the condition of sleep, but not necessarily confined to that state. In sleep the withdrawal of the mind from the external 559 world is more complete and the objectivity of the dream images is usually unquestioned, whereas in the waking state the hallucination is usually recognized as such; we may, however, be conscious that we are dreaming, and thus in a measure be aware of the hallucinatory character of our percepts. The physiological nature of sleep (q.v.; see also Muscle and Nerve) and of dreaming is obscure. As a rule the control over the voluntary muscles in dreams is slight; the sleep-walker is the exception and not the rule, and the motor activity represented in the dream is seldom realized in practice, largely, no doubt, because we are ignorant, under these circumstances, of the spatial relations of our bodies. Among the psychological problems raised by dreams are the condition of attention, which is variously regarded as altogether absent or as fixed, the extent of mental control, and the relation of ideas and motor impulses. There is present in all dreams a certain amount of dissociation of consciousness, or of obstructed association, which may manifest itself in the preliminary stage of drowsiness by such phenomena as the apparent transformation or inversion of the words of a book. We may distinguish two types of dreams, (a) representative or centrally initiated, (b) presentative or due to the stimulation of the end organs of sense. In both cases, the dream having once been initiated, we are concerned with a process of reasoning, i.e. the combination of ideas suggested by resemblances or other associative elements. The false reasoning of dreams is due in the first place to the absence, to a large extent, of the memory elements on which our ordinary reasoning depends, and, secondly, to the absence of sensory elements.

Objectivity of Dreams.—In waking life we distinguish ideas or mental images from real objects by the fact that we are able under normal circumstances to dismiss the former at will. In sleep, on the other hand, we have, in the first place, no real objects with which to compare the images, which therefore take on a character of reality comparable to the hallucination of waking life; moreover, powers of visualization and other faculties are enhanced in sleep, so that the strength of dream images considerably exceeds those of the mental images of the ordinary man; changes in powers of attention, volition and memory help to increase the hallucinatory force of the dream. In the second place, the ideas of our dreams are presented in the form of images, which we are unable to dismiss; we therefore mistake them for realities, exactly as the sufferer from delirium tremens in waking life is apt to regard his phantoms as real.

Relations of Dreaming and Sleep.—It has been maintained by Hamilton and others (see below, Modern Views) that dreams invariably accompany sleep, and that we always find ourselves dreaming when we are awakened. But even if it were true that dreams were invariably experienced at the moment of waking, this would not by any means establish the invariable concomitance of dreams and sleep of all sorts; at most it would show that imperfect sleep is a condition of dreaming; in the same way, dreams before wakening, known to have taken place either from the recollection of the dreamer or from the observation of another person, may clearly be due to imperfect wakening, followed by a deepening of sleep. It is, however, by no means true that awakening from sleep is invariably accompanied by a dream; in considering the question it must be recollected that it is complicated by the common experience of very rapid forgetfulness of even a vivid and complicated dream, only the fact of having dreamt remaining in the memory; it is clear that amnesia may go so far that even the fact of dreaming may be forgotten. On the whole, however, there appear to be no good grounds for the assertion that we always dream when we are asleep. On the other hand, there is no proof that partial awakening is a necessary condition of dreaming.

Representative Dreams.—Centrally initiated dreams may be due to a kind of automatic excitation of the cerebral regions, especially in the case of those clearly arising from the occupations or sensations of the day or the hours immediately preceding the dream. To the same cause we may attribute the recalling of images apparently long since forgotten. Some of these revivals of memory may be due to the fact that links of association which are insufficient to restore an idea to consciousness in the waking state may suffice to do so in sleep. Just as a good visualizer in his waking moments may call up an object never clearly seen and yet distinguish the parts, so in sleep, as L. F. A. Maury (1817-1892) and others have shown, an image may be more distinct in a dream than it was when originally presented (see also below, Memory).

Presentative Dreams.—The dreams due to real sensations, more or less metamorphosed, may arise (a) from the states of the internal organs, (b) from muscular states, (c) from subjective sensations due to the circulation, &c., or (d) from the ordinary cause of the action of external stimuli on the organs of sense.

(a) The state of the stomach, heart, &c., has long been recognized as important in the causation of dreams (see below, Classical Views). The common sensation of flying seems to be due in many cases to the disturbance of these organs setting up sensations resembling those felt in rapidly ascending or descending, as in a swing or a lift. Indigestion is a frequent cause of nightmare—the term given to oppressive and horrible dreams—and bodily discomfort is sometimes translated into the moral region, giving rise to the dream that a murder has been committed. (b) Dreams of flying, &c., have also been attributed to the condition of the muscles during sleep; W. Wundt remarks that the movements of the body, such as breathing, extensions of the limbs and so on, must give rise to dream fancies; the awkward position of the limbs may also excite images. (c) Especially important, probably, for the dreams of the early part of the night are the retinal conditions to which are due the illusions hypnagogiques of the preliminary drowsy stage; but probably Ladd goes too far in maintaining that entoptic stimuli, either intra- or extra-organic in origin, condition all dreams. Illusions hypnagogiques, termed popularly “faces in the dark,” of which Maury has given a full account, are the not uncommon sensations experienced, usually visual and seen with both open and closed eyes, in the interval between retiring to rest and actually falling asleep; they are comparable to the crystal-gazing visions of waking moments; though mainly visual they may also affect other senses. Besides the eye the ear may supply material for dreams, when the circulation of the blood suggests rushing waters or similar ideas. (d) It is a matter of common observation that the temperature of the surface of the body determines in many cases the character of the dreams, the real circumstances, as might be expected from the general character of the dream state, being exaggerated. In the same way the pressure of bed-clothes, obstruction of the supply of air, &c., may serve as the starting-point of dreams. The common dream of being unclothed may perhaps be due to this cause, the sensations associated with clothing being absent or so far modified as to be unrecognizable. In the same way the absence of foot-gear may account for some dreams of flying. It is possible to test the influence of external stimuli by direct experiment; Maury made a number of trials with the aid of an assistant.

Rapidity of Dreams.—It has often been asserted that we dream with extreme rapidity; but this statement is by no means borne out by experiment. In a trial recorded by J. Clavière the beginning of the dream was accurately fixed by the sounding of an alarm clock, which rang, then was silent for 22 seconds, and then began to ring continuously; the dream scene was in a theatre, and he found by actual trial that the time required in ordinary life for the performance of the scenes during the interval of silence was about the same as in ordinary life. Spontaneous dreams seem to show a different state of things; it must be remembered that (1) dreams are commonly a succession of images, the number of which cannot be legitimately compared with the number of extra-organic stimuli which would correspond to them in ordinary life; the real comparison is with mental images; and (2) the rapidity of association varies enormously in ordinary waking life. No proof, therefore, that some dreams are slow can show that this mentation in others is not extremely rapid. The most commonly quoted case is one of Maury’s; a bed-pole fell on his neck, and (so it is stated) 560 he dreamt of the French Revolution, the scenes culminating in the fall of the guillotine on his neck; this has been held to show that (1) dreams are extremely rapid; and (2) we construct a dream story leading up to the external stimulus which is assumed to have originated the dream. But Maury’s dream was not recorded till many years after it had occurred; there is nothing to show that the dream, in this as in other similar cases, was not in progress when the bed-pole fell, which thus by mere coincidence would have intervened at the psychological moment; Maury’s memory on waking may have been to some extent hallucinatory. But there are records of waking states, not necessarily abnormal, in which time-perception is disturbed and brief incidents seem interminably long; on the other hand, it appears from the experiences of persons recovered from drowning that there is great rapidity of ideation before the extinction of consciousness; the same rapidity of thought has been observed in a fall from a bicycle.

Reason in Dreams.—Studies of dreams of normal individuals based on large collections of instances are singularly few in number; such as there are indicate great variations in the source of dream thoughts and images, in the coherence of the dream, and in the powers of memory. In ordinary life attention dominates the images presented; in dreams heterogeneous and disconnected elements are often combined; a resemblance need not even have been consciously recognized for the mind to combine two impressions in a dream; for example, an aching tooth may (according to the dream) be extracted, and found to resemble rocks on the sea-shore, which had not struck the waking mind as in any way like teeth. Incongruence and incoherence are not, however, a necessary characteristic of dreams, and individuals are found whose dream ideas and scenes show a power of reasoning and orderliness equal to that of a scene imagined or experienced in ordinary life. In some cases the reasoning power may attain a higher level than that of the ordinary conscious life. In a well-authenticated case Professor Hilprecht was able in a dream to solve a difficulty connected with two Babylonian inscriptions, which had not previously been recognized as complementary to each other; a point of peculiar interest is the dramatic form in which the information came to him—an old Babylonian priest appeared in his dream and gave him the clue to the problem (see also below, Personality).

Memory in Dreams.—Although prima facie the dream memory is fragmentary and far less complete than the waking memory, it is by no means uncommon to find a revival in sleep of early, apparently quite forgotten, experiences: more striking is the recollection in dreams of matters never supraliminally (see Subliminal Self) apperceived at all.

The relation between the memory in dreams and in the hypnotic trance is curious: suggestions given in the trance may be accepted and then forgotten or never remembered in ordinary life; this does not prevent them from reappearing occasionally in dreams; conversely dreams forgotten in ordinary life may be remembered in the hypnotic trance. These dream memories of other states of consciousness suggest that dreams are sometimes the product of a deeper stratum of the personality than comes into play in ordinary waking life. It must be remembered in this connexion that we judge of our dream consciousness by our waking recollections, not directly, and our recollection of our dreams is extraordinarily fragmentary; we do not know how far our dream memory really extends. Connected with memory of other states is the question of memory in dreams of previous dream states; occasionally a separate chain of memory, analogous to a secondary personality, seems to be formed. We may be also conscious that we have been dreaming, and subsequently, without intermediate waking, relate as a dream the dream previously experienced. In spite of the irrationality of dreams in general, it by no means follows that the earlier and later portions of a dream do not cohere; we may interpolate an episode and again take up the first motive, exactly as happens in real life. The strength of the dream memory is shown by the recurrence of images in dreams; a picture, the page of a book, or other image may be reproduced before our eyes several times in the course of a dream without the slightest alteration, although the waking consciousness would be quite incapable of such a feat of visualizing. In this connexion may be mentioned the phenomenon of redreaming; the same dream may recur either on the same or on different nights; this seems to be in many cases pathological or due to drugs, but may also occur under normal conditions.

Personality.—As a rule the personality of the dreamer is unchanged; but it also happens that the confusion of identity observed with regard to other objects embraces the dreamer himself; he imagines himself to be some one else; he is alternately actor and observer; he may see himself playing a part or may divest himself of his body and wander incorporeally. Ordinary dreams, however, do not go beyond a splitting of personality; we hold conversations, and are intensely surprised at the utterances of a dream figure, which, however, is merely an alter ego. As in the case of Hilprecht (see above) the information given by another part of the personality may not only appear but actually be novel.

Supernormal Dreams.—In addition to dreams in which there is a revival of memory or a rise into consciousness of facts previously only subliminally cognized, a certain number of dreams are on record in which telepathy (q.v.) seems to play a part; much of the evidence is, however, discounted by the possibility of hallucinatory memory. Another class of dreams (prodromic) is that in which the abnormal bodily states of the dreamer are brought to his knowledge in sleep, sometimes in a symbolical form; thus a dream of battle or sanguinary conflict may presage a haemorrhage. The increased power of suggestion which is the normal accompaniment of the hypnotic trance may make its appearance in dreams, and exercise either a curative influence or act capriciously in producing hysteria and the tropic changes known as “stigmata.” We may meet with various forms of hyperaesthesia in dreams; quite apart from the recovery of sight by those who have lost it wholly or in part (see below, Dreams of the Blind), we find that the powers of the senses may undergo an intensification, and, e.g., the power of appreciating music be enormously enhanced in persons usually indifferent to it. Mention must also be made of the experience of R. L. Stevenson, who tells in Across the Plains how by self-suggestion he was able to secure from his dreams the motives of some of his best romances.

Voluntary Action in Dreams.—Connected with dreams voluntarily influenced is the question of how far dreams once initiated are modifiable at the will of the dreamer. Some few observers, like F. W. H. Myers and Dr F. van Eeden, record that they can at longer or shorter intervals control their actions in their dreams, though usually to a less extent than their imagined actions in waking life. Dr van Eeden, for example, tells us that he has what he calls a “clear dream” once a month and is able to predetermine what he will do when he becomes aware that he is dreaming.

Dreams of Children.—Opinions differ widely as to the age at which children begin to dream; G. Compayré maintains that dreaming has been observed in the fourth month, but reflex action is always a possible explanation of the observed facts. S. de Sanctis found that in boys of eleven only one out of eight said that he dreamt seldom, as against four out of seven at the age of six; but we cannot exclude the possibility that dreams were frequent but forgotten. If correct, the observation suggests that dreams appear comparatively late. Individual cases of dreaming, or possibly of waking hallucination, are known as early as the age of two and a half years; according to de Sanctis dreams occur before the fifth year, but are seldom remembered; as a rule the conscious dream age begins with the fourth year; speech or movement, however, in earlier years, though they may be attributed to reflex action, are more probably due to dreams.

Dreams of the Old.—In normal individuals above the age of sixty-five de Sanctis found dreams were rare; atmospheric influences seem to be important elements in causing them; memory of them is weak; they are emotionally poor, and deal with long past scenes.


Dreams of Adults.—Any attempt to record or influence our dreams may be complicated by (a) direct suggestion, leading to the production of the phenomena for which we are looking, and (b) indirect suggestion leading to the more lively recollection of dreams in general and of certain dreams in particular. Consequently it cannot be assumed that the facts thus ascertained represent the normal conditions. According to F. Heerwagen’s statistics women sleep more lightly and dream more than men; the frequency of dreams is proportional to their vividness; women who dream sleep longer than those who do not; dreams tend to become less frequent with advancing age. The total number of remembered dreams varies considerably with different observers, some attaining an average of ten per night. The senses mainly active in dreams are, according to one set of experiments, vision in 60%, hearing in 5%, taste in 3%, and smell in 1.5%, where the dreamers had looked at coloured papers before falling asleep; when taste or smell had been stimulated, the visual dreams fell to about 50%, and the sense stimulated was active twice as often as it would otherwise be; dreams in which motion was a prominent feature were 10% of the former class, 14% and 18% of the two latter. Experiments by J. Mourly Vold show even more distinctly the influence of suggestion both as to the form, visual or otherwise, and the content (colours and forms of objects) of dreams. According to most observers dreams are most vivid and frequent between the ages of 20 and 25, but H. Maudsley puts the maximum between 30 and 35. De Sanctis got replies from 165 men and 55 women: the proportion between the sexes closely agrees with the results attained by Heerwagen and M. W. Calkins; 13% of men and 33% of women said they always dreamt, 27% and 45% often, 50% and 13% rarely, and the remainder (precisely the same percentage for men and women—9.09) either did not dream or did not remember that they dreamt. Nearly twice as many women as men had vivid dreams; in the matter of complication of the dream experiences the sexes are about equal; daily life supplies more material in the dreams of men; nearly twice as many women as men remember their dreams clearly, a fact which hangs together to some extent with the vividness of the dreams, though it by no means follows that a vivid dream is well remembered. There are great variations in the emotional character of dreams; some observers report twice as many unpleasant dreams as the reverse; in other cases the emotions seem to be absent; others again have none but pleasing dreams. Individual experience also varies very largely as to the time when most dreams are experienced; in some cases the great majority are subsequent to 6.30 A.M.; others find that quite half occur before 4.0 A.M.

Dreams of the Neuropathic, Insane, Idiots, &c.—Much attention has been given to the dreams of hysterical subjects. It appears that their dreams are specially liable to exercise an influence over their waking life, perhaps because they do not distinguish them, any more than their waking hallucinations, from reality. P. Janet maintains that the cause of hysteria may be sought in a dream. The dreams of the hysterical have a tendency to recur. Epileptic subjects dream less than the hysterical, and their dreams are seldom of a terrifying nature; certain dreams seem to take the place of an epileptic attack. Dreaming seems to be rare in idiots. De Sanctis divides paranoiacs into three classes: (a) those with systematized delusions, (b) those with frequent hallucinations, and (c) degenerates;—the dreams of the first class resemble their delusions; the second class is distinguished by the complexity of its dreams; the third by their vividness, by their delusions of megalomania, and by their influence on daily life. Alcoholic subjects have vivid and terrifying dreams, characterized by the frequent appearance of animals in them, and delirium tremens may originate during sleep.

Dreams of the Blind, Deaf, &c.—As regards visual dreams the blind fall into three classes—(1) those who are blind from birth or become blind before the age of five; (2) those who become blind at the “critical age” from five to seven; (3) those who become blind after the age of seven. The dreams of the first class are non-visual; but in the dreams of Helen Keller there are traces of a visual content; the second class sometimes has visual dreams; the third class does not differ from normal persons, though visual dreams may fade away after many years of blindness. In the case of the partially blind the clearness of vision in a dream exceeds that of normal life when the partial loss of sight occurred in the sixth or later years. The education of Helen Keller is interesting from another point of view; after losing the senses of sight and hearing in infancy she began her education at seven years and was able to articulate at eleven; it is recorded that she “talked” in her dreams soon after. This accords with the experience of normal individuals who acquire a foreign language. Her extraordinary memory enables her to recall faintly some traces of the sunlit period of her life, but they hardly affect her dreams, so far as can be judged. The dreams of the blind, according to the records of F. Hitschmann, present some peculiarities; animals as well as man speak; toothache and bodily pains are perceived as such; impersonal dreaming, taking the form of a drama or reading aloud, is found; and he had a strong tendency to reproduce or create verse.

Dreams of Animals.—We are naturally reduced to inference in dealing with animals as with very young children; but various observations seem to show that dreams are common in older dogs, especially after hunting expeditions; in young dogs sleep seems to be quieter; dogs accustomed to the chase seem to dream more than other kinds.

Dreams among the Non-European Peoples.—In the lower stages of culture the dream is regarded as no less real and its personages as no less objective than those of the ordinary waking life; this is due in the main to the habit of mind of such peoples (see Animism), but possibly in some measure also to the occurrence of veridical dreams (see Telepathy). In either case the savage explanation is animistic, and animism is commonly assumed to have been developed very largely as a result of theorising dreams. Two explanations of a dream are found among the lower races: (1) that the soul of the dreamer goes out, and visits his friends, living or dead, his old haunts or unfamiliar scenes and so on; or (2) that the souls of the dead and others come to visit him, either of their own motion or at divine command. In either of the latter cases or at a higher stage of culture when the dream is regarded as god-sent, though no longer explained in terms of animism, it is often regarded as oracular (see Oracle), the explanation being sometimes symbolical, sometimes simple.

There are two classes of dreams which have a special importance in the lower cultures: (1) the dream or vision of the initiation fast; and (2) the dream caused by the process known as incubation, which is often analogous to the initiation fast. In many parts of North America the individual Indian acquires a tutelary spirit, known as manito or nagual, by his initiation dream or vision; the idea being perhaps that the spirit by the act of appearing shows its subjection to the will of the man. Similarly, the magician acquires his familiar in North America, Australia and elsewhere by dreaming of an animal. Incubation consists in retiring to sleep in a temple, sometimes on the top of a mountain or other unusual spot, in order to obtain a revelation through a dream. Fasting, continence and other observances are frequently prescribed as preliminaries. Certain classes of dreams have, especially in the middle ages, been attributed to the influence of evil spirits (see Demonology).

Classical and Medieval Views of Dreams.—Side by side with the prevalent animistic view of dreams we find in antiquity and among the semi-civilized attempts at philosophical or physiological explanations of dreams. Democritus, from whom the Epicureans derived their theory, held the cause of them to be the simulacra or phantasms of corporeal objects which are constantly floating about the atmosphere and attack the soul in sleep—a view hardly distinguishable from animism. Aristotle, however, refers them to the impressions left by objects seen with the eyes of the body; he further remarks on the exaggeration of slight stimuli when they are incorporated into a dream; a small sound becomes a noise like thunder. Plato, too, connects dreaming with the normal waking operations of the mind; Pliny, on the other hand, admits this only for dreams which take 562 place after meals, the remainder being supernatural. Cicero, however, takes the view that they are simply natural occurrences no more and no less than the mental operations and sensations of the waking state. The pathological side of dreams attracted the notice of physicians. Hippocrates was disposed to admit that some dreams might be divine, but held that others were premonitory of diseased states of the body. Galen took the same view in some of his speculations.

Symbolical interpretations are combined with pathological no less than animistic interpretations of dreams; they are also extremely common among the lower classes in Europe at the present day, but in this case no consistent explanation of their importance for the divination of future events is usually discoverable. Among the Greeks Plato in the Timaeus (ch. xlvi, xlvii) explains dreams as prophetic visions received by the lower appetitive soul through the liver; their interpretation requires intelligence. The Stoics seem to have held that dreams may be a divine revelation and more than one volume on the interpretation of dreams has come down to us, the most important being perhaps the Όνειροκριτικά of Daldianus Artemidorus. We find parallels to this in a Mussulman work by Gabdorrachaman, translated by Pierre Vattier under the name of Onirocrite mussulman, and in the numerous books on the interpretation of dreams which circulate at the present day. In Siam dream books are found (Intern. Archiv für Anthr. viii 150); one of the functions of the Australian medicine man is to decide how a dream is to be interpreted.

Modern Views.—The doctrine of Descartes that existence depended upon thought naturally led his followers to maintain that the mind is always thinking and consequently that dreaming is continuous. Locke replied to this that men are not always conscious of dreaming, and it is hard to be conceived that the soul of the sleeping man should this moment be thinking, while the soul of the waking man cannot recollect in the next moment a jot of all those thoughts. That we always dream was maintained by Leibnitz, Kant, Sir W. Hamilton and others; the latter refutes the argument of Locke by the just observation that the somnambulist has certainly been conscious, but fails to recall the fact when he returns to the normal state.

It has been commonly held by metaphysicians that the nature of dreams is explained by the suspension of volition during sleep; Dugald Stewart asserts that it is not wholly dormant but loses its hold on the faculties, and he thus accounts for the incoherence of dreams and the apparent reality of dream images.

Cudworth, from the orderly sequence of dream combinations and their novelty, argues that the state arises, not from any “fortuitous dancings of the spirits,” but from the “phantastical power of the soul.” According to K. A. Scherner, dreaming is a decentralization of the movement of life; the ego becomes purely receptive and is merely the point around which the peripheral life plays in perfect freedom. Hobbes held that dreams all proceed from the agitation of the inward parts of a man’s body, which, owing to their connexion with the brain, serve to keep the latter in motion. For Schopenhauer the cause of dreams is the stimulation of the brain by the internal regions of the organism through the sympathetic nervous system. These impressions the mind afterwards works up into quasi-realities by means of its forms of space, time, causality, &c.

Bibliography.—For full lists of books and articles see J. M. Baldwin’s Dictionary of Philosophy, bibliography volume (1906), and S. de Sanctis, I Sogni, also translated in German with additions as Die Träume. Important works are—Binz, Über den Traum, Giessler Aus den Tiefen des Traumlebens, Maury, Le Sommeil et les rêves, Radestock, Schlaf und Traum, Tessié, Les Rêves, Spitta, Schlaf und Traumzustande. For super-normal dreams see F. W. H. Myers, Human Personality, vol i, and Proc S P R viii 362. For voluntary dreams see Proc. S P R iv 241, xvii. 112. On prophetic dreams see Monist, xi 161, Bull. Soc. Anth. (Paris, 1901), 196, (1902), 228, Rev. de synthèse historique (1901), 151, &c. On incubation see Deubner, De incubatione, Maury, La Magie. On the dreams of American Indians see Handbook of American Indians (Washington, 1907), s v “Dreams” and “Manito.” On the interpretation of dreams see Freud, Die Traumdeutung. Other works are F. Greenwood, Imagination in Dreams, Hutchinson, Dreams and their Meanings.

(N. W. T.)

DREDGE and DREDGING. The word “dredge” is used in two senses. (1) From Mid. Eng. dragie, through Fr. dragée, from Gr. τραγήματα, sweetmeats, it means a confection of sugar formed with seeds, bits of spice or medicinal agents. The word in this sense is obsolete, but survives in “dredger,” a box with a perforated top used for sprinkling such a sugar-mixture, flour or other powdered substance. “Dredge” is also a local term for a mixed crop of oats and barley sown together (“maslin” or “meslin,” cf. Fr. dragée), and in mining is applied to ore of a mixed value. (2) Connected with “drag,” or at least derived from the same root, dredge or dredger is a mechanical appliance for collecting together and drawing to the surface (“dredging”) objects and material from the beds of rivers or the bottom of the sea. In the following account the operations of dredging in this sense are discussed (1) as involved in hydraulic engineering, (2) in connexion with the work of the naturalist in marine biology.

1. Hydraulic Engineering

Dredging is the name given by engineers to the process of excavating materials under water, raising them to the surface and depositing them in barges, or delivering them through a shoot, a longitudinal conveyor, or pipes, to the place where it is desired to deposit them. It has long been useful in works of marine and hydraulic engineering, and has been brought in modern times to a state of high perfection.

The employment of dredging plant and the selection of special appliances to be used in different localities and in varying circumstances require the exercise of sound judgment on the part of the engineer. In rivers and estuaries where the bottom is composed of light soils, and where the scour of the tide can be governed by training walls and other works constructed at reasonable expense, so as to keep the channel clear without dredging, it is manifest that dredging machinery with its large cost for working expenses and for annual upkeep should be as far as possible avoided. On the other hand, where the bottom consists of clay, rock or other hard substances, dredging must, in the first instance at any rate, be employed to deepen and widen the channel which it is sought to improve. In some instances, such as the river Mississippi, a deep channel has for many years been maintained by jetties, with occasional resort to dredging to preserve the required channel section and to hasten its enlargement. The bar of the river Mersey is 11 m. from land, and the cost of training works would be so great as to forbid their construction; but, by a capital expenditure of £120,000 and an annual expense of £20,000 for three years, the depth of water over the bar at low tide has been increased by dredging from 11 ft. to 27 ft., the channel being 1500 ft. wide.

”Bag and Spoon” Dredger.—The first employment of machinery for dredging is, like the discovery of the canal lock, claimed by Holland and Italy, in both of which countries it is believed to have been in use before it was introduced into Britain. The Dutch, at an early period, used what is termed the “bag and spoon” dredger for cleansing their canals. The “spoon” consisted of a ring of iron about 2 ft. in diameter flattened and steeled for about a third of its circumference and having a bag of strong leather attached to it by leathern thongs. The ring and bag were fixed to a pole which was lowered to the bottom from the side of a barge moored in the canal or river. The “spoon” was then dragged along the bottom by a rope made fast to the iron ring actuated by a windlass placed at the other end of the barge, the pole being prevented from rising by a hitched rope which caused the “spoon” to penetrate the bottom and fill the bag. When the “spoon” reached the end of the barge where the windlass was placed, the winding was still continued, and the suspended rope being nearly perpendicular the “bag” was raised to the gunwale of the barge and the excavated material emptied into the barge. The “bag” was then hauled back to the opposite end to be lowered for another supply. This system is still in use, but is only adaptable to a limited depth of water and a soft bottom; it has been largely used in canals and frequently in the Thames. At the Fosdyke Canal in Lincolnshire 135,000 tons were raised in the manner described. According 563 to J. J. Webster (Proc. Inst. C. E. vol. 89), the first application of steam power for dredging operations was to a “spoon & bag” dredger for cleansing Sunderland harbour, the engine being made by Messrs Boulton & Watt of Soho, Birmingham.

Dredging by Bucket between Two Lighters.—Another plan of dredging, practised at an early period in rivers of considerable breadth, was to moor two barges, one on each side of the river. Between them was slung an iron dredging bucket, which was attached to both barges by chains wound on the barrels of a crab winch worked by six men in one barge and round a simple windlass worked by two men in the other barge. The bucket, being lowered at the side of the barge carrying the windlass, was drawn across the bottom of the river by the crab winch on the other barge; and having been raised and emptied, it was hauled across by the opposite windlass for repetition of the process. This process was in use in the River Tay until 1833.

Bucket Ladder Dredgers.—The earliest record of a bucket ladder dredger is contained in the first paper of the first volume (1836) of the Transactions of the Institution of Civil Engineers. This machine was brought into use at the Hull Docks about 1782. The bucket chain was driven by two horses working a horse-gear on the deck of the vessel. The buckets were constructed of 58 in. bars of iron spaced 18 in. apart, and were 4 ft. long, 13 in. deep, 12 in. wide at the mouth and about 6 in. wide at the bottom. This dredger raised about 30 tons per hour at the cost of 2½d. per ton, which covered the wages of three men working the dredger, eight men working the lighters and the keep of three horses. A dredger of this kind and power would only work in ballast, mud or other soft material, but the machine was gradually improved and increased in capacity and power by different manufacturers until it became a very efficient machine in skilful hands, excavating and raising material from depths of 5 ft. to 60 ft. of water at a cost not very different from, and in many cases less than, that at which the same work could be performed on land. With the powerful dredgers now constructed, almost all materials, except solid rock or very large boulders, can be dredged with ease. Loose gravel is perhaps the most favourable material to work in, but a powerful dredger will readily break up and raise indurated beds of gravel, clay and boulders, and has even found its way through the surface of soft rock, though it will not penetrate very far into it. In some cases steel diggers alternating with the buckets on the bucket frame have been successfully employed. The construction of large steam dredgers is now carried on by many engineering firms. The main feature of the machine is the bucket ladder which is hung at the top end by eye straps to the frame of the vessel, and at the lower end by a chain reived in purchase blocks and connected to the hoisting gear, so that the ladder may be raised and lowered to suit the varying depths of water in which the dredger works. The upper tumbler for working the bucket chain is generally square or pentagonal in form and made of steel with loose steel wearing pieces securely bolted to it. The tumbler is securely keyed to the steel shaft which is connected by gearing and shafting to the steam engine, a friction block being inserted at a convenient point to prevent breakage should any hidden obstacle causing unusual strain be met with in the path of the buckets. The lower tumbler is similar in construction to the upper tumbler, but is usually pentagonal or hexagonal in shape. The buckets are generally made with steel backs to which the plating of the buckets is riveted; the cutting edge of the buckets consists of a strong steel bar suitably shaped and riveted to the body. The intermediate links are made of hammered iron or steel with removable steel bushes to take the wear of the connecting pins, which are also of steel. The hoisting gear may be driven either from the main engine by frictional gearing or by an independent set of engines. Six anchors and chains worked by powerful steam crabs are provided for regulating the position of the dredger in regard to its work.

Barge-loading Dredgers used formerly to be provided with two ladders, one on each side of the vessel, or contained in wells formed in the vessel near each side. Two ladders were adopted, partly to permit the dredger to excavate the material close to a quay or wall, and partly to enable one ladder to work while the other was being repaired. Bucket ladder dredgers are now, however, generally constructed with one central ladder working in a well; frequently the bucket ladder projects at either the head or stern of the vessel, to enable it to cut its own way through a shoal or bank, a construction which has been found very useful. In one modification of this method the bucket ladder is supported upon a traversing frame which slides along the fixed framing of the dredger and moves the bucket ladder forward as soon as it has been sufficiently lowered to clear the end of the well. In places where a large quantity of dredging has to be done, a stationary dredger with three or four large hopper barges proves generally to be the most economical kind of plant. It has, however, the disadvantage of requiring large capital expenditure, while the dredger and its attendant barges take up an amount of space which is sometimes inconvenient where traffic is large and the navigable width narrow. The principal improvements made in barge-loading dredgers have been the increase in the size of the buckets and the strength of the dredging gear, the application of more economical engines for working the machinery, and the use of frictional gearing for driving the ladder-hoisting gear. It is very important that the main drive be fitted with the friction blocks or clutches before alluded to.

Up to the year 1877 dredgers were seldom made with buckets of a capacity exceeding 9 cub. ft., but since that time they have been gradually increased in capacity. In the dredger “Melbourne,” constructed by Messrs William Simons & Co. to the design and specification of Messrs Coode, Son & Matthews, about the year 1886, the buckets had a capacity of 22 cub. ft., the dredger being capable of making 37 ft. of water. The driving power consists of two pairs of surface-condensing engines, each of 250 i.h.p., having cylinders 20 in. and 40 in. in diameter respectively, with a 30 in. stroke, the boiler pressure being 90 ℔ per sq. in. The vessel is 200 ft. long by 36 ft. wide and 11 ft. 6 in. deep, and is driven by twin screw propellers. The gearing is arranged so that either pair of engines can be employed for dredging. The speed under steam is 7 knots, and in free-getting material 800 tons per hour can be dredged with ease. On one occasion the dredger loaded 400 tons in 20 minutes. The speed of the bucket chain is 83 lineal ft. per minute. The draught of the dredger in working trim is 7 ft. forward and 9 ft. aft. The efficiency of the machine, or the net work in raising materials compared with the power exerted in the cylinders, is about 25%. The dredged material is delivered into barges moored alongside. Contrasting favourably with former experience, the “Melbourne” worked for the first six months without a single breakage. She is fitted with very powerful mooring winches, a detail which is of great importance to ensure efficiency in working.

The “St Austell” (Plate I. fig. 3), a powerful barge-loading dredger 195 ft. long by 35 ft. 6 in. beam by 13 ft. deep, fitted with twin-screw compound surface-condensing propelling engines of 1000 i.h.p., either set of engines being available for dredging, was constructed for H.M. Dockyard, Devonport, by Messrs Wm. Simons & Co. in 1896. This dredger loaded thirty-five 500-ton hopper barges in the week ending April 2, 1898, dredging 17,500 tons of material in the working time of 29 hours 5 minutes.

An instance of a still larger and more powerful dredger is the “Develant,” constructed by Messrs Wm. Simons & Co., for Nicolaiev, South Russia. She is a bow-well, barge-loading, bucket ladder dredger, with a length of 186 ft., a breadth, moulded, of 36 ft., and a depth, moulded, of 13 ft. The bucket ladder is of sufficient length to dredge 36 ft. below the water level. The buckets are exceptionally large, each having a capacity of 36 cub. ft., or fully two tons weight of material, giving a lifting capacity of 1890 tons per hour. At the dredging trials 2000 tons of spoil were lifted in one hour with an expenditure of 250 i.h.p. The propelling power is supplied by one pair of compound surface-condensing marine engines of 850 i.h.p., having two cylindrical boilers constructed for a working pressure of 120 ℔ per sq. in. Each boiler is capable of supplying steam to either the propelling or dredging machinery, thus allowing the vessel to always have a boiler in reserve. On the trials a speed of 8½ knots was obtained. The bucket ladder, which weighs over 100 tons, exclusive of dredgings, is raised and lowered by a set of independent engines. For manœuvring, powerful winches driven by independent engines are placed at the bow and stern. The vessel is fitted throughout with electric light, arc lamps being provided above the deck to enable dredging to be carried on at night. Steam steering gear, a repairing shop, a three-ton crane, and all the latest appliances are installed on board.

The “Dérocheuse” (Plate II. fig. 12), constructed by Messrs Lobnitz & Co., is a good example of the dredger fitted with their patent rock cutters, as used on the Suez Canal. These rock cutters consist of stamps passing down through the bottom of the dredger, slightly in advance of the bucket chain, and are employed for breaking up rock in front of the bucket ladder so that it may be raised by 564 buckets afterwards. This system of subaqueous rock cutting plant, on Messrs Lobnitz’s patent system, was effectively employed in deepening the Manchester Ship Canal, and removed a considerable length of rock, increasing the depth of water from 26 ft. to 28 ft. at a cost of about 9d. per cub. yd. A full and illustrated description of this plant, and of a similar plant supplied to the Argentine Government, was published in Engineering of August 17, 1906. An illustration of a bucket of 54 cub. ft. capacity constructed by Messrs Lobnitz & Co. is given (Plate II fig. 11), from which some idea of the size of dredging machinery as developed in recent practice may be obtained. In regard to the depth of water that can be obtained by dredging, it is interesting to note that the dredger “Diver,” constructed by Messrs. Hunter & English for Mr Samuel Williams of London, is capable of working in 60 ft. of water. In this vessel an ingenious arrangement was devised by Mr Williams, by which part of the weight of the dredger was balanced while the ladder itself could be drawn up through the bucket well and placed upon the deck, enabling a long ladder to be used for a comparatively short vessel. The “Tilbury” dredger, also constructed by Messrs Hunter & English, was able to dredge to a depth of 45 ft. below the surface of the water.

Hopper Barges.—To receive the materials excavated by barge-loading dredgers, steam hopper barges are now generally employed, capable of carrying 500 tons or more of excavation and of steaming loaded at a speed of about 9 m. per hour. These hopper barges are made with hinged flaps in their bottoms, which can be opened when the place of deposit is reached and the dredgings easily and quickly discharged.

Good examples of these vessels are the two steam hopper barges built for the Conservators of the river Thames in 1898. The dimensions are: length 190 ft., breadth 30 ft., depth 13 ft. 3 in., hopper capacity 900 tons. They are propelled by a set of triple expansion engines of 1200 i.h.p., with two return-tube boilers having a working pressure of 160 ℔. Special appliances are provided to work the hopper doors by steam power from independent engines placed at the forward end of the hopper. A steam windlass is fixed forward and a steam capstan aft. The vessels are fitted with cabins for the officers and crew. On their trial trip, the hoppers having their full load, a speed of 11 knots was obtained, the coal consumption being 1.44 ℔ per i.h.p.

Methods of Dredging.—In river dredging two systems are pursued. One plan consists in excavating a series of longitudinal furrows parallel to the axis of the stream; the other in dredging cross furrows from side to side of the river. It is found that inequalities are left between the longitudinal furrows when that system is practised, which do not occur, to the same extent, in side or cross dredging; and cross dredging leaves a more uniform bottom. In either case the dredger is moored from the head and stern by chains about 250 fathoms in length. These chains in improved dredgers are wound round windlasses worked by the engine, so that the vessel can be moved ahead or astern by simply throwing them into or out of gear. In longitudinal dredging the vessel is worked forward by the head chain, while the buckets are at the same time performing the excavation, so that a longitudinal trench is made in the bottom of the river. After proceeding a certain length, the dredger is stopped and permitted to drop down and commence a new longitudinal furrow, parallel to the first one. In cross dredging, on the other hand, the vessel is supplied with four additional moorings, two on each side, and these chains are, like the head and stern chains, wound round barrels worked by steam power. In cross dredging we may suppose the vessel to be moored at one side of the channel to be excavated. The bucket frame is set in motion, but instead of the dredger being drawn forward by the head chain, she is drawn across the river by the starboard chains, and, having reached the extent of her work in that direction, she is then drawn a few feet forward by the head chain, and the bucket frame being still in motion the vessel is hauled across by the port chains to the side whence she started. By means of this transverse motion of the dredger a series of cross cuts is made; the dredger takes out the whole excavation from side to side to a uniform depth and leaves no protuberances such as are found to exist between the furrows in longitudinal dredging, even when it is executed with great care. The two systems will be understood by reference to fig. 1, where A and B are the head and stern moorings, and C, D, E and F the side moorings. The arc e f represents the course of the vessel in cross dredging; while in longitudinal dredging, as already explained, she is drawn forward towards A, and again dropped down to commence a new longitudinal furrow.

Fig. 1.—Diagram showing Moorings for Transverse Dredging.

Hopper Dredgers.—In places where barge-loading dredgers are inconvenient, owing to confined space and interference with navigation, and where it is necessary to curtail capital expenditure, hopper dredgers are convenient and economical. These dredgers were first constructed by Messrs. Wm. Simons & Co. of Renfrew, who patented and constructed what they call the “Hopper Dredger,” combining in itself the advantages of a dredger for raising material and a scow hopper vessel for conveying it to the place of discharge, both of which services are performed by the same engines and the same crew.

The vessel for this type of dredger is made of sufficient length and floating capacity to contain its own dredgings, which it carries out to the depositing ground as soon as its hopper is full. Considerable time is of course occupied in slipping and recovering moorings, and conveying material to the depositing ground, but these disadvantages are in many instances counterbalanced by the fact that less capital is required for plant and that less room is taken up by the dredger. If the depositing ground is far away, the time available for dredging is much curtailed, but the four-screw hopper dredger constructed by Messrs Wm. Simons & Co. for Bristol has done good work at the cost of 5d. per ton, including wages, repairs, coals, grease, sundries and interest on the first cost of the plant, notwithstanding that the material has to be taken 10 m. from the Bristol Dock. She can lift 400 tons of stiff clay per hour from a depth of 36 ft. below the water line, and the power required varies from 120 i.h.p. to 150 i.h.p., according to the nature of the material. The speed is 9 knots, and 4 propellers are provided, two at the head and two at the stern, to enable the vessel to steam equally well either way, as the river Avon is too narrow to permit her to be turned round.

The hopper dredger “La Puissante” (Plate I. fig. 4), constructed by Messrs Wm. Simons & Co. for the Suez Canal Co. for the improvement of Port Said Roads, is a fine example of this class of dredger. She is 275 ft. long by 47 ft. beam by 19 ft. deep. The hopper capacity is 2000 tons, and the draught loaded 16 ft. 5 in. The maximum dredging depth is 40 ft., and the minimum dredging depth is only limited by the vessel’s draught, she being able to cut her own way. The bucket ladder works through the well in the stern and weighs with buckets 120 tons. The buckets have each a capacity of 30 cub. ft. and raised on trial 1600 tons per hour. The dredger is propelled by two sets of independent triple expansion surface-condensing engines of 1800 i.h.p. combined, working with steam at 160 ℔ pressure, supplied by two mild steel multitubular boilers. Each set of engines is capable of driving the buckets independently at speeds of 16 and 20 buckets per minute. The bucket ladder is fitted with buffer springs at its upper end to lessen the shock when working in a seaway. The dredger can deliver the dredged material either into its own hopper or into barges lying on either side. The vessel obtained a speed of 9¾ knots per hour on trial. The coal consumption during 6 hours’ steaming trial was 1.66 ℔ per i.h.p. hour. Fig. 9 (Plate I.) shows a still larger hopper dredger by the same constructors.

Dredgers fitted with Long Shoot or Shore Delivering Apparatus.—The first instance of dredgers being fitted with long shoots was in the Suez Canal. The soil in the lakes was very variable, the surface being generally loose mud which lay in some places in the sand, but frequently more or less on hard clay. Resort was had to shoots 230 ft. long, supported on pontoons connected with the hull of the dredger. The sand flowed away with a moderate supply of water to the shoots when they were fixed 565 at an inclination of about 1 in 20, but when the sand was mixed with shells these formed a coating which prevented the stream of water from washing out the shoot, and even with an inclination of 1 in 10 material could not be delivered. A pair of endless chains working down the long shoot overcame the difficulty, and also enabled hard clay in lumps to be dealt with. One dredger turned out about 2000 cub. yds. of thick clay in 15 hours, and when the clay was not hard it could deliver 150,000 cub. yds. in a month for several consecutive months.

Shore delivery has been successfully effected by raising the material by buckets in the ordinary way and delivering it into a vertical cylinder connected with floating jointed pipes through which the dredgings pass to the shore. This, of course, can only be done where the place of deposit is near the spot where the material is dredged. Two plans have been satisfactorily employed for this operation. At the Amsterdam Canal the stuff was discharged from the buckets into a vertical cylinder, and after being mingled with water by a revolving Woodford pump was sent off under a head of pressure of 4 or 5 ft. to the place of deposit in a semi-fluid state through pipes made of timber, hooped with iron. These wooden pipes were made in lengths of about 15 ft., connected with leather joints, and floated on the surface of the water. A somewhat similar process was also employed on the Suez Canal.

A dredger (Plate I. fig. 5), constructed by Messrs Hunter & English for reclamation works on Lake Copais in Greece was fitted with delivery belts running on rollers in steel lattice frames on each side of the vessel supported by masts and ropes. It could deliver 100 cub. metres per hour at 85 ft. from the centre of the dredger, at a cost of 1.82d. per cub. metre for working expenses, with coal at 45s. per ton, including 0.66d. per cub. metre for renewal of belts, upon which the wear and tear was heavy.

Another instance of the successful application of shore delivery apparatus is that of a dredger for Lake Titicaca, Peru, constructed by Messrs Hunter & English, which was fitted with long shoots on both sides, conveying the dredged material about 100 ft. from the centre of the dredger upon either side. The shoots were supported by shear-legs and ropes, and were supplied with water from a centrifugal pump in the engine room. This dredger could excavate and deliver 120 cub. yds. per hour at a cost of 1.725d. per cub. yd. with coal costing 40s. per ton. If coal had been available at the ordinary rate in England of 20s. per ton, the cost of the dredging and delivery would have been 0.82d. per cub. yd. for wages, coal, oil, &c., but not including the salary of the superintendent.

An interesting example of a shore delivering dredger is a light draught dredger constructed by Messrs Hunter & English for the Lakes of Albufera at the mouth of the river Ebro in Spain (Plate I. fig. 6). The conditions laid down for this dredger were that it should float in 18 in. of water and deliver the dredged material at 90 ft. from the centre of its own hull. In order to meet these requirements the vessel was made of steel plates 18 in. thick, and longitudinal girders from end to end of the vessel, the upward strain of flotation being conveyed to them from the skin plating by transverse bulkheads at short intervals. The dredger was 94 ft. long, 25 ft. wide, and 3 ft. deep, and the height of the top tumbler above the water was 25 ft. When completed the dredger drew 17 in. of water. The dredgings were delivered by the buckets upon an endless belt, driven from the main compound surface-condensing engine, which ran over pulleys supported upon a steel lattice girder, the outer end of which rested upon an independent pontoon. This belt delivered the dredgings at 90 ft. from the centre of the dredger round an arc of 180°. The dredger delivered 125 cub. yds. per hour of compact clay at a cost of 1.16d. per cub. yd. or 0.86d. per ton for wages, coal and stores. Another method of delivering dredgings is that of pneumatic delivery, introduced by Mr F. E. Duckham, of the Millwall Dock Co., by which the dredgings are delivered into cylindrical tanks in the dredger, closed by air-tight doors, and are expelled by compressed air either into the sea or through long pipes to the land. The Millwall Dock dredger is 113 ft. long, with a beam of 17 ft. and a depth of 12 ft. The draught loaded is 8 ft. It contains two cylindrical tanks, having a combined capacity of 240 cub. yds., and is fitted with compound engines of about 200 i.h.p., with a 20 in. air-compressing cylinder. The discharge pipe is 15 in. diameter by 150 yds. long. The nozzles of the air-injection pipes must not be too small, otherwise the compressed air, instead of driving out the material, simply pierces holes through it and escapes through the discharging pipe, carrying with it all the liquid and thin material in the tanks. The cost of working the Millwall Dock dredger is given by Mr Duckham at 1.75d. per cub. yd. of mud lifted, conveyed and deposited on land 450 ft. from the water-side, for working expenses only. This dredger is believed to be the first machine constructed with a traversing ladder, as suggested by Captain Gibson when dock-master of the Millwall Docks.

Blasting combined with Dredging.—In some cases it has been found that the bottom is too hard to be dredged until it has been to some extent loosened and broken up. Thus at Newry, John Rennie, after blasting the bottom in a depth of from 6 to 8 ft. at low water, removed the material by dredging at an expense of from 4s. to 5s. per cub. yd. The same process was adopted by Messrs Stevenson at the bar of the Erne at Ballyshannon, where, in a situation exposed to a heavy sea, large quantities of boulder stones were blasted, and afterwards raised by a dredger worked by hand at a cost of 10s. 6d. per cub. yd. Sir William Cubitt also largely employed blasting in connexion with dredging on the Severn (see Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. iv. p. 362). The cost of blasting and dredging the marl beds is given as being 4s. per cub. yd. A combination of blasting and dredging was employed in 1875 by John Fowler of Stockton at the river Tees. The chief novelty was in the barge upon which the machinery was fixed. It was 58 ft. by 28 ft. by 4 ft., and had eight legs which were let down when the barge was in position. The legs were then fixed to the barge, so that on the tide falling it became a fixed platform from which the drilling was done. Holes were bored and charged, and when the tide rose the legs were heaved up and the barge removed, after which the shots were discharged. There were 24 boring tubes on the barge, and that was the limit which could at any time be done in one tide. The area over which the blasting was done measured 500 yds. in length by 200 in breadth, a small part being uncovered at low water. The depth obtained in mid-channel was 14 ft. at low water, the average depth of rock blasted being about 4 ft. 6 in. The holes, which were bored with the diamond drill, varied in depth from 7 to 9 ft., the distance between them being 10 ft. Dynamite in tin canisters fired by patent fuse was used as the explosive, the charges being 2 ℔ and under. The rock is oolite shale of variable hardness, and the average time occupied in drilling holes 5 ft. deep was 12 minutes. The dredger raised the blasted rock. The cost for blasting, lifting and discharging at sea was about 4s. per cub. yd., including interest on dredging and other plant employed. The dredger sometimes worked a face of blasted material of from 7 to 8 ft. The quantity blasted was 110,000 cub. yds., and the contract for blasting so as to be lifted by the dredger was 3s. 1d. per cub. yd. A similar plan was adopted at Blyth Harbour (see Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. 81, p. 302). The cost of the explosives per cub. yd. was 1s. 4d., of boring 1s. 9d. per cub. yd., and of dredging 3s. per cub. yd., including repairs, but nothing for the use of plant. The whole cost worked out at 6s. 1d. per cub. yd. on the average.

Sand-pump Dredgers.—Perhaps the most important development which has taken place in dredging during recent years has been the employment of sand-pump dredgers, which are very useful for removing sandy bars where the particular object is to remove quickly a large quantity of sand or other soft material. They are, however, apt to make large holes, and are therefore not fitted for positions where it is necessary to finish off the dredging work to a uniform flat bottom, for which purpose bucket dredgers are better adapted. Pump dredgers are, however, admirable and economical machines for carrying out the work for which they are specially suited.

In the discussion upon Mr J. J. Webster’s paper upon “Dredging-Appliances” (Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. 89) at the Institution of Civil Engineers in 1886, Sir John Coode stated that he had first seen sand-pump dredgers at the mouth of the Maas in Holland. The centrifugal pump was placed against the bulkheads in the after part of the vessel, and the sand and water were delivered into a horizontal breeches-piece leading into two pipes running along the full length of the hopper. The difficulty of preventing the sand from running overboard was entirely obviated by its being propelled by the pump through these pipes, the bottoms of which were perforated by a series of holes. In addition, there were a few small flap-doors fixed at intervals, by means of which the men were able to regulate the discharge. On being tested, the craft pumped into its hopper 400 tons of sand in 22 minutes. The coamings round the well of the hoppers were constructed with a dip, and when the hopper was full the water ran over in a steady stream on either side. The proportion of sand delivered into the hopper was about 20% of the total capacity of the pump. The dredger was constructed by Messrs 566 Smit of Kinderdijk, near Rotterdam. In the same discussion Mr A. A. Langley, then engineer to the Great Eastern railway, gave particulars of a sand pump upon the Bazin system, which had been used successfully at Lowestoft. The boat was 60 ft. long by 20 ft. wide, and the pump was 2 ft. in diameter, with a two-bladed disk. The discharge pipe was 12 in. in diameter. The pump raised 400 tons of sand, gravel and stones per hour as a maximum quantity, the average quantity being about 200 tons per hour. The depth dredged was from 7 ft. to 25 ft. The pump was driven by a double-cylinder engine, having cylinders of 9 in. diameter by 10 in. stroke, and making 120 revolutions per minute. An important improvement was made by fitting the working faces of the pump with india-rubber, which was very successful and largely reduced the wear and tear. The cost of the dredging at Lowestoft was given by Mr Langley at 2d. per ton, including delivery 2 m. out at sea. The quantity dredged was about 200,000 tons per annum.

One of the earliest pumps to be applied to dredging purposes was the Woodford, which consisted of a horizontal disk with two or more arms working in a case somewhat similar to the ordinary centrifugal pump. The disk was keyed to a vertical shaft which was driven from above by means of belts or other gear coupled to an ordinary portable engine. The pump within rested on the ground; the suction pipe was so arranged that water was drawn in with the sand or mud, the proportions being regulated to suit the quality of the material. The discharge pipe was rectangular and carried a vertical shaft, the whole apparatus being adjustable to suit different depths of water. This arrangement was very effective, and has been used on many works. Burt & Freeman’s sand pump, a modification of the Woodford pump, was used in the construction of the Amsterdam Ship Canal, for which it was designed. The excavations from the canal had to be deposited on the banks some distance away from the dredgers, and after being raised by the ordinary bucket dredger, instead of being discharged into the barges, they were led into a vertical chamber on the top side of the pump, suitable arrangements being made for regulating the delivery. The pump was 3½ ft. in diameter, and made about 230 revolutions per minute. The water was drawn up on the bottom side and mixed with the descending mud on the top side, and the two were discharged into a pipe 15 in. in diameter. The discharge pipe was a special feature, and consisted of a series of wooden pipes jointed together with leather hinges and floated on buoys from the dredger to the bank. In some cases this pipe was 300 yds. long, and discharged the material 8 ft. above the water level. Each dredger and pump was capable of discharging an average of 1500 cub. yds. per day of 12 hours. Schmidt’s sand pump is claimed to be an improvement on the Burt & Freeman pump. It consists of a revolving wheel 6 ft. in diameter, with cutters revolving under a hood which just allows the water to pass underneath. To the top side of the hood a 20 in. suction pipe from an ordinary centrifugal pump is attached. The pump is driven by two 16 in. by 20 in. cylinders, at 134 revolutions per minute, the boiler pressure being 95 ℔ per sq. in. This apparatus is capable of excavating sticky blue clayey mud, and will deliver the material at 500 to 650 yds. distance. The best results are obtained when the mixture of mud and water is as 1 to 6.5. The average quantity excavated per diem by the apparatus is 1300 cub. yds., the maximum quantity being 2500 cub. yds.

Kennard’s sand pump is entirely different from the pumps already described, and is a direct application of the ordinary lift pump. A wrought iron box has a suction pipe fitted at the bottom, rising about half way up the inside of the box; on the top of the box is fitted the actual pump and the flap valves. The apparatus is lowered by chains, and the pump lowered from above. As soon as the box is filled with sand it is raised, the catches holding up the bottom released, and the contents discharged into a punt.

Sand-pump dredgers, designed and arranged by Mr Darnton Hutton, were extensively used on the Amsterdam Ship Canal. A centrifugal pump with a fan 4 ft. in diameter was employed, the suction and delivery pipes, each 18 in. in diameter, being attached to an open wrought-iron framework. The machine was suspended between guides fixed to the end of the vessel, which was fitted with tackle for raising, lowering and adjusting the machine. The vessel was fitted with a steam engine and boiler for working and manipulating the pumps and the heavy side chains for the guidance of the dredger. The engine was 70 h.p., and the total cost of one dredger was £8000. The number of hands required for working this sand-pump dredger was one captain, one engineer, one stoker and four sailors. Each machine was capable of raising about 1300 tons of material per day, the engines working at 60 and the pump at 180 revolutions per minute. The sand was delivered into barges alongside the dredger. The cost of raising the material and depositing it in barges was about 1d. per ton when the sand pumps were working, but upon the year’s work the cost was 2.4d. per cub. yd. for working expenses and repairs, and 1.24d. per cub. yd. for interest and depreciation at 10% upon the cost of the plant, making a total cost for dredging of 3.64d. per cub. yd. The cost for transport was 3.588d. per cub. yd., making a total cost for dredging and transport of 7.234d. per cub. yd. Dredging and transport on the same works by an ordinary bucket dredger and barges cost 8.328d. per cub. yd.

Two of the largest and most successful instances of sand-pump dredgers are the “Brancker” and the “G. B. Crow,” belonging to the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board. Mr A. G. Lyster gave particulars of the work done by these dredgers in a paper read before the Engineering Congress in 1899. They are each 320 ft. long, 47 ft. wide and 20.5 ft. deep, the draught loaded being 16 ft. They are fitted with two centrifugal pumps, each 6 ft. in diameter, with 36 in. suction and delivery pipes, united into a 45 in. diameter pipe, hung by a ball and socket joint in a trunnion, so as to work safely in a seaway when the waves are 10 ft. high. The suction pipe is 76 ft. long and will dredge in 53 ft. of water. The eight hoppers hold 3000 tons, equivalent when solid to 2000 cub. yds.; they can be filled in three-quarters of an hour and discharged in five minutes. Mr Lyster stated that up to May 1899, the quantity removed from bar and main-channel shoals amounted to 41,240,360 tons, giving a width of channel of 1500 ft. through the bar, with a minimum depth of 27 ft. The cost of dredging on the bar by the “G. B. Crow” during 1898, when 4,309,350 tons of material were removed, was 0.61d. per ton for wages, supplies and repairs. These figures include all direct working costs and a proportion of the charge for actual superintendence, but no allowance for interest on capital cost or depreciation. On an average, 20% of the sand and mud that are raised escapes over the side of the vessel. Mr Lyster has, however, to a considerable extent overcome this difficulty by a special arrangement added to the hoppers (see Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. 188).

At the Engineering Conference, 1907, Mr Lyster read a note in which he stated that the total quantity of material removed from the bar of the Mersey, from the Crosby channel, and from other points of the main channel by the “G. B. Crow” and “Brancker” suction dredgers amounted to 108,675,570 tons up to the 1st of May 1907. “In the note of 1899 (he added) it was pointed out that the Mersey was a striking instance of the improvement of a river by dredging rather than by permanent works, and the economy of the system as well as the advantage which its elasticity and adaptability to varying circumstances permit, was pointed out.... The most recent experience, which has resulted in the adoption of the proposal to revet the Taylor’s bank, indicates that the dredging method has its limitations and cannot provide for every contingency which is likely to arise; at the same time, the utility and economy of the dredging system is in no way diminished.... Having regard to the ever-increasing size of vessels, a scheme for new docks and entrances on a very large scale received the authority of parliament during the session of 1905-1906 In this scheme it was considered necessary to make provision for vessels of 1000 ft. in length and 40 ft. in draught, and having regard to this prospective growth of vessels it has been determined still further to deepen and improve the outer channel of the Mersey. No fixed measure of improvement has been decided on, but after careful survey of existing conditions and a comparison with probable requirements, it has been determined to construct a dredger of 10,000 tons capacity, provided with pumping power equivalent to about three times that of any existing dredgers. By the use of this vessel it is anticipated that it will be possible to deal with very much larger quantities of sand at a cheaper rate, and to 10 ft. greater depth than the existing plant permits.”

The vessel in question was launched on the Mersey from the yard of Messrs Cammell, Laird & Co. in October 1908, and was named the “Leviathan.” Her length is 487 ft., beam 69 ft., and depth 30 ft. 7 in. Her dredging machinery consists of four centrifugal pumps driven by four sets of inverted triple expansion engines, and connected to four suction tubes 90 ft. long and 42 in. in internal diameter. Her propelling machinery, consisting of two sets of triple expansion engines, is capable of driving her at a speed of 10 knots.

Another powerful and successful sand-pump dredger, “Kate” (Plate I. fig. 7), was built in 1897 by Messrs Wm. Simons & Co. Ltd. for the East London Harbour Board, South Africa. Its dimensions are: length 200 ft., breadth 39 ft., depth 14 ft. 6 in., hopper capacity 1000 tons. The pumping arrangements for filling the hopper with sand or discharging overboard consist of two centrifugal pumps, each driven from one of the propelling engines. The suction pipes are each 27 in. in diameter, and are so arranged that they may be used for pumping either forward or aft, as the state of the weather may require. Four steam cranes are provided for manipulating the suction pipes. Owing to the exceptional weather with which the vessel had to contend, special precautions were taken in designing the attachments of the suction pipes to the vessel. The attachment is above deck and consists of a series of joints, which give a perfectly free and universal movement to the upper ends of the pipes. The joints, on each side of the vessel, are attached to a carriage, which is traversed laterally by hydraulic gear. By this means the pipes are pushed out well clear of the vessel’s sides when pumping, and brought inboard when not in work. Hydraulic cushioning cylinders are provided to give any required resistance to the fore and aft movements of the pipes. When the vessel arrived at East London on the 18th of July 1897, there was a depth of 14 ft. on the bar at high tide. On the 10th of October, scarcely three months afterwards, there was a depth of 20 ft. on the bar at low water. Working 22 days in rough weather during the month of November 1898, the “Kate” raised and deposited 2½ m. at sea 60,000 tons of dredgings. Her best day’s work (12 hours) was on the 7th of November, when she dredged and deposited 6440 tons.

A large quantity of sand-pump dredging has been carried out at Boulogne and Calais by steam hopper pump dredgers, workable when 567 the head waves are not more than 3 ft. high and the cross waves not more than 1½ ft. high. The dredgings are taken 2 m. to sea, and the price for dredging and depositing from 800,000 to 900,000 cub. metres in 5 or 6 years was 7.25d. per cub. yd. The contractor offered to do the work at 4.625d. per cub. yd. on condition of being allowed to work either at Calais or Boulogne, as the weather might permit. Sand-pump dredging has also been extensively carried out at the mouth of the ports of Amsterdam, Rotterdam and on the north coast of France by sand dredgers constructed by Messrs L. Smit & Son and G. & K. Smit. The largest dredger, the “Amsterdam,” is 141 ft. by 27 ft. by 10 ft. 8 in., and has engines of 190 i.h.p. The hopper capacity is 10,600 cub. ft., and the vessel can carry 600 tons of dredgings. The pump fan is 6 ft. 3 in. in diameter by 10 in. wide, the plates being of wrought iron, and makes 130 revolutions a minute. The pump can raise 230 cub. ft. a minute from a depth of 33 ft., which, taking the proportion of 1 of sand to 7 of water, gives a delivery of 29 cub. ft. of sand per minute. The hopper containing 10,600 cub. ft. was under favourable circumstances filled in 40 minutes. The vessels are excellent sea boats.

Combined Bucket-Ladder and Sand-Pump Dredgers.—Bucket ladders and sand pumps have also been fitted to the same dredger. A successful example of this practice is furnished by the hopper dredger “Percy Sanderson” (Plate I. fig. 8), constructed under the direction of Sir C. A. Hartley, engineer of the Danube Commission for the deepening of the river Danube and the Sulina bar. This dredger is 220 ft. by 40 ft. by 17 ft. 2 in., and has a hopper capacity for 1250 tons of dredgings. The buckets have each a capacity of 25 cub. ft., and are able to raise 1000 tons of ordinary material per hour. The suction pump, which is driven by an independent set of triple expansion engines, is capable of raising 700 tons of sand per hour, and of dredging to a depth of 35 ft. below the water-line. The lower end of the suction pipe is controlled by special steam appliances by which the pipe can be brought entirely inboard. The “Percy Sanderson” raises and deposits on an average 5000 tons of material per day.

Grab Dredgers.—The grab dredger was stated by Sir Benjamin Baker (Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. 113, p. 38) to have been invented by Gouffé in 1703, and was worked by two ropes and a bar. Various kinds of apparatus have been designed in the shape of grabs or buckets for dredging purposes. These are usually worked by a steam crane, which lets the open grab down to the surface of the ground to be excavated and then closes it by a chain which forces the tines into the ground; the grab is then raised by the crane, which deposits the contents either into the hopper of the vessel upon which the crane is fixed or into another barge.

The Priestman grab has perhaps been more extensively used than any other apparatus of this sort. It is very useful for excavating mud, gravel and soft sand, but is less effective with hard sand or stiff clay—a general defect in this class of dredger. It is also capable of lifting large loose pieces of rock weighing from 1 to 2 tons. A dredger of this type, with grab holding 1 ton of mud, dredged during six days, in 19 ft. of water, an average of 52½ tons and a maximum of 68½ tons per hour, and during 12 days, in 16 ft. of water, an average of 48 tons and a maximum of 58 tons per hour, at a cost of 1.63d. per ton, excluding interest on the capital and depreciation. The largest dredger to which this apparatus has been applied is the grab bucket hopper dredger “Miles K. Burton” (Plate I. fig. 9), belonging to the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board. It is equipped with 5 grabs on Morgan’s patent system, which is a modification of Priestman’s, the grabs being worked by 5 hydraulic cranes. It raised and deposited, 12 to 15 m. at sea, 11 loads of about 1450 tons each with a double shift of hands, at a cost of about 1s. 5d. per cub. yd. of spoil, including the working expenses for wages of crew, fuel and stores. Mr R. A. Marillier of Hull has stated that “the efficiency of these grabs is not at all dependent upon the force of the blow in falling for the penetration and grip in the material, as they do their work very satisfactorily even when lowered quite gently on to the material to be cut out, the jaws being so framed as to draw down and penetrate the material as soon as the upward strain is put on the lifting chain. Even in hard material the jaws penetrate so thoroughly as to cause the bucket to be well filled. The grab is found to work successfully in excavating hard clay from its natural bed on dry land.” It is claimed on behalf of grabs that they lift a smaller proportion of water than any other class of dredger.

Since the beginning of the 20th century considerable advance has been made in the use of Priestman grabs, not only for dredging and excavating (for which work they were originally designed), but also in discharging bulk cargo. The first quadruple dredger used by the Liverpool Docks Board had grabs of a capacity of 30 cub. ft., but subsequently second and third quadruple dredgers were put to work in the Liverpool Docks, with grabs having a capacity of 70 and 100 cub. ft. respectively. In discharging coal at Southampton, Havre, Erith, as well as at the coaling station at Purfleet on the Thames, grabs having a capacity of about 80 cub. ft. are in constant use. Perhaps the most difficult kind of bulk cargo to lift is “Narvick” iron ore, which sets into a semi-solid body in the holds of the vessels, and for this purpose one of the largest grabs, having about 150 cub. ft. capacity and weighing about 8 tons, has been adopted. This grab was designed as a result of experiments extending over a long period in lifting iron ore. It is fitted with long, forged, interlocked steel teeth for penetrating the compact material, which is very costly to remove by hand labour. The Priestman grab is made to work with either one or two chains or wire ropes. Grabs worked with two chains or ropes have many advantages, and are therefore adopted for large undertakings.

Wild’s single chain half-tine grab works entirely with a single chain, and has been found very useful in excavating the cylinders in Castries harbour. Upon experimenting with an ordinary grab a rather curious condition of things was observed with respect to sinking. On penetrating the soil to a certain depth the ground was found as it were nested, and nothing would induce the grab to sink lower. Sir W. Matthews suggested that a further set of external tines might possibly get over this difficulty. A new grab having been made with this modification, and also with a large increase of weight—all the parts being of steel—it descended to any required depth with ease, the outside tines loosening the ground effectually whilst the inside bucket or tines picked up the material.

Miscellaneous Appliances.—There are several machines or appliances which perhaps can hardly be called dredgers, although they are used for cleansing and deepening rivers and harbours.

Kingfoot’s dredger, used for cleansing the river Stour, consisted of a boat with a broad rake fitted to the bow, capable of adjustment to different depths. At the sides of the boat were hinged two wings of the same depth as the rake and in a line with it. When the rake was dropped to the bottom of the river and the wings extended to the side, they formed a sort of temporary dam, and the water began to rise gradually. As soon as a sufficient head was raised, varying from 6 to 12 in., the whole machine was driven forward by the pressure, and the rake carried the mud with it. Progress at the rate of about 3 m. an hour was made in this manner, and to prevent the accumulation of the dredgings, operations were begun at the mouth of the river and carried on backwards. The apparatus was very effective and the river was cleansed thoroughly, but the distance travelled by the dredger must have been great.

In 1876 J. J. Rietschoten designed a “propeller dredger” for removing the shoals of the river Maas. It consisted of an old gunboat fitted with a pair of trussed beams, one at each side, each of which carried a steel shaft and was capable of being lowered or raised by means of a crab. An ordinary propeller 3 ft. 6 in. in diameter was fixed to the lower end of the shaft, and driven by bevel gear from a cross shaft which derived its motion by belting from the fly-wheel of a 12 h.p. portable engine. The propellers were lowered until they nearly reached the shoals, and were then worked at 150 revolutions per minute. This operation scoured away the shoal effectively, for in about 40 minutes it had been lowered about 3 ft. for a space of 150 yds. long by 8 yds. wide.

A. Lavalley in 1877 designed an arrangement for the harbour of Dunkirk to overcome the difficulty of working an ordinary bucket-ladder dredger when there is even a small swell. A pump injects water into the sand down a pipe terminating in three nozzles to stir up the sand, and another centrifugal pump draws up the mixed sand and water and discharges it into a hopper, the pumps and all machinery being on board the hopper. To allow for the rising and falling of the vessel—either by the action of the tide or by the swell—the ends of the pipes are made flexible. The hopper has a capacity of 190 cub. yds., and is propelled and the pumps worked by an engine of 150 i.h.p. From 50 to 80 cub. yds. per hour can be raised by this dredger.

The “Aquamotrice,” designed by Popie, and used on the Garonne at Agen, appears to be a modification of the old bag and spoon arrangement. A flat-bottomed boat 51½ ft. long by 6½ ft. wide was fitted at the bow with paddles, which were actuated by the tide. Connected with the paddles was a long chain, passing over a pulley on uprights and under a roller, and a beam was attached to the chain 14 ft. 8 in. long, passing through a hole in the deck. At the end of the beam was an iron scoop 2 ft. wide and 2 ft. 6 in. deep. When the tide was strong enough it drew the scoop along by means of the paddles and chains, and the scoop when filled was opened by a lever and discharged. About 65 cub. yds. of gravel could be raised by the apparatus in 12 hours. When the tide failed the apparatus was worked by men.

The Danube Steam Navigation Co. removed the shingle in the shallow parts of the river by means of a triangular rake with wrought-iron sides 18 ft. long, and fitted with 34 teeth of chilled cast iron 12 in. deep. This rake was hung from the bow of a steamer 180 ft. long by 21 ft. beam, and dragged across the shallows, increasing the depth of water in one instance from 5 ft. 6 in. to 9 ft., after passing over the bank 355 times.

A combination of a harrow and high pressure water jets, arranged by B. Tydeman, was found very efficacious in removing a large 568 quantity of mud which accumulated in the Tilbury Dock basin, which has an area of about 17 acres, with a depth of 26 ft. at low-water spring tides. In the first instance chain harrows merely were used, but the addition of the water jets added materially to the success of the operation. The system accomplished in six tides more than was done in twelve tides without the water jets which worked at about 80 lb pressure per sq. in. at the bottom of the dock.

Ive’s excavator consists of a long weighted spear, with a sort of spade at the end of it. The spade is hinged at the top, and is capable of being turned at right angles to the spear by a chain attached to the end of the spear. The spade is driven into the ground, and after releasing the catch which holds it in position during its descent, it is drawn up at right angles to the spear by the chain, carrying the material with it. Milroy’s excavator is similar, but instead of having only one spade it generally has eight, united to the periphery of an octagonal iron frame fixed to a central vertical rod. When these eight spades are drawn up by means of chains, they form one flat table or tray at right angles to the central rod. In operation the spades hang vertically, and are dropped into the material to be excavated; the chains are then drawn up, and the table thus formed holds the material on the top, which is lifted and discharged by releasing the spade. This apparatus has been extensively used both in Great Britain and in India for excavating in bridge cylinders.

The clam shell dredger consists of two hinged buckets, which when closed form one semi-cylindrical bucket. The buckets are held open by chains attached to the top of a cross-head, and the machine is dropped on to the top of the material to be dredged. The chains holding the bucket open are then released, while the spears are held firmly in position, the buckets being closed by another chain. Bull’s dredger, Gatmell’s excavator, and Fouracre’s dredger are modifications with improvements of the clam shell dredger, and have all been used successfully upon various works.

Bruce & Batho’s dredger, when closed, is of hemispherical form, the bucket being composed of three or four blades. It can be worked by either a single chain or by means of a spear, the latter being generally used for stiff material. The advantage of this form of dredger bucket is that the steel points of the blades are well adapted for penetrating hard material. Messrs Bruce & Batho also designed a dredger consisting of one of these buckets, but worked entirely by hydraulic power. This was made for working on the Tyne. The excavator or dredger is fixed to the end of a beam which is actuated by two hydraulic cylinders, one being used for raising the bucket and the other for lowering it; the hydraulic power is supplied by the pumps in the engine-room. The novelty in the design is the ingenious way in which the lever in ascending draws the shoot under the bucket to receive its contents, and draws away again as the bucket descends. The hydraulic cylinder at the end of the beam is carried on gimbals to allow for irregularities on the surface being dredged. The hydraulic pressure is 700 ℔ per sq. in., and the pumps are used in connexion with a steam accumulator.

An unloading apparatus was designed by Mr A. Manning for the East & West India Dock Co. for unloading the dredged materials out of barges and delivering it on the marsh at the back of the bank of the river Thames at Crossness, Kent. A stage constructed of wooden piles commanded a series of barge beds, and the unloading dredger running from end to end of the stage, lifted and delivered the materials on the marsh behind the river wall at the cost of 1 d. per cub. yd.

Dredging on the River Scheldt below Antwerp.—This dredging took place at Krankeloon and the Belgian Sluis under the direction of L. Van Gansberghe. At Melsele there is a pronounced bend in the river, causing a bar at the Pass of Port Philip, and just below the pass of Lillo there is a cross-over in the current, making a neutral point and forming a shoal. After dredging to 8 metres (26.24 ft.) below low tide, in clay containing stone and ferruginous matter, a sandstone formation was encountered, which was very compact and difficult to raise. A suction dredger being unsuited to the work, a bucket-ladder dredger was employed. The dredging was commenced at Krankeloon in September 1894 and continued to the end of 1897. A depth of 6 metres (19.68 ft.) was excavated at first, but was afterwards increased to 8 metres (26.24 ft.). The place of deposit was at first on lands acquired by the State, 2.17 m. above Krankeloon, and placed at the disposal of the contractor. The dredgings excavated by the bucket-ladder dredger were deposited in scows, which were towed to the front of the deposit ground and discharged by a suction pump fixed in a special boat, moored close to the bank of the river. The material brought by the suction dredger in its own hull was discharged by a plant fixed upon the dredger itself. In both instances the material was deposited at a distance of 1640 ft. from the river, the spoil bank varying in depth from 2 to 7 metres. The water thrown out behind the dyke with the excavated material returned to the river, after settlement, by a special discharge lock built under the dyke. After 1896 the material was delivered into an abandoned pass by means of barges with bottom hopper doors or by the suction dredger. One suction dredger and three bucket-ladder dredgers were employed upon the work, and a vessel called “Scheldt I.” used for discharging the material from the scows. Four tugboats and twenty scows were also employed.

The largest dredger, “Scheldt III.,” was 147.63 ft. long by 22.96 ft. wide by 10.98 ft. deep, and had buckets of 21.18 cub. ft. capacity. The output per hour was 10,594 cub. ft. This dredger had also a complete installation as a suction dredger, the suction pipe being 2 ft. diameter. The fan of the centrifugal pump was 5.25 ft. diameter, and was driven by the motor of the bucket ladder. The three bucket dredgers worked with head to the ebb tide. They could also work with head to the flood tide, but it took so long a time to turn them about that it was impracticable. The work was for from 13 to 14 hours a day on the ebb tide. The effective daily excavation averaged 4839 cub. yds. Each dredger was fitted with six anchors. The excavated cut was 164 ft. wide by 6.56 ft. deep. “Scheldt III.” was capable of lifting a mass 9.84 ft. thick. The suction dredger “Scheldt II.” was of the multiple type, and is stated to be unique in construction. It can discharge material from a scow alongside, fill its own hopper with excavations, discharge its own load upon the bank or into a scow by different pipes provided for the purpose, and discharge its own load through hopper doors. The machinery is driven by a triple expansion engine of 300 i.h.p. working the propeller by a clutch. Owing to the rise and fall in the tide of 23 ft. the suction pipe is fitted with spherical joints and a telescopic arrangement. The vessel is 157.5 ft. by 28.2 ft. by 12.8 ft. The diameter of the pump is 5.25 ft. The wings of the pump are curved, the surface being in the form of a cylinder parallel to the axis of rotation, the directrix of which is an arc of a circle of 2.62 ft. radius with the straight part beyond. The suction and discharge pipes are 2 ft. diameter. A centrifugal pump is provided for throwing water into the scows to liquefy the material during discharge. The dredger, which is fitted with electric lights for work at night, is held by two anchors, to prevent lurching backwards and forwards; it can work on the flood as well as on the ebb tide, and can excavate to a depth of 42.65 ft., the output depending upon the nature of the material. With good material it can fill its tanks in thirty minutes. To empty the tanks by suction and discharge upon the bank over the dyke takes about fifty minutes, depending upon the height and distance to which the material requires to be delivered. The daily work has averaged eighteen hours, ten trips being made when the distance from the dredging ground to the point of delivery is about 1 m. When the dredged material is discharged into the Scheldt, a quantity of 5886 cub. yds. has been raised and deposited in a day, the mean quantity being 4700 cub. yds. When the distance of transportation is increased to 2½ m., six voyages were made in a day, and the day’s work amounted to 3530 cub. yds.

Fig. 2.—Diagram showing Action of Lobnitz Gold Dredger.

Gold Dredgers.—Dredgers for excavating from river beds soil containing gold are generally fitted with a screen and elevator. They have been extensively designed and built by Messrs Lobnitz & Co. (fig. 2) and also by Messrs Hunter & English.

The writer is indebted to the Proceedings of the Institution of Civil Engineers, and especially to the paper of Mr J. J. Webster (Proc. Inst. C.E. vol. 89), for much valuable information upon the subject treated. He is also indebted to many manufacturers who have furnished him with particulars and photographs of dredging plant.

(W. H.*)

Plate I.

Fig. 3.—Barge-loading dredger, “St Austell,” constructed for the British Government by Wm. Simons & Co. Fig. 4.—Stern-well hopper-dredger “La Puissante,” by Wm. Simons & Co. Length 275 ft., breadth 47 ft., depth 19 ft.
Fig. 5.—Dredger constructed for the Lake Copais Co. by Hunter & English. Fig. 6.—Light-draught dredger, with delivery apparatus working round an arc of 210°, by Hunter & English.
Fig. 7.—Twin-screw sand-pump dredger, “Kate,” built for the East London Harbour Board by Wm. Simons & Co. Fig. 8.—Twin-screw hopper-dredger, “Percy Sanderson,” built for the European Danube Commission by Wm. Simons & Co.
Fig. 9.—Twin-screw grab-dredger, “Miles K. Burton,” built for the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board by Wm. Simons & Co. Fig. 10.—Hopper-dredger, “David Dale,” with buckets of 54 cub. ft. capacity (see fig. 11) built for the North Eastern Railway Company by Lobnitz & Co.

Plate II.

The latter, the largest ever made, were for the hopper-dredger “David Dale” (Plate I. fig. 10), built by Lobnitz & Co.
Built for special work on the Suez Canal by Lobnitz & Co. Length 180 ft., breadth 40 ft., depth 12 ft.

2. Marine Biology

The naturalist’s dredge is an instrument consisting essentially of a net or bag attached to a framework of iron which forms the mouth of the net. When in use as the apparatus is drawn over the sea-bottom mouth forwards, some part of the framework passes beneath objects which it meets and so causes them to 569 enter the net. It is intended for the collection of animals and plants living on or near the sea-bottom, or sometimes of specimens of the sea-bottom itself, for scientific purposes.

Until the middle of the 18th century, naturalists who studied the marine fauna and flora relied for their materials on shore collection and the examination of the catches of fishing boats. Their knowledge of creatures living below the level of low spring tides was thus gained only from specimens cast up in storms, or caught by fishing gear designed for the capture of certain edible species only. The first effort made to free marine biology from these limitations was the use of the dredge, which was built much on the plan of the oyster dredge.

Fig. 13.—Otho Frederick Müller’s Dredge (1770).

The Oyster Dredge.—At first naturalists made use of the ordinary oyster dredge, which is constructed as follows. The frame is an iron triangle, the sides being the round iron “arms” of the dredge, the base a flat bar called the shere or lip, which is sloped a little, not perpendicular to the plane of the triangle; an iron bar parallel to the base joins the arms. The net is fastened to the parallel bars and the portion of the arms between them, and consists of two parts: that attached to the shere is of round iron rings linked together by smaller ones of wire lashings, that attached to the upper bar is of ordinary network. Where these two portions of the bag meet a wooden beam is fastened. In use the frame is towed forward by its apex: the shere passes below oysters, &c., which pass back on to the iron netting. The length of each side of the triangular frame is about 6 ft., the width of the shere 3 in. and the height of the mouth just under a foot. The rings vary in size, but are usually some 2½ in. in diameter. The weight is about 60 ℔. This dredge was soon abandoned: its weight was prohibitive for small boats, from which the naturalist usually worked, its wide rings allowed precious specimens to fall through, and its shallow net favoured the washing out of light objects on hauling through the moving water of the surface. Moreover, it sometimes fell on its back and was then useless, although when the apex or towing point was weighted no great skill is needed to avoid this.

Otho Müller used a dredge (fig. 13) consisting of a net with a square iron mouth, each of whose sides was furnished with a thin edge turned slightly away from the dredge’s centre. As any one of these everted lips could act as a scraper it was a matter of indifference which struck the bottom when the dredge was lowered. The chief defect of the instrument was the ease with which light objects could be washed out on hauling, owing to the size of the mouth. However, with this instrument Müller obtained from the often stormy Scandinavian seas all the material for his celebrated Zoologia Danica, a description of the marine fauna of Denmark and Norway which was published with excellent coloured plates in 1778; and historical interest attaches to the dredge as the first made specially for scientific work.

Ball’s Dredge.—About 1838 a dredge devised by Dr Ball of Dublin was introduced. It has been used all over the world, and is so apt for its purpose that it has suffered very little modification during its 70 years of life. It is known as Ball’s dredge or more generally simply “the dredge.”

Fig. 14.—Ball’s Naturalist’s Dredge.

Ball’s dredge (fig. 14) consists of a rectangular net attached to a rectangular frame much longer than high, and furnished with rods stretching from the four corners to meet at a point where they are attached to the dredge rope. It differs from Müller’s dredge in the slit-like shape of the opening, which prevents much of the “washing out” suffered by the earlier pattern, and in the edges. The long edges only are fashioned as scrapers, being wider and heavier than Müller’s, especially in later dredges. The short edges are of round iron bar.

Like Müller’s form, Ball’s dredge will act whichever side touches the bottom first, as its frame will not remain on its short edge, and either of the long edges acts as a scraper. The scraping lips thicken gradually from free edge to net; they are set at 110° to the plane of the mouth, and in some later patterns curve outwards instead of merely sloping. All dredge frames are of wrought iron.

The thick inner edges of the scrapers are perforated by round holes at distances of about an inch, and through these strong iron rings about an inch in diameter are passed, and two or three similar rings run on the short rods which form the ends of the dredge-frame. A light iron rod, bent to the form of the dredge opening, usually runs through these rings, and to this rod and to the rings the mouth of the dredge-bag is securely attached by stout cord or strong copper wire. Various materials have been used for the bag, the chief of which are hide, canvas and netting. The hide was recommended by its strength, but it is now abandoned. Canvas bags fill quickly with mud or sand and then cease to operate: on the other hand wide mesh net fails to retain small specimens. Probably the most suitable material is hand-made netting of very strong twine, the meshes half an inch to the side, the inter-spaces contracting to a third of an inch across when the twine is thoroughly soaked, with an open canvas or “bread-bag” lining to the last 6 in. of the net. A return to canvas covering has latterly occurred in the small dredge called the mud-bag, trailed behind the trawl of the “Albatross” for obtaining a sample of the bottom, and in the conical dredge.

The dimensions of the first dredges were as follows: Frame about 12 in. by about 4 in.; scraping lips about 2 in. wide; all other iron parts of round iron bar 58 in. diameter; bag rather more than 1 ft. long. These small dredges were used from rowing boats. Larger dredges were subsequently made for use from yawls or cutters. The mouth of these was 18 by 5 in., the scraping lips about 2 in. wide and bag 2 ft. deep; such a dredge weighs about 20 ℔. The dredge of the “Challenger” had a frame 4 ft. 6 in. by 1 ft. 3 in. and the bag had a length of 4 ft. 6 in.; the “Porcupine” used a dredge of the same size weighing 225 ℔. Doubtless the size of Ball’s dredge would have grown still more had it not been proved by the “Challenger” expedition that for many purposes trawls could be used advantageously instead of dredges.

Operation of the Dredge from Small Vessels. For work round the coasts of Europe, at depths attainable from a row-boat or yawl, probably the best kind of line is bolt-rope of the best Russian hemp, not less than 1½ in. in circumference, containing 18 to 20 yarns in 3 strands. Each yarn should be nearly a hundredweight, so that the breaking strain of such a rope ought to be about a ton. Of course it is never voluntarily exposed to such a strain, but in shallow water the dredge is often caught among rocks or coral, and the rope should be strong enough in such a case to bring up the boat, even if there were some little way on. It is always well, when dredging, to ascertain the approximate depth with the lead before casting the dredge; and the lead ought always to be accompanied by a registering thermometer, for the subsequent haul of the dredge will gain greatly in value as an observation in geographical distribution, if it be accompanied by an accurate note of the bottom temperature. For depths under 100 fathoms the amount of rope paid out should be at least double the depth; under 30 fathoms, where one usually works more rapidly, it should be more nearly three times; this gives a good deal of slack before the dredge if the boat be moving very slowly, and keeps the lip of the dredge well down. When there is anything of a current, from whatever cause, it is usually convenient to attach a weight, varying from 14 ℔ to half a hundredweight, to the rope 3 or 4 fathoms in front of the dredge. This prevents in some degree the lifting of the mouth of the dredge; if the weight be attached nearer the dredge it is apt to injure delicate objects passing in.

In dredging in sand or mud, the dredge-rope may simply be passed through the double eye formed by the ends of the two arms of the dredge-frame; but in rocky or unknown ground it is better to fasten the rope to the eye of one of the arms only, and to tie the two eyes together with three or four turns of rope-yarn. This stop breaks much more readily than the dredge-rope, so that if the dredge get caught it is the first thing to give way under the strain, and in doing so it often alters the position of the dredge so as to allow of its extrication.

The dredge is slipped gently over the side, either from the bow or from the stern—in a small boat more usually the latter—while there is a little way on, and the direction which the rope takes indicates roughly whether the dredge is going down properly. When it reaches the ground and begins to scrape, an experienced hand upon the rope can usually detect at once a tremor given to the dredge by the scraper passing over the irregularities of the bottom. The due amount of rope is then paid out, and the rope hitched to a bench or rowlock-pin. The boat should move very slowly, probably not faster than a mile an hour. In still water or with a very slight current the dredge of course anchors the boat, and oars or sails are necessary; but if the boat be moving at all it is all that is required. It is perhaps 570 most pleasant to dredge with a close-reefed sail before a light wind, with weights, against a very slight tide or current; but these are conditions which cannot be commanded. The dredge may remain down from a quarter of an hour to twenty minutes, by which time, if things go well, it ought to be fairly filled. In dredging from a small boat the simplest plan is for two or three men to haul in, hand over hand, and coil in the bottom of the boat. For a large yawl or yacht, and for depths over 50 fathoms, a winch is a great assistance. The rope takes a couple of turns round the winch, which is worked by two men, while a third hand takes it from the winch and coils it down.

It is easier to operate a dredge from a steam vessel than a sailing boat, but if the steamer is of any size great care should be taken that the dredge does not move too rapidly.

Two ingenious cases of dredging under unusual conditions are worthy of mention, one case from shore, one from ice. In the Trondligem Fjord, Canon A. M. Norman in 1890 worked by hauling the dredge up the precipitous shores of the fjord. The dredge was shot from a boat close to the shore, to which after paying out some hundreds of fathoms of line it returned. The dredge was then hauled from the top of the cliffs up whose side it scraped. Hitches against projecting rocks were frequent and were overcome by suddenly paying out line for a time. The dredge was lifted into a boat when it reached the surface of the sea. The other case occurred during the Antarctic expedition of the “Discovery.” Hodgson dropped loops of line along cracks which occasionally formed in the ice. The ice always joined up again, but with the line below it; and a hole being cleared at each place at which the end of the line emerged, the dredge could be worked between them.

The dredge comes up variously freighted according to the locality, and the next step is to examine its contents and to store the objects of search for future use. In a regularly organized dredging expedition a frame or platform is often erected with a ledge round it to receive the contents of the dredge, but it does well enough to capsize it on an old piece of tarpaulin. There are two ways of emptying the dredge; we may either turn it up and pour out its contents by the mouth, or we may have a contrivance by which the bottom of the bag is made to unlace. The first plan is the simpler and the one more usually adopted; the second has the advantage of letting the mass slide out more smoothly and easily, but the lacing introduces rather a damaging complication, as it is apt to loosen or give way. Any objects visible on the surface of the heap are now carefully removed, and placed for identification in jars or tubs of sea-water, of which there should be a number secured in some form of bottle basket, standing ready. The heap should not be much disturbed, for the delicate objects contained in it have already been unavoidably subjected to a good deal of rough usage, and the less friction among the stones the better.

Examination of the Catch. Sifting.—The sorting of the catch is facilitated by sifting. The sieves used in early English expeditions were of various sizes and meshes, each sieve having a finer mesh than the sieve smaller than itself. In use the whole were put together in the form of a nest, the smallest one with the coarsest mesh being on top. A little of the dredge’s contents were then put in the top sieve, and the whole set moved gently up and down in a tub of sea water by handles attached to the bottom one. Objects of different sizes are thus left in different sieves. A simple but effective plan is to let the sieves of various sized mesh fit accurately on each other like lids, the coarsest on top, and to pour water upon material placed on the top one. In the United States Bureau of Fisheries ship “Albatross” these sieves are raised to form a table and the water is led on them from a hose: the very finest objects or sediments are retained by the waste water escaping from a catchment tub by muslin bags let into its sides. Any of these methods are preferable to sifting by the agitation of a sieve hung over the side, as in the last anything passing through the sieve is gone past recall.

Preservation of Specimens.—The preservation of specimens will of course depend on the purpose for which they are intended. For microscopic observation formaldehyde has some advantages. It can be stored in 40% solution and used in 2%, thus saving space, and it preserves many animals in their colours for a time: formalin preparations do not, however, last as well as do those in spirit. The suitable fluids for various histological inquiries are beyond the scope of the present article; but for general marine histology Bles’ fluid is useful, being simple to prepare and not necessitating the removal of the specimen to another fluid. It is composed of 70% alcohol 90 parts, glacial acetic acid 7 parts, 4% formaldehyde 7 parts.

The scientific value of a dredging depends mainly upon two things, the care with which the objects procured are preserved and labelled for future identification and reference, and the accuracy with which all the circumstances of the dredging—the position, the depth, the nature of the ground, the date, the bottom-temperature, &c.—are recorded. In the British Marine Biological Association’s work in the North Sea, a separate sheet of a printed book with carbon paper and duplicate sheets (which remain always on the ship) is used for the record of the particulars of each haul; depth, gear, &c., being filled into spaces indicated in the form. This use of previously prepared forms has been found to be a great saving of time and avoids risk of omission. Whether labelled externally or not, all bottles should contain parchment or good paper labels written with a soft pencil. These cannot be lost. The more fully details of reference number of station, gear, date, &c., are given the better, as should a mistake be made in one particular it can frequently be traced and rectified by means of the rest.

Growth of Scope of Operations.—At the Birmingham meeting of the British Association in 1839 an important committee was appointed “for researches with the dredge with a view to the investigation of the marine zoology of Great Britain, the illustration of the geographical distribution of marine animals, and the more accurate determination of the fossils of the Pliocene period.” Of this committee Edward Forbes was the ruling spirit, and under the genial influence of his contagious enthusiasm great progress was made during the next decade in the knowledge of the fauna of the British seas, and many wonderfully pleasant days were spent by the original committee and by many others who from year to year were “added to their number.” Every annual report of the British Association contains communications from the English, the Scottish, or the Irish branches of the committee; and in 1850 Edward Forbes submitted its first general report on British marine zoology. This report, as might have been anticipated from the eminent qualifications of the reporter, was of the highest value; and, taken along with his remarkable memoirs previously published, “On the Distribution of the Mollusca and Radiata of the Aegean Sea,” and “On the Zoological Relations of the existing Fauna and Flora of the British Isles,” may be said to mark an era in the progress of human thought.

The dredging operations of the British Association committee were carried on generally under the idea that at the 100-fathom line, by which amateur work in small boats was practically limited, the zero of animal life was approached—a notion which was destined to be gradually undermined, and finally overthrown. From time to time, however, there were not wanting men of great skill and experience to maintain, with Sir James Clark Ross, that “from however great a depth we may be enabled to bring up mud and stones of the bed of the ocean we shall find them teeming with animal life.” Samples of the sea-bottom procured with great difficulty and in small quantity from the first deep soundings in the Atlantic, chiefly by the use of Brooke’s sounding machine, an instrument which by a neat contrivance disengaged its weights when it reached the bottom, and thus allowed a tube, so arranged as to get filled with a sample of the bottom, to be recovered by the sounding line, were eagerly examined by microscopists; and the singular fact was established that these samples consisted over a large part of the bed of the Atlantic of the entire or broken shells of certain foraminifera. Dr Wallich, the naturalist to the “Bulldog” sounding expedition under Sir Leopold M’Clintock, reported that star-fishes, with their stomachs full of the deep-sea foraminifera, had come 571 up from a depth of 1200 fathoms on a sounding line; and doubts began to be entertained whether the bottom of the sea was in truth a desert, or whether it might not present a new zoological region open to investigation and discovery, and peopled by a peculiar fauna suited to its special conditions.

In the year 1867, while the question was still undecided, two testing investigations were undertaken independently. In America Count L. F. de Pourtales (1824-1880), an officer employed in the United States Coast Survey under Benjamin Peirce, commenced a series of deep dredgings across the Gulf Stream off the coast of Florida, which were continued in the following year, and were productive of most valuable results; and in Great Britain the Admiralty, on the representation of the Royal Society, placed the “Lightning,” a small gun-vessel, at the disposal of a small committee to sound and dredge in the North Atlantic between Shetland and the Faröe Islands.

In the “Lightning,” with the help of a donkey-engine for winding in, dredging was carried on with comparative ease at a depth of 600 fathoms, and at that depth animal life was found to be still abundant. The results of the “Lightning’s” dredgings were regarded of so great importance to science that the Royal Society pressed upon the Admiralty the advantage of continuing the researches, and accordingly, during the years 1869 and 1870, the gun-boat “Porcupine” was put under the orders of a committee consisting of Dr W. B. Carpenter, Dr Gwyn Jeffreys, and Professor (afterwards Sir Charles) Wyville Thomson, one or other of whom superintended the scientific work of a series of dredging trips in the North Atlantic to the north and west of the British Islands, which occupied two summers.

In the “Porcupine,” in the summer of 1869, dredging was carried down successfully to a depth of 2435 fathoms, upwards of two miles and a half, in the Bay of Biscay, and the dredge brought up well-developed representatives of all the classes of marine invertebrates. During the cruises of the “Porcupine” the fauna of the deep water off the western coasts of Great Britain and of Spain and Portugal was tolerably well ascertained, and it was found to differ greatly from the fauna of shallow water in the same region, to possess very special characters, and to show a very marked relation to the faunae of the earlier Tertiary and the later Cretaceous periods.

In the winter of 1872, as a sequel to the preliminary cruises of the “Lightning” and “Porcupine,” by far the most considerable expedition in which systematic dredging had ever been made a special object left Great Britain. H.M.S. “Challenger,” a corvette of 2306 tons, with auxiliary steam working to 1234 h.p., was despatched to investigate the physical and biological conditions of the great ocean basins.

The “Challenger” was provided with a most complete and liberal organization for the purpose; she had powerful deck engines for hauling in the dredge, workrooms, laboratories and libraries for investigating the results on the spot, and a staff of competent naturalists to undertake such investigations and to superintend the packing and preservation of the specimens reserved for future study. Since the “Challenger” expedition the use of wire rope has enabled far smaller vessels to undertake deep sea work. The “Challenger,” however, may be said to have established the practicability of dredging at any known depth.

Operating Dredges and Trawls in deep Seas.—Dredging operations from large vessels in deep seas present numerous difficulties. The great weight of the ship makes her motion, whether of progress or rolling, irresistible to the dredge. The latter tends to jump, therefore, which both lowers its efficiency and causes it to exert a sudden strain on the dredge rope.

The efficiency or evenness of dredging was secured, therefore, by the special device of fastening a heavy weight some 200 or 300 fathoms from the dredge end of the dredge rope. This was either lowered with the dredge or sent down after by means of a “messenger,” a ring of rope fixed round, but running freely on, the dredge rope. The latter plan was used on the “Challenger”; the weights were six 28 ℔ leads in canvas covers: their descent was arrested by a toggle or wooden cross-bar previously attached to the rope at the desired point. When, however, the rope used is of wire this front weight is unnecessary.

The possibility of sudden strain necessitates a constant watching of the dredge rope, as the ship’s engines may at any moment be needed to ease the tension by stopping the vessel’s way, and the hauling engines by paying out more rope. The use of accumulators both renders the strain more gradual and gives warning of an increase or decrease; indeed they can be calibrated and used as dynamometers to measure the strain. One of the best forms of accumulator consists of a pile of perforated rubber disks, which receive the strain and become compressed in doing so. The arrangement is in essence as follows. The disks form a column resting on a cross-bar or base, from which two rods pass up one on each side of the column. Another cross-bar rests on the top disk, and from it a rod passes freely down the centre perforation of disks and base. Eyes are attached to the lower end of this rod and to a yoke connecting the side rods at the top: a pull exerted on these eyes is thus modified by the elasticity of the dredge. In the “Porcupine” and other early expeditions the accumulator was hung from the main yard arm, and the block through which the dredge rope ran suspended from it. In more recent ships a special derrick boom is rigged for this block, and a second accumulator is sometimes inserted between the topping lift by which this is raised and the end of the boom.

The margin of safety of steel wire rope is much larger than is that of hempen rope, a fact of importance both in towing in a rough sea and in hauling. Galvanized steel wire with a hempen core was first used by Agassiz on the “Blake.” He states that his wire weighed one pound per fathom, against two pounds per fathom of hempen rope, and had a breaking strain nearly twice that of hempen rope, which bore two tons. Thus in hauling the wire rope has both greater capability and less actual strain. It has also the advantages of occupying a mere fraction (19) of the storage space needed for rope, of lasting much longer, and its vibrations transmit much more rapid and minute indications of the conduct of the dredge.

Wire rope is kept wound on reels supplied with efficient brakes to check or stop its progress, and an engine is often fitted for winding it in and veering it out. From the reel it passes to the drum of the hauling engine, round which it takes some few turns; care is taken by watching or by the use of an automatic regulator (Tanner) that it is taken at a rate equal to that at which it is moving over the side. From the hauling engine it passes over leading wheels (one of which should preferably be a registering wheel and indicate the amount of rope which has passed it), and so it reaches the end of the derrick boom.

The dredge is lowered from the derrick boom, which has been previously trained over to windward so that its end is well clear of the ship, while the ship is slowly moving forward. The rope is checked until the net is seen to be towing clear, and then lowered rapidly. Where a weight is used in front of the trawl Captain Calver successfully adopted the plan of backing after sufficient line had been paid out: the part of the rope from weight to surface thus became more vertical, while the shorter remainder, previously in line with it, sank to the bottom without change of relative position of weight and dredge. The ship was then ready for towing. When no front weight is used the manœuvre is unnecessary.

There should be a relation maintained between speed of vessel onward and of rope downward, or a foul haul may result owing to the gear capsizing (in the case of a trawl), or getting the net over the mouth (in a dredge). The most satisfactory method of ensuring this relation seems to be so to manage the two speeds that the angle made by the dredge rope is fairly constant. This angle can be observed with a simple clinometer. The following table abridged from Tanner most usefully brings together the requisite angles with other useful quantities.

Depth of water. Speed of ship
while shooting
dredge or trawl.
Length of
Angle of dredge
rope while
lowering trawl.
Angle of dredge
rope while
dragging trawl.
Fathoms. Knots. Fathoms.    
 100 3   200 60 55
 200 3   400 60 55
 400 3   700 60 52
 600 1000 55 50
 800 1200 50 44
1000 1500 50 40
1500 2166 50 40
2000 2  2670 45 35
3000 2  4000 40 35


The speed of towing, always slow, may be assumed to be approximately correct if the appropriate angle is maintained. Hauling should at first be slow from great depths, but may increase in speed as the gear rises.

For further details of deep-sea dredging, especially of the hauling machinery and management of the gear, the special reports of the various expeditions must be consulted. Commander Tanner, U.S.N., has given in Deep Sea Exploration (1897) a very full and good account of the equipment of an exploring ship; and to this book the present article is much indebted.

Fig. 15.—Deep-sea Dredge, with Tangle Bar.

Modifications and Additions to the Dredge.—From 1818, when Sir John Ross brought up a fine Astrophyton from over 800 fathoms on a sounding line in Baffin’s Bay, instances gradually accumulated of specimens being obtained from great depths without nets or traps. The naturalists of the “Porcupine” and other expeditions found that echinoderms, corals and sponges were often carried up adhering to the outer surface of the dredge and the last few fathoms of dredge rope. In order to increase the effectiveness of this method of capture a bar was fastened to the bottom of the dredge, to which bunches of teased-out hemp were tied. In this way specimens of the greatest interest, and frequently of equal importance with those in the dredge bag, were obtained. The tangle bar was at first attached to the back of the net. From the “Challenger” expedition onward it has been fixed behind the net by iron bars stretching back from the short sides of the dredge frame which pass through eyes in their first ends (fig. 15). The swabs are thus unable to fold over the mouth of the dredge. Rope lashings to the lips of the dredge are sometimes added, and a weight is tied to the larger bar to keep it down.

Occasionally the tangle bar is used alone (Agassiz), and one form (Tanner) has two bars, stretching back like the side strokes of the letter A from a strong steel spring in the form of an almost complete circle. The whole is pulled forward from a spherical sinker fastened in front of the spring apex; and should the apex enter a crevice between rock masses, the side bars are closed by the pressure instead of catching and bringing up. This is said to be a very useful instrument among corals.

The Blake Dredge.—In the soft ooze which forms the bottom of deep seas the common dredge sinks and digs much too deeply for its ordinary purpose, owing partly to its chief weight bearing on the frame only, partly to its everted lips. To obviate these defects Lieutenant Commander Sigsbee of the “Blake” devised the Blake dredge. Its novel features were the frame and lips. The former was in the form of a skeleton box; that is, a rectangle of iron bars was placed at the back as well as the front or mouth of the net and four more iron bars connected the two rectangles. The lips instead of being everted were in parallel planes—those, namely, of the top and bottom of the net. The effect of this was to minimize digging and somewhat spread the incidences of the weight. Another advantage was that the net being constantly distended by its frame, and, moreover, protected top and bottom by an external shield of canvas, quite delicate specimens reached the surface uninjured. The dredge weighed 80 ℔ and was 4 ft. square and 9 in. deep.

Rake Dredges.—These are devices for collecting burrowing creatures without filling the dredge with the soil in which they live. Holt used, at Plymouth, a dredge whose side bars and lower lip were of iron, the latter armed with forward and downward pointing teeth which stirred up the sand and its denizens in front of the dredge mouth. The upper lip of the dredge was replaced by a bar of wood. The bag was of cheese-cloth or light open canvas, and the whole was of light construction. The apparatus was very useful in capturing small burrowing crustacea. The Chester rake dredge is a Blake dredge in front of which is secured a heavy iron rectangle with teeth placed almost at right angles to its long sides and in the plane of the rectangle. Each of these instruments has a width along the scraping edge of about 3 ft.

Fig. 16.—Conical Dredge being hoisted in.

Triangular and Conical Dredges.—Two other dredges are worthy of mention. The triangular dredge, much resembling Müller’s but with a triangular mouth, and hung by chains from its angles, is an old fashion now not in general use. It is, however, very useful for rocky ground. At the Plymouth marine laboratory was also devised the conical dredge (1901), the circular form being the suggestion of Garstang. This dredge (fig. 16) was intended for digging deeply. It is of wrought iron, and of the following dimensions: diameter of mouth 16 in., length 33 in., depth of ring at mouth 9 in. Its weight is 67 ℔. As at first used the spaces between the bars are closed by wire netting; if used for collecting bottom samples it is furnished with a lining of strong sail-cloth.

Its weight and the small length of edge in contact with the ground cause this dredge to dig well, and enable the user to obtain many objects which though quite common are of rare occurrence in an ordinary dredge. Thus on the Brown Ridges, a fishing-ground west of Holland, although Donax vittalus is known from examination of fish stomachs to be abundant, it is rarely taken except in the conical dredge: the same is true of Echinocyamus pusillus, which is in many parts of the North Sea abundant in bottom samples and in no ordinary dredgings. With the sail-cloth lining the conical dredge fills in about 10 minutes on most ground, and no material washing out of fine sediment occurs on hauling. In shallow seas such as the North Sea commercial beam and other trawls are now used as quantitative instruments in the estimation of the fish population, especially of the Pleuronectidae.

Use of Small Trawls for Dredging.—Although these trawls do not here concern us, certain adaptations of small beam trawls for biological exploration are of such identical use with the dredge, and differ from it so little in structure and size, that they may be here described.

A small beam trawl was first used from the “Challenger” (fig. 17). It was sent down in 600 fathoms off Cape St Vincent, the reason for its use being the frequency with which the dredge sank into the sea-bottom and there remained until hauling. The experiment was entirely successful. The sinking of the net was avoided, the net had a much greater spread than the dredge, and in addition to invertebrates it captured several fish. After this the trawl was frequently used instead of the dredge. Indeed tangle bar, dredge and trawl form a series which are fitted for use on the roughest, moderately rough and fairly firm, and the softest ground respectively, although the dredge can be used almost anywhere.

From Sir Charles Wyville Thomson’s Voyage of the “Challenger.” By permission of Macmillan & Co., Ltd.

Fig. 17.—Trawl of the “Challenger.”

The frame of the “Challenger” trawl consisted of a 15 ft. wooden beam which in use was drawn over the sea-bed on two runners resembling those of a sledge, by means of two ropes or bridles attached to eyes in the front of the runners or “trawl heads.” A net 30 ft. long was suspended by one side to the beam by half-a-dozen stops. The remainder of the net’s mouth was of much greater length than the beam, and was weighted with close-set rolls of sheet lead; it thus dragged along the bottom in a curve approximately to a semicircle, behind the beam. The net tapers towards the hinder end, and contains a second net with open bottom, which, reaching about three-quarters of the way down the main net, acts as a valve or pocket. Both heels (or hinder ends) of the trawl heads and the tail of the net were weighted to assist the net in digging sufficiently and to maintain its balance—an important point, since if the trawl lands on its beam the net’s mouth remains closed, and nothing is caught.

The main differences of this trawl from the dredge are the replacement of scraping lip by ground rope, the position of this ground rope 573 and the greater size of the mouth. The absence of a lip makes it less effective for burrowing and sessile creatures, but the weighted ground rope nevertheless secures them to a very surprising extent. The position of the ground rope is an important feature, as any free swimming creature not disturbed until the arrival of the ground rope cannot escape by simply rising or “striking” up. This and the greater spread make the trawl especially suitable for the collection of fishes and other swiftly moving animals. The first haul of the “Challenger” trawl brought up fishes, and most of our knowledge of fish of the greatest depths is due to it.

A tendency to return to the use of the small beam trawl for deep-sea work has lately shown itself. That used by Tanner on the “Albatross” has runners more heart-shaped than the “Challenger’s” instrument; the net is fastened to the downward and backward sloping edge of the runner as well as to the beam, being thus fixed on three sides instead of one; and a Norwegian glass float is fastened in a network cover to that part of the net which is above and in front of the ground rope in use, to assist in keeping the opening clear. These floats can stand the pressure at great depths, and do not become waterlogged as do cork floats. The largest “Albatross” trawl has a beam 11 ft. long, runners 2 ft. 5 in. high, and its frame weighs 275 ℔.

Agassiz or Blake Trawl.—This is generally considered to possess advantages over the preceding, and is decidedly better for those not experts in trawling. Its frame (fig. 18) consists of two iron runners each the shape of a capital letter D, joined by iron rods or pipes which connect the middle of each stroke with the corresponding point on the other letter. The net is a tapering one, its mouth being a strong rope bound with finer rope for protection till the whole reaches a thickness of some 2 in. It is fastened to the frame at four points only, the ends of the curved rods, and thus has a rectangular opening.

From Alexander E. Agassiz’s Three Cruises of the “Blake.” By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

Fig. 18.—Agassiz or Blake Trawl.

The chief advantage of this frame is that it does not matter in the least which side lands first on the bottom; it is to the other trawls what Ball’s dredge is to an oyster dredge. The course can also be altered during shooting or towing the Blake trawl with far greater ease than is the case with others. An Agassiz trawl very successful in the North Sea has the following dimensions: length of the connecting rods and therefore of the mouth 8 ft., height of runners and of mouth 1 ft. 9 in., extreme length of runners 2 ft., length of net 11 ft. 3 in., weight of whole trawl 94 ℔, 63 of which are due to the frame.

It is instructive to note how closely our knowledge of bottom-living forms has been associated with the instruments of capture in use. As long as small vessels were used in dredging, the belief that life was limited to the regions accessible to them was widely spread. The first known denizens of great depths were the foraminifera and few echinoderms brought up by various sounding apparatus. Next with the dredge and tangles the number of groups obtained was much greater. As soon as trawls were adopted fish began to make their appearance. The greatest gaps in our knowledge still probably occur in the large and swiftly moving forms, such as fish and cephalopods. As we can hardly hope to move apparatus swiftly over the bottom in great depths, the way in which improvement is possible probably is that of increasing the spread of the nets; and a start in this direction appears to have been made by Dr Petersen, who has devised a modified otter sieve which catches fish at all events very well, and has been operated already at considerable depths.

Of the economy of quite shallow seas, however, we are still largely ignorant. Much as has been learnt of the bionomics of the sea, it is but a commencement; and this is of course especially true of deep seas. The dredge and its kindred have, however, in less than a century enabled naturalists to compile an immense mass of knowledge of the structure, development, affinities and distribution of the animals of the sea-bed, and in the most accessible seas to produce enumerations and morphological accounts of them of some approach to completeness.

(J. O. B.)

DRELINCOURT, CHARLES (1595-1669), French Protestant divine, was born at Sedan on the 10th of July 1595. In 1618 he undertook the charge of the French Protestant church at Langres, but failed to receive the necessary royal sanction, and early in 1620 he removed to Paris, where he was nominated minister of the Reformed Church at Charenton. He was the author of a large number of works in devotional and polemical theology, several of which had great influence. His Catechism (Catéchisme ou instruction familière, 1652) and his Christian’s Defense against the Fears of Death (Consolations de l’âme fidèle contre les frayeurs de la mort, 1651) became well known in England by means of translations, which were very frequently reprinted. It has been said that Daniel Defoe wrote his fiction of Mrs Veal (A True Relation of the Apparition of Mrs Veal), who came from the other world to recommend the perusal of Drelincourt on Death, for the express purpose of promoting the sale of an English translation of the Consolations; Defoe’s contribution is added to the fourth edition of the translation (1706). Another popular work of his was Les Visites charitables pour toutes sortes de personnes affligées (1669). Drelincourt’s controversial works were numerous. Directed entirely against Roman Catholicism, they did much to strengthen and consolidate the Protestant party in France. He died on the 3rd of November 1669.

Several of his sons were distinguished as theologians or physicians. Laurent (1626-1681) became a pastor, and was the author of Sonnets chrétiens sur divers sujets (1677); Charles (1633-1697) was professor of physic at the university of Leiden, and physician to the prince of Orange; Peter (1644-1722) was ordained a priest in the Church of England, and became dean of Armagh.

DRENTE, a province of Holland, bounded N. and N.E. by Groningen, S.E. by the Prussian province of Hanover, S. and S.W. by Overysel, and N.W. by Friesland; area, 1128 sq. m.; pop. (1900) 149,551. The province of Drente is a sandy plateau forming the kernel of the surrounding provinces. The soil consists almost entirely of sand and gravel, and is covered with bleak moorland, patches of wood, and fen. This is only varied by the strip of fertile clay and grass-land which is found along the banks of the rivers, and by the areas of high fen in the south-eastern corner and on the western borders near Assen. The surface of the province is a gentle slope from the south-west towards the north-east, where it terminates in the long ridge of hills known as the Hondsrug (Dog’s Back) extending along the eastern border into Groningen. The watershed of the province runs from east to west across the middle of the province, along the line of the Orange canal. The southern streams are all collected at two points on the southern borders, namely, at Meppel and Koevorden, whence they communicate with the Zwarte Water and the Vecht respectively by means of the Meppeler Diep and the Koevorden canal. The Steenwyker Aa, however, enters the Zuider Zee independently. The northern rivers all flow into Groningen. The piles of granite rocks somewhat in the shape of cromlechs which are found scattered about this province, and especially along the western edge of the Hondsrug, have long been named Hunebedden, from a popular superstition that they were “Huns’ beds.” Possibly the word originally meant “beds of the dead,” or tombs.

Two industries have for centuries been associated with the barren heaths and sodden fens so usually found together on the sand-grounds, namely, the cultivation of buckwheat and peat-digging. The work is conducted on a regular system of fen colonization, the first operation being directed towards the drainage of the country. This is effected by means of drainage canals cut at regular intervals and connected by means of cross ditches. These draining ditches all have their issue in a main drainage canal, along which the transport of the peat and peat-litter takes place and the houses of the colonists are built. The heathlands when sufficiently drained are prepared for cultivation by being cut into sods and burnt. This system appears to have been practised already at the end of the 17th century. After eight years, however, the soil becomes exhausted, and twenty to thirty years are required for its refertilization. The cultivation of buckwheat on these grounds has decreased, and large areas which were formerly thus treated now lie waste. Potatoes, rye, oats, beans and peas are also largely cultivated. In connexion with the cultivation of potatoes, factories are established for making spirits, treacle, potato-meal, and straw-paper. 574 Furthermore, agriculture is everywhere accompanied on the sand-grounds by the rearing of sheep and cattle, which assist in fertilizing the soil. Owing to the meagreness of their food these animals are usually thin and small, but are quickly restored when placed on richer grounds. The breeding of pigs is also widely practised on the sand-grounds, as well as forest culture. Of the fen-colonies in Drente the best known are those of Frederiksoord and Veenhuizen.

Owing to the general condition of poverty which prevailed after the French evacuation in the second decade of the 19th century, attention was turned to the means of industry offered by the unreclaimed heath-lands in the eastern provinces, and in 1818 the Society of Charity (Maatschappij van Weldadigheid) was formed with Count van den Bosch at its head. This society began by establishing the free agricultural colony of Frederiksoord, about 10 m. N. of Meppel, named after Prince Frederick, son of William I., king of the Netherlands. An industrious colonist could purchase a small farm on the estate and make himself independent in two years. In addition to this, various industries were set on foot for the benefit of those who were not capable of field work, such as mat and rope making, and jute and cotton weaving. In later times forest culture was added, and the Gerard Adriaan van Swieten schools of forestry, agriculture and horticulture were established by Major van Swieten in memory of his son. A Reformed and a Roman Catholic church are also attached to the colony. To this colony the Society of Charity later added the adjoining colonies of Willemsoord and Kolonie VII. in Overysel, and Wilhelminasoord partly in Friesland. The colony of Veenhuizen lies about 7 m. N.W. of Assen, and was founded by the same society in 1823. In 1859, however, the Veenhuizen estates were sold to the government for the purpose of a penal establishment for drunkards and beggars.

Owing to its geographical isolation, the development of Drente has remained behind that of every other province in the Netherlands, and there are few centres of any importance, either agricultural or industrial. Hence the character and customs of the people have remained peculiarly conservative. Assen is the chief town. In the south Meppel and Koevorden absorb the largest amount of trade. Hoogeveen, situated between these two, owes its origin to the fen reclamation which was begun here in 1625 by Baron van Echten. In the following year it was erected into a barony which lasted till 1795. The original industry has long since moved onwards to other parts, but the town remains a prosperous market centre, and has a considerable industrial activity. Extensive fir woods have been laid out in the neighbourhood. Zuidlaren is a picturesque village at the northern end of the Hondsrug, with an important market. The railway from Amsterdam to Groningen traverses Drente; branch lines connect Meppel with Leeuwarden and Assen with Delfzÿl.

History.—The early history of Drente is obscure. That it was inhabited at a remote date is proved by the prehistoric sepulchral mounds, the Hunebedden already mentioned. In the 5th and 6th centuries the country was overrun by Saxon tribes, and later on was governed by counts under the Frankish and German kings. Of these only three are recorded, Eberhard (943-944), Balderic (1006) and Temmo (1025). In 1046 the emperor Henry III. gave the countship to the bishop and chapter of Utrecht, who governed it through the burgrave, or châtelain, of Koevorden, a dignity which became hereditary after 1143 in the family of Ludolf or Roelof, brother of Heribert of Bierum, bishop of Utrecht (1138-1150). This family became extinct in the male line about 1232, and was succeeded by Henry I. of Borculo (1232-1261), who had married the heiress of Roelof III. of Koevorden. In 1395 Reinald IV. (d. 1410) of Borculo-Koevorden was deposed by Bishop Frederick of Utrecht, and the country was henceforth administered by an episcopal official (amptman), who was, however, generally a native. With its popularly elected assembly of twenty-four Etten (jurati) Drente remained practically independent. This state of things continued till 1522, when it was conquered by Duke Charles of Gelderland, from whom it was taken by the emperor Charles V. in 1536, and became part of the Habsburg dominions.

Drente took part in the revolt of the Netherlands, and being a district covered by waste heath and moor was, on account of its poverty and sparse population, not admitted into the union as a separate province, and it had no voice in the assembly of the states-general. It was subdued by the Spaniards in 1580, but reconquered by Maurice of Nassau in 1594. During the years that followed, Drente, though unrepresented in the states-general, retained its local independence and had its own stadtholder. William Louis of Nassau-Siegen (d. 1620) held that office, and it was held later by Maurice, Frederick Henry, William II. and William III., princes of Orange. At the general assembly of 1651 Drente put forward its claim to admission as a province, but was not admitted. After the deaths of William II. (1650) and of William III. (1702) Drente remained for a term of years without a stadtholder, but in 1722 William Charles Henry of the house of Nassau-Siegen, who, through the extinction of the elder line, had become prince of Orange, was elected stadtholder. His descendants held that office, which was declared hereditary, until the French conquest in 1795. In the following year Drente at length obtained the privilege, which it had long sought, of being reckoned as an eighth province with representation in the states-general. Between 1806 and 1813 Drente, with the rest of the Netherlands, was incorporated in the French empire, and, with part of Groningen, formed the department of Ems Occidental. With the accession of William I. as king of the Netherlands it was restored to its old position as a province of the new kingdom.

DRESDEN, a city of Germany, capital of the kingdom of Saxony, 71 m. E.S.E. from Leipzig and 111 m. S. from Berlin by railway. It lies at an altitude of 402 ft. above the Baltic, in a broad and pleasant valley on both banks of the Elbe. The prospect of the city with its cupolas, towers, spires and the copper green roofs of its palaces, as seen from the distance, is one of striking beauty. On the left bank of the river are the Altstadt (old town) with four old suburbs and numerous new suburbs, and the Friedrichstadt (separated from the Altstadt by a long railway viaduct); on the right, the Neustadt (new town), Antonstadt, and the modern military suburb Alberstadt. Five fine bridges connect the Altstadt and Neustadt. The beautiful central bridge—the Alte or Augustusbrücke—with 16 arches, built in 1727-1731, and 1420 ft. long, has been demolished (1906) and replaced by a wider structure. Up-stream are the two modern Albert and Königin Carola bridges, and, down-stream, the Marien and the Eisenbahn (railway) bridges. The streets of the Alstadt are mostly narrow and somewhat gloomy, those of the Neustadt more spacious and regular.

On account of its delightful situation and the many objects of interest it contains, Dresden is often called “German Florence,” a name first applied to it by the poet Herder. The richness of its art treasures, the educational advantages it offers, and its attractive surroundings render it a favourite resort of people with private means. There are a large number of foreign residents, notably Austro-Hungarians and Russians, and also a considerable colony of English and Americans, the latter amounting to about 1500. The population of the city on the 1st of December 1905 was 516,996, of whom 358,776 lived on the left bank (Altstadt) and 158,220 on the right (Neustadt). The royal house belongs to the Roman Catholic confession, but the bulk of the inhabitants are Lutheran Protestants.

Dresden is the residence of the king, the seat of government for the kingdom of Saxony, and the headquarters of the XII. (Saxon) Army Corps. Within two decades (1880-1900) the capital almost at a single bound advanced into the front rank of German commercial and industrial towns; but while gaining in prosperity it has lost much of its medieval aspect. Old buildings in the heart of the Altstadt have been swept away, and their place occupied by modern business houses and new streets. Among the public squares in the Altstadt must be mentioned the magnificent Theaterplatz, with a fine equestrian statue of King John, by Schilling; the Altmarkt, with a monument commemorative of the war of 1870-71; the Neumarkt, with a bronze statue of King Frederick Augustus II., by E. J. Hähnel; 575 the Postplatz, adorned by a Gothic fountain, by Semper; and the Bismarckplatz in the Anglo-American quarter. In the Neustadt are the market square, with a bronze equestrian statue of Augustus the Strong; the Kaiser Wilhelmplatz; and the Albertplatz. The continuous Schloss-, See- and Prager-Strasse, and the Wilsdruffer- and König Johann-Strasse are the main streets in the Altstadt, and the Hauptstrasse in the Neustadt.

The most imposing churches include the Roman Catholic Hofkirche, built (1739-1751) by C. Chiaveri, in rococo style, with a tower 300 ft. high. It contains a fine organ by Silbermann and pictures by Raphael Mengs and other artists, the outside being adorned with 59 statues by Mattielli. On the Neumarkt is the Frauenkirche, with a stone cupola rising to the height of 311 ft.; close to the Altmarkt, the Kreuzkirche, rebuilt after destruction by fire in 1897, also with a lofty tower surmounted by a cupola; and near the Postplatz the Sophienkirche, with twin spires. In the Neustadt is the Dreikönigskirche (dating from the 18th century) with a high pinnacled tower. Among more modern churches may be mentioned: in the Altstadt, the Johanneskirche, with a richly decorated interior; the Lukaskirche; and the Trinitatiskirche; and in the Neustadt, the Martin Luther-Kirche and the new garrison church. Apart from the chapels in the royal palaces, Dresden contains in all 32 churches, viz. 21 Evangelical, 6 Roman Catholic, a Reformed, a Russian, an English (erected by Gilbert Scott) with a graceful spire, a Scottish (Presbyterian), and an American (Episcopal) church, the last a handsome building, with a pretty parsonage attached.

Of secular buildings, the most noteworthy are grouped in the Altstadt near the river. The royal palace, built in 1530-1535 by Duke George (and thus called Georgenschloss), was thoroughly restored, and in some measure rebuilt between 1890 and 1902, in German Renaissance style, and is now an exceedingly handsome structure. The Georgentor has been widened, and through it, and beneath the royal apartments, vehicular traffic from the centre of the town is directed to the Augustusbrücke. The whole is surmounted by a lofty tower—387 ft.—the highest in Dresden. The interior is splendidly decorated. In the palace chapel are pictures by Rembrandt, Nicolas Poussin, Guido Reni and Annibale Caracci. The adjoining Prinzen-Palais on the Taschenberg, built in 1715, has a fine chapel, in which are various works of S. Torelli; it has also a library of 20,000 volumes. The Zwinger, begun in 1711, and built in the rococo style, forms an enclosure, within which is a statue of King Frederick Augustus I. It was intended to be the vestibule to a palace, but now contains a number of collections of great value. Until 1846 it was open at the north side; but this space has since been occupied by the museum, a beautiful Renaissance building, the exterior of which is adorned by statues of Michelangelo, Raphael, Giotto, Dante, Goethe and other artists and poets by Rietschel and Hähnel, and it contains the famous picture gallery. The Brühl palace, built in 1737 by Count Brühl, the minister of Augustus II., has been in some measure demolished to make room for the new Ständehaus (diet house), with its main façade facing the Hofkirche; before the main entrance there is an equestrian statue (1906) of King Albert. Close by is the Brühl Terrace, approached by a fine flight of steps, on which are groups, by Schilling, representing Morning, Evening, Day and Night. The terrace commands a view of the Elbe and the distant heights of Loschwitz and the Weisser Hirsch, but the prospect has of late years become somewhat marred, owing to the extension of the town up the river and to the two new up-stream bridges. The Japanese palace in the Neustadt, built in 1715 as a summer residence for Augustus II., receives its name from certain oriental figures with which it is decorated; it is sometimes called the Augusteum and contains the royal library. Among other buildings of note is the Hoftheatre, a magnificent edifice in the Renaissance style, built after the designs of Semper, to replace the theatre burnt in 1869, and completed in 1878. A new town hall of huge dimensions, also in German Renaissance, with an octagon tower 400 ft. in height, stands on the former southern ramparts of the inner town, close to the Kreuzkirche. In the Altstadt the most striking of the newer edifices is the Kunstakademie, constructed from designs by K. Lipsius in the Italian Renaissance style, 1890-1894. The Albertinum, formerly the arsenal, built in 1559-1563, was rebuilt 1884-1889, and fitted up as a museum of oriental and classical antiquities, and as the depository of the state archives. On the right bank of the Elbe in Neustadt stand the fine buildings of the ministries of war, of finance, justice, the interior and education. The public monuments of Dresden also include the Moritz Monument, a relief dedicated by the elector Augustus to his brother Maurice, a statue of Weber the composer by Rietschel, a bronze statue of Theodor Körner by Hähnel, the Rietschel monument on the Brühl Terrace by Schilling, a bust of Gutzkow, and a statue of Bismarck on the promenade. In the suburbs which encircle the old town are to be noted the vast central Hauptbahnhof (1893-1898) occupying the site of the old Böhmischer railway station, the new premises of the municipal hospital and the Ausstellungs-Halle (exhibition buildings).

The chief pleasure-ground of Dresden is the Grosser Garten, in which there are a summer theatre, the Reitschel museum, and a château containing a museum of antiquities. The latter is composed chiefly of objects removed from the churches in consequence of the Reformation. Near the château is the zoological garden, formed in 1860, and excellently arranged. A little to the south of Dresden, on the left bank of the Elbe, is the village Räcknitz, in which is Moreau’s monument, erected on the spot where he was mortally wounded in 1813. The mountains of Saxon Switzerland are seen from this neighbourhood.

Art.—Dresden owes a large part of its fame to its extensive artistic, literary and scientific collections. Of these the most valuable is its splendid picture gallery, founded by Augustus I. and increased by his successors at great cost. It is in the museum, and contains about 2500 pictures, being especially rich in specimens of the Italian, Dutch and Flemish schools. The gem of the collection is Raphael’s “Madonna di San Sisto,” for which a room is set apart. There is also a special room for the “Madonna” of the younger Holbein. Other paintings with which the name of the gallery is generally associated are Correggio’s “La Notte” and “Mary Magdalene”; Titian’s “Tribute Money” and “Venus”; “The Adoration” and “The Marriage in Cana,” by Paul Veronese; Andrea del Sarto’s “Abraham’s Sacrifice”; Rembrandt’s “Portrait of Himself with his Wife sitting on his Knee”; “The Judgment of Paris” and “The Boar Hunt,” by Rubens; Van Dyck’s “Charles I., his Queen, and their Children.”

Of modern painters, this magnificent collection contains masterpieces by Defregger, Vautier, Makart, Munkacsy, Fritz von Uhde, Böcklin, Hans Thoma; portraits by Leon Pohle, Delaroche and Sargent; landscapes by Andreas and Oswald Achenbach and allegorical works by Sascha Schneider. In separate compartments there are a number of crayon portraits, most of them by Rosalba Carriera, and views of Dresden by Canaletto and other artists. Besides the picture gallery the museum includes a magnificent collection of engravings and drawings. There are upwards of 400,000 specimens, arranged in twelve classes, so as to mark the great epochs in the history of art. A collection of casts, likewise in the museum, is designed to display the progress of plastic art from the time of the Egyptians and Assyrians to modern ages. This collection was begun by Raphael Mengs, who secured casts of the most valuable antiques in Italy, some of which no longer exist.

The Japanese palace contains a public library of more than 400,000 volumes, with about 3000 MSS. and 20,000 maps. It is especially rich in the ancient classics, and in works bearing on literary history and the history of Germany, Poland and France. There are also a valuable cabinet of coins and a collection of ancient works of art. A collection of porcelain in the “Museum Johanneum” (which once contained the picture gallery) is made up of specimens of Chinese, Japanese, East Indian, Sèvres and Meissen manufacture, carefully arranged in chronological order. There is in the same building an excellent Historical Museum. In the Grüne Gewölbe (Green Vault) of the Royal Palace, so called from the character of its original decorations, there is an unequalled collection of precious stones, pearls and works of art in gold, silver, amber and ivory. The objects, which are about 3000 576 in number, are arranged in eight rooms. They include the regalia of Augustus II. as king of Poland; the electoral sword of Saxony; a group by Dinglinger, in gold and enamel, representing the court of the grand mogul Aurungzebe, and consisting of 132 figures upon a plate of silver 4 ft. 4 in. square; the largest onyx known, 623 in. by 2¼ in.; a pearl representing the dwarf of Charles II. of Spain; and a green brilliant weighing 40 carats. The royal palace also has a gallery of arms consisting of more than 2000 weapons of artistic or historical value. In the Zwinger are the zoological and mineralogical museums and a collection of instruments used in mathematical and physical science. Among other collections is that of the Körner museum with numerous reminiscences of the Goethe-Schiller epoch, and of the wars of liberation (1813-15), and containing valuable manuscripts and relics. Founded by Hofrath Dr Emil Peschel, it has passed into the possession of the city.

Education.—Dresden is the seat of a number of well-known scientific associations. The educational institutions are numerous and of a high order, including a technical high school (with about 1100 students), which enjoys the privilege of conferring the degrees of doctor of engineering, doctor of technical sciences, &c., a veterinary college, a political-economic institution (Gehestiftung), with library, a school of architects, a royal and four municipal gymnasia, numerous lower grade and popular schools, the royal conservatorium for music and drama, and a celebrated academy of painting. Dresden has several important hospitals, asylums and other charitable institutions.

Music and the Theatres.—Besides the two royal theatres, Dresden possesses several minor theatres and music halls. The pride of place in the world of music is held by the orchestra attached to the court theatre. Founded by Augustus II., it has become famous throughout the world, owing to the masters who have from time to time been associated with it—such as Paër, Weber, Reissiger and Wagner. Symphony and popular concerts are held throughout the year in various public halls, and, during the winter, concerts of church music are frequently given in the Protestant Kreuz- and Frauen-Kirchen, and on Sundays in the Roman Catholic church.

Communications and Industries.—Dresden lies at the centre of an extensive railway system, which places it in communication with the chief cities of northern and central Germany as well as with Austria and the East. Here cross the grand trunk lines Berlin-Vienna, Chemnitz-Görlitz-Breslau. It is connected by two lines of railway with Leipzig and by local lines with neighbouring smaller towns. The navigation on the Elbe has of recent years largely developed, and, in addition to trade by river with Bohemia and Magdeburg-Hamburg, there is a considerable pleasure-boat traffic during the summer months. The communications within the city are maintained by an excellent system of electric trams, which bring the more distant suburbs into easy connexion with the business centre. A considerable business is done on the exchange, chiefly in local industrial shares, and the financial institutions number some fifty banks, among them branches of the Reichs Bank and of the Deutsche Bank. Among the more notable industries may be mentioned the manufacture of china (see Ceramics), of gold and silver ornaments, cigarettes, chocolate, coloured postcards, perfumery, straw-plaiting, artificial flowers, agricultural machinery, paper, photographic and other scientific instruments. There are several great breweries; corn trade is carried on, and an extensive business is done in books and objects of art.

Surroundings.—The environs of the city are delightful. To the north are the vine-clad hills of the Lössnitz commanding views of the valley of the Elbe from Dresden to Meissen; behind them, on an island in a lake, is the castle of Moritzburg, the hunting box of the king of Saxony. On the right bank of the Elbe, 3 m. above the city, lies the village of Loschwitz, where Schiller, in the summer of 1786, wrote the greater part of his Don Carlos: above it on the fringe of the Dresdner Heide, the climatic health resort Weisser-Hirsch; farther up the river towards Pirna the royal summer palace Pillnitz; to the south the Plauensche Grund, and still farther the Rabenauer Grund.

History.—Dresden (Old Slav Drezga, forest, Drezgajan, forest-dwellers), which is known to have existed in 1206, is of Slavonic origin, and was originally founded on the right bank of the Elbe, on the site of the present Neustadt, which is thus actually the old town. It became the capital of Henry the Illustrious, margrave of Meissen, in 1270, but belonged for some time after his death, first to Wenceslaus of Bohemia, and next to the margrave of Brandenburg. Early in the 14th century it was restored to the margrave of Meissen. On the division of Saxony in 1485 it fell to the Albertine line, which has since held it. Having been burned almost to the ground in 1491, it was rebuilt; and in the 16th century the fortifications were begun and gradually extended. John George II., in the 17th century, formed the Grosser Garten, and otherwise greatly improved the town; but it was in the first half of the 18th century, under Augustus I. and Augustus II., who were kings of Poland as well as electors of Saxony, that Dresden assumed something like its present appearance. The Neustadt, which had been burned down in the 17th century, was founded anew by Augustus I.; he also founded Friedrichstadt. The town suffered severely during the Seven Years’ War, being bombarded in 1760. Some damage was also inflicted on it in 1813, when Napoleon made it the centre of his operations; one of the buttresses and two arches of the old bridge were then blown up. The dismantling of the fortifications had been begun by the French in 1810, and was gradually completed after 1817, the space occupied by them being appropriated to gardens and promenades. Many buildings were completed or founded by King Anthony, from whom Antonstadt derives its name. Dresden again suffered severely during the revolution of 1849, but all traces of the disturbances which then took place were soon effaced. In 1866 it was occupied by the Prussians, who did not finally evacuate it until the spring of the following year. Since that time numerous improvements have been carried out.

See Lindau, Geschichte der Haupt- und Residenzstadt Dresden (2 vols., Dresden, 1884-1885); Prölss, Geschichte des Hoftheaters in Dresden (Dresden, 1877); Schumann, Führer durch die königl. Sammlungen zu Dresden (1903); Woerl, Führer durch Dresden; Daniel, Deutschland (1894).

Battle of Dresden. The battle of Dresden, the last of the great victories of Napoleon, was fought on the 26th and 27th of August 1813. The intervention of Austria in the War of Liberation, and the consequent advance of the Allies under the Austrian field-marshal Prince Schwarzenberg from Prague upon Dresden, recalled Napoleon from Silesia, where he was engaged against the Prussians and Russians under Blücher. Only by a narrow margin of time, indeed, was he able to bring back sufficient troops for the first day’s battle. He detached a column under Vandamme to the mountains to interpose between Schwarzenberg and Prague (see Napoleonic Campaigns); the rest of the army pressed on by forced marches for Dresden, around which a position for the whole army had been chosen and fortified, though at the moment this was held by less than 20,000 men under Gouvion St Cyr, who retired thither from the mountains, leaving a garrison in Königstein, and had repeatedly sent reports to the emperor as to the allied masses gathering to the southward. The battle of the first day began late in the afternoon, for Schwarzenberg waited as long as possible for the corps of Klenau, which formed his extreme left wing on the Freiberg road. At last, about 6 p.m. he decided to wait no longer, and six heavy columns of attack advanced against the suburbs defended by St Cyr and now also by the leading troops of the main army. Three hundred guns covered the assault, and Dresden was set on fire in places by the cannonade, while the French columns marched unceasingly over the bridges and through the Altstadt. On the right the Russians under Wittgenstein advanced from Striesen, the Prussians under Kleist through the Grosser Garten, whilst Prussians under Prince Augustus and Austrians under Colloredo moved upon the Moczinski redoubt, which was the scene of the most desperate fighting, and was repeatedly taken and retaken. The attack to the westward was carried out by the other Austrian corps; Klenau, however, was still far distant. In the end, the French defences remained unshaken. Ney led a counter-attack against the Allies’ left, 577 the Moczinski redoubt was definitely recaptured from Colloredo, and the Prussians were driven out of the Grosser Garten. The coup of the Allies had failed, for every hour saw the arrival of fresh forces on the side of Napoleon, and at length the Austrian leader drew off his men to the heights again. He was prepared to fight another battle on the morrow—indeed he could scarcely have avoided it had he wished to do so, for behind him lay the mountain defiles, towards which Vandamme was marching with all speed.

Napoleon’s plan for the 27th was, as usual, simple in its outline. As at Friedland, a ravine separated a part of the hostile line of battle from the rest. The villages west of the Plauen ravine and even Löbda were occupied in the early morning by General Metzko with the leading division of Klenau’s corps from Freiberg, and upon Metzko Napoleon intended first to throw the weight of his attack, giving to Victor’s infantry and the cavalry of Murat, king of Naples, the task of overwhelming the isolated Austrians. The centre, aided by the defences of the Dresden suburbs, could hold its own, as the events of the 26th had shown, the left, now under Ney, with whom served Kellermann’s cavalry and the Young Guard, was to attack Wittgenstein’s Russians on the Pirna road. Thus, for once, Napoleon decided to attack both flanks of the enemy. His motives in so doing have been much discussed by the critics; Vandamme’s movements, it may be suggested, contributed to the French emperor’s plan, which if carried out would open the Pirna road. Still, the left attack may have had a purely tactical object, for in that quarter was the main body of the Prussians and Russians, and Napoleon’s method was always to concentrate the fury of the attack on the heaviest masses of the enemy, i.e. the best target for his own artillery. A very heavy rainstorm during the night seriously affected the movements of troops on the following day, but all to Napoleon’s advantage, for his more mobile artillery, reinforced by every horse available in and about Dresden, was still able to move where the Allied guns sank in mud. Further, if the cavalry had to walk, or at most trot, through the fields the opposing infantry was almost always unable to fire their muskets. “You cannot fire; surrender,” said Murat to an Austrian battalion in the battle. “Never,” they replied; “you cannot charge us.” On the appearance of Murat’s horse artillery, however, they had to surrender at once. Under such conditions, Metzko, unsupported either by Klenau or the main army beyond the ravine, was an easy victim. Victor from Löbda drove in the advanced posts and assaulted the line of villages Wolfnitz-Töltschen; Metzko had to retire to the higher ground S.W. of the first line, and Murat, with an overwhelming cavalry force from Cotta and Burgstädl, outflanked his left, broke up whole battalions, and finally, with the assistance of the renewed frontal attack of Victor’s infantry, annihilated the division. The Austrian corps of Gyulai arrived too late to save it. A few formed bodies escaped across the ravine, but Metzko and three-fourths of his men were killed or taken prisoners.

Meanwhile Ney on the other flank, with his left on the Pillnitz road and his right on the Grosser Garten, had opened his attack. The Russians offered a strenuous resistance, defending Seidnitz, Gross Döbritz and Reick with their usual steadiness, and Ney was so far advanced that several generals at the Allied headquarters suggested a counter-attack of the centre by way of Strehlen, so as to cut off the French left from Dresden. This plan was adopted, but, owing to various misunderstandings, failed of execution. Thus the Allied centre remained inactive all day, cannonaded by the Dresden redoubts. One incident only, but that of great importance, took place here. The tsar, the king of Prussia, Schwarzenberg and a very large headquarter staff watched the fighting from a hill near Räcknitz and offered an easy mark to the French guns. In default of formed bodies to fire at, the latter had for a moment ceased fire; Napoleon, riding by, half carelessly told them to reopen, and one of their first shots, directed at 2000 yards range against the mass of officers on the sky-line, mortally wounded General Moreau, who was standing by the emperor Alexander. A council of war followed. The Allied sovereigns were for continuing the fight; Schwarzenberg, however, knowing the exhaustion of his troops decided to retreat. As at Bautzen, the French cavalry was unable to make any effective pursuit.

The forces engaged were 96,000 French, Saxons, &c., and 200,000 Austrians, Russians and Prussians. The French losses were about 10,000, or a little over 10%, those of the Allies 38,000 killed, wounded and prisoners (the latter 23,000) or 19%. They lost also 15 colours and 26 guns.

DRESS (from the Fr. dresser, to set out, arrange, formed from Lat. directus, arranged, dirigere, to direct, arrange), a substantive of which the current meaning is that of clothing or costume in general, or, specifically, the principal outer garment worn by a woman (see Costume). The verb “to dress” has various applications which can be deduced from its original meaning. It is thus used not only of the putting on of clothing, but of the preparing and finishing of leather, the preparation of food for eating, the application of cleansing and healing substances or of bandages, &c., to a wound, the drawing up in a correct line of a body of troops, and, generally, adorning or decking out, as of a ship with flags. In the language of the theatre the “dresser” is the person who looks after the actor’s wardrobe and assists him in the changing of his costumes. For the printer’s use of “dresser” see Typography.

DRESSER, in furniture, a form of sideboard. The name is derived from the Fr. dressoir, a piece of furniture used to range or dresser the more costly appointments of the table. The appliance is the direct descendant of the credence and the buffet, and is, indeed, a much more legitimate inheritor of their functions than the modern sideboard, which, as we know it, is practically an 18th-century invention. It developed into its present shape about the second quarter of the 17th century, and has since then changed but little. As a piece of movable furniture it was made rarely, if at all, after the beginning of the 19th century until the revival of interest in what is called “farmhouse furniture” at the very beginning of the 20th century led in the first place to the construction of many imitation antique dressers from derelict pieces of old oak, and especially from panels of chests, and in the second to the making of avowed imitations. The dresser conformed to a model which varied only in detail and in ornament. Its simple and agreeable form consisted of a long and rather narrow table or slab, with drawers or cupboards beneath and a tall upright closed-in back arranged with a varying number of shallow shelves for the reception of plates; hooks for mugs were often fixed upon the face of these shelves. Towards the end of the 17th century small cupboards were often added to the superstructure. The majority of these dressers were made of oak, but when, early in the Georgian period 578 mahogany came into general use, they were frequently inlaid with that wood; holly and box were also used for inlaying, most frequently in the shape of plain bands or lines. A peculiarly effective combination of oak and mahogany is found in the dressers, as in other “farmhouse furniture,” made on the borders of Staffordshire and Shropshire. The excellence of the work of this kind in that district and in the country lying west of it may perhaps explain the expression “Welsh dresser,” which is now no more than a trade term, not necessarily suggestive of the place of origin, and applied to all dressers of this type. They are most frequently found in the houses of small yeomen and substantial farmers, into which fashion penetrated slowly. The dresser is now most familiar as necessary plenishing of the kitchen, in which it is invariably a fixture. In form it is essentially identical with the movable variety, but it is usually much larger, is made of deal or other soft wood, and the superstructure has no back.

DREUX, a town of north-western France, capital of an arrondissement in the department of Eure-et-Loir, 27 m. N.N.W. of Chartres by rail. Pop. (1906) 8209. It is situated on the Blaise, which at this point divides into several arms. It is overlooked from the north by an eminence on which stands a ruined medieval castle; within the enclosure of this building is a gorgeous chapel, begun in 1816 by the dowager duchess of Orleans, and completed and adorned at great cost by Louis Philippe. It contains the tombs of the Orleans family, chief among them that of Louis Philippe, whose remains were removed from England to Dreux in 1876. The sculptures on the tombs and the stained glass of the chapel windows are masterpieces of modern art. The older of the two hôtels-de-ville of Dreux was built in the early 16th century, chiefly by Clément Métezau, the founder of a famous family of architects, natives of the town. It is notable both for the graceful carvings of the façade and for the fine staircase and architectural details of the interior. The church of St Pierre, which is Gothic in style, contains good stained glass and other works of art. The town has a statue of the poet Jean de Rotrou, born there in 1609. Dreux is the seat of a subprefect. Among the public institutions are tribunals of first instance and of commerce, and a communal college. The manufacture of boots and shoes, metal-founding and tanning, are carried on, and there is trade in wheat and other agricultural products and poultry.

Dreux was the capital of the Gallic tribe of the Durocasses. In 1188 it was taken and burnt by the English; and in 1562 Gaspard de Coligny, and Louis I., prince of Condé, were defeated in its vicinity by Anne de Montmorency and Francis, duke of Guise. In 1593 Henry IV. captured the town after a fortnight’s siege. It was occupied by the Germans on the 9th of October 1870, was subsequently evacuated, and was again taken, on the 17th of November, by General Von Tresckow. In the 10th century Dreux was the chief town of a countship, which Odo, count of Chartres, ceded to king Robert, and Louis VI. gave to his son Robert, whose grandson Peter of Dreux, younger brother of Count Robert III., became duke of Brittany by his marriage with Alix, daughter of Constance of Brittany by her second husband Guy of Thouars. By the marriage of the countess Jeanne II. with Louis, viscount of Thouars (d. 1370), the Capetian countship of Dreux passed into the Thouars family. In 1377 and 1378, however, two of the three co-heiresses of Jeanne, Perronelle and Marguerite, sold their shares of the countship to King Charles V. Charles VI. gave it to Arnaud Amanien d’Albret, but took it back in order to give it to his brother Louis of Orleans (1407); later he gave it back to the lords of Albret. Francis of Cleves laid claim to it in the 16th century as heir of the d’Albrets of Orval, but the parlement of Paris declared the countship to be crown property. It was given to Catherine de’ Medici (1539), then to Francis, duke of Alençon (1569); it was pledged to Charles de Bourbon, count of Soissons, and through him passed to the houses of Orleans, Vendôme and Condé.

DREW, the name of a family of American actors. John Drew (1827-1862) was born in Dublin and made his first New York appearance in 1846. He played Irish and light comedy parts with success in all the American cities, and was manager of the Arch Street theatre in Philadelphia. He visited England in 1855, and Australia in 1859, and died in Philadelphia. His wife, Louise Lane Drew (1820-1897), was the daughter of a London actor, and in 1827 went to America, appearing as the Duke of York to the elder Booth’s Richard III., and as Albert to Edwin Forrest’s William Tell. After this she starred as a child actress, and then as leading lady. She had been twice married before she became Mrs Drew in 1850. From 1861 to 1892 she had the management of the Arch Street theatre in Philadelphia. In 1880 she toured with Joseph Jefferson in his elaborate revival of The Rivals, playing Mrs Malaprop to perfection. She had three children, John, Sidney and Georgiana, wife of Maurice Barrymore (1847-1905), and mother of Lionel and Ethel Barrymore, all actors. The eldest son, John Drew (b. 1853), began his stage career under his mother’s management in Philadelphia as Plumper in Cool as a Cucumber, on the 22nd of March 1873; and after playing with Edwin Booth and others, became leading man in Augustin Daly’s company in 1879. His association with this company, and with Ada Rehan as the leading lady, constituted a brilliant period in recent stage history, his Petruchio being only one, though perhaps the most striking, of a series of famous impersonations. In 1892 he left Daly’s company, and began a career as a “star.”

DREW, SAMUEL (1765-1833), English theologian, was born in the parish of St Austell, in Cornwall, on the 6th of March 1765. His father was a poor farm labourer, and could not afford to send him to school long enough even to learn to read and write. At ten he was apprenticed to a shoemaker, and at twenty he settled in the town of St Austell, first as manager for a shoemaker, and in 1787 began business on his own account. He had already gained a reputation in his narrow circle as a keen debater and a jovial companion, and it is said that he had several smuggling adventures. He was first aroused to serious thought in 1785 by a funeral sermon preached over his elder brother by Adam Clarke. He joined the Methodists, was soon employed as a class leader and local preacher, and continued to preach till a few months before his death. His opportunities of gaining knowledge were very scanty, but he strenuously set himself to make the most of them. It is stated that an accidental introduction to Locke’s great essay determined the ultimate direction of his studies. In 1798 the first part of Thomas Paine’s Age of Reason was put into his hands; and in the following year he made his first appearance as an author by publishing his Remarks on that work. The book was favourably received, and was republished in 1820. Drew had begun to meditate a greater attempt before he wrote his Remarks on Paine; and, encouraged by the antiquary John Whitaker, he published his Essay on the Immateriality and Immortality of the Soul in 1802. This work made the “Cornish metaphysician,” as he was called, widely known, and for some time it held a high place in the judgment of the religious world as a conclusive argument on its subject. A fifth edition appeared in 1831. Drew continued to work at his trade till 1805, when he entered into an engagement with Dr Thomas Coke, a prominent Wesleyan official, which enabled him to devote himself entirely to literature. In 1809 he published his Essay on the Identity and General Resurrection of the Human Body, perhaps the most original of his works, which reached a second edition in 1822. In 1814 he completed a history of Cornwall begun by F. Hitchins. In 1819 he removed to Liverpool, being appointed editor of the Imperial Magazine, then newly established, and in 1821 to London, the business being then transferred to the capital. Here he filled the post of editor till his death, and had also the supervision of all works issued from the Caxton Press. He was an unsuccessful competitor for the Burnett prize offered in 1811 for an essay on the existence and attributes of God. The work which he then wrote, and which in his own judgment was his best, was published in 1820, under the title of An Attempt to demonstrate from Reason and Revelation the Necessary Existence, Essential Perfections, and Superintending Providence of an Eternal Being, who is the Creator, the Supporter, and the Governor of all Things (2 vols. 8 vo). This procured him the degree of M.A. from the university of Aberdeen. 579 Among Drew’s lesser writings are a Life of Dr Thomas Coke (1817), and a work on the deity of Christ (1813). He died at Helston in Cornwall on the 29th of March 1833. He was a man of strong mind, honourable spirit and affectionate disposition, energetic both in speech and in writing.

A memoir of his life by his eldest son appeared in 1834.

DREWENZ, a river of Germany, a right-bank tributary of the Vistula. It rises on the plateau of Hohenstein in East Prussia, 5 m. S.W. of the town of Hohenstein. After passing through the lake of Drewenz (7 m. long), it flows S.W. through flat marshy country, and forms, from just below the town of Strassburg to that of Leibitsch, a distance of 30 m., the frontier between Prussia and Russian Poland. After a course of 148 m. it enters the Vistula from the right, a little above the fortress of Thorn. It is navigable only for rafts. Lake Drewenz is connected with Elbing (and so with the Baltic) by the navigable Elbing-Oberland Canal.

DREXEL, ANTHONY JOSEPH (1826-1893), American banker, was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on the 13th of September 1826. He was the son of Francis M. Drexel (1792-1863), a native of Austrian Tirol, who emigrated to America in 1817, and, after some years spent as a portrait-painter, became a banker and the founder of the house of Drexel & Company. Anthony, who entered his father’s counting-house in 1839, eventually, with his brothers Francis and Joseph, succeeded to the control of the business, and organized the banking houses of Drexel, Morgan & Company, New York, of which his brother Joseph W. (1833-1888) was long the resident head, and of Drexel, Harjes & Company, Paris. In 1864 he joined his friend George W. Childs in the purchase of the Philadelphia Public Ledger, and with him in 1892 founded the Printers’ Home for union men at Colorado Springs. In 1891 he founded, and endowed with $2,000,000, the Drexel Institute of Art, Science and Industry in Philadelphia, the buildings for which he constructed at a cost of $750,000. This institution provides technical instruction for both night and day classes and public lecture courses, and has a good museum and a library of 35,000 volumes. Drexel died at Carlsbad, Germany, on the 30th of June 1893.

DREYFUS, ALFRED (1859-  ), French soldier, of Jewish parentage, the scandal of whose condemnation for treason and subsequent rehabilitation convulsed French political life between 1894 and 1899, and only ended in 1906, was born in Mülhausen, Upper Alsace, removing to Paris in 1874. After going through the usual course of military instruction with credit, he became a sous-lieutenant in the artillery in 1882, and was promoted captain in 1889; and, after passing through the École de Guerre with distinction, he was appointed to the general staff. His name was, however, unknown to the general public till he was arrested on the 15th of October 1894 on a charge of selling military secrets to Germany, condemned, publicly degraded (January 4, 1895), and transported (March 10) to the Ile du Diable, French Guiana. The story of the subsequent proceedings in this celebrated case is told in the article Anti-Semitism, and need not here be repeated. It was not till 1899 that the unfortunate prisoner was brought back to France for retrial by court-martial, and even then, so strong was the anti-Semitic and military prejudice, he was again found guilty “with extenuating circumstances” at Rennes (September 9), though ten days later he was “pardoned” by President Loubet. It was not till the Cour de Cassation ordered a further investigation, and on the 12th of July 1906 decided that his conviction had been based on a forgery and that Dreyfus was innocent, that the agitation came to a final conclusion. He was then restored to his rank in the army and promoted major. But the anti-Semitic and anti-Dreyfusard spirit in certain French circles could not easily be quelled even then; and on the occasion of the translation of the remains of Emile Zola (Dreyfus’s determined champion) to the Pantheon on the 4th of June 1908, Major Dreyfus was shot at and wounded by a fanatical journalist named Gregori, who was subsequently acquitted by a Paris jury of the charge of attempted murder, his own plea being that he had merely intended a “demonstration.”

See Dreyfus’s own Five Years of my Life (1901), and literature cited under Anti-Semitism.

DRIBURG, a town and spa of Germany, in Prussian Westphalia, pleasantly situated on the Aa and the railway Soest-Höxter-Berlin. Pop. 2600. It has an Evangelical and a Roman Catholic church and some glass manufactures. It is celebrated for its saline-ferruginous springs, discovered in 766, and since 1779 largely frequented in summer. In the vicinity are the ruins of Iburg, a castle destroyed by Charlemagne in 775, and bestowed by him upon the bishopric of Paderborn.

DRIFFIELD (officially Great Driffield), a market town in the Buckrose parliamentary division of the East Riding of Yorkshire, England, 19½ m. N. by W. from Hull, the junction of several branch lines of the North Eastern railway. Pop. of urban district (1901) 5766. It is pleasantly situated at the foot of the Wolds, and is connected with Hull by a navigable canal. The church of All Saints is of various dates from Norman onwards. The town is the centre of a rich agricultural district, and large markets and fairs are held. There are works for the manufacture of oil-cake. Driffield is of high antiquity, and numerous tumuli are seen in the vicinity, while there is an excellent private antiquarian museum in the town.

DRIFT (from “drive”), a verb or noun used in various connexions with the sense of propelled motion, especially (but not necessarily) of an aimless sort, undirected. Thus it is possible to speak of a snow-drift, an accumulation driven by the wind; of a ship drifting out of its course; of the drift of a speech, i.e. its general tendency. The word is also used in some technical senses, more immediately resulting from the action of driving something in. But the most important technical use of the word is in geology, as introduced by C. Lyell in 1840 in place of “Diluvium.” The earlier geologists had been in the habit of dividing the Quaternary deposits into an older Diluvium and a younger Alluvium; the latter is still employed in England, but the former has dropped out of use, though it is still retained by some continental writers. The Alluvium was distinguished from Diluvium by the fact that its mammalian fossils were representatives of still living forms, but it is a matter of great difficulty to separate these two divisions in practice. “The term drift is now applied generally to the Quaternary deposits, which consist for the most part of gravel, sand, loam or brickearth and clay; it naturally refers to strata laid down at some distance from the rocks to whose destruction they are largely due; but, although applied to river deposits, the word drift is more appropriately used in reference to the accumulations of the Glacial period.

“The occurrence of stones and boulders far removed from their parent source early attracted the attention of geologists, but for a long period the phenomena, now known as of glacial origin, were unexplained, and the drifts were looked upon as little more than ‘extraneous rubbish,’ the product of geological agents, quite distinct from those which helped to form the more ’solid’ rocks that underlie them.” (See H. B. Woodward, The Geology of England and Wales, 2nd ed., 1887.) The conception of an underlying “solid” geological structure covered by a superficial mantle of “drift” is still retained for certain practical purposes; thus, the Geological Survey of Great Britain issues many of the maps in two forms, the “Solid Edition,” showing the “solid geology,” which embraces all igneous rocks and the stratified rocks older than Pleistocene, and the “Drift Edition,” which shows only such older strata as are unobscured by drift.

In writing and in conversation the geological expression “drift” is now usually understood to mean Glacial drift, including boulder clay and all the varieties of sand, gravel and clay deposits formed by the agency of ice sheets, glaciers and icebergs. But in the “Drift” maps many other types of deposit are indicated, such, for instance, as the ordinary modern alluvium of rivers, and the older river terraces (River-drift of various ages), including gravels, brickearth and loam; old raised sea beaches and blown-sand (Aeolian-drift); the “Head” of Cornwall and Devon, an angular detritus consisting of stones with clay or loam; clay-with-flints, rainwash (landwash), scree and talus; 580 the “Warp,” a marine and estuarine silt and clay of the Humber; and also beds of peat and diatomite.

See Glacial Period; Pleistocene; Boulder Clay.

(J. A. H.)

DRILL. (1) A tool for boring or making holes in hard substances, such as stone, metal, &c. (an adaptation in the 17th century from the Dutch dril or drille, from drillen, to turn, bore a hole; according to the New English Dictionary the word is not to be connected with the English “thrill”). The word drillen was used in Dutch, German and Danish, from the 17th century for training in military exercises and was adopted into English in the same sense. The origin of the application seems to be in the primary sense of “to turn round,” from the turning of the troops in their evolutions and from the turning of the weapons in the soldiers’ hands. Drill is, formally, the preparation of soldiers for their duties in war by the practice or rehearsal of movements in military order and the handling of arms, and, psychologically, the method of producing in the individual soldier habits of self-control and of mechanically precise actions under disturbing conditions, and of rendering the common instinctive will of a body of men, large or small, amenable to the control of, and susceptible to a stimulus imparted by its commander’s will.

(2) A furrow made in the soil in which seed may be sown, and a machine used for sowing seed in such furrows (see Sowing). The word is somewhat doubtful in origin. It may be the same as an obsolete word “drill,” to trickle, flow in drops, also a small stream or flow of water, a rill, and is possibly an altered form of “trill.”

(3) In zoology, the native name of a large short-tailed west African baboon, Papio leucophaeus, closely allied to the mandrill (q.v.), but distinguished by the absence of brilliant blue and scarlet on the jaws of the fully adult males.

(4) The name of a fabric made in both linen and cotton, and commonly bleached and finished stiff. The word is a shortened form of “drilling,” from the German drillich, or “three-threaded,” and is so named because the weave originally used in its construction is what is termed the three-leaf twill, nine repeats of which appear in the accompanying figure, while immediately below the design is an intersection of all the nine threads with the first pick. It is essentially a warp-faced fabric; that is, the upper surface is composed mostly of warp threads. In the figure it will be seen that two out of every three threads appear on the surface, and, by introducing a greater number of threads per inch than picks per inch, the weft is made to occupy a still more subordinate position so far as the upper surface of the cloth is concerned. Although the weave shown is still extensively used in this branch, there are others, e.g. the 4-thread and the 5-thread weaves, which are employed for the production of this cloth. Large quantities of drill are shipped to the Eastern markets and to other sub-tropical centres, from which it is sold for clothing. In temperate climates it forms a satisfactory material for ladies’ and children’s summer clothing, and it is used by chefs, hairdressers, provision merchants, grocers, buttermen, painters and decorators, &c., while many of the long jackets or overalls, such as those worn by many mill and factory managers, are made from the same material.

DRINKING VESSELS. 1 The use of special vessels for drinking purposes may fairly be assumed to have had a natural origin and development. From a practical point of view it would soon be found desirable to provide vessels for liquids in addition to those serving to hold food. As in many other commonplace details of modern life, we must turn to the primitive races to understand how our present conditions were reached. In almost all parts of the world many of the products of nature are capable of serving such purposes, with little or no change at the hands of man; in tropical and sub-tropical climates the coco-nut and the gourd or calabash require but little change to adapt them as the most convenient of drinking utensils; the eggs of the larger birds, such as the ostrich or the emu, shells, like the nautilus and other univalves, as well as the deeper bivalves, are equally convenient. Such natural objects are in fact used by the uncivilized tribes of Africa, America and Polynesia, as well as, in some cases, by the white races who have intruded into those parts of the world, and adopted some of the native habits. In Paraguay, for example, the so-called “Paraguay tea,” an infusion of the yerba maté (Ilex paraguayensis), is drunk through a tube from a small gourd held in the hand, and often handsomely mounted in silver or even gold. In the same way, as we shall see, civilized man has adopted nearly all the natural forms that were found convenient by the savage, altering and adorning them in accordance with the taste of the time or country where they were used.

Another line of development, however, has been found to be the natural outcome of the human mind. Nothing could form a more practical drinking cup than the half of a coco-nut shell or part of a gourd. Such cups, however, in the countries where the plants producing them are common, would be easily obtained, and every one, rich or poor, could possess one or more. In order, therefore, to distinguish the chief’s possessions from those of his inferiors, his cup is often made with great labour, from some more intractable material, wood or stone, though in practically the same form as that of the natural object.

Among European races in medieval times the same lines have been followed, though for different reasons. Human ingenuity, though perhaps originally inspired by natural forms, is apt to turn aside into more artificial channels. Early drinking cups. The invention of the potter’s art (see Ceramics), where the plastic nature of the raw material renders it capable of infinite changes of form, gave rise to types of vessels having no obvious or necessary relation to the productions of nature. In Britain and in northern Europe generally, the interments of the races of the Neolithic and Bronze Ages have furnished vessels of pottery of a beaker-like form, to which the name of “drinking-cups” has been given. It must be confessed that the evidence for attributing such a use to them is slender, and mainly consists of the fact that their thin lips would render them better adapted for the purpose than the other pottery vessels found with them, some of which, on equally slight grounds, have been called food vessels. The general use and acceptance of the term by two generations of archaeologists is, however, an adequate reason for a passing mention in this place. In the later prehistoric times of Europe vessels of gold, bronze and other materials, including amber, were made, sometimes of elegant forms, and would seem to have been used as drinking vessels; still, this is again an assumption, though a fairly probable one. A small gold cup with handle was found in a barrow at Rillaton, Cornwall; one of amber of a similar form was found at Hove, and a third of shale near Honiton. All of these doubtless may be referred to the Bronze Age.

Schliemann found many drinking vessels in his exploration of the superimposed cities of Troy. A pretty form is that found in the first city. It is of clay, and closely resembles an early Victorian tea cup on a high foot. This form New forms found by Schliemann. is of interest, as Schliemann discovered the same both at Tiryns and Mycenae, five from the latter site being of gold, while the type also occurs from Ialysus in Rhodes in association with bronze swords. This Trojan cup was found at a depth of 50 ft. below the present surface and about 18 ft. below the stratum of what Schliemann claimed to be the Homeric Troy. In his second city appears a different type of ware, somewhat fantastic in form, one vessel being in the form of a sow, while others foreshadow the crater and amphora of later and more familiar Greek wares.

But the drinking vessel to which Schliemann draws most attention is the tall cup of a trumpet form furnished with two earlike loop handles. This curious and original type occurs also in the Third (or Homeric), Fourth and Sixth Cities, with little if any change. Schliemann devotes some pages to the discussion of the form, in which he sees the δέπας ἀμφικύπελλον2 of Homer, which has been more usually understood to mean an hour-glass shaped cup, in which the distinguishing feature 581 was two cups, not two handles. He applies the same term to a drinking vessel of a very different form, found with several others in the Third City. This is a sauce-boat shaped vessel3 of gold, made with a lip for pouring or drinking at either end, and with two loop handles. This equals those previously mentioned in originality of form; with it were found others of gold, silver and electrum (i.e. 4 parts of gold to 1 of silver). Of these three were shaped like 18th-century coffee cups but wanting handles. In the Sixth City appear forms more nearly approaching those of later times, particularly prototypes of the cantharus and scyphus.

These discoveries in the various strata of Troy may be taken as the analogues in the Mediterranean and hither Asia of the later Stone and Bronze Ages of northern Europe, with an allowance of some centuries of greater antiquity for the former.

It is not proposed in this article to deal with the ceramic and metallic drinking vessels of the Greeks and Romans, of what is generally known as the classical period (see Ceramics and Plate). It may be mentioned, however, that both on the Rhine and in various places in Britain, notably at Castor in Northamptonshire and in the New Forest, were factories where large numbers of pocula or drinking cups were made; those made on the Rhine and at Castor bearing legends to indicate their use. Many of these are to be seen in the British Museum and in the Wallraf-Richartz Museum in Cologne.

After the decline of Roman power, the Gothic and Scandinavian races who replaced the Romans in central and northern Europe brought with them their own forms and types of drinking vessels. These, from about the 4th century, replaced Gothic and Scandinavian types. the well-known Roman vessels. The northern barbarians were as great drinkers as fighters, and their literature recites with equal zest the richness of their drinking cups as the power and deadly qualities of their arms. Fortunately the practice of burying with the dead warrior all his property, or at least as much of it as he would be supposed to need, has preserved to our day the actual vessels in use by the pagan northmen who pervaded northern Europe from the 4th century onward. Saxon graves in Britain have furnished great numbers of drinking cups and horns, in many cases quite unbroken. From the remains, of which the chief series are in the British and Liverpool Museums, we can learn a great deal to amplify the references in literature. The richest single interment that has yet been found was within the present churchyard at Taplow. Here under a huge mound lay buried a Saxon chieftain surrounded by his belongings; arms defensive and offensive, his drinking cups, and even his game of draughts. The drinking vessels consisted of five cows’ horns and four glass cups. The former were of great size, 2 ft. long, richly mounted at the mouth and at the point with silver bands embossed and gilt. The glasses also were of great size and of a type familiar in Saxon interments. Each was of a trumpet shape, with a small foot, while the sides were ornamented with hollow pointed tubes bent downwards, and open on the inner side, so that the liquid would fill them. Such a plan is most unpractical, and it must have been very difficult to keep the vessels clean. Glasses of this uncommon form have not been found elsewhere than in Saxon graves, either in England or in the north of the continent. Other types are perhaps nearly as characteristic, though of simpler construction. One of these is a simple cone of glass, sometimes quite plain, at others ornamented with an applied spiral glass thread, or more rarely with festoons of white glass embedded in the body of the vessel. A third form is a plain cup or bowl widely expanded at the mouth and with a rounded base, so that it could only be set down when empty, in fact a true “tumbler.” This feature is in fact a very common one in the drinking vessels of the Saxon race. There are many other varieties, plain cylindrical goblets, generally with ornamental glass threads on the outside, and a more usual type has a rounded body somewhat of the shape of an orange with a wide plain mouth. Many of all these classes were found in the famous cemetery known as the King’s Field at Faversham in Kent (the relics from which are now in the British Museum), at Chessel Down in the Isle of Wight, and in the cemetery within the ancient camp on High Down, near Worthing. In Belgium, France and Germany the same types occur, and even as far north as Scandinavia, where they are found in association with Roman coins of the 4th century. On the continent, however, additional types are found that do not occur in Britain—one of these is a drinking glass in the form of a hunting horn with glass threads forming an ornamental design on the outside. From the wide distribution of these types, it seems certain that they sprang originally from a common centre, and the slender evidence available on the subject seems to point to that centre having been somewhere on the lower Rhine. Although glass seems to have been popular and by no means rare as a material for drinking vessels, other materials also were used. A large number of the smaller pottery vessels would serve such a purpose, and in one grave at Broomfield in Essex two small wooden cups were found which, from their small size and thinness, were no doubt used for liquid.

Of the later Saxon domestic utensils nothing remains, the habit of burying such objects with the dead having ceased on the gradual introduction of Christianity through the country. Manuscripts are our only resource, and they are not only of great rarity, but in the main rudely and conventionally drawn in their details. In those of the 9th to the 11th century various simple forms are seen, some resembling our modern tumbler in shape, others like a dice box. Horns as drinking vessels certainly retained their popularity at all times, surviving especially among the northern nations, and many of the vessels of this form were no doubt actual horns, though horn-shaped vessels were often made of other materials. Until we come to the 13th and 14th centuries there is an absolute dearth of the actual objects used in domestic life. And here we begin with plate used in the service of the church.

The drinking vessel possessing the most unbroken history is doubtless the chalice of the Christian Church.4 Like other ceremonial objects it was no doubt differentiated from the drinking cups in ordinary use by a gradual transition, Church vessels. and in the early centuries it is unlikely that it differed either in form or material from the ordinary domestic vessel of the time. Figures of such vessels, apparently with a symbolic intention, are found upon early Christian tombstones, and it has been contended that the vessel indicated the grave of a priest. While this may be the case, the similarity of the vessel represented to the ordinary non-liturgical form renders the conclusion somewhat weak. Among objects found under conditions which lend colour to their specific use as chalices are the bottoms of glass vessels found inserted in plaster in the Catacombs at Rome; but here again the Jesuit Padre Garrucci was unable to find any evidence to support such a conclusion. It is not in fact until the 6th century that the sacred vessel would appear to have assumed a definite form. From about that time date the lost golden chalices of Monza, representations of which still exist in that city; and the famous chalice of Gourdon in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris is probably of about the same time. All of these are two-handled with a vase-shaped body and supported on a high foot; and thus quite unlike the more recent medieval types. Two glass vases of exactly this two-handled form are in the Slade collection at the British Museum, and may well have been chalices. Another chalice, in the same collection, of the 6th or 7th century, was found with a silver treasure at Lampsacus on the Hellespont. It is of silver, with a cylindrical body and small expanding foot; with it were found a number of silver spoons and dishes, the former inscribed with the names of Apostles, Greek hexameters and lines from Virgil’s Eclogues. No doubt the whole was the treasure of a monastery, buried and never reclaimed. So far as evidence exists for the form of the chalice, the vase-shape with two handles seems to have been mainly succeeded by a goblet with straight sides and without handles; these latter in great part disappeared. Then came the rounded cup-shaped bowl as seen in the well-known Kremsmünster chalice. An 582 interesting silver vessel, probably a chalice, found at Trewhiddle in Cornwall, is in the British Museum. It is of plain semi-oviform shape, and dates from the 9th century. The 13th century chalice was usually a broad somewhat shallow cup, on a conical base, and squat in its general lines as compared with those of later date. These gradually became taller, and with a bowl smaller in proportion, following the tendency of the civil vessels towards more elegant lines. Both civil and religious vessels eventually carried this tendency to an extreme point, so that in the 17th century the continental chalices and standing cups had lost all sense of true artistic proportions; the bowl of the chalice had greatly shrunk in size while the foot had become huge and highly elaborate, both in general form and in ornamental details. In Britain chalices ceased to be used in the English church in the reign of Edward VI., and were replaced by communion cups. These were much plainer in make, recalling in their outlines the goblet form of about a thousand years earlier, the sides of the bowl being concave, or nearly straight, as opposed to the convexity of the chalice, while the paten was reversed over the mouth and so arranged as to form a closely fitting cover. With the beginning of the 17th century English communion cups again followed the civil fashion in adapting the outline of the Venetian drinking glass, a shape which has survived to our own days.

The materials of which chalices were made in the early centuries seem to have been as various as those of ordinary vessels. Glass was undoubtedly a favourite substance, perhaps from its lending itself readily to scrupulous cleanliness; but wood, horn, ivory and similar materials were undoubtedly in use, and were from time to time condemned as improper by the Fathers of the Church. Pewter was in common use, and it was not an unusual practice in the 12th and 13th centuries to place sacramental vessels, of this or more precious metal, in the grave of an ecclesiastic. Bronze was also used, and the Kremsmünster chalice is of that metal, which was a favourite one in the Celtic church. But gold or silver chalices were no doubt always preferred when they could be obtained.

It may be mentioned here that it was a common practice in the 16th century and later in England for laymen to make gifts to the church of vessels of an entirely domestic character for use in the service. Many of these from their associations, and in the character of the designs upon them, were entirely unsuited for such purposes, and in our own time, when a healthy desire has sprung up for the proper investigation of such matters, many such unsuitable vessels have been withdrawn from use. Domestic plate, however, being much more highly appreciated by collectors, there has been a regrettable tendency on the part of the holders of such pieces to sell them to the highest bidders; the tendency is to be deplored, for while they remain the property of the church, they are a national asset; if sold by auction, there is a great probability of their going abroad.

It would seem fairly certain that the ordinary drinking vessel of medieval times was, like the trenchers of wood, turned on the lathe. Of these the commoner varieties have entirely disappeared, having become useless from distortion Medieval vessels for common uses. or other damage. Such as have come down to our own time owe their preservation to the added refinement of a silver mount. Vessels of this kind are known as mazer bowls, a word of uncertain origin, but undoubtedly, in the medieval sense, indicating wood of some more Mazers. or less valuable kind, and not improbably, in the 16th century, maple or a wood of that appearance. Spenser in the “Shepherd’s Kalendar” speaks of “a mazer ywrought of the maple warre.” Although such vessels are mentioned in the inventories and other contemporary records as far back as the 12th century, no example is known to exist of an earlier date than the 14th century, of which date there are two in the possession of Harbledown hospital. This type of drinking vessel was in common use in well-to-do households until the 16th century, when a change of fashion and the greater luxury and refinement dictated the adoption of more elegant and complex forms. The ordinary mazer was a shallow bowl (see Plate, Plate II.) about 6 in. in diameter, with a broad expanding rim of silver gilt often engraved with a motto in black letter or Lombardic capitals, at times referring to the function of the cup, such as:—

“In the name of the Trinity

Fille the Kup and drinke to me.”


“Potum et nos benedicat Agios.”

Within the bowl, in the centre is often found a circular medallion called a “print” with some device upon it, engraved and filled with enamel. The reason of this addition may conceivably be found in the fact that such bowls were sometimes made from the lower half of a gourd or calabash, in the centre of which would be a rough projection whence the fibres of the fruit had diverged. A rarer form of mazer has the characters just mentioned and in addition is mounted upon a high foot, bringing it nearer to the category of standing cups or “hanaps.” The famous Scrope mazer belonging to York Minster (early 15th century) stands upon three small feet. Of the hanap type examples are in the possession of Pembroke College, Cambridge (the Foundress’ Cup), and All Souls’ College, Oxford, the former an exceedingly fine specimen, of the third quarter of the 15th century. The form dictated originally by the simple wooden cup was at times carried out entirely in silver, or even in stone, mazer-like cups being found either entirely in metal or with the main portion made of serpentine or some other ornamental stone. An example of the former from the Hamilton Palace collection, as well as several ordinary mazers, are to be seen in the British Museum. The types above described are of English origin, with the exception of that made entirely of silver, which is thought to be French. Most of the continental forms differed from the English, and were more elaborately finished. One of the finest is that which belonged to Louis de Male, last count of Flanders. It is an exceedingly thin, shallow bowl of fine-grained wood, with a cover of the same make. The latter is surmounted by a silver figure of a falcon holding a shield in its mouth with the arms of the count. The foot is of silver with lozenge-shaped panels inserted, bearing in enamel the arms of the count. A German form of the 16th century consisted of a depressed sphere of wood for the bowl, with a silver rim, and a cover formed of a similarly shaped sphere, called in France a “creusequin.” Such mazers were furnished in addition with a short metal handle turned up at the end, a feature unknown in the English types. All of these again are to be seen in the British Museum series.

Although the use of wooden vessels more or less elaborately mounted was continued well into the 16th century as a fashion, many other materials of far greater value were in use among the wealthy long before that time. Crystal, Hanaps. agate and other hard stones, ivory, Chinese porcelain, as well as more ordinary wares, were all in use, as well as the precious metals. The inventories of the 14th and 15th centuries are full of entries showing that such precious cups were fairly common. Of gold cups of any antiquity naturally but few remain; the intrinsic value of the metal probably is a sufficient explanation. One of the most important in existence is however preserved in the British Museum, viz. the royal gold cup of the kings of England and France. It is of nearly pure gold with a broad bowl and a high foot, the cover pyramidal. The whole is ornamented with translucent enamels of the most perfect quality, and with a little damage in one part, absolutely well preserved. The subjects represented on it are scenes from the life of St Agnes, in two rows, one on the cover and one outside the bowl; on the foot are the symbols of the four Evangelists, and around the base a coronal of leaves alternating with pearls; the cover originally had a similar adjunct, but it has unfortunately been cut away. This is the only piece of royal plate of the treasures of the kings of England and France that now remains, and its history has been traced from the time it was made, about the year 1380, to the present time. It was made by one of the goldsmiths of the luxurious Duc de Berri, the brother of Charles V. of France, no doubt to offer as a gift to the king, whose 583 birthday was St Agnes’ day. It was, however, never presented, probably owing to the death of Charles V. in 1380. The duc de Berri was not on friendly terms with his nephew Charles VI., but on their being reconciled he presented the young king with this cup. The troubles of his reign led to the invasion of France by Henry V. of England, and the ultimate appointment of his brother, John, duke of Bedford, as regent. The necessities of the half-insane Charles doubtless caused this cup and other valuables to pass into the possession of the regent in exchange for ready money, for it appears in the duke of Bedford’s will, under which it passed into the treasury of Henry VI. There it remained and appears in all subsequent royal inventories up to the time of James I. This monarch, whose motto was “Beati pacifici,” received with joy the embassy sent from Spain in the year 1610 to conclude the first treaty of peace with England since the Armada, and showered upon the envoy, Don Juan de Velasco, constable of Castile, the most lavish and extravagant gifts. The constable, in fact, was so impressed by the warmth of his reception that he printed an account of his embassy, and from this work the main story of the cup has eventually been traced. On his return to Spain the constable, a piously disposed man, presented this cup, with many other valuable gifts, to the convent of Santa Clara Medina de Pomar at Burgos, of which his sister was Superior. Although it was a domestic vessel, a “hanap” in fact, the constable elected that it should be consecrated and made use of as a chalice at great festivals. And so it continued to be used from the early years of the 17th century until about the year 1882, when the convent having fallen upon evil times, it was decided to sell this precious relic. A priest from the Argentine being at the time in Burgos, it was confided to him to sell in Paris, and he deposited the sum of £100 by way of security. This was all that the unfortunate nuns at Burgos ever received in return for their chalice, for they never saw the priest again. He took the cup to Paris, arriving in the month of September, when the majority of the well-to-do are away from town. After many failures to dispose of it, he ultimately succeeded in selling it to Baron Jerome Pichon for the sum of about £400, practically its weight in gold. The baron, after vainly trying to resell it at various sums from £20,000 downwards, eventually parted with it to Messrs Wertheimer of Bond Street for £8000, and that firm very liberally ceded it to Sir Wollaston Franks for the same sum, and it was finally secured by a subscription for the British Museum.

Plate I.

Fig. 1.—ROMAN GLASS CUP. With representation of a chariot race. Found at Colchester. Fig. 2.—TEUTONIC GLASS CUP. From a grave at Selzen, Rhenish Hesse. Fig. 3.—SAXON GLASS “TUMBLER.”
Fig. 4.—FRANKISH GLASS DRINKING HORN. Bingerbrück. Fig. 5.—SAXON COW’S HORN. Mounted in silver. Taplow.
Fig. 6.—SAXON TRUMPET-SHAPED DRINKING VESSEL. With hollow tubular ornamentation. Fig. 7.—THE ROYAL GOLD ENAMELLED HANAP. Made about 1380. Fig. 8.—SARACENIC ENAMELLED GOBLET. With French silver mountings. Fourteenth century.

Plate II.
All the objects represented on these two plates are in the British Museum.

Fig. 8.—A GLASS “YARD OF ALE” (English). Eighteenth century.
Fig. 1.—VENETIAN GLASS GOBLET. With enamelled decoration. Fifteenth century. Fig. 2.—ENGLISH “BLACKJACK.” With initials of Charles I. and date 1646.
Fig. 3.—THE ROCHESTER MAZER. Presented by Brother Robert Peacham. Sixteenth century. Fig. 4.—CHINESE CUP. Carved from rhinoceros horn. Eighteenth century.
Fig. 5.—ENGLISH GLASS TANKARD. Bearing the Arms of Lord Burleigh. Fig. 6.—COCO-NUT CUP. German, about 1600. Fig. 7.—SWISS “TANZENMANN.” Seventeenth century.

Such is the story of one of the most remarkable “hanaps” in existence. The word “hanap” is translated by Cotgrave in his French dictionary of 1660 as “a drinking cup or goblet,” and probably was intended to mean what would be called a standing cup, that is, raised on a foot, to distinguish it from a bowl of the mazer class. Such vessels were chiefly used to ornament the dinner table or sideboard, in the way that loving-cups are now used at civic banquets, where, almost alone in fact, the ancient ceremonial of the table is still observed to some extent; and the loving-cup is the direct descendant of the hanap of the middle ages.

Of all the ornaments of the table in medieval times the most conspicuous was probably the “nef.” This was in the form of a ship (navis), as its name implies, and originally was designed to hold the table utensils of the host—knives, napkins, Nefs. and at times even the wine. Some of the later examples which alone survive are carried out with the greatest elaboration, the sails and rigging being carefully finished and with a number of figures on the deck. The reason for the existence of such an article of table furniture was doubtless the fear of poison. As in course of time this became less, the nef changed its character, and became either a mere ornament, or sometimes was capable of being used as a drinking vessel. The former, however, was much more common, and the number of nefs that can be practically used as drinking cups is small.

In the 15th and 16th centuries the shapes, decoration and materials of drinking vessels were almost endless. A favourite object to be so adapted was an ostrich egg, and many can be seen in museums in elaborate silver mounts; coco-nuts were also used in the same way, and Chinese and other Oriental wares then of great variety, were often turned into cups and vases by 16th-century types. ingeniously devised silver mounting. The use of drinking vessels either formed of actual horns or of other materials was common in the 15th and 16th centuries, especially in the north. They were usually provided with feet so as to serve as standing cups, and some of them were mounted with great richness. An excellent example is the famous drinking-horn in the possession of Queen’s College, Oxford, dating from the 14th century. The medieval beliefs about “griffins’ claws” still survived to this late date, and a horn cup in the British Museum bears the inscription “Ein Greifen Klau bin ich genannt, In Asia, Africa wohl bekannt.” Another horn, probably that of an ibex, is in the same institution, and has a silver mount inscribed “Gryphi unguis divo Cuthberto dunelmensi sacer.” The elegant natural curve of the horn adds greatly to the charm of the vessel. In Germany the ingenuity of the silversmith was turned in the direction of making vessels in the forms of animals, at times in allusion to the coat of arms of the patron. Stags, lions, bears and various birds are often found; the head generally removable so as to form a small cup Switzerland and south Germany had a special type, in the form of the figure of a peasant, generally in wood, carrying on his back a large basket, which edged with silver formed the drinking cup. This type is only found in wine-growing districts, the basket being used for carrying grapes. In Germany such cups are called “Buttenmann,” in Switzerland “Tanzenmann.” The royal and princely museums of Germany contain great numbers of such vessels, the Green Vault in Dresden in particular, while a good number are to be seen in our own great museums. A curious fancy, combining instruction with conviviality, was to make cups in the form of a globe, terrestrial or celestial, which are still useful as showing the state of geographical or astronomical knowledge at the time. Several of those made in the 16th century are still in existence, one in the British Museum, a second at Nancy, and others are in Copenhagen and Zurich and in private collections. The upper half of the globe is removable, leaving the lower as the drinking cup. Ivory both from the beauty of its colour and the evenness of its structure has been a favourite material for drinking vessels at all times, and would seem to have been continuously used from the earliest period, whether derived from Asia or Africa, while the semi-fossil mammoth ivory of Siberia has not been neglected. In general, however, the vessels made from this material presented no essential differences of form from those in wood, until the art of lathe-turning attained great perfection, when a wide field was opened for ingenuity and even extravagance of form. The most remarkable examples of the possibilities of this kind of mechanical skill are seen in the productions of the Nuremberg turners of the 17th century, whose elaborate and entirely useless tours de force comprise among many other things standing cups of ivory sometimes 2 ft. high, exemplifying every eccentricity of which the lathe is capable. Peter Zick (d. 1632) and his three sons were celebrated for such work. Several pieces, doubtless from their hands, are in the British Museum.

The use of glass cups was not common in England until the 16th century, Venice having practically the monopoly of the supply. A silver-mounted glass goblet which belonged to the great Lord Burghley is, however, in the British Glass cups. Museum, where there is also a very large series of Venetian drinking glasses of various kinds, clear and lace glass as well as some of the 15th-century goblets with enamelled designs, now of the greatest rarity. The relations of Venice with the East were of so intimate a character that the earlier forms of Venetian glasses were nearly identical with those of the Mahommedan East.

A common type of Arab drinking glass resembled our modern tumbler (a beaker), but gradually expanding in a curve towards the mouth, and often enamelled. The enamelled designs were at times related to the purpose of the vessel, figures drinking and the like, but more commonly bore either a mark of ownership, such as the armorial device of an emir, or some simple decorative 584 design. This simple form probably has its origin in the horn cup made from the base of a cow’s horn and closed at the smaller end. The later forms in the late 15th century and after, followed the fashion in other materials, and were raised on a tall foot, so that from the 16th century onwards the type of wine glass has hardly changed, except in details. An interesting variety in one detail is seen in the German fashion of providing an elaborate silver stand into which the foot of such an ordinary-shaped glass was made to fit. Frequently, as might be expected, such stands are found without glasses, and their use then seems difficult to explain.

Another characteristic German type is the “wiederkom,” a vessel more conspicuous for capacity than for its artistic qualities. It is usually a cylindrical vessel of green glass often holding as much as a quart, elaborately enamelled with coats of arms and views of well-known places; and at times when the cup was a wedding gift the figures of the bride and bridegroom are seen upon it.

A very fanciful kind of cup was known in England as a “yard of ale,” a long tube of glass generally shaped like a coach horn, but ending sometimes in three prongs as a trident, the opening in the latter being at the end of the handle, which was about a yard in length.

Small silver cups were often made in dozens with various devices, differing in each, such as the signs of the zodiac, the occupations of the months, or figures of the classical gods and goddesses, engraved upon them.

The tankard came into fashion in the 16th century, a practical, but seldom graceful object. At first some attempt was made, by shaping the sides, to attain to some artistic quality, but usually the tankard from the late 16th century to the present time is found with straight sides, either vertical or contracting towards the top, which is of course always furnished with a hinged lid.

A material that has one obvious merit, that of being practically unbreakable, is leather, and drinking cups were often made of it. The flagon called a “black jack” is the best-known, and examples are very common, mostly of the 17th 17th and 18th century types. and 18th centuries. A quaint fashion was to have a leather cup made in the form of a lady’s shoe; this, however, was confined to Germany and might be thought in somewhat questionable taste.

In the 17th and 18th centuries a great impetus was given to the production of curious drinking vessels in pottery. In England at various potting centres a great number of cups called “tygs” were made: capacious mugs with several handles, three or four, round the sides, so that the cup could be readily passed from one to the other. Many of these have quaint devices and inscriptions upon them. Another favourite plan is to make a jug with open-work round the neck and a variety of spouts, one only communicating with the liquid. These “puzzle jugs” no doubt caused a good deal of amusement when attempted by a novice, who would inevitably spill some of the contents.

The horn of the rhinoceros is much favoured by the Chinese as a material for drinking cups often of a somewhat archaic form. The dense structure of the horn is well adapted for the purpose, and its beautiful amber hue makes the vessel a very agreeable object to the eye. The usual form is of a boat shape on a square foot, and the carved decoration is often copied from that of the bronze vessels of the earlier dynasties. Others are treated in a freer and more naturalistic manner, the bowl being formed as the flower of the magnolia, and the entire horn, at times more than 2 ft. in length, is utilized in carrying out the design. One of this kind is in the Victoria and Albert Museum. Cups of the former type are commonly found imitated in ivory-white porcelain, and are known as “libation cups.” Rhinoceros horn is held by the Chinese to be an antidote against poison, a belief shared by other nations.

There is but little to be said about the vessels used in the drinking of tea and coffee. In Europe the type has practically remained unchanged since the introduction of tea and coffee drinking, except that in the 18th century the tea-cups imported from China had no handles, and were generally thinner than the Tea and coffee cups. coffee cups. In Japan there is a ceremonious way of drinking tea, known as Cha no yu. Here powdered green tea is used; the party assembles in a small pavilion in a garden, and the tea is made in accordance with a rigid etiquette. The infusion is stirred with a whisk in a rudely fashioned bowl, holding about a pint, and passed from one guest to another. The bowls are of very thick pottery, never of porcelain, and the most valued kind is that made in Korea. In the drinking of rice spirit (saké) in Japan small wide shallow cups are used, made generally of porcelain, but sometimes of finely lacquered wood. Both kinds are usually ornamented with elaborate and sometimes allusive designs.

Among savage races the most peculiar drinking ceremony is that of kava drinking in Polynesia, principally in the Fijian, Tongan and Samoan groups. The best description of the process is given in Mariner’s Tonga. The Savage utensils. principal vessel is usually a large bowl, sometimes measuring 2 or 3 ft. in diameter, cut from a solid block of wood. It has four short legs and an ear at one side to which a rope of coco-nut fibre is generally attached. The liquid is prepared in this bowl and ladled out in small cups often made of coco-nut shells, and these are handed round with great ceremony. Both the bowl and the cups become coated in the inside with a highly polished layer, pale blue in colour; but this beautiful tint fades when the vessel is out of use, and it is therefore very rarely seen in specimens in Europe. The kava itself is prepared from the root of a tree of the pepper family (Piper methysticum); the root is cut into pieces of a convenient size, and these are given to young men and women of the company, who masticate them, and the lumps thus shredded are placed in the large bowl, water is poured over them, and the mass is strained with great care by wringing it in strips of the inner bark of the hibiscus. The liquor is slightly intoxicating.

If the Polynesian method of preparing kava as a drink is distasteful to our ideas, the favourite drinking bowl of the old Tibetans is even more so. Friar Odoric (14th century), quoted by Yule, describes how the Tibetan youth “takes his father’s head and straightway cooks and eats it, and of the skull he makes a goblet from which he and all his family always drink devoutly to the memory of the deceased father.” This recalls Livy’s account of the Boii in Upper Italy, who made a drinking vessel of the head of the Roman consul Postumus. Among the Tibetans skulls are still used, but generally for libations only; for this purpose great care is exercised in the selection of the skull, and the “points” of a good skull are well understood by the Lamas.

(C. H. Rd.)

1 The verb “to drink” is Common Teut.; cf. Ger. trinken, &c.

2 See Plate, Plate I.

3 See Plate, Plate I.

4 For two illustrations see Plate, Plate II.

DRIPSTONE, in architecture, a projecting moulding weathered on the upper surface and throated underneath so as to form a drip. The term is more correctly applied to a string course. When carried round an arch its more correct description would be a hood (q.v.). When employed inside a building it serves a decorative purpose only.

DRISLER, HENRY (1818-1897), American classical scholar, was born on the 27th of December 1818, on Staten Island, New York. He graduated at Columbia College in 1839, taught classics in the Columbia grammar school for four years, and was then appointed tutor in classics in the college. In 1845 he became adjunct professor of Latin and Greek there, in 1857 was appointed to the new separate chair of Latin language and literature, and ten years later succeeded Dr Charles Anthon as Jay professor of Greek language and literature. He was acting president in 1867 and in 1888-1889, and from 1890 to his retirement as professor emeritus in 1894 was dean of the school of arts. He died in New York City on the 30th of November 1897. Dr Drisler completed and supplemented Dr Anthon’s labours as an editor of classical texts. His criticisms and corrections of Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon, of which he brought out a revised American edition in 1846, won his name a place on the title-page of the British edition in 1879, and in 1870 he published a revised and enlarged edition of Yonge’s English-Greek Lexicon. He was ardently opposed to slavery, and brilliantly refuted The Bible View of Slavery, written by Bishop 585 J. H. Hopkins of Vermont, in a Reply (1863), which meets the bishop on purely Biblical ground and displays the wide range of Dr Drisler’s scholarship.

DRIVER, SAMUEL ROLLES (1846-  ), English divine and Hebrew scholar, was born at Southampton on the 2nd of October 1846. He was educated at Winchester and New College, Oxford, where he had a distinguished career, taking a first class in Literae Humaniores in 1869. He was awarded the Pusey and Ellerton scholarship in 1866, the Kennicott scholarship in 1870 (both Hebrew), and the Houghton Syriac prize in 1872. From 1870 he was a fellow, and from 1875 also a tutor, of New College, and in 1883 succeeded Pusey as regius professor of Hebrew and canon of Christ Church. He was a member of the Old Testament Revision Committee (1876-1884) and examining chaplain to the bishop of Southwell (1884-1904); received the honorary degrees of doctor of literature of Dublin (1892), doctor of divinity of Glasgow (1901), doctor of literature of Cambridge (1905); and was elected a fellow of the British Academy in 1902. Dr Driver devoted his life to the study, both textual and critical, of the Old Testament. Among his numerous works are commentaries on Joel and Amos (1897); Deuteronomy (1902); Daniel (1901); Genesis (1909); the Minor Prophets, Nahum to Malachi (1905); Job (1905); Jeremiah (1906); Leviticus (1894 Hebrew text, 1898 trans. and notes); Samuel (Hebrew text, 1890). Among his more general works are: Treatise on the Use of the Tenses in Hebrew (1892); Isaiah, his Life and Times (1893); Introd. to the Literature of the Old Test. (1897, ed. 1909); Sermons on Subjects connected with the Old Testament (1892); The Parallel Psalter (1904); Heb. and Eng. Lexicon of the O.T. (in collaboration, 1906); Modern Research as illustrating the Bible (1909); articles in the Ency. Brit., Ency. Bibl. and Hastings’ Dict. of the Bible.

DRIVING (from “to drive,” i.e. generally to propel, force along or in, a word common in various forms to the Teutonic languages), a word used in a restricted sense for the art of controlling and directing draught animals from a coach or other conveyance or movable machine to which they are harnessed for the purpose of traction. This has been an occupation practised since domesticated animals were first put to this use. In various parts of the world a number of different animals have been, and still are, so employed; of these the horse, ox, mule and ass are the most common, though their place is taken by the reindeer in northern latitudes, and by the Eskimo dog in arctic and antarctic regions. The driving of each of these requires special skill, only to be acquired by practice combined with knowledge of the characteristics peculiar to the several animals employed. The most accomplished driver of spirited horses would probably be in difficulties if called upon to drive sixteen or twenty dogs in an arctic sledge, or a team of oxen or mules drawing the guns of a mountain battery; and the adept in either of these branches of the art might provoke the compassion of a farmer from Lincolnshire or Texas by his attempts to manage a pair of Clydesdale horses in the plough or the reaping machine.

Under all these different conditions driving is a work of utility, of economic value to civilized society. But from very early times driving, especially of horses, has also been regarded as a sport or pastime. This probably arose in the first instance from its association with battle. In the earliest historical records, such as the Old Testament and the Homeric poems, the driver of the chariot fills a place of importance in the economy of war; and on his skill and efficiency the fate of kings, and even of kingdoms, must often have depended. The statement in the Book of Kings that Jehu the son of Nimshi was recognized from a distance by his style of driving appears to indicate that the warrior himself on occasion took the place of the professional charioteer; and although it would be unsafe to infer from the story that the pleasure derived from the occupation was his motive for doing so, the name of this king of Israel has become the eponym of drivers. Among the Greeks at an equally early period driving was a recognized form of sport, to the popularity of which Horace afterwards made allusion. Racing between teams of horses harnessed to war-chariots took the place occupied by saddle-horse racing and American trotting races (see Horse-Racing) in the sport of modern times. The element of danger doubtless gave pleasurable excitement to chariot racing and kept alive its association with incidents familiar in war; just as at a later period, when the institution of chivalry had given the armed knight on horseback a conspicuous place in medieval warfare, the tournament became the most popular sport of the aristocracy throughout Europe.

This element of danger cannot be said to enter usually into the enjoyment of driving at the present day. Though accidents occasionally happen, the pastime is practically unattended by serious risk; and the source of the pleasure it affords the driver must be sought in the skill it requires, combined with the love of the horse which is common to sportsmen, and of exercise of power. The art of driving as practised to-day for pleasure without profit, and without the excitement of racing, is of quite modern development. Oliver Cromwell, indeed, met with a mishap in Hyde Park while driving a team of four horses presented to him by the count of Oldenburg, which was the subject of more than one satirical allusion by contemporary royalist writers; but two things were needed before much enjoyment could be found in driving apart from utility. These were the invention of carriages on springs, and the construction of roads with smooth and solid surface. The former did not come into general use till near the end of the 18th century, and it was about the same period that the engineering skill of Thomas Telford and the invention of John London Macadam combined to provide the latter. The influence on driving of these two developments was soon apparent. Throughout the 18th century stage-coaches, ponderous unwieldy vehicles without springs, had toiled slowly over rough and deeply rutted tracks as a means of communication between different parts of Great Britain; but those who made use of them did so as a matter of necessity and not for enjoyment. But by the beginning of the 19th century the improvement in carriage-building and road-construction alike had greatly diminished the discomfort of travel; and interest in driving for its own sake grew so rapidly that in 1807 the first association of amateur coachmen was formed. This was the Bensington Driving Club, the forerunner of many aristocratic clubs for gentlemen interested in driving as a pastime.

In modern driving one, two or four horses are usually employed. When a greater number than four is put in harness, as in the case of the state equipages of royal personages on occasions of ceremony, the horses are not driven but are controlled by “postillions” mounted on the near-side horse of each pair. When two horses are used they may either be placed side by side, in “double harness,” which is the commoner mode of driving a pair of horses, or one following the other, in a “tandem.” Four horses, or “four-in-hand,” are harnessed in two pairs, one following the other, and called respectively the “leaders” and the “wheelers”—the same terms being used for the two horses of a tandem.

Though it is a less difficult accomplishment to drive a single horse than a tandem or four-in-hand, or even a pair, it nevertheless requires both knowledge and the skill that practice alone confers. The driver should have some knowledge of equine character, and complete familiarity with every part of the harness he uses, and with the purpose which each buckle or strap is intended to serve. The indefinable quality known in horsemanship as “good hands” is scarcely less desirable on the box-seat than in the saddle. It is often said to be unattainable by those who do not possess it by nature; but though this may be true to some extent, “good hands” are partly at least the result of learning the correct position for the arm and hand that holds the reins. The reins are held in the left hand, which should be kept at about the level of the lowest button of the driver’s waistcoat, and near the body though not pressed against it. The driving hand should never be reached forward more than a few inches, nor raised as high as the breast. The upper arm should lie loosely against the side, the forearm horizontal across the front of the body, forming a right angle or 586 thereabouts at the elbow-joint, the wrist very slightly bent inwards, and the back of the hand and knuckles facing outwards towards the horses. In this position the three joints of the arm form a kind of automatic spring that secures the “give” to the movement of the horse’s mouth which, in conjunction with firmness, is a large part of what is meant by “good hands.” But this result is only obtained if the reins be also held with the proper degree of bearing on the bit. What the proper degree may be depends greatly on the character of the horses and the severity of the bit. Pulling horses must be restrained by a strong draw on their bits, such as would bring other animals to a standstill. But under no circumstances, no matter how sluggish the horses may be, should the reins be allowed to lie slack; for if this is done the horse receives no support in the event of a sudden stumble, and no control if he shies unexpectedly. The driver should therefore always just “feel his horse’s mouth” as lightly as possible; he then has the animal well under control in readiness for every emergency, while avoiding such a pull on the mouth as would cause a high-spirited horse to chafe and fret. Well-broken carriage horses should always be willing to run into their bits, and those that draw back when lightly held in hand should be kept up to the bit with the whip.

These principles are common to all branches of the art of driving, whether of one, two or four horses. When they are observed no great difficulty confronts the coachman who is content with single or double harness, provided he has acquired the eye for pace and distance, and the instinctive realization of the length of the carriage behind him, without which he may suffer collision with other vehicles, or allow insufficient room in turning a corner or entering a gateway. For before he can have had the practice by which alone this knowledge is to be gained, the beginner will have learnt such elementary facts as that his horses must be held well in hand going down hill and given their heads on an ascent, and that on no account should the horse’s mouth be “jobbed” by the driver jerking the reins; he will also have learnt a good deal about the character and temperament of the horse, on which so much of the art of driving depends, and which can best be studied on the box-seat and not at all in the library. If he has pursued this study with any degree of insight, he will have learnt further to be sparing in the use of the hand-brake with which most modern carriages are provided. This apparatus is most useful in case of emergency, or for taking weight off the carriage on a really steep descent; but the habit which too many coachmen fall into of using the brake on every trifling decline should be avoided. Its effect is that the horses are continually doing collar-work, and are thus deprived of the relief which ought to be given them by occasional light pole or shaft work instead.

When the ambition of the amateur coachman leads him to attempt a tandem or four-in-hand he enters on a much more complex department of the art of driving. In the first place he has now four reins instead of two to Tandem and four-in-hand. manipulate, and the increase of weight on his hand, especially when four horses are being driven, requires considerable strength of wrist to support it without tiring. It is of the first importance, moreover, that he should know instinctively the position in his hand of each of the reins, and be able automatically and instantaneously to lay a finger on any one of them. The driver who has to look at his reins to find the off-side leader’s rein, or who touches the near-side wheeler’s in mistake for it, is in peril of a catastrophe. It is therefore essential that the reins should be correctly disposed between the fingers of the left hand, and that the driver should as quickly as possible accustom himself to handle them automatically. This is somewhat more difficult in driving tandem than in driving four-in-hand, because in the latter case there is greater spread of the reins in front of the hand than with tandem, where the reins lie much more nearly parallel one above the other. The actual holding of the reins is the same in both cases. The coachman should be careful to take the reins in his hand before mounting to the box-seat, as otherwise his team may make a start without his having the means to control them. It is customary to hitch the reins, ready for him to take them, on the outside terret (the ring on the pad through which the rein runs) of the wheeler—the off-side wheeler in four-in-hand. Standing on the ground beside the off-side wheel of his carriage, ready to mount to the box-seat, the coachman, after drawing up his reins till he almost feels the horses’ mouths, must then let out about a foot of slack in his off-side reins, in order that when on his seat he may find all the reins as nearly as possible equal in length in his hand. He mounts with them disposed in his right hand precisely as they will be in his left when ready to start. The leaders’ reins should be separated by the forefinger, and the wheelers’ by the middle finger. The near-leader’s rein will then be uppermost of the four, between the forefinger and thumb; then between the forefinger and middle finger are two reins together—the off-leader’s and the near-wheeler’s in the order named; while at the bottom, between the middle and third fingers, is the off-wheeler’s rein. It will be found that held thus the reins spread immediately in front of the hand in such a way that each several rein, and each pair of reins—two near-side, two off-side, two wheelers’ or two leaders’—can be conveniently manipulated; and the proficient driver can instinctively and instantaneously grasp any of them he chooses with his right hand without having to turn his eyes from the road before him to the reins in his hand. Having seated himself on the box and transferred the reins, thus disposed, from the right to the left hand, the coachman should shorten them till he just feels his wheelers’ mouths and holds back his leaders sufficiently to prevent them quite tightening their traces; then, when he has taken the whip from its socket in his right hand, he is ready to start. This is an operation requiring careful management, to secure that leaders and wheelers start simultaneously; for if the leaders start first they will be drawn up sharp by their bits, or, what is worse, if their reins have not been sufficiently shortened they will jump into their collars and possibly break a swinging bar, and in either case they will be fretted and disconcerted and will possibly in consequence either kick or rear; if the wheelers start before the leaders they will ram the swinging bars under the tails of the latter, with results equally unfortunate. The worst possible method of starting is suddenly to give the horses their heads and use the whip. But no positive rule can be laid down, for it is just one of those points which depend largely on familiarity with the horses forming the team. Horses even moderately accustomed to the work will generally start best in obedience to the voice, and their attention may simultaneously be aroused by gently feeling their mouths. When once started the driver should at once see that his team is going straight. If the leaders and wheelers are not exactly on the same line, this or that rein must be shortened or lengthened as the case may require; and it is to be noticed that as the near-wheeler’s and off-leader’s reins lie together between the same fingers, a simultaneous shortening or lengthening of these two reins will usually produce the desired result. With rare exceptions, reins should be shortened or lengthened by pushing them back or drawing them forward with the right hand from in front of the driving hand, and not from behind it. As soon as the team is in motion the leaders may be let out till they draw their traces taut; but draught should be taken off them on falling ground or while rounding a corner. Good drivers touch the reins as little as possible with the whip-hand, and nothing is less workmanlike than for a coachman to act as if he were an angler continually letting out or reeling in his line. In rounding a corner a loop of an inch or two of the leaders’ rein on the side to which the turn is to be made is taken up by the right hand and placed under the left thumb. This “points the leaders,” who accordingly make the required turn, while at the same time the right hand bears lightly on the wheelers’ rein of the opposite side, to prevent them making the turn too sharply for safety to the coach behind them. As soon as the turn is made—and all this applies equally to the passing of other vehicles or obstacles on the road—the driver’s left thumb releases the loop, which runs out of itself, and the team returns to the straight formation. A circumstance 587 useful to bear in mind is that the swinging bars are wider than the maximum width of the coach; consequently the driver knows that wherever the swinging bars can pass through with safety—and as they are before his eyes the calculation is easy—the coach will safely follow.

A necessary part of driving four horses or tandem is the proper use of the whip. The novice, before beginning to drive, should acquire the knack—which can only be learnt by practical instruction and experiment—of catching The use of the whip. up the thong of the whip on to the stick by a flick of the wrist. With practice this is done almost automatically and without looking at the whip. It is not merely an ornamental accomplishment, but a necessary one; for in no other way can the whip be kept in constant readiness for use either on wheelers or leaders as the need of the moment may dictate. The point of the thong is confined in the whip-hand when striking the wheelers (which should be done in front of the pad), and is released for reaching the leaders. Considerable dexterity is required in using the whip on the leaders without at the same time touching, or at all events alarming or fretting, the wheelers. The thong of the whip should reach the leaders from beneath the swinging bar; and proficient “whips” can unerringly strike even the near leader from under the off-side bar without disturbing the equanimity of any other member of the team. This demands great skill and accuracy; but no coachman is competent to drive four horses until he is able to touch with the whip any particular horse that may require it, and no other.

Essential as is proficiency in the use of the whip when driving four horses, it is even more imperative for the driver of tandem. For in four-in-hand the leaders act in some measure as a restraint upon each other’s freedom of action, whereas the leader in tandem is entirely independent and therefore more difficult to control. If he takes it into his head to turn completely round and face the driver, there is no effectual means of preventing him. It is here that a prompt and accurate use of the whip is important. A sharp cut with the thong of the whip on the side to which he is turning will often drive the leader back into his place. But it must be done instantaneously, and the driver who has got his thong coiled round the stick of his whip, or who cannot make certain of striking the horse on precisely the desired spot, will miss the opportunity and may find his team in a sad mess, possibly with disastrous results. If the leader, in spite of a stroke from the whip at the right moment and on the right spot, still persists in turning, the only thing to be done is to turn the wheeler also; and then when the tandem has been straightened, to turn the horses back once more to their original direction. For this reason it is never safe to harness a tandem to a four-wheeled vehicle; because if it should be necessary to turn the wheeler sharply round, the fore-carriage would probably lock and the trap be overturned. Of comparatively recent years a great improvement has been effected in the harnessing of a tandem by the introduction of swinging bars similar to those used in four-in-hand. Formerly the leading traces in tandem drew direct from tugs on the wheeler’s hames, or less frequently from the stops on the shafts. This left a considerable length of trace which, when draught was taken off the leader, hung slack between the two horses; with the result that either of them might get a leg over the leading trace, with dangerous consequences. In the more modern arrangement short traces attached to the wheeler’s tugs hold a bar, which is kept in place by a few inches of chain from the kidney-link on the wheeler’s collar. This bar is connected by short traces or chains with a second bar to which the leader’s true traces are hooked in the usual way, allowing him a comfortable distance clear of the bar precisely as in four-in-hand. The leader thus draws as before from the wheeler’s tugs; but the length of trace is broken up by the two swinging bars, and as these are prevented from falling low by their attachment to the wheeler’s collar, the danger from a too slack leading trace is reduced to a minimum; though care is needed when the leader is not pulling to prevent the bar falling on his hocks.

Expert tandem driving, owing to the greater freedom of the leader from control, is a more difficult art than the driving of four horses, in spite of the fact that the weight on the hand is much less severe; but the general principles of the two are the same. In Great Britain, however, the coach-and-four is the more popular. It is more showy than tandem; it keeps alive the romantic associations of the days when the stagecoach was the ordinary means of locomotion; and a coach, or “drag,” accommodates a larger party of passengers to a race-meeting or other expedition for pleasure than a dogcart. But for those whose means do not permit the more costly luxury of a four-horse team, a tandem will be found to make all the demand on skill and nerve which, in combination with the taste for horses, makes the art of driving a source of enjoyment.

See Donald Walker, British Manly Exercises: in which Riding, Driving, Racing are now first described (London, 1834); Fuller, Essay on Wheel Carriages (London, 1828); William Bridges Adams, English Pleasure Carriages: their Origin, History, Materials, Construction (London, 1837); The Equestrian: A Handbook of Horsemanship, containing Plain Rules for Riding, Driving and the Management of the Horse (London, 1854); a Cavalry Officer, The Handy Horse Book; or Practical Instruction in Driving and the Management of the Horse (London, 1865-1867, 1871-1881); H. J. Helm, American Roadsters and Trotting Horses (Chicago, 1878); E. M. Stratton, The World on Wheels (New York, 1878); J. H. Walsh (“Stonehenge”), Riding and Driving (London, 1863); James A. Garland, The Private Stable (2nd ed., Boston, 1902); the Duke of Beaufort, Driving (The Badminton Library, London, 1889), containing a bibliography; F. H. Huth, Works on Horses and Equitation: A Bibliographical Record of Hippology (London, 1887).

(R. J. M.)

DROGHEDA, a municipal borough, seaport and market town, on the southern border of Co. Louth, Ireland, in the south parliamentary division, on the river Boyne, about 4 m. from its mouth in Drogheda Bay, and 31½ m. N. by W. from Dublin on the Great Northern main line. Pop. (1901) 12,760. It occupies both banks of the river; but the northern division is the larger of the two, and has received greater attention in modern times. The ancient fortifications, still extant in the beginning of the 19th century, have disappeared almost entirely, but of the four gateways one named after St Lawrence remains nearly perfect, consisting of two loopholed circular towers; and there are considerable ruins of another, the West or Butler Gate. Among the public buildings are a mansion-house or mayoralty, with a suite of assembly rooms attached; and the Tholsel, a square building with a cupola. St Peter’s chapel formerly served as the cathedral of the Roman Catholic archbishopric of Armagh; and in the abbey of the Dominican nuns there is still preserved the head of Oliver Plunkett, the archbishop who was executed at Tyburn in 1681 on an unfounded charge of treason. There was formerly an archiepiscopal palace in the town, built by Archbishop Hampton about 1620; and the Dominicans, the Franciscans, the Augustinians, the Carmelites and the knights of St John have monastic establishments. Of the Dominican monastery (1224) there still exists the stately Magdalen tower; while of the Augustinian abbey of St Mary d’Urso (1206) there are the tower and a fine pointed arch. At the head of the educational institutions there is a classical school endowed by Erasmus Smith. There is also a blue-coat school, founded about 1727 for the education of freemen’s sons. The present building was erected in 1870. Benjamin Whitworth, M.P., was a generous benefactor to the town, who built the Whitworth Hall, furnished half the funds for the construction of waterworks, established a cotton factory, and is commemorated by a statue in the Mall. The industrial establishments comprise cotton, flax and flour mills, sawmills, tanneries, salt and soap works, breweries, chemical manure and engineering works. The town is the headquarters of the valuable Boyne salmon-fishery. A brisk trade is carried on mainly in agricultural produce, especially with Liverpool (which is distant 135 m. due E.) and with Glasgow. Many works of improvement have been effected from time to time in the harbour, the quays of which occupy both sides of the river, the principal, 1000 yds. in length, being on the north side. Here is a depth of 21 ft. at the highest and 14 ft. at the lowest tides. The tide reaches 2½ m. above the town to Oldbridge; and barges of 50 tons burden can proceed 19 m. inland to Navan. The river is crossed by a bridge for ordinary traffic, and by a 588 fine railway viaduct. The town is governed by a mayor, 6 aldermen and 18 councillors.

In the earliest notices the town of Drogheda is called Inver-Colpa or the Port of Colpa; the present name signifies “The Bridge over the Ford.” In 1152 the place is mentioned as the seat of a synod convened by the papal legate, Cardinal Paparo; in 1224 it was chosen by Lucas de Netterville, archbishop of Armagh, for the foundation of the Dominican friary of which there are still remains; and in 1228 the two divisions of the town received separate incorporation from Henry III. But there grew up a strong feeling of hostility between Drogheda versus Uriel and Drogheda versus Midiam, in consequence of trading vessels lading their cargoes in the latter or southern town, to avoid the pontage duty levied in the former or northern town. At length, after much blood had been shed in the dispute, Philip Bennett, a monk residing in the town, succeeded by his eloquence, on the festival of Corpus Christi, 1412, in persuading the authorities of the two corporations to send to Henry IV. for a new charter sanctioning their combination, and this was granted on the 1st of November. Drogheda was always considered by the English a place of much importance. In the reign of Edward III. it was classed along with Dublin, Waterford and Kilkenny as one of the four staple towns of Ireland. Richard II. received in its Dominican monastery the submissions of O’Neal, O’Donnell and other chieftains of Ulster and Leinster. The right of coining money was bestowed on the town, and parliaments were several times held within its walls. In the reign of Edward IV. the mayor received a sword of state and an annuity of £20, in recognition of the services rendered by the inhabitants at Malpus Bridge against O’Reilly; the still greater honour of having a university with the same privileges as that of Oxford remained a mere paper distinction, owing to the poverty of the town and the unsettled state of the country; and an attempt made by the corporation in modern times to resuscitate their rights proved unsuccessful. In 1495 Poyning’s laws were enacted by a parliament held in the town. In the civil wars of 1641 the place was besieged by O’Neal and the Northern Irish forces; but it was gallantly defended by Sir Henry Tichbourne, and after a long blockade was relieved by the Marquess of Ormond. The same nobleman relieved it a second time, when it was invested by the Parliamentary army under Colonel Jones. In 1649 it was captured by Cromwell, after a short though spirited defence; and nearly every individual within its walls, without distinction of age or sex, was put to the sword. Thirty only escaped, who were afterwards transported as slaves to Barbados. In 1690 it was garrisoned by King James’s army; but after the decisive battle of the Boyne (q.v.) it surrendered to the conqueror without a struggle, in consequence of a threat that quarter would not be granted if the town were taken by storm.

Drogheda ceased to be a parliamentary borough in 1885, and a county of a town in 1898. Before 1885 it returned one member, and before the Union in 1800 it returned four members to the Irish parliament.

From the close of the 12th century, certainly long before the Reformation and for some time after it, the primates of Ireland lived in Drogheda. Being mostly Englishmen, they preferred to reside in the portion of their diocese within the gate, and Drogheda, being a walled town, was less liable to attack from the natives. From 1417 onwards Drogheda was their chief place of residence and of burial. Its proximity to Dublin, the seat of government and of the Irish parliament, in which the primates were such prominent figures, induced them to prefer it to Ardmacha inter Hibernicos. Archbishop O’Scanlain, who did much in the building of the cathedral at Armagh, preferred to live at Drogheda, and there he was buried in 1270. Near Drogheda in later times was the primates’ castle and summer palace at Termonfeckin, some ruins of which remain. In Drogheda itself there is now not a vestige of the palace, except the name “Palace Street.” It stood at the corner of the main street near St Lawrence’s gate, and its grounds extended back to St Peter’s church. The primates of the 15th century were buried in or near Drogheda. After the Reformation five in succession lived in Drogheda and there were buried, though there is now nothing to fix the spot where any of them lies. The last of these—Christopher Hampton—who was consecrated to the primacy in 1613, repaired the ruined cathedral of Armagh. He built a new and handsome palace at Drogheda, and he repaired the old disused palace at Armagh and bestowed on it a demesne of 300 acres.

DROIT (Fr. for “right,” from Lat. directus, straight), a legal title, claim or due; a term used in English law in the phrase droits of admiralty, certain customary rights or perquisites formerly belonging to the lord high admiral, but now to the crown for public purposes and paid into the exchequer. These droits (see also Wreck) consisted of flotsam, jetsam, ligan, treasure, deodand, derelict, within the admiral’s jurisdiction; all fines, forfeitures, ransoms, recognizances and pecuniary punishments; all sturgeons, whales, porpoises, dolphins, grampuses and such large fishes; all ships and goods of the enemy coming into any creek, road or port, by durance or mistake; all ships seized at sea, salvage, &c., with the share of prizes—such shares being afterwards called “tenths,” in imitation of the French, who gave their admiral a droit de dixième. The droits of admiralty were definitely surrendered for the benefit of the public by Prince George of Denmark, when lord high admiral of England in 1702. American law does not recognize any such droits, and the disposition of captured property is regulated by various acts of Congress.

The term droit is also used in various legal connexions (for French law, see France: Law), such as the droit of angary (q.v.), the droit d’achat (right of pre-emption) in the case of contraband (q.v.), the feudal droit de bris (see Wreck), the droit de régale or ancient royal privilege of claiming the revenues and patronage of a vacant bishopric, and the feudal droits of seignory generally.

DROITWICH, a market town and municipal borough in the Droitwich parliamentary division of Worcestershire, England, 5½ m. N.N.E. of Worcester, and 126 m. N.W. by W. from London by the Great Western railway. Pop. (1901) 4201. It is served by the Bristol-Birmingham line of the Midland railway, and by the Worcester-Shrewsbury line of the Great Western. It stands on the river Salwarpe, an eastern tributary of the Severn. There is connexion with the Severn by canal. There are three parish churches, St Andrew, St Peter and St Michael, of which the two first are fine old buildings in mixed styles, while St Michael’s is modern. The principal occupation is the manufacture of the salt obtained from the brine springs or wyches, to which the town probably owes both its name and its origin. The springs also give Droitwich a considerable reputation as a health resort. There are Royal Brine baths, supplied with water of extreme saltness, St Andrew’s baths, and a private bath hospital. The water is used in cases of gout, rheumatism and kindred diseases. Owing to the pumping of the brine for the salt-works there is a continual subsidence of the ground, detrimental to the buildings, and new houses are mostly built in the suburbs. In the pleasant well-wooded district surrounding Droitwich the most noteworthy points are Hindlip Hall, 3 m. S., where (in a former mansion) some of the conspirators in the Gunpowder Plot defied search for eight days (1605); and Westwood, a fine hall of Elizabethan and Carolean date on the site of a Benedictine nunnery, a mile west of Droitwich, which offered a retreat to many Royalist cavaliers and churchmen during the Commonwealth. Droitwich is governed by a mayor, 4 aldermen and 12 councillors. Area, 1856 acres.

A Roman villa, with various relics, has been discovered here, but it is doubtful how far the Romans made use of the brine springs. Droitwich (Wic, Salturic, Wich) probably owed its origin to the springs, which are mentioned in several charters before the Conquest. At the time of the Domesday Survey all the salt springs belonged to the king, who received from them a yearly farm of £65, but the manor was divided between several churches and tenants-in-chief. The burgesses of Droitwich are mentioned in the Domesday Survey, but they probably only had certain franchises in connexion with the salt trade. The 589 town is first called a borough in the pipe roll of 2 Henry II., when an aid of 20s. was paid, but the burgesses did not receive their first charter until 1215, when King John granted them freedom from toll throughout the kingdom and the privilege of holding the town at a fee-farm of £100. The burgesses appear to have had much difficulty in paying this large farm; in 1227 the king pardoned twenty-eight marks of the thirty-two due as tallage, while in 1237 they were £23 in arrears for the farm. They continued, however, to pay the farm until the payment gradually lapsed in the 18th century. In medieval times Droitwich was governed by two bailiffs and twelve jurats, the former being elected every year by the burgesses; Queen Mary granted the incorporation charter in 1554 under the name of the bailiffs and burgesses. James I. in 1625 granted another and fuller charter, which remained the governing charter until the Municipal Reform Act. King John’s charter granted the burgesses a fair on the feast of SS. Andrew and Nicholas lasting for eight days, but Edward III. in 1330 granted instead two fairs on the vigil and day of St Thomas the Martyr and the vigil and day of SS. Simon and Jude. Queen Mary granted three new fairs, and James I. changed the market day from Monday to Friday.

DRÔME, a department in the south-east of France, formed of parts of Dauphiné and Provence, and bounded W. by the Rhone, which separates it from Ardèche, N. and N.E. by Isère, E. by Hautes-Alpes, S.E. by Basses-Alpes, and S. by Vaucluse; area 2533 sq. m.; pop. (1906) 297,270. Drôme is traversed from east to west by numerous rivers of the Rhone basin, chief among which are the Isère in the north, the Drôme in the centre and the Aygues in the south. The left bank of the Rhone is bordered by alluvial plains and low hills, but to the east of this zone the department is covered to the extent of two-thirds of its surface by spurs of the Alps, sloping down towards the west. To the north of the Drôme lie the Vercors and the Royans, a region of forest-clad ridges running uniformly north and south. South of that river the mountain system is broken, irregular and intersected everywhere by torrents. The most easterly portion of the department, where it touches the mountains of the Dévoluy, contains its culminating summit (7890 ft.). North of the Isère stretches a district of low hills terminating on the limits of the department in the Valloire, its most productive portion. The climate, except in the valleys bordering the Rhone, is cold, and winds blow incessantly. Snow is visible on the mountain-tops during the greater part of the year.

The agriculture of the department is moderately prosperous. The main crops are wheat, which is grown chiefly on the banks of the Isère and Rhone, oats and potatoes. Large flocks of sheep feed on the pastures in the south; cattle-raising is carried on principally in the north-east. Good wines, among which the famous Hermitage growth ranks first, are grown on the hills and plains near the Rhone and Drôme. Fruit culture is much practised. Olives and figs are grown in the south; the cultivation of mulberries and walnuts is more widely spread. In the rearing of silkworms Drôme ranks high in importance among French departments. The Montélimar district is noted for its truffles, which are also found elsewhere in the department. The mineral products of Drôme include lignite, blende, galena, calamine, freestone, lime, cement, potter’s clay and kaolin. Brick and tile works, potteries and porcelain manufactories exist in several localities. The industries comprise flour-milling, distilling, wood-sawing, turnery and dyeing. The chief textile industry is the preparation and weaving of silk, which is carried on in a number of towns. Woollen and cotton goods are also manufactured. Leather working and boot-making, which are carried on on a large scale at Romans, are important, and the manufacture of machinery, hats, confectionery and paper employs much labour. Drôme exports fruit, oil, cheese, wine, wool, live stock and its manufactured articles; the chief import is coal. It is served by the Paris-Lyon railway, and the Rhone and Isère furnish over 100 m. of navigable waterway. The canal de la Bourne, the only one in the department, is used for purposes of irrigation only. Drôme is divided into the arrondissements of Valence, Die, Montélimar and Nyons, comprising 29 cantons and 379 communes. The capital is Valence, which is the seat of a bishopric of the province of Avignon. The department forms part of the académie (educational division) of Grenoble, where its court of appeal is also located, and of the region of the XIV. army corps.

Besides Valence, the chief towns of the department are Die, Montélimar, Crest and Romans (qq.v.). Nyons is a small industrial town with a medieval bridge and remains of ramparts. Suze-la-Rousse is dominated by a fine château with fortifications of the 12th and 14th centuries; in the interior the buildings are in the Renaissance style. At St Donat there are remains of the palace of the kings of Cisjuran Burgundy; though but little of the building is of an earlier date than the 12th century, it is the oldest example of civil architecture in France. The churches of Léoncel, St Restitut and La Garde-Adhémar, all of Romanesque architecture, are also of antiquarian interest. St Paul-Trois-Châteaux, an old Roman town, once the seat of a bishopric, has a Romanesque cathedral. At Grignan there are remains of the Renaissance château where Madame de Sévigné died. At Tain there is a sacrificial altar of a.d. 184.

DROMEDARY (from the Gr. δρομάς, δρομάδος, running, δραμεῖν, to run), a word applied to swift riding camels of either the Arabian or the Bactrian species. (See Camel.)

DROMORE, a market town of Co. Down, Ireland, in the west parliamentary division, on the upper Lagan, 17½ m. S.W. of Belfast by a branch of the Great Northern railway. Pop. of urban district (1901) 2307. It is in the linen manufacturing district. The town is of high antiquity, and was the seat of a bishopric, which grew out of an abbey of Canons Regular attributed to St Colman in the 6th century, and was united in 1842 to Down and Connor. The town and cathedral were wholly destroyed during the insurrection of 1641, and the present church was built by Bishop Jeremy Taylor in 1661, who is buried here, as also is Thomas Percy, another famous bishop of the diocese, who laid out the fine grounds of the palace. Remains of a castle and earthworks are to be seen, together with a large rath or encampment known as the Great Fort. The town gives its name to a Roman Catholic diocese.

DROMOS (Gr. for running-place), in architecture, the name of the entrance passage leading down to the beehive tombs in Greece, open to the air and enclosed between stone walls.

DRONE, in music1 (corresponding to Fr. bourdon; Ger. Summer, Stimmer, Hummel; Ital. bordone), the bass pipe or pipes of the bagpipe, having no lateral holes and therefore giving out the same note without intermission as long as there is wind in the bag, thus forming a continuous pedal, or drone bass. The drone consists of a jointed pipe having a cylindrical bore and usually terminating in a bell. During the middle ages bagpipes are represented in miniatures with conical drones,2 and M. Praetorius3 gives a drawing of a bagpipe, which he calls Grosser Bock, having two drones ending in a curved ram’s horn. The drone pipe has, instead of a mouthpiece, a socket fitted with a reed, and inserted into a stock or short pipe immovably fixed in an aperture of the bag. The reed is of the kind known as beating reed or squeaker, prepared by making a cut in the direction of the circumference of the pipe and splitting back the reed from the cut towards a joint or knot, thus leaving a flap or tongue which vibrates or beats, alternately opening and closing the aperture. The sound is produced by the stream of air forced from the bag by the pressure of the performer’s arm causing the reed tongue to vibrate over the aperture, thus setting the whole column of air in vibration. Like all cylindrical pipes with reed mouthpiece, the drone pipe has the acoustic properties of the closed pipe and produces a note of the same pitch as that of an open pipe twice its length. The conical drones mentioned above 590 would, therefore, speak an octave higher than a cylindrical drone of the same length. The drones are tuned by means of sliding tubes at the joints.

The drones of the old French cornemuse played in concert with the hautbois de Poitou (see Bagpipe), and differing from the shepherd’s cornemuse or chalémie, formed an exception to this method of construction, being furnished with double reeds like that of the oboe. The drones of the musette and of the union pipes of Ireland are also constructed on an altogether different plan. Instead of having long cumbersome pipes, pointing over the shoulder, the musette drones consist of a short barrel containing lengths of tubing necessary for four or five drones, reduced to the most compact form and resembling the rackett (q.v.). The narrow bores are pierced longitudinally through the thickness of the barrel in parallel channels communicating with each other in twos or threes, and so arranged as to provide the requisite length for each drone. The reeds are double reeds all set in the wooden stock within the bag. By means of regulating slides (called in English regulators and in French layettes), which may be pushed up and down in longitudinal grooves round the circumference of the barrel, the length of each drone tube can be so regulated that a simple harmonic bass consisting of the common chord is obtainable. In the union pipes the drones are separate pipes having keys played by the elbow, which correspond to the sliders in the musette drone and produce the same kind of harmonic bass. The modern Egyptian arghool consists of a kind of clarinet with a drone attached to it by means of waxed thread; in this case the beating reed of the drone is set in vibration directly by the breath of the performer, who takes both mouthpieces into his mouth, without the medium of a wind reservoir. Mersenne gave very clear descriptions of the construction of cornemuse and musette, with clear illustrations of the reeds and stock.4 There are allusions in the Greek classics which point to the existence of a pipe with a drone, either of the arghool or the bagpipe type.5

(K. S.)

1 For the “drone,” the male of the honey bee, see Bee. The musical sense, both for the noise made and for the instrument, comes from the buzzing of the bee.

2 British Museum, Add. MS. 12,228 (Italian work), Roman du Roy Meliadus, 14th century, fol. 221 b., and Add. MS. 18,851, end 15th century (Spanish work illustrated by Flemish artists), fol. 13.

3 Syntagma musicum. Theatrum instrumentorum, pl. xi. No. 6.

4 L’Harmonie universelle (Paris, 1636-1637), t. ii. bk. 5, pp. 282-287 and p. 305.

5 Plato, Crito, 54; Aristophanes, Acharnians, 865, where some musicians are in derision dubbed “bumblebee pipers.” See Bagpipe; also Kathleen Schlesinger, “Researches into the Origin of the Organs of the Ancients,” Intern. mus. Ges. vol. ii. (1901), Sammelband ii. pp. 188-202.

DRONFIELD, an urban district in the north-eastern parliamentary division of Derbyshire, England, 6 m. S. of Sheffield, on the Midland railway. Pop. (1901) 3809. It lies on the small river Drone, a tributary of the Rother, in a busy industrial district in which are numerous coal-mines, and there are iron foundries and manufactures of tools and other iron and steel goods. The church of St John the Baptist, with a lofty spire, is a good example of Decorated work, with Perpendicular additions.

DROPSY (contracted from the old word hydropisy, derived from the Gr. ὕδρωψ; ὕδωρ, water, and ὤψ, appearance), the name given to a collection of simple serous fluid in all or any of the cavities of the body, or in the meshes of its tissues. Dropsy of the subcutaneous connective tissue is termed oedema when it is localized and limited in extent; when more diffuse it is termed anasarca; the term oedema is also applied to dropsies of some of the internal organs, notably to that of the lungs. Hydrocephalus signifies an accumulation of fluid within the ventricles of the brain or in the arachnoid cavity; hydrothorax, a collection of fluid in one or both pleural cavities; hydropericardium, in the pericardium; ascites, in the peritoneum; and, when anasarca is conjoined with the accumulation of fluid in one or more of the serous cavities, the dropsy is said to be general (see also Pathology).

Dropsy (excluding “epidemic dropsy,” for which see below) is essentially a symptom and not a specific disease, and is merely an exaggeration of a certain state of health. Fluid, known as lymph, is continually passing through the capillary walls into the tissues, and in health this is removed as fast as it is exuded, in one or more of three ways: part of it is used in the nutrition of the tissues, part is returned to the general circulation by the veins, and part by the lymphatics. Any accumulation constitutes dropsy and is a sign of disease, though not a disease in itself. The serous effusions due to inflammation are not included under the term dropsy. A dropsical fluid varies considerably in composition according to its position in the body, but varies only slightly according to the disease which has given rise to it. Its specific gravity ranges between 1008 and 1018; the mineral salts present are the same and in about the same proportion as those of blood, nor do they vary with the position of the exudation. The quantity of albumin, however, depends much on the position of the fluid, and slightly on the underlying disease. In oedema the fluid contains only traces, whereas a pleural or peritoneal effusion is always highly albuminous. Also an effusion due to heart disease contains more albumin than one due to kidney disease. In appearance it may be colourless, greenish or reddish from the presence of blood pigment, or yellowish from the presence of bile pigment; transparent or opalescent or milky from the presence of fatty matter derived from the chyle. The membrane from which the dropsical fluid escapes is healthy, or at least not inflamed, and only somewhat sodden by long contact with the fluid—the morbid condition on which the transudation depends lying elsewhere.

The simplest cause of dropsy is purely mechanical, blood pressure being raised beyond a certain point owing to venous obstruction. This may be due to thrombosis of a vein as in phlegmasia dolens (white leg), retardation of venous circulation as in varicose veins, or obstruction of a vein due to the pressure of an aneurism or tumour. Cardiac and renal dropsy are more complicated in origin, but cardiac dropsy is probably due to diminished absorption, and renal dropsy, when unassociated with heart failure, to increased exudation. But the starting point of acute renal dropsy, of the dropsy sometimes occurring in diabetes, and that of chlorosis is the toxic condition of the blood. For accounts of the various local dropsies see Hydrocephalus; Ascites; Liver, &c.; general dropsy, or dropsy which depends on causes acting on the system at large, is due chiefly to diseases of the heart, kidneys or lungs, occasionally on lardaceous disease, more rarely still on diabetes or one of the anaemias.

Broadly speaking, 50% of cases of general dropsy are due to disease of the heart or aorta, and 25% to renal troubles. The natural tendency of all diseases of the heart is to transfer the blood pressure from the arteries to the veins, and, so soon as this has reached a sufficient degree, dropsy in the form of local oedema commences to appear at whatever may be the most depending part of the body—the instep and ankle in the upright position, the lower part of the back or the lungs if the patient be in bed—and this tends gradually to increase till all the cavities of the body are invaded by the serous accumulation. The diseases of the lungs which produce dropsy are those which obstruct the passage of the blood through them, such as emphysema and fibrosis, and thus act precisely like disease of the heart in transferring the blood pressure from the arteries to the veins, inducing dropsy in exactly a similar manner. The dropsy of renal disease is dependent for the most part on an excess of exudation, due largely to an increase of arterial and cardiac tension. This in its turn produces arterial thickening and cardiac hypertrophy, which, if the case be sufficiently prolonged, brings about a natural removal of the fluid. In kidney cases, in the absence of cardiac disease, the dropsy will be found to appear first about the loose cellular tissue surrounding the eyes, where the vessels, turgid with watery blood, have less efficient support. The dropsy of chlorosis is very similar to renal dropsy, a toxic condition of blood being present in both; also other forms of anaemia, as also hydraemia, tend to produce or assist in the production of dropsical effusions.

For the treatment of dropsy the reader is referred to the articles on the several diseases of which it is a symptom. Briefly, however, tapping of the abdomen or puncture of the legs are constantly resorted to in severe cases. Dehydration by diet is very valuable under certain circumstances when the dropsy 591 is other than renal. And there is the routine treatment by drugs, purgative, diaphoretic and diuretic as the symptoms of the case may demand.

It may be well to mention that there are certain affections which may be termed spurious dropsies, such as ovarian dropsy, which is only a cystic disease of the ovary; hydrometria, dropsy of the uterus, due to inflammatory occlusion of the os uteri; hydronephrosis, dropsy of the kidney, due to obstruction of the ureter, and subsequent distension of these organs by serous accumulations; other hollow organs may also be similarly affected.

Having no known relation to the preceding is epidemic dropsy, the first recorded outbreak of which occurred in Calcutta in the year 1877. It disappeared during the hot weather of the following year, only to recur over a wider area in the cold months of 1878 to 1879, and once again in the cold of 1879 to 1880. Since then only isolated cases have been recorded in the immediate neighbourhood of Calcutta, though epidemics have broken out in other places both by land and sea. At the end of 1902 an outbreak occurred in the Barisal gaol, Bengal, in which nearly one-third of the cases ended fatally. Dropsy was an invariable feature of the disease, and was either the first symptom or occurred early. The lower limbs were first affected, trunk and upper limbs later in severe cases, the face very rarely. It was accompanied by pyrexia, gastro-enteritis, deep-seated pains in limbs and body, and burning and pricking of the skin. Various rashes appeared early in the attack, while eczema, desquamation and even ulceration supervened later. Anaemia was very marked, giving rise in Mauritius to the name of acute anaemic dropsy. The duration of the disease was very variable, the limits being three weeks and three months. Death was often sudden, resulting chiefly from cardiac and respiratory complications. The cause of the disease has remained obscure, but there is reason to suppose that it was originally imported from the Madras famine tracts.

DROPWORT, in botany, the common name for a species of Spiraea, S. filipendula (nat. ord. Rosaceae), found in dry pastures. It is a perennial herb, with much divided radical leaves and an erect stem 2 to 3 ft. high bearing a loose terminal inflorescence of small white flowers, closely resembling those of the nearly allied species S. Ulmaria, or meadowsweet.

Water Dropwort, Oenanthe crocata (nat. ord. Umbelliferae), is a tall herbaceous plant growing in marshes and ditches. The stem, which springs from a cluster of thickened roots, is stout, branched, hollow and 2 to 5 ft. high; the leaves are large and pinnately divided, and the flowers are borne in a compound umbel, the long rays bearing dense partial umbels of small white flowers. The plant, which is very poisonous, is often mistaken for celery.

DROSHKY (Russ. drozhki, diminutive of drogi, a wagon), a light four-wheeled uncovered carriage used in Russia. Properly it consists of two pairs of wheels joined by a board. This forms a seat for the passengers who sit sideways, while the driver sits astride in front. The word Droschke, however, is applied especially in Germany to light carriages generally which ply for hire.

DROSTE-HÜLSHOFF, ANNETTE ELISABETH, Freiin von (1797-1848), German poet, was born at the family seat of Hülshoff near Münster in Westphalia on the 10th of January 1797. Her early mental training was largely influenced by her cousin, Clemens August, Freiherr von Droste zu Vischering, who, as archbishop of Cologne, became notorious for his extreme ultramontane views (see below); and she received a more liberal education than in those days ordinarily fell to a woman’s lot. After prolonged visits among the intellectual circles at Coblenz, Bonn and Cologne, she retired to the estate of Ruschhaus near Münster, belonging to her mother’s family. In 1841, owing to delicate health, she went to reside in the house of her brother-in-law, the well-known scholar, Joseph, Freiherr von Lassberg (1770-1855), at Schloss Meersburg on the Lake of Constance, where she met Levin Schücking (q.v.); and there she died on the 24th of May 1848. Annette von Droste-Hülshoff is, beyond doubt, the most gifted and original of German women poets. Her verse is strong and vigorous, but often unmusical even to harshness; one looks in vain for a touch of sentimentality or melting sweetness in it. As a lyric poet, she is at her best when she is able to attune her thoughts to the sober landscape of the Westphalian moorlands of her home. Her narrative poetry, and especially Das Hospiz auf dem Grossen St Bernard and Die Schlacht im Loener Bruch (both 1838), belongs to the best German poetry of its kind. She was a strict Roman Catholic, and her religious poems, published in 1852, after her death, under the title Das geistliche Jahr, nebst einem Anhang religiöser Gedichte, enjoyed great popularity.

Annette von Droste-Hülshoff’s Gedichte were first published in 1844 during her lifetime, and a number of her poems were translated into English by Thomas Medwin. The most complete edition of her works is that in 4 vols. edited by E. von Droste-Hülshoff (Münster, 1886). The Ausgewählte Gedichte were edited by W. von Scholz (Leipzig, 1901). See Levin Schücking, Annette von Droste-Hülshoff, ein Lebensbild (2nd ed., Hanover, 1871)—her letters to L. Schücking were published at Leipzig in 1893; also H. Hueffer, Annette von Droste-Hülshoff und ihre Werke (Gotha, 1887), and W. Kreiten, Annette von Droste-Hülshoff (2nd ed., Paderborn, 1900).

DROSTE-VISCHERING, CLEMENS AUGUST, Baron von (1773-1845), German Roman Catholic divine, was born at Münster on the 21st of January 1773. He was educated in his native town and entered the priesthood in 1798; in 1807 the local chapter elected him vicar-general. This office he resigned in 1813 through his opposition to Napoleon, but assumed it again after the battle of Waterloo (1815) until a disagreement with the Prussian government in 1820 led to his abdication. He remained in private life until 1835, when he was appointed archbishop of Cologne. Here again his zeal for the supremacy of the church led him to break the agreement between the state and the Catholic bishops which he had signed at his installation, and he was arrested by the Prussian government in November 1837. A battle of pamphlets raged for some time; Droste was not re-installed but was obliged to accept a coadjutor. His chief works were: Über die Religionsfreiheit der Katholiken (1817), and Über den Frieden unter der Kirche und den Staaten (1843).

See Carl Mirbt’s article in Herzog-Hauck, Realencyk. für prot. Theol. v. 23.

DROUAIS, JEAN GERMAIN (1763-1788), French historical painter, was born at Paris on the 25th of November 1763. His father, François Hubert Drouais, and his grandfather, Hubert Drouais, were well-known portrait painters; and it was from his father that he received his first artistic instruction. He was afterwards entrusted to the care of Brenet, an excellent teacher, though his own pictures did not take high rank. In 1780 David, who had just returned from Rome, opened a school of painting in Paris, and Drouais was one of his earliest and most promising pupils. He adopted the classical style of his master, and gave his whole time to study—painting during the day, and spending a great part of every night in designing. For weeks together it is said that he never left his studio. In 1783 he was admitted to compete for the great prize of painting offered by the Academy, the subject being the “Widow of Nain.” After inspecting the works of his fellow-competitors, however, he lost hope and destroyed his own canvas, but was consoled by the assurance of his master David that had he not done so he would have won the prize. Next year he was triumphantly successful, the “Woman of Canaan at the Feet of Christ,” with which he gained the prize, being compared by competent critics with the works of Poussin. He was carried shoulder high by his fellow-students through the streets to his mother’s house, and a place was afterwards found for his picture in the Louvre. His success making him only the more eager to perfect himself in his art, he accompanied David to Rome, where he worked even more assiduously than in Paris. He was most strongly influenced by the remains of ancient art and by the works of Raphael. Goethe, who was at Rome at the time it was finished, has recorded the deep impression made by his “Marius at Minturno,” which he characterizes as in some respects superior to the work of David, his master. The last picture which he completed was his “Philoctetus on the 592 Island of Lemnos.” He died on the 15th of July 1788. A monument to his memory was erected by his fellow-students in the church of Santa Maria in the Via Lata.

DROUET, JEAN BAPTISTE (1763-1824), French Revolutionist, chiefly noted for the part he played in the arrest of Louis XVI. at Varennes, was born at Sainte-Menehould. He served for seven years in the army, and afterwards assisted his father, who was post-master of his native town. The carriages conveying the royal family on their flight to the frontier stopped at his door on the evening of the 21st of June 1791; and the passengers, travelling under assumed names, were recognized by Drouet, who immediately took steps which led to their arrest and detection on reaching Varennes. For this service the Assembly awarded him 30,000 francs, but he appears to have declined the reward. In September 1792 he was elected deputy to the Convention, and took his place with the most violent party. He voted the death of the king without appeal, showed implacable hostility to the Girondins, and proposed the slaughter of all English residents in France. Sent as commissioner to the army of the north, he was captured at the siege of Maubeuge and imprisoned at Spielberg till the close of 1795. He then became a member of the Council of Five Hundred, and was named secretary. Drouet was implicated in the conspiracy of Babeuf, and was imprisoned; but he made his escape into Switzerland, and thence to Teneriffe. There he took part in the successful resistance to the attempt of Nelson on the island, in 1797, and later visited India. The first empire found in him a docile sub-prefect of Sainte-Menehould. After the second Restoration he was compelled to quit France. Returning secretly he settled at Macon, under the name of Merger and a guise of piety, and preserved his incognito till his death on the 11th of April 1824.

See G. Lenotre, Le Drame de Varennes (Paris, 1905).

DROWNING AND LIFE SAVING. To “drown” (a verb used both transitively and intransitively, of which the origin, though traced to earlier forms, is unknown) is to suffer or inflict death by submersion in water, or figuratively to submerge entirely in water or some other liquid. As a form of ancient capital punishment, the method of drowning is referred to at the end of this article, but the interest of the subject is mainly associated with rescue-work in cases of accident.

Death from drowning is the result of asphyxia, due to the stoppage of a supply of fresh air to the lungs. There is a certain amount of stationary air in the lungs, and into this is diffused oxygen from the fresh air taken in, while the carbonic acid which it has taken from the blood through the walls of the capillaries is driven out. This process of exchange is ever proceeding, the whole of it being regulated from the nervous centre at the base of the brain. When a person gets under water and cannot swim, there is a natural tendency to struggle, and in the efforts to respire water is drawn into the windpipe and cough is brought on. This expels the air from the lungs with the water which threatened to suffocate him, and as further efforts are made to respire more water is taken in and has to be swallowed. Meanwhile, the oxygen in the lungs is gradually diminishing, the quantity of carbonic acid is increasing, and at length the air in the lungs becomes too impure to effect an exchange with the blood. Then the blood passing into the heart becomes venous and the heart begins to send out venous instead of arterial blood to all parts of the body. Immediately a dull, sickening pain becomes apparent at the base of the neck, and insensibility rapidly ensues. This arises from the affection of the respiratory nerve centre. In a short space of time the face becomes dark and congested through the veins being gorged with blood, and the heart ultimately ceases to beat.

Fig. 1.—1st Release Method.

When a person unable to swim falls into the water, he usually rises to the surface, throws up his arms and calls for help. This, with the water swallowed, will make him sink, and if the arms are moved above the head when under water, he will, as a natural consequence, sink still lower. The struggle will be prolonged a few seconds, and then probably cease for a time, allowing him to rise again, though perhaps not sufficiently high to enable him to get another breath of air. If still conscious, he will renew his struggle, more feebly perhaps, but with the same result. As soon as insensibility occurs, the body sinks altogether, owing to the loss of air and the filling of the stomach with water. There is a general belief that a drowning person must rise three times before he finally sinks, but this is a fallacy. The question whether he rises at all, or how often he does so, entirely depends upon circumstances. A man may get entangled among weeds, which prevent his coming to the surface, or he may die through heart failure from the shock or fright of entering the water.

On seeing a person struggling in the water in danger of drowning, no time should be lost in going to his assistance, for he may sink at once, and then there is danger of missing the body when searching under water for it, or it may get entangled among weeds and then the rescuer’s task is rendered doubly dangerous. Before diving in to the rescue the boots and heavy clothing should be discarded if possible, and in cases where a leap has to be made from a height, such as a bridge, high embankment, vessel or pier, or where the depth of the water is not known, it is best to drop in feet first. Where weeds abound there is always danger of entanglement, and therefore progress should be made in the direction of the stream. When approaching a drowning man there is always the danger of being clutched, but a swimmer who knows the right way to deal with a man in the water can easily avoid this; but if through some mistake he finds himself seized by the drowning person, a necessary thing for the swimmer to do is to take advantage of his knowledge of the water and keep uppermost, as this weakens the drowning person and makes the effort of effecting a release much easier than would otherwise be the case. To the Royal Life Saving Society in England is due the credit of disseminating, throughout the entire world, the ideas of swimmers, based on practical experience, as to the safest methods which should be adopted for release and rescue, and their methods, as well as the approved ones for resuscitation, are now taught in almost every school and college.

Fig. 2.—2nd Release Method.
Fig. 3.—3rd Release Method.
Fig. 4.—Easiest method of carrying a person not struggling.

If the rescuer be held by the wrists, he must turn both arms simultaneously against the drowning person’s thumbs, and bring his arms at right angles to the body, thus dislocating the thumbs of the drowning person if he does not leave go (fig. 1). If he be clutched round the neck he must take a deep breath and lean well over the drowning person, at the same time placing one hand in the small of his back, then raise the other arm in line with the shoulder, and pass it over the drowning person’s arm, then pinch the nostrils close with the fingers, and at the same time place the palm of the hand on the chin and push away with all possible force. By the firm holding of the nose the drowning person is made to open his mouth for breathing, and as he will then be under water, choking ensues and he gives way to the rescuer, who then gains complete control (fig. 2). One of 593 the most dangerous clutches is that round the body and arms or round the body only. When so tackled the rescuer should lean well over the drowning person, take a breath as before, and either withdraw both arms in an upward direction in front of his body, or else act in the same way as when releasing oneself when clutched round the neck. In any case one hand must be placed on the drowning man’s shoulder, and the palm of the other hand against his chin, and at the same time one knee should be brought up against the lower part of his chest. Then, with a strong and sudden push, the arms and legs should be stretched out straight and the whole weight of the body thrown backwards. This sudden and totally unexpected action will break the clutch and leave the rescuer free to get hold of the drowning person in such a manner as to be able to bring him to land (fig. 3).

There are several practical methods of carrying a person through the water, the easiest assistance to render being that to a swimmer attacked by cramp or exhaustion, or a drowning person who may be obedient and remain quiet when approached and assured of safety. Then the person assisted should place his arms on the rescuer’s shoulders, close to the neck, with the arms at full stretch, lie on his back perfectly still, with the head well back. The rescuer will then be uppermost, and having his arms and legs free can, with the breast stroke, make rapid progress to the shore; indeed a good pace can easily be made (fig. 4). In

this, as in the other methods afterwards described, every care should be taken to keep the face of the drowning person above the water. All jerking, struggling or tugging should be avoided, and the stroke of the legs be regular and well timed, thus husbanding strength for further effort. The drowning person being able to breathe with freedom is reassured, and is likely to cease struggling, feeling that he is in safe hands.

Fig. 5.—1st Rescue Method.

When a drowning person is not struggling, but yet seems likely to do so when approached, the best method of rescue is to swim straight up, turn him on his back, and then place the hands on either side of his face. Then the rescuer should lie on his back, holding the drowning man in front of him, and swim with the back stroke, always taking care to keep the man’s face above water (fig. 5). If the man be struggling and in a condition difficult to manage, he should be turned on his back as before, and a firm hold taken of his arms just above his elbows. Then the man’s arms should be drawn up at right angles to his body and the rescuer should start swimming with the back stroke (fig. 6). He should take particular care not to go against the current or stream, and thereby avoid exhaustion. If the arms be difficult to grasp, or the struggling so violent as to prevent a firm hold, the rescuer should slip his hands under the armpits of the drowning person, and place them on his chest or round his arms, then raise them at right angles to his body, thus placing the drowning person completely in his power. The journey to land can then be made by swimming on the back as in the other methods (fig. 7). In carrying a person through the water, it will be of much advantage to keep his elbows well out from the sides, as this expands the chest, inflates the lungs and adds to his buoyancy. The legs should be kept well up to the surface and the whole body as horizontal as possible. This avoids a drag through the water, and will considerably help the rescuer. In some cases it may happen that the drowning person has sunk to the bottom and does not rise again. In that event the rescuer should look for bubbles rising to the surface before diving in. In still water the bubbles rise perpendicularly; in running water they rise obliquely, so that the rescuer must look for his object higher up the stream than where the bubbles rise. It is also well to remember that in running water a body may be carried along by the current and must be looked for in the direction in which it flows. When a drowning person is recovered on the bottom, the rescuer should seize him by the head or shoulders, place the left foot on the ground and the right knee in the small of his back, and then, with a vigorous push, come to the surface.

Fig. 6.—2nd Rescue Method.
Fig. 7.—3rd Rescue Method.

When the rescuer reaches land with an insensible person, no time should be lost in sending for a medical man, but in the meantime an attempt to induce artificial respiration may be made. The first recorded cases of resuscitating the apparently drowned are mentioned in the notes to William Derham’s Physico-Theology, as having occurred at Troningholm and Oxford, about 1650. In 1745 Dr J. Fothergill read a paper on the subject before the Royal Society. It dealt with the recovery of a man dead in appearance by distending the lungs by Mr William Tossack, surgeon in Alloa, in 1744. In 1767 several cases of resuscitation were reported in Switzerland, and shortly after a society was formed at Amsterdam for recovery of the apparently drowned, and to instruct the common people as to the best manner of treating them when rescued, and to reward the people for their services. In 1773 Dr A. Johnson suggested the formation of a similar society in England, and Dr Thomas Cogan translated the memoirs of the Amsterdam society. Dr William Hawes secured a copy and tried to form a society. There was, however, a strong prejudice against the idea, but he publicly offered rewards to persons who, between Westminster and London Bridges, should rescue drowning persons and bring them to certain places on shore in order that resuscitation might be attempted. In this way he was instrumental in the saving of several lives, and paid the rewards out of his own pocket, until his zeal brought him sympathy and the Royal Humane Society was founded. This was in 1774. The system then in vogue was a means of inducing artificial respiration by inserting the pipe 594 of a pair of bellows into one nostril and closing the other. Air was forced into the lungs and then expelled by pressing the chest, thus imitating respiration. Dr Hawes used for his resuscitation work a kind of cradle, in which the subject was placed, and then raised over a furnace. Bleeding, holding up by the heels, rolling on casks, &c. were at various times resorted to. Simple means are often as effective as the official ones. In 1891 a subject was restored in Australia by being held over a smoky fire, which is the native method of restoring life; while a few years back, at an English riverside town, a patient was saved by the placing of a handkerchief over his mouth and the alternate blowing into and drawing air out of the lungs until natural breathing was restored.

One of the oldest methods of resuscitation was that of Dr Marshall Hall (1790-1857), introduced in 1856. In this method the operator takes his place at the patient’s left side, and places a roll of clothing or pillow (which must be the same length as that used in the previous methods), so that it may be in position under the chest when the patient is turned over. The assistant at the head pays particular attention to the patient’s arms, that they may not be laid upon or twisted at the wrists, elbows, hands or shoulders. The patient is then turned face downwards, with the body reclining over the pillow, the operator makes a firm pressure with the hand upon the back, between and on the shoulder blades, he then pulls the patient slowly up on to the side towards himself. Once in position, the operator pushes the patient back again until the face is downward, when the pressure on the back is to be repeated. These three movements must be continued at the rate of about fifteen times a minute, until natural breathing has been restored.

Then came the methods of Dr H. R. Silvester and Dr Benjamin Howard, of New York.

When using the Silvester method, or, for the matter of that, any other method, the first thing to do is to send for medical assistance. Dr Silvester recommended that the patient should not be carried face downwards or held up by his feet. All rough usage should be avoided, especially twisting or bending of limbs, and the patient must not be allowed to remain on the back unless the tongue is pulled forward. In the event of respiration not being entirely suspended when a person is lifted out of the water, it may not be necessary to imitate breathing, but natural respiration may be assisted by the application of an irritant substance to the nostrils and tickling the nose. Smelling-salts, pepper and snuff may be used, or hot and cold water alternately dashed on the face or chest. Provided no sign of life can be seen or felt or the heart’s action heard, promotion of breathing, not circulation must be the first aim and effort. Lay the patient flat on his back, with the head at a slightly higher level than the feet. Remove all tight clothing about the neck, chest and abdomen, and loosen the braces, belts or corsets. The operator taking his place at the head, with an assistant on one side, will turn the patient over until he is lying face downwards, his head resting upon one arm. He should then, after the assistant has given one or two sharp blows with the open hand between the shoulder blades, wipe and clear the mouth, throat and nostrils of all matter that may prevent the air from entering the lungs, using a handkerchief for this purpose. This being done, the patient should be turned upon his back, the tongue pulled forward and kept in position by means of a dry cloth, handkerchief or piece of string tied round the jaw. Every care must be taken not to let it fall back into the mouth and thus obstruct the air passages. When this work has been accomplished (it should only last a few seconds) the operator at the head should lift the patient, handling the head and shoulders very carefully, in order that the assistant may place a roll of clothing or pillow under the shoulder blades. The roll being placed in position, the operator will lean forward and grasp the arms below the elbows. He will then draw the patient’s arms steadily upwards and outwards, above the head, until fully extended in line with the body. Having held the arms in this position for about one second, the operator will carry them back again and press them firmly against the side and front of the chest for another second. By these means an exchange of air is produced in the lungs similar to that effected by natural respiration. These movements must be repeated carefully and deliberately about fifteen times a minute, and persevered in. When natural respiration is once established, the operator should cease to imitate the movements of breathing, and proceed with the treatment for the promotion of warmth and circulation.

Friction over the surface of the body must be at once resorted to, using handkerchiefs, flannels, &c., so as to propel the blood along the veins towards the heart, while the operator attends to the mouth, nose and throat. The friction along the legs, arms and body should all be towards the heart and should be continued after the patient has been wrapped in blankets or some dry clothing. As soon as possible, the patient should be removed to the nearest house and further efforts made to promote warmth by the application of hot flannels to the pit of the stomach, and bottles or bladders of hot water, heated bricks, &c. to the armpits, between the thighs and to the soles of the feet. If there be pain or difficulty in breathing, apply a hot linseed meal poultice to the chest. On the restoration of life, a teaspoonful of warm water should be given; and then, if the power of swallowing has returned, very small quantities of wine, warm brandy and water, beef tea or coffee administered, the patient kept in bed, and a disposition to sleep encouraged. The patient should be carefully watched for some time to see that breathing does not fail, and, should any signs of failure appear, artificial respiration should at once be resumed. While the patient is in the house, care should be taken to let the air circulate freely about the room and all overcrowding should be prevented.

In the Howard method there are only two movements; its knowledge is said to be necessary in case the patient’s arm be in any way injured, or a more vigorous method than the “Silvester” deemed necessary, but care should be exercised not to injure the patient by too forcible pressure. The patient is laid on his back, the roll is larger than that used in the Silvester method, and is placed farther under the back in order that the lower part of the chest may be highest. After adjusting the roll, the operator kneels astride of the patient, while his assistant goes to the head, lifts the patient’s arms beyond the head, and holds them to the ground, cleans the mouth and nose, and attends to the tongue. The operator, with his fingers spread well apart, taking care that the thumbs do not press into the pit of the stomach, grasps the most compressible part of the lower ribs, and with both hands applies pressure firmly by leaning over the patient; then he springs back, lifting his hands off the patient. Artificial respiration is thus effected, and continued at the rate of about fifteen times a minute. When natural breathing has been restored, the treatment is the same as in the Silvester method.

These methods have now been superseded by the Schäfer method, which has been taken up by the Royal Life Saving Society, a body instituted in 1891 for the promotion of technical education in life saving and resuscitation of the apparently drowned. The Schäfer method has much to recommend it, owing to its extreme simplicity and the ease with which the physical operations necessary to carry on artificial respiration may be performed, hardly any muscular exertion being required. It involves no risk of injury to the congested liver or to any other organ, and as the patient is laid face downwards, there is no possibility of the air passages being blocked by the falling back of the tongue into the pharynx. The water and mucus can also be expelled much more readily from the air passages through the mouth and nostrils.

It was due to the happy selection of Professor E. A. Schäfer, as chairman of a committee appointed by the Royal Medical & Chirurgical Society for the investigation of the methods in use for resuscitation of the apparently drowned, that the new method was devised. This committee made many experiments upon the cadaver but failed to arrive at any definite conclusion by that means. The necessity then appeared of thorough investigation of the subject by experiments upon animals, so that the phenomena attendant upon drowning might be better known, and the various methods of resuscitation properly tried. These experiments were made in Edinburgh by Professor 595 Schäfer, with the co-operation of Dr P. T. Herring, and the results obtained were embodied in the report of the committee, which was presented to the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society in 1904, and published as a supplement to volume 86 of the Transactions of the society. As the direct outcome of these experiments, Professor Schäfer was led to believe that a pressure method of resuscitation was not only simpler to perform but also more efficacious than any other. This conclusion was put to the test by measurements of the results obtained upon the normal human subject by the various methods in vogue; from these measurements, which were published in the Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh in December 1903, it appeared that when such pressure is exerted in the prone position the highest degree of efficiency as well as simplicity is obtained. The description of this method was communicated to the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society, and was published in the following year (1904) in volume 87 of the Transactions of the society.

Fig 8..—Schäfer method of treatment of the apparently drowned. Position A.

Thus it came about that by investigating the phenomena of drowning, and the means of resuscitation in dogs, and by applying the results obtained to man, the method which the society now advocates as the best was arrived at. In the experiments referred to, it was found necessary to drown 38 dogs, all but two of which were from first to last in a complete state of anaesthesia, the two exceptions having been simply drowned without anaesthesia. It is important that the public should understand that the evolution of a method which will probably be the means of saving thousands of lives has resulted from the painless sacrifice of less than 40 dogs, a number which would doubtless in any case have been destroyed by drowning or some other form of suffocation, but without the benefit of the anaesthetics which were employed in the experiments.

Fig. 9.—Schäfer method of treatment of the apparently drowned. Position B.

Professor Schäfer describes the method as follows:—Lay the subject face downwards on the ground, then without stopping to remove the clothing the operator should at once place himself in position astride or at one side of the subject, facing his head and kneeling upon one or both knees. He then places his hands flat over the lower part of the back (on the lowest ribs), one on each side (fig. 8), and then gradually throws the weight of his body forward on to them so as to produce firm pressure (fig. 9)—which must not be violent, or upon the patient’s chest. By this means the air, and water if any, are driven out of the patient’s lungs. Immediately thereafter the operator raises his body slowly so as to remove the pressure, but the hands are left in position. This forward and backward movement is repeated every four or five seconds; in other words, the body of the operator is swayed slowly forwards and backwards upon the arms from twelve to fifteen times a minute, and should be continued for at least half an hour, or until the natural respirations are resumed. Whilst one person is carrying out artificial respiration in this way, others may, if there be opportunity, busy themselves with applying hot flannels to the body and limbs, and hot bottles to the feet, but no attempt should be made to remove the wet clothing or to give any restoratives by the mouth until natural breathing has recommenced.

In his paper read before the Royal Society of Edinburgh in December 1903 Professor Schäfer gave the following table of the relative exchanges of air under different methods:—

Mode of Respiration. Number
Amount of air
exchanged per
Amount of air
exchanged per
Natural respiration (supine) 13 489 c.c. 6.460 c.c.
Natural  ”  (prone) 12.5 422 ” 5.240 ”
Prone (pressure), “Schäfer” 13 520 ” 6.760 ”
Supine (pressure), “Howard” 13.6 295 ” 4.020 ”
Rolling (with pressure), “Marshall Hall” 13 254 ” 3.300 ”
Rolling (without pressure), “Marshall Hall” 12 192 ” 2.300 ”
Traction (with pressure), “Silvester” 12.8 178 ” 2.280 ”

These experiments all tend to show that by far the most efficient method of performing artificial respiration is that of intermittent pressure upon the lower ribs with the subject in the prone position or face downward. It is also the easiest to perform, requiring practically no exertion, as the weight of the operator’s body produces the effect, and the swinging forwards and backwards of the body some thirteen times a minute, which alone is required, is by no means fatiguing, and has the further great advantage that it can be effectively carried out by one person.

See Taylor, Medical Jurisprudence; “Description of a simple and efficient method of performing artificial respiration in the human subject, especially in cases of drowning,” by E. A. Schäfer, F.R.S. (vol. 87, Medico-Chirurgical Society’s Transactions); “The relative efficiency of certain methods of performing artificial respiration in man,” by E. A. Schäfer, F.R.S. (vol. 23, part i. Proceedings of the Royal Society of Edinburgh); A Method for the Treatment of the Apparently Drowned, by R. S. Bowles (London, 1903); Handbook of Instruction, Royal Life Saving Society (London, 1908).

(W. Hy.)

Penal Use of Drowning.—As a form of capital punishment, drowning was once common throughout Europe, but it is now only practised in Mahommedan countries and the Far East. Tacitus states that the ancient Germans hanged criminals of any rank, but those of the low classes were drowned beneath hurdles in fens and bogs. The Romans also drowned convicts. The Lex Cornelia ordained that parricides should be sewn in a sack with a dog, cock, viper and ape, and thrown into the sea. The law of ancient Burgundy ordered that an unfaithful wife should be smothered in mud. The Anglo-Saxon punishment for women guilty of theft was drowning. So usual was the penalty in the middle ages that grants of life and death jurisdiction were worded to be “cum fossa et furca” (i.e. “with drowning-pit and gallows”). The owner of Baynard’s Castle, London, in the reign of John, had powers of trying criminals, and his descendants long afterwards claimed the privileges, the most valued of which was the right of drowning in the Thames traitors taken within their jurisdiction. Drowning was the punishment ordained by Richard Cœur de Lion for any soldier of his army who killed a fellow-crusader during the passage to the Holy Land. Drowning was usually reserved for women as being the least brutal form of death-penalty, but occasionally a male criminal was so executed as a matter of favour. Thus in Scotland in 1526 a man convicted of theft and sacrilege was ordered to be drowned “by the queen’s special grace.” In 1611 a man was drowned at Edinburgh for stealing a lamb, and in 1623 eleven gipsy women suffered there. By that date the penalty was obsolete in England. It survived in Scotland till 1685 (the year of the drowning of the Wigtoun martyrs). The last 596 execution by drowning in Switzerland was in 1652, in Austria 1776, in Iceland 1777; while in France during the Revolution the penalty was revived in the terrible Noyades carried out by the terrorist Jean Baptiste Carrier at Nantes. It was abolished in Russia at the beginning of the 18th century.

DROYSEN, JOHANN GUSTAV (1808-1884), German historian, was born on the 6th of July 1808 at Treptow in Pomerania. His father, Johann Christoph Droysen, was an army chaplain, in which capacity he was present at the celebrated siege of Kolberg in 1806-7. As a child young Droysen witnessed some of the military operations during the War of Liberation, for his father was pastor at Greifenhagen, in the immediate neighbourhood of Stettin, which was held by the French during the greater part of 1813. The impressions of these early years laid the foundation of the ardent attachment to Prussia which distinguished him, like so many other historians of his generation. He was educated at the gymnasium of Stettin and at the university of Berlin; in 1829 he became a master at the Graue Kloster (or Grey Friars), one of the oldest schools in Berlin; besides his work there he gave lectures at the university, from 1833 as privat-dozent, and from 1835 as professor, without a salary. During these years he was occupied with classical antiquity; he published a translation of Aeschylus and a paraphrase of Aristophanes, but the work by which he made himself known as a historian was his Geschichte Alexanders des Grossen (Berlin, 1833, and other editions), a book which still remains probably the best work on the subject. It was in some ways the herald of a new school of German historical thought, for it shows that idealization of power and success which he had learnt from the teaching of Hegel. It was followed by other volumes dealing with the successors of Alexander, published under the title of Geschichte des Hellenismus (Hamburg, 1836-1843). A new and revised edition of the whole work was published in 1885; it has been translated into French, but not into English.

In 1840 Droysen was appointed professor of history at Kiel. He was at once attracted into the political movement for the defence of the rights of the Elbe duchies, of which Kiel was the centre. Like his predecessor F. C. Dahlmann, he placed his historical learning at the service of the estates of Schleswig-Holstein and composed the address of 1844, in which the estates protested against the claim of the king of Denmark to alter the law of succession in the duchies. In 1848 he was elected a member of the Frankfort parliament, and acted as secretary to the committee for drawing up the constitution. He was a determined supporter of Prussian ascendancy, and was one of the first members to retire after the king of Prussia refused the imperial crown in 1849. During the next two years he continued to support the cause of the duchies, and in 1850, with Carl Samwer, he published a history of the dealings of Denmark with Schleswig-Holstein, Die Herzogthümer Schleswig-Holstein und das Königreich Dänemark seit dem Jahre 1806 (Hamburg, 1850). A translation was published in London in the same year under the title The Policy of Denmark towards the Duchies of Schleswig-Holstein. The work was one of great political importance, and had much to do with the formation of German public opinion on the rights of the duchies in their struggle with Denmark.

After 1851 it was impossible for him to remain at Kiel, and he was appointed to a professorship at Jena; in 1859 he was called to Berlin, where he remained till his death. In his later years he was almost entirely occupied with Prussian history. In 1851 he brought out a life of Count Yorck von Wartenburg (Berlin, 1851-1852, and many later editions), one of the best biographies in the German language, and then began his great work on the Geschichte der preussischen Politik (Berlin, 1855-1886). Seven volumes were published, the last not till after his death. It forms a complete history of the growth of the Prussian monarchy down to the year 1756. This, like all Droysen’s work, shows a strongly marked individuality, and a great power of tracing the manner in which important dynamic forces worked themselves out in history. It was this characteristic quality of comprehensiveness that also gave him so much influence as a teacher.

Droysen, who was twice married, died in Berlin on the 19th of June 1884. His eldest son, Gustav, is the author of several well-known historical works, namely, Gustav Adolf (Leipzig, 1869-1870); Herzog Bernhard von Weimar (Leipzig, 1885); an admirable Historischer Handatlas (Leipzig, 1885), and several writings on various events of the Thirty Years’ War. Another son, Hans Droysen, is the author of some works on Greek history and antiquities.

See M. Duncker, Johann Gustav Droysen, ein Nachruf (Berlin, 1885); and Dahlmann-Waitz, Quellenkunde der deutschen Geschichte (Leipzig, 1906).

(J. W. He.)

DROZ, ANTOINE GUSTAVE (1832-1895), French man of letters, son of the sculptor J. A. Droz (1807-1872), was born in Paris on the 9th of June 1832. He was educated as an artist, and began to exhibit in the Salon of 1857. A series of sketches dealing gaily and lightly with the intimacies of family life, published in the Vie parisienne and issued in book form as Monsieur, Madame et Bébé (1866), won for the author an immediate and great success. Entre nous (1867) was built on a similar plan, and was followed by some psychological novels: Le Cahier bleu de Mlle Cibot (1868); Autour d’une source (1869); Un Paquet de lettres (1870); Babolein (1872); Les Étangs (1875); L’Enfant (1885). His Tristesses et sourires (1884) is a delicate analysis of the niceties of family intercourse and its difficulties. Droz’s first book was translated into English under the title of Papa, Mamma and Baby (1887). Un Été à la campagne, a book which caused considerable scandal, was erroneously attributed to him. He died on the 22nd of October 1895.

DROZ, FRANÇOIS-XAVIER JOSEPH (1773-1850), French writer on ethics and political science, was born on the 31st of October 1773 at Besançon, where his family had furnished men of considerable mark to the legal profession. His own legal studies led him to Paris in 1792; he arrived on the very day after the dethronement of the king, and was present during the massacres of September; on the declaration of war he joined the volunteer bataillon of the Doubs, and for the next three years served in the Army of the Rhine. Receiving his discharge on the score of ill-health, he obtained a much more congenial post in the newly-founded école centrale of Besançon; and in 1799 he made his first appearance as an author by an Essai sur l’art oratoire (Paris, Fructidor, An VII.), in which he acknowledges his indebtedness more especially to Hugh Blair. Removing to Paris in 1803, he became intimate not only with the like-minded Ducis, but also with the sceptical Cabanis; and it was on this philosopher’s advice that, in order to catch the public ear, he produced the romance of Lina, which Sainte-Beuve has characterized as a mingled echo of Florian and Werther. Like several other literary men of the time, he obtained a post in the revenue office known as the Droits réunis; but from 1814 he devoted himself exclusively to literature and became a contributor to various journals. Already favourably known by his Essai sur l’art d’être heureux (Paris, 1806), his Éloge de Montaigne (1812), and his Essai sur le beau dans les arts (1815), he not only gained the Monthyon prize in 1823 by his work De la philosophie morale ou des différents systèmes sur la science de la vie, but also in 1824 obtained admission to the Académie Française. The main doctrine inculcated in this last treatise is that society will never be in a proper state till men have been educated to think of their duties and not of their rights. It was followed in 1825 by Application de la morale à la philosophie et à la politique, and in 1829 by Économie politique, ou principes de la science des richesses, a methodical and clearly written treatise, which was edited by Michel Chevalier in 1854. His next and greatest work was a Histoire du règne de Louis XVI (3 vols., Paris, 1839-1842). As he advanced in life Droz became more and more decidedly religious, and the last work of his prolific pen was Pensées du Christianisme (1842). Few have left so blameless a reputation: in the words of Sainte-Beuve, he was born and he remained all his life of the race of the good and the just.

See Guizot, Discours académiques; Mont