SOURCE: "Critic and Historian of the British Drama," in Elizabeth Inchbald: England's Principal Woman Dramatist and Independent Woman of Letters in 18th-century London, University Press of America, 1987, pp. 127-45.

[In the essay that follows, Manvell examines Inchbald's critical prefaces to The British Theatre—a collection of British drama from Shakespeare to the end of the eighteenth century—claiming that her interpretations generally reflect conventional social values of her time.]

By the turn of the century Elizabeth Inchbald had become one of the most respected of writers in the mainstream of literary output in England. It was a transitional period in English writing, with the powerful influence of the French revolution of the 1790s only too evident, like a sting in the tail. In an age that seemed to enjoy both writing and reading literary and dramatic criticism on a higher level than the immediate and ephemeral reports in the press, Elizabeth could also hold her own as a critical essayist. Her position was so well established by the early 19th century for her to be invited to become a regular contributor to the newly-established Quarterly Review, though she chose not to do so, since by this time, when she was in her mid-fifties, her energies had become limited.

It was therefore no surprise when in 1806 she was invited to write critical and biographical introductions to a generous selection of representative plays from Shakespeare's time to the close of the 18th century which were regarded by the publisher as being of sufficient note to be anthologized in a series which appeared at first periodically and was later finally assembled in 1808 in 25 volumes, each including five plays—125 in all. It would seem that these plays were not selected by Elizabeth in the first place, but by the publisher, and that the choice, looked at with hindsight almost two centuries later, might appear somewhat arbitrary. No doubt at the time the choice was based on the popularity the pieces had enjoyed in the late 18th-century theatre (often through association with some star performance rather than as a result of pure dramatic merit), or on the achievement of a satisfactory sale at the time of their initial publication. In the case of Shakespeare, however, 24 of his plays were included, filling the first five volumes in the series, with Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour (the only one of his plays represented) completing the fifth volume. Marked omissions are Marlowe, Webster and Ford, while the Restoration dramatists are comparatively thinly represented in heavily bowdlerized versions. On the other hand, Cibber and Rowe have four plays each, Cumberland five, and Colman the Younger no less than eight. Elizabeth herself has five plays included—one a translation from Kotzebue—filling Volume XX.

Elizabeth explains the terms of her commission in an open letter dated March 1808 and addressed to George Colman the Younger, who had complained about certain points in her critical introduction to his father's plays and his own:

I accepted an overture, to write from two to four pages, in the manner of preface, to be introduced before a certain number of plays, for the perusal, or information, of such persons as have not access to any diffuse compositions, either in biography or criticism, but who are yet very liberal contributors to the treasury of a theatre . . . One of the points of my agreement was, that I should have no control over the time or the order in which these prefaces were to be printed or published, but that I should merely produce them as they were called for, and resign all other interference to the proprietor or editor of the work. . . . Nor did the time or space allotted me, for both observations and biography (for biography of the deceased was part of my duty, and not introduced at my discretion), admit of any farther than an abridgement, or slight sketch, of each.¹

What in fact Elizabeth offers her readers amounts in all to some 20,000 or more words, giving basic biographical accounts of the dramatists and some background to their plays, together with often acute and pointed criticism from the point of view of a woman of the theatre. She is very well aware of the difference between scripts written for professional production—plays which flesh-and-blood players must perform successfully to flesh-and-blood audiences who have given of their time and money to patronize the living theatre—and plays that are literary exercises, written, as she puts it, for the 'closet,' not the stage. She is full of praise for memorable performances by star players in theatrically effective parts. While Shakespeare remains the dominating figure among British dramatists (with his 24 works reproduced as against everyone else being represented by anything between one to eight plays), Dr. Johnson figures as the most respected critic, whom she frequently cites. But she is never afraid to criticize on her own account, even the plays of contemporary dramatists she knows personally. George Colman the Younger was indeed, as we have seen, stung to reply to her strictures, and his open letter of reproach and her equally open reply appear in the 21st volume. It should be remembered that women commentators or critics (as distinct from creative writers) were virtually unknown in the early 19th century; writing as late as 1833, Boaden in the Memoirs says, 'There is something unfeminine .. . in a lady's placing herself in the seat of judgment.' Her comments, he says, made her unpopular with her contemporaries, and 'added but little to her fortune and nothing whatever to her fame.' Her initial retaining fee amounted to only 60 guineas, and she even appears to have tried to get released from her contract. Boaden claims that the pieces were written 'with slender preparation.'²

Elizabeth's values are unmistakably those of the late 18th century. As Prof. Allardyce Nicoli, for example, points out in the volume of his History of the English Drama devoted to the later 18th century, audiences had changed somewhat from the rough and rowdy houses of an earlier age; they were 'quieter and less uproarious' than the patrons of the Restoration period, who had clamoured in response to plays like unruly adolescents, even invading the stage itself. Audiences in Elizabeth's time preferred 'highly decorous comic operas,' 'moral melodramas' and 'decorous sentimental comedies' which emphasized 'poetic justice.' They liked productions which involved spectacular settings that displayed the artistry of the stage designer and scene painter. They were inspired by 'sensibility,' the catchword of the time; audiences were expected to demonstrate openly that they were men and women of feeling combined with the niceties of prudery, so that commentators such as Elizabeth could use in describing such emotional responses the word 'genteel.'³

Not that members of these same audiences could not become rowdy with disapproval at times and dispute from the auditorium with actors on the stage. Holcroft, writing in the 1780s, describes the drunks who could get into the theatre and cause disturbances ('the nightly intrusion of unhappy and improper persons'), while a Prologue to a play by Mrs. Cowley in the 1790s refers to the pressure of bodies in the pit:

Ah! ah! you're here, and comfortably tight?
Well squeez'd and press'd, I see—from left to right.

Audiences could only too easily grow inattentive and chatter during the performance. Elizabeth, with the memories of an actress as well as of a dramatist, was well aware that she and her fellow players depended on the dramatists not only to give them playable plays which could hold the attention of at any rate the bulk of the audience, but work which would not offend the growing body of genteel, middle-class people who came to the theatre as families and did not want to have their ears (or those of their adolescent daughters) offended by the obscene and scurrilous dialogue that had once delighted the city rakes and their doxies in earlier times.

Elizabeth herself stood in the van of these reforms, which unhappily went hand in hand with the decline of creative vitality in dramatic writing. Only in comedy, particularly the comedy of manners, did the dramatists of the late 18th century hold their own, among them Elizabeth. Again and again she emphasizes the importance of playwrights supplying plays suitable for polite audiences: of Romeo and Juliet she says, 'it seldom attracts an elegant audience.' 'The company,' she adds, 'will not come to a tragedy, unless to weep in torrents—and Romeo and Juliet will not draw even a copious shower of tears.' Southerne's Isabella (in which Sarah Siddons failed in her first, youthful debut for Garrick in London), was more to their taste; it was a tragedy that 'effectually wrung the hearts of those who possess nice sensibility.' She is happy that in Mrs. Cowley's The Belle's Stratagem, 'the persons of importance .. . are all elegant, or, at least, well bred.' She praises Steele's The Conscious Lovers because it is 'elegantly written, highly refined,' and notes that Garrick adapted Wycherley's The Country Wife as The Country Girl by 'expunging those parts . . . which an improved taste delicately rejects.' In matters of taste, anything 'coarse,' including even dialogue in dialect—which was sometimes introduced by some dramatists, such as Holcroft or Colman the Younger for the benefit of 'low' comedians—was to be rejected. She pleads with Colman in her preface to his John Bull to 'leave the distortion of language to men who cannot embellish it like yourself,' merely to provide dialogue suitable for low comedy. Dialect, she writes, belongs to 'common life,' and is but 'language . . . deformed,' which on the stage produces 'uncouth sounds' that 'pervade .. . the ear.' She castigates Cibber for She Wou'd and She Wou'd Not—'This comedy has neither wit nor sentiment—it has, instead, swearing, lying, and imposture,' though she praises it afterwards for its 'dexterous' plot and 'bold characters.' And in the preface to her friend, Thomas Holcroft's play, The Road to Ruin, she says:

Coarse manners, like old age, should always be counterfeit on the stage: when either of these is inherent in the actor himself, as well as in the character he represents, the sensitive part of the audience are more afflicted than entertained.

Similarly, she stresses the need for the theatre to establish and sustain its moral standards. This puts her in something of a dilemma when faced with the coarser elements in Shakespeare's plays, and with the wits of the Restoration whose plays still survived on the later 18th century stage, though severely pruned and altered. She is unsparing in her condemnation of the immorality of these plays:

Of Farquhar's The Beaux' Stratagem: The well drawn characters, happy incidents, and excellent dialogue, in The Beaux' Strategem, are but poor atonement for that unrestrained contempt of principle which pervades every scene. Plays of this kind are far more mischievous than those, which preserve less appearance of delicacy. Every auditor and reader shrinks from those crimes, which are recommended in unseemly language, and from libertinism united with coarse manners; but in adorning vice with wit, and audacious rakes with the vivacity and elegance of men of fashion, youth, at least, will be decoyed into the snare of admiration.

Of Mrs. Centlivre's A Bold Stroke for a Wife: The authoress of this comedy should have laid down her pen, and taken, in exchange, the meanest implement of labour, rather than have imitated the licentious example given her by the renowned poets of those days. . . . Nor can her offence be treated with excessive rigour in reference to the present time by those who consider that this very play of A Bold Stroke for a Wife is now frequently performed to an elegant, yet applauding audience.

Of Gay's The Beggar's Opera she writes that, 'it has the fatal tendency to make vice alluring.'

On a more positive note, what Elizabeth looked for in all plays, but especially in those of her contemporaries, was 'credibility' and a closeness to 'Nature.' She applied this to Shakespeare, objecting on this account to both Romeo and Juliet and Cymbeline; of the latter she says:

the impossibility, that half the events in this play could ever occur, cannot be the sole cause of its weak effect. Shakespeare's scenes are frequently such, as could not take place in real life; and yet the sensations which they excite are so forcible, that improbability is overpowered by the author's art, and his auditors are made to feel, though they cannot believe. No such magic presides over the play of Cymbeline as to transform reason into imagination.

Credibility remains a constant theme in Elizabeth's assessment of more contemporary drama; she praises the authenticity of George Lillo's realistic drama, Fatal Curiosity, in spite of the violence in it against which she warns both readers and spectators:

From the first scene of this tragedy to the last, all is interesting, all is natural—occurrences, as in real life, give rise to passions; passion inspires new thoughts, elevates each sentiment, embellishes the language, and renders every page of the production either sweetly pathetic, or horribly sublime. . . . Mr. Colman was a warm admirer of Lillo's works, and of this play in particular. He caused it to be rehearsed with infinite care; and, from the reception of the first two acts, and part of the third, he had the hope that it would become extremely popular—but, on the performance of a scene which followed soon after, a certain horror seized the audience, and was manifested by a kind of stifled scream. After having shuddered at this tragedy, even as a fiction, it is dreadful to be told,—that the most horrid event which here takes place, is merely the representation of a fact which occurred at a village on the western coast of England.⁴

She praises the naturalistic characterization of Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer, though the improbability of certain events makes it in her opinion more like farce than comedy:

She Stoops to Conquer had indeed more the quality of farce than of a regular, five-act drama: but, although some of the incidents are improbable, there is not one character in the piece, which is not perfectly in nature—The reader will find his country friends in the whole family of the Hardcastles; and, most likely, one of his town acquaintances in the modest Mr. Mariow.—From the most severe judge, to the name of farce can be this comedy's sole reproach; and he must even then allow, that it is an extremely pleasant one; and a far better evening's entertainment, than the sentimental comedies of Kelly and other dramatists of that day—at which the auditors were never incited either to laugh or to cry.

Elizabeth often expresses, too, the specific point of view of a woman. Of Henry IV, Part I she writes:

This is a play which all men admire; and which most women dislike. Many revolting expressions in the comic parts, much boisterous courage in some of the graver scenes, together with Falstaff s unwieldy person, offend every female auditor; and whilst a facetious Prince of Wales is employed in taking purses on the highway, a lady would rather see him stealing hearts at a ball, though the event might produce more fatal consequences.

In her comments on Nathaniel Lee's The Rival Queens she writes, very interestingly:

Dryden's Octavia is, however, much less refined than Lee's Statira. The first pardons her husband's love to Cleopatra, and is willing to accept his reluctant return, with an alienated heart;—whilst the last makes a solemn vow, never more to behold the man who loves her to distraction, because he has given her one proof of incontinence. There is deep knowledge of the female heart evinced in both these incidents. A woman is glad to be reconciled to the husband, who does not love her, upon any conditions—whilst the wife, who is beloved, is outrageous if she be not adored. Yet Lee should have considered, that such delicate expectations of perpetual constancy, as he has given to his pagan queen, Statira, were not, so late as his own time, prevalent, even among Christian queens. The consorts of Charles II and Louis XIV, saw as many partakers of their royal spouses' love, as the Sultana of Constantinople, and with equal patience.

As a successful writer of comedy, she is particularly concerned with its nature and with the distinction between comedy, farce, comic opera, and burlesque, the various forms of lighter entertainment prevalent at the time.⁵ Of Arthur Murphy's comedy, All in the Wrong, she writes:

Molière's genius has been of use to many of our comic dramatists, who, at the time Mr. Murphy wrote, enriched their works with his wit and humour, without calling themselves translators, but merely occasional debtors to his primary invention. . . . The dialogue of All in the Wrong is of a species so natural, that it never in one sentence soars above the proper standard of elegant life; and the incidents that occur are bold without extravagance or apparent artifice, which is the criterion on which judgment should be formed between comedy and farce.

Broad farce she considered inelegant, as her comments introducing George Colman the Younger's comedy, John Bull, make clear:

The irresistible broad humour, which is the predominant quality of this drama, is so exquisitely interspersed with touches of nature more refined, with occasional flashes of wit, and with events so interesting that, if the production is not of that perfect art which the most rigid critic demands, he must still acknowledge it is as a bond, given under the author's own hand, that he can, if he pleases, produce, in all its various branches, a complete comedy.

The introduction of farces into the entertainments of the theatre has been one cause of destroying that intimate comedy, which such critics require. The art which has been accustomed to delight in painting of caricature, regards a picture from real life as an insipid work. The extravagance of farce has given to the Town a taste for the pleasant convulsion of big laughter, and smiles are contemned as the token of insipid amusement.

Comedy requires an exact judgment, acute observation of manners, and above all the elegancies of wit. Of Richard Cumberland's comedy, The Brothers, she says:

To give blunt repartee, or other humourous dialogue, to characters in low life; to produce variety of comic accidents, by which a petty tradesman, a sailor, or a country clown, shall raise a peal of laughter, is the easy attainment of every whimsical writer; but to exhibit the weak side of wisdom, the occasional foibles which impede the full exertion of good sense, the chance awkwardness of the elegant, and mistakes of the correct; to bestow wit on beauty, and to depict the passions, visible in the young, as well as in the aged;—these are efforts of intellect, required in the production of a good comedy, and can alone confer the title of a good comic author.

She also comments shrewdly on the basic technical problem of adapting novels to the theatre in the case of Colman the Younger, whose version of Godwin's novel, Caleb Williams, retitled The Iron Chest, she discusses:

Narrative, on the stage, must never be diffuse; the play must be comprised in a certain number of pages; and, when the foundation of a fable is of the magnitude of murder, any abridgment of circumstances, requisite to make description both clear and probable, must be of fatal import to all the scenes so founded. British spectators of a tragedy, moreover, even wish to behold the assassin's dagger reeking, before they listen to his groans of remorse; and the offence received, is sometimes demanded in exhibition, ere they will sympathize in the thirst of vengeance.

With all these values in mind, it is interesting to see which dramatists emerge best from Elizabeth's evaluation, always keeping in mind that the choice of the plays was predetermined for her. On Shakespeare she avoids offering much generalized comment, preferring in the main to quote Johnson, and relying specially on describing the effectiveness, or otherwise, of the key parts on the stage as played by Garrick, Kemble, Henderson, and others. As we have seen, she does not favor Romeo and Juliet because (she claims) it is not pleasing to an 'elegant audience,' and because what happens in the play strains credibility, as does the action in Cymbeline. Although the characterization in Henry IV, Part I is drawn from nature, the dialogue she finds offensive to genteel taste, whereas Henry V and Henry VIII are excellent precisely because they emphasize moral issues, as indeed, she says, does Macbeth. However, she singles out the acting parts which have proven most successful with audiences; though Garrick failed as Romeo, and as King John, he succeeded as Faulconbridge and Richard III; Henderson made a fine Falstaff, while Kemble was outstanding as Jaques, as the Duke in Measure for Measure, as Macbeth and Coriolanus, among many other Shakespearean parts.

She makes an interesting point about censorship affecting the final act of Richard III:

In the reign of William and Mary, the whole first act of this play was omitted in representation, by order of the licenser; who assigned as his reason—that the distresses of Henry VI, who is killed in the first act, by Richard, would put weak people too much in mind of King James II, who was then living an exile in France.

She speaks, too, about the censoring of certain lines from Coriolanus during the 1790s—the key period of the revolution in France—since, 'certain sentences in this play are . . . of dangerous tendency at certain times,' because of possible repercussion from 'the lower order of people.' However, the lines recently withheld have now been restored, she adds.

She comments, too, on the revisions imposed on Shakespeare's plays, especially in the case of King Lear:

Tate alters the Play of King Lear, and instead of suffering the good Cordelia to die of grief, as Shakespeare had done, he rewards her with life, love, and a throne. Addison, in his Spectator, condemns him for this; Dr. Johnson commends him for it; Both showing excellent reasons. Then comes Steevens, who gives a better reason than all, why they are all wrong.⁶

Her character descriptions are often apt and clear. She speaks of King John's 'grovelling mind,' and of other Shakespearean characters, such as:

Coriolanus: Here . . . the likeness of a stubborn schoolboy, as well as of the obstinate general of an army, is so exquisitely delineated, that every mental trait of the one can be discerned in the propensities of the other, so as forcibly to call to the recollection, that children are the originals of man.

Antony and Cleopatra: The reader will be also introduced to the queen of Egypt, in her undress, as well as in her royal robes; he will be, as it were, admitted to her toilet, where, in converse with her waiting-woman, she will suffer him to arrive at her most secret thoughts and designs: and he will quickly perceive, that the arts of a queen with her lover, are just the same as those practised by any other beauty—'If you find Antony sad,' cries Cleopatra, to her female attendant, 'say I am dancing; if he is in mirth, report that I am suddenly sick.'

These natural contrivances of artful woman, labouring to make her conquest and her power secure, are even outdone in truth of description, by that fretful impatience, with which she is tortured, in the absence of Antony from Egypt: By the gloom which the poet has spread throughout her whole palace, whilst he is away: and by the silly sentences, which, during this restless period, she is impelled to utter.

'Where think'st thou he is now? stands he, or sits he? Or does he walk? or is he on his horse?'

Silly sentences to all who never were in love, but sensible, and most intelligent to all who ever were.

Equal to the foregoing conversation, is that in which this impassioned queen makes anxious enquiry concerning the charms of her rival Octavia. But these minute touches of nature by which Shakespeare proves a queen to be a woman are, perhaps, the very cause why Dryden's picture of the Egyptian court is preferred on the stage before this. There are things so diminutive, they cannot be perceived in a theatre; whilst in a closet, their very smallness constitutes their value.

The Restoration dramatists represented here—Farquhar, Vanbrugh, and Congreve especially—trouble her. She responds to their talents as dramatists and dialogue writers, while she deplores the licentious indulgences their plays represent. Even severe adaptation cannot, she thinks, veil the immorality of the situations and motivations involved. She even castigates Gay's The Beggar's Opera, as we have seen. She does not appear to rate Beaumont and Fletcher, or for that matter Dryden, very highly as dramatists, while among the playwrights she considers to be too literary is Addison, whom she admires more as a Christian gentleman than as a dramatist. Moving nearer her own time, she is much more ready to admire the best work of Cibber, Rowe, Southerne, Lillo (the latter for originality), Goldsmith, Holcroft and the Colmans, though none escapes criticism when she feels this is due. Among women dramatists she praises Mrs. Centlivre (though decidedly not for the moral implications of her plays), Joanna Baillie, and to a lesser degree, Mrs. Cowley.

Her praise of Sheridan, the leading dramatist of wit and elegance in her time, is generous. She prefers The School for Scandal to The Rivals—the only play, apart from Sheridan's comic opera, The Duenna, the editors included in The British Theatre selection.

The Rivals is an elegant, an interesting, a humorous, and most entertaining comedy; but in neither fable, character, nor incident, is it, like The School for Scandal—inimitable. If Mrs. Malaprop, Acres, Sir Lucius, and some other personages in this drama were not upon the stage before The Rivals was acted, they have all appeared there, in various dramas, many a time since. But where can Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, where can the Surface family be found, either in original or copy, except in The School for Scandal? Where can be traced the plot or events of that extraordinary play, or where even the shadows of them. . . .

Sir Anthony Absolute is generally counted the most prominent, though Faulkland is, no doubt, the most original character in the comedy. One particular circumstance adds extreme interest to this part. It is supposed by the author's most intimate friends that, in delineating Faulkland, he took a discerning view of his own disposition, in all the anxious tenderness of a youthful lover; and has here accurately described every sentiment, every feeling, which at that trying period of his life, agitated his troubled heart. The very town of Bath, just before the writing of this play, had been the identical scene of all his restless hopes and fears.

The impressive language, the refined notions, the enthusiastic, yet natural passion of Faulkland for Julia, with all the captivating charms of mind and expression which has been here given to this object of adoration, are positive vouchers that some very exalted idea of the force of love, if not its immediate power over himself, had at that time possession of the poet's fancy.

Elizabeth does not approve of the character of Mrs. Malaprop, and addresses us directly in the 20th century when dealing with her:

Against the illiterate Mrs. Malaprop, common occurrence and common sense protest. That any Englishwoman, for these five hundred years past, in the habit of keeping good company, or any company, could have made use of the words—extirpate for exculpate, exhort for escort, and malevolence for benevolence—seems too far removed from probability to make a reasonable auditor smile.

When future generations shall naturally suppose that an author of Mr. Sheridan's reputation drew men and women exactly as he found them; this sketch of a woman of family and fortune, at the end of the eighteenth century, will assure the said generations that the advance of female knowledge in Great Britain was far more tardy than in any other European nation.

Occasionally, plays out of the ordinary offer her opportunities for comment on unconventional subjects. George Barnwell, or The London Merchant (1731), George Lillo's tragedy based on a popular ballad, represented for her a 'new species of pathetic drama.' The author of this tragedy was a tradesman,' she writes, 'which might influence his taste for the description of scene of humble life.' She traces the ups and downs in favor that this tragedy in prose about humble people experienced with audiences used only to witnessing the destructive passions of the great. She holds Lillo in high regard, and quotes Fielding's commendation of him as a man, written when he died in 1739. Then again, the opera, Inkle and Yarico, by George Colman the Younger opened up, like Southerne's Oroonoko, the subject of slavery. Of this she says:

This opera was written, when the author was very young, and, should he live to be very old, he will have reason to be proud of it to his latest day, for it is one of those plays which is independent of time, of place, or of circumstance, for its value. It was popular before the subject of the abolition of the slave trade was popular. It has the peculiar honour of preceding that great question. It was the bright forerunner of alleviation to the hardships of slavery.

Similarly, Richard Cumberland's The Jew (1794) introduced a subject hitherto absent in the English theatre, where Jews were normally seen by tradition as either villains or comic characters, as in The Jew of Malta and The Merchant of Venice. Elizabeth comments:

When a zealous Christian writes in favour of a Jew, it is proof of the truest Christianity. The author of this play has done more than befriend one unfortunate descendant of Abraham; he has taken the twelve tribes of Israel under his protection. The bravery of this enterprise was equal to its charity—the execution has been masterly—and complete success the reward of that compassion which incited him to his labour. . . . The play, in its formation, is adverse to the public taste, and in its sentiments contrary to public prejudice; still the public were charmed with it.

Finally, it is natural she should take constant pleasure in describing actors at work. Impressions of acting are peculiarly difficult to reconstruct for readers who have never seen the original performer, but Elizabeth is never afraid to try. Her recollection of the Kemble-Siddons production of Macbeth at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, inspires her:

To those who are unacquainted with the effect wrought by theatrical action and decoration, it may not be superfluous to say—the huge rocks, the enormous caverns, and blasted heaths of Scotland, in the scenery; the highland warrior's dress, of centuries past, worn by the soldiers and their generals; the splendid robes and banquet at the royal court held at Fores; the awful, yet inspiring music which accompanies words assimilated to each sound; and above all, the fear, the terror, the remorse; the agonizing throbs and throes, which speak in looks, whispers, sudden starts, and writhings, by Kemble and Mrs. Siddons, all tending to one great precept—Thou shalt not murder.

Above all, she enjoys celebrating John Philip Kemble, whose performances shine again through the energy of her prose, and span the whole series of volumes. He excels, she claims, in Shakespeare, being second only to Garrick, to whose genius as an actor she frequently refers, for example, his Gloucester in Richard III:

Garrick, Henderson, Kemble, and Cooke, have all in their turn been favoured with the love, as well as the admiration of the town for acting Richard Garrick appears to have been the actor, of all others, best suited for this character. His diminutive figure gave the best personal likeness of the crooked-back king. He had, besides, if tradition may be relied on, the first abilities as a mimic; and Richard himself was a mass of mimicry, except in his ambition and his cruelty.

Among the many parts to which she makes special reference in describing Kemble is his performance as the King in King John:

The part of King John is held most difficult to perform. John is no hero, and yet he is a murderer; his best actions are debased by meanness, deceit, or cowardice, and yet he is a king. Here is then to be portrayed, thirst of blood, without thirst of fame; and dignity of person, with a groveling mind. . . . The genius of Kemble gleams terrific through the gloomy John. No auditor can hear him call for his

'Kingdom's rivers to take their course through his burn'd bosom,'

and not feel for that moment parched with a scorching fever.

As we have seen, she praises his performance in Macbeth and among other Shakespearean roles:

Of Jaques in As You Like It: Kemble's Jaques is in the highest estimation with the public: it is one of those characters in which he gives certain bold testimonies of genius, which no spectator can controvert. Yet the mimic art has very little share in this grand exhibition.

Of Coriolanus: Kemble 'renders the utmost summit of the actor's art.'

As for other plays than Shakespeare's, she admires especially his work

As Osmyn in Congreve's The Mourning Bride: Kemble looks nobly, majestically, in Osmyn, and reminds the audience of the lines,

—Tall pillar rear its marble head,
Looking tranquility. . . .
And shoots a chillness to the trembling heart.

As Zanga in Young's parallel to Shakespeare's Othello, The Revenge: This character is of such magnitude, and so unprotected by those who surround him, that few performers will undertake to represent it; a less number still have succeeded in braving the danger. Mr. Kemble stands foremost among those, and draws some splendid audiences every year, merely to see him, though the intervals between his exits and entrances are sure to be passed in lassitude.

The many introductions for The British Theatre series were to be the only substantial undertaking in dramatic or literary criticism Elizabeth was to publish. In doing so, in the earliest years of the 19th century, she established professional standards for the woman critic that had no previous parallel. In particular, her comments were valuable because they revealed in virtually every instance the knowledge and experience of an actress who over a number of years had enjoyed the privilege of working with and observing at the closest range the performances of the best players of the time, not now and then but on hundreds of occasions, behind the scenes and on the stage, as participant and as member of an audience in the theatres of London and the provinces.

Notes

The introductory comments written by Elizabeth Inchbald for the 25-volume anthology of plays, The British Theatre (1808) form the primary source for this chapter. Since the five plays making up each volume with their introductions are page-numbered individually, the many comments quoted in this chapter can only be referred to by indicating the number of the volume in which each play appears. They are listed below in alphabetic order of title; dates are given for plays from the Restoration period to the early 19th century:

All in the Wrong (Murphy, 1761), Vol. XV

Antony and Cleopatra (Shakespeare), Vol. IV

As You Like It (Shakespeare), Vol. III

The Beaux' Stratagem (Farquhar, 1707), Vol. VIII

The Beggar's Opera (Gay, 1728), Vol. XII

The Belles' Stratagem (Mrs. Cowley, 1780), Vol. XIX

A Bold Stroke for a Wife (Mrs. Centlivre, 1718), Vol. XI

The Brothers (Cumberland, 1769), Vol. XVIII

Cato (Addison, 1713), Vol. VIII

The Conscious Lovers (Steele, 1722), Vol. XII

The Country Girl (Garrick, 1766), Vol. XVI

Cymbeline (Shakespeare). Vol. IV

De Monfort (Joanna Baillie, 1798), Vol. XXIV

The Dramatist (Reynolds, 1789), Vol. XX

The Duenna (Sheridan, 1775), Vol. XIX

George Barnwell (The London Merchant, Lillo, 1731), Vol. XI

Henry IV, Part I (Shakespeare), Vol. II

Henry V (Shakespeare), Vol. II

Henry VIII (Shakespeare), Vol. III

Inkle and Yarico (Colman the Younger, 1796), Vol. XX

The Iron Chest (Colman the Younger, 1796), Vol. XXI

Isabella, or the Fatal Marriage (Southerne, 1694), Vol. VII

The Jew (Cumberland, 1794), Vol. XVIII

John Bull (Colman the Younger, 1803), Vol. XXI

King John (Shakespeare), Vol. I

King Lear (Shakespeare), Vol. IV

The London Merchant (Barnwell, Lillo, 1731), Vol. XI

Macbeth (Shakespeare), Vol. IV

Measure for Measure (Shakespeare), Vol. III

The Mountaineers (Colman the Younger, 1793), Vol. XXI

The Mourning Bride (Congreve, 1697), Vol. VIII

Oroonoko (Southerne, 1695), Vol. VII

The Revenge (Young, 1721), Vol. XII

Richard III (Shakespeare), Vol. I

The Rival Queens (Lee, 1677), Vol. VI

The Rivals (Sheridan, 1775), Vol. XIX

The Road to Ruin (Holcroft, 1792), Vol. XXIV

Romeo and Juliet (Shakespeare), Vol. I

She Stoops to Conquer (Goldsmith, 1773), Vol. XVII

She Wou'd and She Wou'd Not (Cibber, 1702), Vol. IX

Wheel of Fortune (Cumberland, 1795), Vol. XVIII

Notes for this chapter indicated by superior figures follow:

¹ See The British Theatre, Vol. XXI.

² The prefaces were, of course, intended for the general reader, not the scholar, or the literary or dramatic critic.

³ For this and the quotations following, see Allardyce Nicoli, A History of English Drama 1660 to 1900, Vol. III, pp. 5, 10, 15-16.

⁴ George Lillo's play, Fatal Curiosity (or, Guilt its own Punishment, 1736, but presented by Elizabeth Inchbald as altered by Colman, 1783), is described by Allardyce Nicoli as an example of 'sentimentalized bourgeois drama.' It is a domestic tragedy of three acts written in verse. Set in Penryn, near Falmouth in Cornwall, and based on what is alleged to have been a real-life incident, it involves an elderly couple, Wilmot and his wife Agnes, who live on in penury, believing that their son, who has in the past gone away to India, is now dead. But Young Wilmot returns. He chooses to visit his parents in disguise, taking with him a casket of jewels. The sight of this wealth destroys their consciences, and, like Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, they are driven by want to murder their guest, Agnes urging her husband to commit the crime. When they realize the truth, that it is indeed their own son that they have murdered, Old Wilmot turns on his wife and kills her, and then commits suicide. Colman modified the violence in the play, toning down the dialogue.

⁵ It should not be overlooked that Elizabeth Inchbald was herself the writer of farces as well as comedies. She included Child of Nature, The Wedding Day, and The Midnight Hour in her self-selected Collection of Farces and other Afterpieces collected into seven volumes in 1809.

⁶ See for example, M. W. Black and M. A. Shaaber, Shakespeare's Seventeenth Century Editors 1632-1685, New York, MLA, 1937; Montagu Summers (ed.), Shakespeare Adaptations: The Tempest, The Mock Tempest, King Lear, New York, Haskell House, 1966; Davenant's Macbeth from the Yale Manuscript, edited by Christopher Spencer, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1961; and Nahum Tate, The History of King Lear, edited by James Black, Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1975.

Works Cited

Boaden, James. Memoirs of the Life of John Philip Kemble. London, 1825.

——. Memoirs of Mrs. Siddons. London, 1827.

——. The Life of Mrs. Jordan. London, 1831.

——. Memoirs of Mrs. Inchbald. London, 1833.

[Inchbald, Elizabeth. Prefaces in The British Theatre. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, & Orme, 1806-1808.

——. (Ed.) A Collection of Farces and other Afterpieces. London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, & Orme, 1809.]

Kelly, Gary. The English Jacobin Novel, 1780-1805. London: Oxford University Press, 1976.

Littlewood, Sam. R. Elizabeth Inchbald and her Circle. London: Daniel O'Connor, 1921.

McKee, William. Elizabeth Inchbald. Ph.D. Thesis, Washington, 1935.

Nicoli, Allardyce. A History of the English Drama 1660-1900: Vol. III, Late 18th Century Drama. Cambridge University Press, 1955.

——. Introduction to Lesser English Comedies of the 18th Century. Oxford University Press, 1927. The volume contains Elizabeth Inchbald's play, Everyone has his Fault.

Park, B. R. Thomas Holcroft and Elizabeth Inchbald: Studies in the 18th Century Drama of Ideas. Ph.D. Thesis for the Faculty of Philosophy, Columbia University, 1952.