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THE DRAMA AND THE STAGE. 
Nature and Art, August 1, 1806. 
THE DRAMA AND THE STAGE, 
Theatric Art. 
I E _ the Drama be not literary or musical, it can scarcely 
come within the limit of criticism. It is true, indeed, 
that we talk of Dramatic Art ; but it may be doubted if 
this phrase can be applied justly except to the literary or 
lyrical portion of stage performances. The stage, as a 
dumb show, has hardly ever touched the limits of genuine 
art ; and it would be difficult to prove that without litera- 
ture or music it has ever been more than a raree show. In 
running over the numerous spectacles, scenery, ballets, 
pantomimes, and transformations we have witnessed, there 
can hardly be recollected any that would come within the 
definition of art. In the time of Stanfield and Roberts as 
scene painters, there may be recollected scenes and other 
representations which, in combination of colour and form, 
and as appealing pictorially, might be supposed to be the 
result of artistic composition, and to produce the true 
effect of art. The only two, however, that we can vividly 
call to mind, were the landscapes in “Acis and Galatea,” and 
the Senate scene in “ Coriolanus.” In the former, the land- 
scape was so delicately painted, the mechanical effect of 
the sea flowing and ebbing' on the beach, and the exquisite 
grouping, were so tastefully and harmoniously introduced ; 
it was so perfect a picture that it became artistic, and all 
idea of the stage medium was lost. Foot-lights, scene- 
shifters, canvas-daubers, ballet-girls, and stage manager 
were obliterated. It was nearly the same with the Senate 
scene in “ Coriolanus although there was not that scope 
for landscape painting which the Sicilian scene afforded. The 
fine heads, classical togas, and massive arrangements of the 
senators against the stone architecture, produced a fine 
effect, which was not only illusive but suggestive. The 
kind of effect may be seen in Gerdme’s picture of Phryne, 
now so famous. By becoming suggestive of more than 
was actually represented, such stage expositions may become 
artistic. 
Allusion has been made to those past glories of the 
stage, which occurred about the year 1842-3 ; because in 
making an estimate of what is called theatric art, it is 
necessary to ascertain what the phrase means, and if 
it may be allowed. If theatric art is to be confined to 
the means of obtaining effects that will bring down applause 
in a theatre, then the property-man, the costumier, and the 
gas-lighter must be applied to rather than the intellectual 
critic. Undoubtedly, there are rules and principles for 
producing such effects, but they cannot be included in the 
fine arts ; and we must sharply draw the line between the 
showman and the artist. The stage, our modern stage, is 
certainly much more indebted to the artisan than to the 
artist for effects ; and many of the successes of the age are 
disgraceful to its taste : being' childish to a degree, and 
sometimes not so innocent as infancy. Let us examine 
what are termed “ transformation scenes,” even when pro- 
duced by so clever a man as Mr. Beverley. Is there any 
principle of art in them ? The predominant power is derived 
from light and colour ; and these affect audiences as they 
might savages or infants. Glare, direct contrasts, colour in 
its simplest expression, the glitter of gems, the shine of metal, 
the blaze of unmodulated light, are the preponderating 
qualities. Here is no art for the uneducated eye ; which, 
like that of the unjudging infant, is merely gorged with 
crude matter. Nor are the forms better, whether human 
or scenic. The women have no grace ; and their stereo- 
typed attitudes, originally cast in the meanest ideal mould, 
rather restrain than suggest ideas of beauty. Nor are 
means taken, of any truly artistic kind, to moderate their 
ungracefulness ; but they are brought out, without any 
relief of light and shade, into a full barber’s block -like pro- 
minence. They come with their various ages, their hetero- 
geneous forms, and all their physical imperfections thick 
upon them, into the artificial light of forty lamps, so thrown 
as to bring into the strongest unrelieved glare, much that 
charitable taste would veil in mist. As each dances past 
the centre of the scene, grimacing at the audience, what 
but contemptuous pity can be roused by such a show. The 
violation herein is more of taste than virtue ; for no man 
who has the slightest capacity to appreciate the beautiful in 
form or effect, can have anything but a feeling of revulsion 
towards such an exhibition. It is difficult for the mind to 
bring itself to the fact, that the Greek ideal of elegance, 
simplicity, and beauty, is the type of what has become so 
haggard, mean, and tawdry. It is a long step from Theo- 
critus to your modern ballet-master. Such devices lay 
bare the deplorable vulgarity of the age ; which is not con- 
fined to the uneducated class, but is, perhaps, most paraded 
by those calling themselves, par excellence, the cultivated. 
The stalls and boxes are more eager recipients of such art, 
than even the galleries and pit, who have not so close an 
opportunity of witnessing it. Probably, the ne plus ultra 
of such vulgarism was lately attained in a divertissement of 
so-called Spanish dancers at the Adelphi. 
It is not, however, only the human adjuncts of the 
spectacle or performance that are so inartistically applied. 
There is an equal deficiency of art or taste in the still 
forms. The halls of coral, the realms of fern, the sea 
caverns, the depths of ocean, or the regions of stalactites ; 
all afford the same crude, raw display. Mechanism is 
everywhere ; art nowhere. The repetition of the same 
forms proves the ever-present genius of the pattern-maker ; 
and recalls the kaleidoscope. The same ugly flowers rise to 
reveal the same espaliered children or women stretched on 
their iron frames ; and the same stars open on the tinsel 
foil and cloth of silver and gold, which intoxicate the eye 
with the blinding splendour lavished without mind or taste 
on all alike. Unreasoning, and excited by the senseless 
glare, the childish audience clap their hands, and call for 
the showmaker, who proves his gratitude by adding to 
the dazzling scene the flaring effect of varying hues. And 
so, amidst the fumes of sulphur and the evanescent changes 
of the blue and pink fires, the curtain falls, its sober green 
a welcome relief to the overstrained and wearied eye. 
It is not meant to say that some of these effects might 
not be used in theatrical displays ; but the fault is that 
they are not used artistically. In fact, there is no such 
thing as art applied to the stage. The showmen who 
command and occupy it use colour, machinery, painting, 
and even music ; as publicans in gin-palaces, sell liquor, 
not as refreshments, but as stimulants. Neither class seeks 
so much to invigorate as to intoxicate its customers : both 
produce the same dismal effects. The senses over-stimulated 
must seek habitual excitement ; and, failing its pro- 
gressional increase, become flaccid, ’irritable, and ultimately 
paralyzed. 
Those who have watched the different effects of true art 
and false excitement, will not consider this statement 
exaggerated or useless. Every production of art, like a 
beautiful production of nature, soothes, refreshes, invigo- 
rates human nature. A fine picture, a musical air, a fair 
form, a genuine comedy, or anything truly artistic, gives to 
the spirit a glow and animation that is wholesome as well 
as delicious. But mere show and no art exhaust and 
trample down the spirit, and leave us dull, flat, and 
mentally dead. Not only one touch of nature, but one 
touch of art exalts and inspirits us. For true relaxa- 
tion, then, we should fly to genuine art ; for revivification 
of exhausted mental energy, there is no better restorative. 
When, as a nation, we have acquired fine taste, and have 
learnt to appreciate genuine Art, we shall be much nearer a 
right state of Nature than we are while mistaking excite- 
ment for enjoyment, and coarse actualities for dramatic 
fiction. 
