Chapter L: Guinevere to King Arthur (2)

The scene which pleased the audience most was that of a fight in which the players fought bravely, more after the Italian style than the French, and the audience was greatly delighted by the close of the play, and laughed heartily when all the characters were killed and rolled about on the stage, the actor who played the King was especially popular; he had a jovial face, so that whenever he spoke, and sometimes even before he spoke, the audience laughed, heartily enjoying his comic talent.

There is no intelligible story in the play, nor is it possible to follow the sequence of events that happen on the stage; but it is rather the aim of the performance to present the public with a series of varied pictures, pleasant to the eye owing to the finery, the brave dresses, the glint of steel rapiers, the tinselled cloaks, and pleasing to the ear owing to the interludes of viol and hautboy playing.

At the end of the performance there was loud clapping, and the chief actor, who is famous in this country--so famous, indeed, that there is talk of emancipating him from his position as a vagabond and making him equal to a soldier of the Queen--was called on to the stage; nor would the public let him depart until he had spoken to them, which he did. He thanked them for their warm welcome, and for expressing their pleasure at the performance of the fine play which John or James Shicksperry had written. He said he had felt sure that this play would not disappoint them, and he intended before long to give them another of the same kind, in which there would be still more murders, still more fighting, many more ghosts, and yet finer dresses. What the name of that play was, he said, was as yet a secret: who had written it was a secret. Here the audience shouted out: “We all know who has written it, it is old John or James.” (Now I come to think of it, I remember his name was Bill or Billy or Ben.) Since they had guessed, he said, he would not conceal it any longer: it _was_ Billy, and the play, which he knew they would enjoy, and in which there was plenty of clowning, was called “King Lear.”

The audience was pleased at this, and cheered for several minutes. They shouted for the author, for old Ben, and went on shouting while people hurried backward and forward across the stage. The author did not come forward, and the shouting continued. At last the chief actor returned, and bowing to the audience, said that old Ben was no longer in the house: he had gone to the tavern. After this there was more cheering, and the actor, kissing his hand to the audience, left the stage.

Guasconi took me to the Mermaid Tavern, a low place where the actors go after such performances, and where some of the nobles and the learned repair also, for the sake of change and to enjoy the spectacle. Here we were obliged to drink a great deal of a hot and nauseous mixture called sack, which is made of good wines spoilt by the admixture of much sugar and spice. I hate these English mixtures; their sweetmeats are made of sugared cake mixed with meat, and with their meat they eat sugared fruits. You can imagine how nauseous is this system, and indeed it reminds me of their plays. Their plays are like their plum puddings, full of great lumps of suet in which little sweet plums and currants are imbedded, but difficult to find. I said this to Guasconi, but he told me I must not judge of the English either by their food or their plays, but that if I wished to judge of their literature I should read the Sonnets of the Countess of Rutland, and he quoted one which begins:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Moreover, he said, the English were not a literary but a musical nation. Their music was unequalled in all Europe; it was the art (and the only art) in which they excelled; witness the divine melodies of Orlando Gibbons, Morley, and Dowland, which, indeed, I had heard performed at the Court, and had greatly enjoyed, for we have nothing like it in France.

The author of the play, Ben Shicksperry, arrived at the Mermaid late, and a learned man who was there, and whose name they told me was Will Johnson, condescended not only to speak but to drink with him. The players made a great noise, toasting each other, likewise the noblemen, who spent the time in violent disputes on the merits and demerits of this writer and that writer. After a time everybody began to talk of public affairs, of the policy of Spain, and of a party of English politicians whom they called pro-Spaniards: and they all agreed that these latter deserved to be immersed in a horse-trough, and so, late in the night, they set out to accomplish this unrefined joke. The English, in spite of their great culture, and their learning, their wonderful power of speaking foreign languages--for every one of the noblemen speaks perfectly not only Greek and Latin, but five or six other languages, and is well versed in astrology, music, and chess-playing--the English, I repeat, in spite of all this, have something barbarous at heart, which is awakened after they have partaken much of that nauseous potion called sack.

THE POET, THE PLAYER, AND THE LITERARY AGENT

_Letter from Mr. Nichols, Literary Agent, to Lord Bacon_

My Lord,

I have now submitted the plays which your lordship forwarded to me to seven publishers: Messrs. Butter, Mr. Blount, Mr. Thorpe, Mr. Waterson, Mr. Andrew Wise, Mr. Steevens, and Mr. G. Eld; and I very much regret to inform your lordship that I have not been able to persuade any of these publishers to make an offer for the publication of any of the plays, although Mr. Thorpe would be willing to print them at your lordship’s expense, provided that they appeared under your lordship’s name. The cost, however, would be very great. No one of these publishers is willing to publish the plays anonymously, and they agree in saying that while the plays contain passages of exceptional merit, there is, unfortunately, at the present moment no demand in the market for the literary play. This form of literature is in fact at present a drug on the market; and they suggest that your lordship, whose anonymity I have of course respected, should convert these plays into essays, epics, masques, or any other form which is at present popular with the reading public. There is certainly very little chance at present of my being able to find a publisher for work of this description. Therefore I await your lordship’s instructions before sending them to any other publishers.

At the same time I would suggest, should your lordship not consider such a course to be derogatory, that I should submit the plays in question to one or two of the best known theatrical managers with a view to performance. I would of course keep the authorship of the plays a secret.

Awaiting your lordship’s commands in this matter,

I am,
Your lordship’s most humble and
obedient servant,
J. J. NICHOLS.

_Letter from Mr. Nichols to Lord Bacon_

My Lord,

I am in receipt of a communication from Mr. Fletcher, the chief of the Lord Chamberlain’s servants, now playing at the Globe Theatre. Mr. Fletcher informs me that he has read the plays with considerable interest. He considers that they are not only promising but contain passages of positive merit.

Mr. Fletcher, however, adds that your lordship is no doubt fully aware that such plays are totally unsuited to the stage; indeed it would be impossible to produce them for many reasons. With regard to the first batch, namely, the Biblical series, the David and Saul trilogy, Joseph and Potiphar, and King Nebuchadnezzar, there could of course be no question of their production, however much they might be altered or adapted for the stage; for it would be impossible to obtain a licence, not only on account of the religious subject matter, which of necessity must prove shocking to the greater part of the audience, but also owing to the boldness of the treatment. Mr. Fletcher begs me to tell your lordship that he is far from suggesting that your lordship has handled these solemn themes in any but the most reverent manner; but at the same time he is anxious to point out that the public, being but insufficiently educated, is likely to misunderstand your lordship’s intentions, and to regard your lordship’s imaginative realization of these sacred figures as sacrilegious.

With regard to the second series, the tragedies, Mr. Fletcher states that the play entitled “Hamlet” might, if about three-quarters of the whole play were omitted, be made fit for stage presentation, but even then the matter would be extremely hazardous. Even if enough of the play were left in order to render the story coherent, the performance would still last several hours and be likely to try the patience of any but a special audience. Such a play would doubtless appeal to a limited and cultivated public, but as your lordship is aware, the public which frequents the Globe Theatre is neither chosen nor cultivated, and it is doubtful whether a public of this kind would sit through a play many of the speeches in which are over a hundred lines long. Mr. Fletcher adds that a play of this kind is far more suited for the closet than for the stage, and suggests that your lordship should publish it as a historical chronicle. With regard to these tragedies Mr. Fletcher further points out that there are already in existence several plays on the themes which your lordship has treated, which have not only been produced but enjoyed considerable success.

With regard to the third series, the comedies, Mr. Fletcher states that these plays, although not without considerable charm and while containing many passages of graceful and melodious writing, are far more in the nature of lyrical poems than of plays. Mr. Fletcher adds that if these were also considerably reduced in length and rendered even still more lyrical and accompanied by music, they might be performed as masques or else in dumb show.

Finally, Mr. Fletcher suggests, if the author of these plays is anxious that they should be performed, that your lordship should send the plays to an experienced actor who should alter and arrange them for stage presentation. Mr. Fletcher suggests that should your lordship see your way to agree to this, he has in his company a player named William Shakespeare who is admirably fitted for the undertaking, and who has already had much experience in adapting and altering plays for the stage.

I am,
Your lordship’s most obedient
and humble servant,
J. J. NICHOLS.

_Letter from Mr. Nichols to Lord Bacon_

My Lord,

In accordance with your lordship’s instructions I submitted the plays to Mr. William Shakespeare. I am now in receipt of Mr. Shakespeare’s full report on the plays.

Mr. Shakespeare confirms Mr. Fletcher’s opinion that the plays in their present state are far too long for production. The religious series he does not discuss, as being by their nature precluded from performance. With regard to the historical tragedies, “Edward III,” “Mary Tudor,” “Lady Jane Grey,” and “Katherine Parr” Mr. Shakespeare points out that none of these plays would be passed by the Censor because they contain many allusions which would be considered to touch too nearly, and give possible offence to, certain exalted personages.

With regard to the tragedies, Mr. Shakespeare is quite willing to arrange “Hamlet, Prince of Denmark” for the stage. More than half of the play will have to be omitted: the whole of the first act, dealing with Hamlet’s student days at Wittenburg, Mr. Shakespeare considers to be totally irrelevant to the subsequent action of the play, although the long scene between the young prince and Dr. Faustus contains many passages which are not only poetical but dramatic. Mr. Shakespeare regrets to have to sacrifice these passages, but maintains that if this act be allowed to stand as it is at present, the play would be condemned to failure. Mr. Shakespeare is also anxious to cut out the whole of the penultimate act, which deals entirely with Ophelia’s love affair with Horatio. This act, though containing much that is subtle and original, would be likely, Mr. Shakespeare says, to confuse, and possibly to shock, the audience. As to the soliloquies, Mr. Shakespeare says that it is impossible to get an audience at the present day to listen to a soliloquy of one hundred lines. Mr. Shakespeare suggests that if possible they should all be cut down to a quarter of their present length.

Out of the remaining plays, Mr. Shakespeare selects the following as being fit for the stage: “Macbeth,” “Romeo and Juliet,” “Mephistopheles,” “Paris and Helen,” “Alexander the Great,” and “Titus Andronicus.” Of all these Mr. Shakespeare says that by far the finest from a stage point of view is the last. It is true that the action of this play is at present a little slow and lacking in incident, but Mr. Shakespeare says that he sees a way, by a few trifling additions, of increasing its vitality; and he is certain that, should this play be well produced and competently played, it would prove successful. The tragedy of “Macbeth” might also be adapted to the popular taste, but here again Mr. Shakespeare says the play is at least four times too long.

I would be glad if your lordship would inform me what reply I am to make to Mr. Shakespeare.

I am,
Your lordship’s obedient and humble
servant,
J. J. NICHOLS.

_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_

Sir,

I am quite willing that Mr. Shakespeare should try his hand on “Hamlet,” “Macbeth,” “Romeo and Juliet,” and “Titus Andronicus,” but I cannot consent to let him shorten my “Mephistopheles,” my “Alexander the Great,” or my “Paris and Helen.” I should of course wish to see a printed copy of the play as arranged by Mr. Shakespeare before it is produced.

I am,
Your obedient servant,
BACON.

_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_

Sir,

I received the printed copies of my four plays as arranged by Mr. Shakespeare. I would be much obliged if you would communicate to him the following instructions: (1) “Hamlet” may stand as it is. The whole nature of the play is altered, and the chief character is at present quite unintelligible, but if Mr. Shakespeare thinks that in its present form it will please an audience, he is at liberty to produce it, as it is not a piece of work for which I have any special regard, and it was written more as an exercise than anything else. (2) I cannot allow “Romeo and Juliet” to appear with the changed ending made by Mr. Shakespeare. Mr. Shakespeare is perhaps right in thinking that his version of the play, ending as it does with the marriage of Juliet and Paris and the reconciliation of Romeo and Rosaline, is more subtle and true to life, but in this matter I regard my knowledge of the public as being more sound than that of Mr. Shakespeare. As a member of the public myself, I am convinced that the public is sentimental, and would be better pleased by the more tragic and romantic ending which I originally wrote. (3) With regard to Mr. Shakespeare’s suggestion that in “Macbeth” the sleep-walking scene should fall to Macbeth, instead of to Lady Macbeth, I will not hear of any such change. (Confidential: The reason of my refusal is that this change seems to me merely dictated by the vanity of the actor, and his desire that the man’s part may predominate over the woman’s.) (4) “Titus Andronicus.” I have no objection to Mr. Shakespeare’s alterations.

Your obedient servant,
BACON.

_Letter from Lord Bacon to Mr. Nichols_

Sir,

I was present last night at the Globe Theatre at the performance of my play “Macbeth,” as produced by Mr. Shakespeare. I confess that I was much disgusted by the liberties which Mr. Shakespeare has taken with my work, which I am certain far exceed the changes and alterations which were originally presented to me, and which I myself revised and approved. For instance, Mr. Shakespeare has made a great many more omissions than he originally suggested. And at the end of many of the scenes he has introduced many totally unwarranted tags, such as, for instance:

I’ll see it done.
What he hath lost noble Macbeth hath won.

And, worst of all:

It is concluded:--Banquo, thy soul’s flight,
If it find Heaven, must find it out to-night.

The whole play is riddled with such additions, not to speak of several incidents of an altogether barbarous and outrageous character, and of certain other interpolations of coarse buffoonery, inserted in the most serious parts of the play to raise a laugh among the more ignorant portions of the rabble. Of course I cannot now withdraw them from the stage without risking the discovery of their authorship. Mr. Shakespeare is at liberty to produce and perform in any of the plays written by me which are now in his possession, provided that they appear under his name, and that the authorship is attributed to him.

Your obedient servant,
BACON.

BATH, 1663

_Letter from a Frenchman to a Friend in Paris_

BATH, _August 20, 1663_.

We arrived here with the Court last week, the physician having decided that the hot waters of this far-off and desolate spot would prove more beneficial to the Queen’s health than the cold waters of beautiful Tunbridge Wells. Bath has not the sunny elegance of the latter place, but the Court are doing their best to enliven this otherwise dreary spot. One of their chief occupations is to play at bowls, but you must not think that this game is confined, as in France, to artisans and lackeys. On the contrary, it is here a game of gentlefolk, and there is both skill in it and a certain art, and the places where these games are played are singularly charming and elegant. They are called “boulingrins.” They consist of small meadows, of which the grass is as smooth as a billiard table. As soon as the heat of the day is over everybody meets here, and many heavy wagers are made. I confess that I have lost considerable sums at this sport, but have been more successful at cock-fighting.

There is dancing every night at the King’s. Often a comedy is played, which is followed by a supper. As for music, it never ceases. The English are above all things a musical nation; their skill both in the art of singing and dancing far excelling that of our courtiers. For instance, the Chevalier de Grammont, who is reckoned one of our most accomplished dancers, is not sufficiently skilful to take part in the Royal dance.

The fashionable instrument is now the guitar, which was introduced here by an Italian, whose compositions so pleased the King that everybody became mad about this instrument, so that you see no one at the Court who does not play the guitar, whether or no they possess a talent for so doing. Some, such as the Earl of Arran, play as well as the Italian himself. Others extract but futile discord from this difficult instrument. It is a curious thing that the English, who have obtained an unexampled liberty in political matters, show themselves curiously slavish and lacking in initiative and independence in matters of thought, pleasure, and recreation. Their political liberty is extraordinary; for instance, in their Parliament the members are not only allowed to speak their minds freely, but also to do a number of astonishing things, such as call the most important members of the State to the Bar! The Earl of Bristol remained free in the town after he had accused the Lord Chancellor of high treason! And even the populace considers that it has the right to speak of public affairs.

Not long ago, at the Stock Exchange, I heard a political speech quoted on every side, and even the boatmen in the barges discuss matters of State with the noble Lords whom they convey to the Houses of Parliament. On the other hand, in matters of pleasure and pastime the English are slaves of convention; everybody wishes to do what every one else is doing. The matter of the guitar-playing is an instance of this. As soon as some high personage makes a sport, an occupation, or a manner of dress fashionable, the crowd follow in abject obedience and perfect uniformity like sheep.

Indeed, we not long ago had a narrow escape from having a peculiarly tedious occupation forced upon us: the Duke of York fell in love with a Scotch game called _goff_, which is played, so they say, in the more sterile regions of the extreme north of Scotland, where the inhabitants still feed on oats and wear scarcely any clothes. This game consists in hitting a hard ball about the size of a turkey’s egg into the dense heath with a kind of stick. Several hours are then spent in looking for the ball, and when, after much difficulty and discomfort, it has been found, the player immediately hits it as hard as he can into the distance and resumes the laborious search. This game would no doubt have become the fashion had not the King, who has a horror of introducing an element of seriousness into pastimes which are designed exclusively for recreation, remarked that such a game was fit only for very small children or for men who were so old that they had reached their second childhood. After that we heard no more of this intolerable sport.

Again, Prince Rupert, who is distinguished by his studious habits, his love of chemistry and mathematics and his awkward manners, attempted to introduce a game of cards called “Trump” or “Whist.” The most notable feature of this game is that it must be played in complete silence. It is not surprising, therefore, that it failed to find favour at Court, for the English love conversation above all things, and excel in repartee, apt quotation, and madrigal-making. But it is curious that although the Court is highly cultivated, and although the courtiers speak elegantly both in English and Latin, and make verses and madrigals in these languages, there appears at the present time to be no English literature at all. Our Ambassador tells me that among learned circles in London, although there are certain philosophers of merit, such as Hobbes, there remain but few traces of the art of letters for which England was once famous. The only writers whose memory still subsists to a certain degree are Bacon, Morus, Buchanan, and in the last century a certain Miltonius who acquired an evil notoriety by his scurrilous and seditious pamphlets. Letters have deserted England and given way to music and painting. The art of madrigal-making, which is cultivated at Court with assiduity and exquisite skill, belongs, of course, to music.

What has struck me most since I have been here is the beauty of the English women; they are all being painted at this moment by a painter called Lely; he is an accomplished artist, but he does not succeed in rendering the personality of the people he paints, and his pictures are all alike. Most of these ladies speak French not only with correctness but with elegance; some of them, such as Miss Stewart, for instance, speak French better than their own language. Others, on the other hand, are so unfamiliar with our manners and customs that they seem to imagine that a Frenchman must necessarily be half-witted, and address him in a kind of broken language such as nurses and mothers use to their babies.

Lady Hyde is remarkable, even in England, for her grace and her wit. Her hands are delicate and her feet astonishing. She is surrounded by the wits of the Court, and one evening after supper she organized a kind of tournament of wit. It was thus: we all sat round the gaming table, but instead of playing we had set before us counters made of mother-of-pearl, on each one of which a letter of the alphabet was worked in gold. These were placed face downwards and turned up in turn; each player who turned up a letter was obliged to compose a line of a sonnet beginning with the letter in question. The game would have proved highly successful had not Lord Rochester caused some annoyance by ending the sonnet, which had up till then been delicate and tender, with an unexpectedly crude and uncourtly expression, which, while it tickled the mirth of some of the company, offended our sensitive hostess.

Miss Stewart is childish and frivolous. She laughs at everything and everybody. She has a passion for those games which are usually played only by children of twelve and thirteen; such as, for instance, Blind Man’s Buff, and even when at cards the play is at its highest, she builds houses and castles with the cards, and forces everybody to join in the pastime. She is encouraged in her gaiety and her frivolity by the Duke of Buckingham, who sings agreeably, and has a wonderful talent for mimicking, not without a certain spice of malice, the voices and the tricks of his friends.

Play is everywhere high, and at every “boulingrin” there is a pavilion where refreshments are sold--liquors such as cyder, hydromel, sparkling ale, and Spanish wine. There is a race of men called “Rooks” who meet together to smoke and to drink. They are what we should call grooms in France, and they always have about them enough money to lend to those who have lost at play; they are themselves so skilful at games of hazard, especially at one particular game which is played with three cards, that no one who plays with them wins. The Chevalier de Grammont once tried his luck with them at dice, and, strange to say, the first time he played he won. They begged him to continue the game. This he refused to do, in spite of the many well-turned compliments they paid to his prowess.

The English are somewhat concerned at this moment at the state of their Navy, which they say leaves much to be desired. There are many politicians who are in favour of building an increased number of ships, but it appears that this cannot be done without grievously taxing the rich, who are already overtaxed. The Duke of Buckingham told me yesterday that if the taxes were to be in any way increased he would be obliged to dismiss his gardener and his Groom of the Chambers. Besides which, he assured me that this agitation in favour of an increased Navy was entirely due to a foolish fear of the Dutch, a fear which he said was utterly groundless, for it was inconceivable that the Dutch could wish to invade England; moreover, if they did so they would be defeated by the English Navy, such as it was.

PETER THE GREAT

_Letter from an English Architect_

ST. PETERSBURG, _July, 1715_.

Dear Sir,

Although it is almost six weeks ago that I arrived at St. Petersburg, I have not until this moment had leisure to write you my impressions. And now before I impart these to you I must advert to a conversation which I had in Berlin with X----, who, as you know, spent many years in Russia, before the accession of the present Czar, and who is an eminent Russian scholar. He assured me that in entering the Russian service at the present moment I was doing a foolish and perilous thing. Russia, he said, was on the eve of a grave crisis, which might very probably lead to the dismemberment of the nation. This was owing to the character of the present Sovereign. The Czar was inspired with inordinate ambition and blind obstinacy; he was, moreover, pursued by a demon of restlessness, and a desire to change and reform everything that was old. This love of improvement was no doubt in itself a laudable ambition; yet in view of the peculiar circumstances of the case, the ignorance of the great mass of Russians, the fundamental conservatism of the educated class, the deficiency and the inadequacy of all necessary material and instruments, the designs of the Czar were akin to madness.

He was attempting to make bricks without straw, and this could only have one result--the disruption of the kingdom of Russia and the consequent rise of a large and powerful Poland. Poland would once again reduce Russia to servitude, and all civilized Europe would once more be revolted by the spectacle of civil and religious tyranny. Moreover, a powerful Poland was, as far as all European countries were concerned, far less to be desired than a powerful Russia. I will comment on these remarks in due time. At present I must resume my narrative.

On arriving at St. Petersburg I went straight to the Summer Palace. I was told that the Czar had gone to Cronstot. He had left orders that I was to follow him thither as soon as I arrived, in a snow which was waiting to convey the Dutch Minister. It was a fine, sultry day when we started from St. Petersburg. I was much impressed by the sight of the city, which possesses already many thousands of houses and some fine churches and palaces. We started with a fair wind, but soon a storm arose, and our condition was the more perilous owing to the lack of experience of the captain and the mate. The Dutch Minister was prostrate with sea-sickness, and upon his asking whether there was any chance of escape--and he seemed, such were his pains, to hope for a negative answer--the captain, who was facing the emergency by doing nothing at all, kept on repeating in a soothing voice the word _Nichevo_ (which means “all is well”) “we shall arrive.” All seemed to be very far from well. The mate, when consulted, folded his hands together and said _Bog Znaet_, which means “God knows.” At last, after two days and three nights, which we spent without fire or provisions, we arrived at Cronstot. We were forthwith bidden to the Czar’s pleasure-house, Peterhof, on the coast of Ingria, whither a fair wind took us without further mishap.

We were at once taken into the Czar’s presence. Anything less like the state and formal etiquette of Paris, Berlin, or Madrid, it would be difficult to imagine. To speak of the simplicity of the Czar would be to understate my meaning. He seemed to be divested not only of the formality of sovereigns, but of the ordinary convention and reserve which unwittingly hang over every human being like a cloak. He greeted us as if he had known us all his life, and as if he were continuing a conversation but lately interrupted. His dress--which was dark, plain, and sober--his demeanour, his manner, were not only free from all trace of pomp but would have struck one as simple in a common sailor. And yet the overwhelming mastery and intelligence and power of the man were instantly apparent in the swiftness of his look and the stamp of his countenance. It was clear from the first moment that he was a man who went straight to the point and had the knack of eliminating and casting aside the unessential and the superfluous with the quick decision with which a skilful gardener removes dead flowers from a tree with his garden knife.

This was evident when speaking of the concern he had felt for us owing to the storm. The Dutch Minister launched out into a diffuse narrative. The Czar at once seized on the essential fact that the skipper was incapable and deftly changed the subject, keeping the garrulous Minister charmed all the while. He welcomed me to Russia and said that he had been awaiting my arrival with impatience, as he had much work for me to do. “But we will talk of that later,” he said, “at present you must be hungry.”

We then followed him into another room, where we were presented to the Czarina. The Czarina, who is of humble origin, has that peculiar grace, that intangible beauty and charm, which baffle verbal description and cause the painter to burn his canvas. She is the embodiment of spontaneous and untaught refinement, and her manner, like that art which consists in concealing all art, proceeds from the certain instinct which bids her make the right gestures and say the right word without either effort or forethought.

We proceeded to dinner, which was served punctually at noon. The first course consisted of many cold meats, followed by a second hot course, and then by a third course of fruits. During dinner we were all of us plied with Tockay wine. His Majesty himself partook of it freely but forebore drinking too much; but we by the end of the meal could scarcely stand, and the Dutch Minister was obliged nevertheless to empty a bowl holding a full quart of brandy which he received at the Czarina’s hand. The result was he rolled under the table, and was carried away by two men to a quiet place where he could sleep.

The Czar laughed and talked without ceasing, and asked many pertinent questions concerning England and Scotland, and was thoroughly posted in all the latest news. Talking of the Stuarts, he said they would never return, because, apart from their talent for mismanagement, the English people did not feel strongly enough on the subject to make a rising in their favour, however popular such a restoration would be if it could be effected by a _Deus ex machina_. The Stuarts, he said, had always had the people on their side and the oligarchy against them. He blamed the English people with regard to Ireland, saying the English had neither annihilated the Irish nor made them happy. He compared this to the action of the Poles in Russia in the past, and pointed to the result.

After dinner I retired to sleep, but at four o’clock we were awakened and brought back to the Czar’s presence. He gave us each a hatchet and orders to follow him. He led us into a wood of young trees, where he marked a walk of a hundred yards to be cut to the seashore. He fell to work, and we (there were seven of us) followed; (the Dutch Minister found such a work in his half-dazed condition hard) and in three hours’ time the path was cut. At supper, to which we were bidden, more Tockay was consumed, and the Czar joked with the Dutch Minister about the violent exercise he had caused him to take. We retired early, but about eight the next morning, I was bidden to Court to partake of breakfast, which consisted, instead of coffee or tea, of large cups of brandy and pickled cucumbers.

After dinner we were taken on board the Czar’s vessel. The Czarina and her ladies sought the cabin, but the Czar remained with us in the open air, laughing and joking. A strong wind was blowing, which in two hours became a gale, and the Czar himself took the helm and showed the utmost skill in working a ship as well as huge strength of body. After being tossed about for seven hours we at last reached the port of Cronstot, where the Czar left us with the words: “Good night, gentlemen. I fear I have carried the jest too far.”

The next day I returned to St. Petersburg, and was lodged in the Summer Palace so as to be near the Czar. The Czar sent for me early in the morning, and discoursed for two hours on various buildings he wished me to design. He went into every detail, and soon showed me that he was as skilled an architect as he was a sailor. He also talked on various other subjects, including theology, mechanics, music, painting, the English Navy, and the German Army. England, he said, was his model as far as the Navy was concerned, Germany for the Army, and France for architecture. At the same time he was not disposed slavishly to follow any particular models, and force on his people those details of any system which might not be in concord with the genius of the Russian character. It is undeniable that the Germans have far the best system of military discipline, he said, but it would be quite impossible to get Russian soldiers to act with the mathematical precision of the Prussians.

“I adopt the system as far as I can, and adapt it to my material. That is why I get as many Scotch officers as I can, and English architects, because it is difficult to make a Frenchman understand that Russia isn’t France, and that a Russian workman must work in his own way.”

I had not been in St. Petersburg long before I realized that X----’s forebodings are baseless. He is right in saying that the Czar is ambitious. He is right in saying that he is actuated by restlessness, if by restlessness he means a ceaseless and indefatigable energy. He is right in saying that the Czar’s materials are bad and scanty and that the Czar thus had to make bricks without straw. He is right in saying that the Russians are fundamentally conservative and regard all reforms with distrust.

But what he has not realized is this, that a man of genius can make bricks without straw. The Czar has proved it. He has built St. Petersburg on a marsh. He has built a fleet and organized an army. He has made palaces, schools, academies, factories, and dockyards, and he has inspired others with his fever for work. Like all great workers he never gives one an impression of hurry. He seems always to have leisure to see whom he wants, to have his say out, and to indulge in recreation when he feels so inclined. He rises every morning at four o’clock. From eleven to twelve he receives petitions from all ranks of his subjects, who have access to him during that hour. He dines at twelve o’clock. At one he sleeps for an hour; the afternoon and evening he spends in diversions, and at ten he goes to bed.

He seems to delight in finding out a project which appears to be impossible, and in achieving it forthwith. No scheme is too large for him to devise, and no detail of it too small for him to attend to. He has the gift of discovering any useful scrap of knowledge either in men or books. At his balls and entertainments, which he now gives at the Summer Palace or, on extraordinary occasions, at the Senate House, all degrees of persons are invited. Different tables are arranged in separate rooms for the clergy, the officers of the Army, those of the Navy, the merchants, the ship-builders, the foreign skippers. After dinner the Czar goes from room to room and talks to everybody, especially with the masters of foreign trading vessels. The Dutch and English skippers treat him with familiarity, and call him by no other name than Skipper Peter, which delights him, and the whole time he marks down any points which interest him in a note-book.

In conversing with these men, various in rank and condition, he never appears to be courting popularity or to be ingeniously fencing with subjects of which he is ignorant. On the contrary, he makes it manifest that he is talking on a subject because it interests him and because he is thoroughly acquainted with it. And any man who is an expert at any trade or profession cannot converse with him for a few moments without realizing that he knows what he is talking about and that his knowledge is the result of practical experience. He has a hatred of baseless theory, a contempt for convention, and an insatiable passion for fact and reality. He has no respect for inherited rank or for the glory of lineage; merit is to him the only rank. He will at a moment’s notice, should he think it necessary, degrade a nobleman into a peasant or make a pastry-cook into a Minister. Indeed he has done this in the case of Prince Menzikoff.

It is useless to pretend that he is as popular with the Russian people as he is with foreigners. Many of the ignorant peasantry regard him as the Antichrist, and they worship his utterly worthless son, the Czarevitch, because they consider that he respects and embodies their ancient customs. In spite of this there is no danger that what the Czar has accomplished will be overturned in the immediate future. He has done something which cannot be undone, like putting salt into a pudding. Moreover, his genius and his versatility, his extraordinarily varied talents, are based on a soundness of judgement, a level-headedness and a sanity of instinct which, while they lead him to do things which are seemingly impossible, justify him, in that success is achieved, and prevent him from undertaking what, owing either to the backwardness of the population or the temper of popular feeling, would in reality and of necessity end in failure. He knows exactly where to draw the line. In a speech he made to the Senate some time ago he said that the ancient seat of all sciences was Greece, whence they were expelled and dispersed over Europe and hindered from penetrating further than into Poland. The transmigration of sciences was like the circulation of the blood, and he prognosticated that they would some time or other quit their abode in Western Europe and settle for some centuries in Russia, and afterwards perhaps return to their original home in Greece. In the meantime he recommended to their practice the Latin saying _ora et labora_.

Now what the Czar has already achieved is that he has made such a circulation possible. He has broken down the barrier which was between Russia and Western Europe, and let in to the great veins of his country a new drop of blood which nothing can either expel or destroy.

“HAMLET” AND DR. DODD

_Letter from a Frenchman, translated from the French_

LONDON, _June 28, 1777_.

Sir,

It is now three days since I arrived in London. I am still bewildered by the noise of the carriages and overwhelmed by an admiration which any foreigner must feel when for the first time he beholds the streets, the lanterns, and the pavements of London. Nothing could be better than these three things. The streets are wide; the manner in which they are lit up at night, and the commodity of the ways made for foot-passengers so that they may be safe from vehicles in the most dangerous thoroughfares are astonishing. There is nothing to compare with it in Europe. It is only in London that such thoroughfares and such superb nightly illumination are to be found, and where so careful an attention is paid to the safety of the public. And all this decoration, and indeed half of the city, are not more than twenty years old!

I have already become an adopted Englishman. I drink my tea twice a day, I eat my “tostes” well buttered. I read my Gazette scrupulously every morning and every evening. I have been waiting with impatience for one of those plays to be performed which have obtained universal applause, such as those, for instance, of the “divine” Shakespeare. I have at last been rewarded. Yesterday I read on the playbill (_affiche_), “Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.” So I said to my sister, who is with me, “We must go and see ‘Hamlet.’” We set out, therefore, for Covent Garden.

We had intended to take tickets for the boxes, but there were none left. We tried to get into the first gallery (our _premières loges_), but there were no seats to be had there. I proposed then that we should try the upper gallery, but we were advised not to. There remained the pit. This was also full. I remained standing, and my sister obtained half a seat at the end of a crowded bench. It was all most brilliant. The house, which is square and partly gray and partly gilded, without harmony of ornament or design, is not imposing in itself. But the crowd of spectators, the quantity of lights, the rapt attention of the coloured crowd, make a striking _ensemble_.

No sooner had we seated ourselves than to my extreme astonishment something fell on to my sister’s hat. It turned out to be a piece of orange peel. Here I must mention that an essential part of a lady’s _coiffure_ in London is a flat round hat, which is a most ingenious device of coquetry. It heightens beauty and diminishes ugliness; it confers grace and play to the features. It is impossible to tell you all the varied effects an Englishwoman can derive from her hat. Curiously enough, the hat is not worn on State occasions, and neither at Court nor at assemblies, nor even in the _premières loges_ of the theatre, and its place is taken by French feathers. I was just wondering whence the piece of orange peel had proceeded when I saw a man come from behind the scenes with a large broom in his hand. Knowing that Shakespeare makes use of everything that pertains to human life, I thought that “Hamlet” was going to begin by a sweeping scene. I was mistaken. It was only a servant who was cleaning the front of the stage, which I now noticed was covered with the remains of the feast of oranges and apples which was taking place in the upper gallery, and of which my sister had received a small sample on her hat.

At last the play began. Not having the good fortune to understand the English language, I could not follow one word of the dialogue. But I am told that the play gains rather than loses by being translated, though our Anglomaniacs say it is untranslatable. But I have now read the play in M. Letourneur’s translation. The play is sheer madness--nay, more, it is the wildest and most extravagant thing that a madman could devise in a fit of delirium. Towards the end of the play only six characters remain alive, and they all die a violent death. The King and the Queen are poisoned on the stage. Hamlet, after having assassinated the Lord Chamberlain and his son, dies himself of a poisoned wound. His lady-love throws herself out of the window and is drowned; the Ghost, who enlivens this farrago of horrors, was poisoned himself (in the ear).

Lest the spectators should be overcome by so many murders, the “divine” Shakespeare has given them moments of relief in the person of the Lord Chamberlain, who is a coarse buffoon, and the conversation of the grave-diggers, who, while they crack their insipid jests, dig a real grave, throw real black earth on to the stage, of the same colour and substance as that which is found in churchyards, full of real bones and real skulls. In order to give an effect of reality, there are some large skulls and some small ones. Hamlet recognizes one as having belonged to a clown whom he knew. He seems to caress it, and to moralize over it. And these horrors, and the still more disgusting pleasantry, seemed vastly to please the upper gallery, the pit, and even the boxes. The people who were near me and behind me stood up on their seats and craned forward to look, and one man, in order to see better, lifted himself up by pulling my hair.

What strikes me most in thinking of this performance is the contrast that exists in England between the mildness and the leniency of the English customs and legislation in criminal matters, and the barbarity and savagery of the entertainments in their playhouses. On the same morning that “Hamlet” was performed, the execution of Dr. Dodd was carried out at Tyburn. Doctor Dodd was a minister of the Church, highly respected for his eloquence. He had been _Aumonier_ to the King, and cherished the ambition of becoming a bishop. With this object, he had caused his wife to offer the sum of a thousand guineas to the wife of a Minister. The transaction was discovered and Dr. Dodd was dismissed from his post, but still retained a living. He had been the tutor of a son of a man who is well known here, Lord Chesterfield, and in the name of the young lord he signed a bond of four thousand guineas. This was also discovered, and it constitutes what they here call the crime of forgery, for which Dr. Dodd was condemned to death. In spite of many petitions the sentence was carried out yesterday, June 27. I assisted at the execution. A stranger accustomed to the terror-inspiring machinery, to the noise and fuss with which, in the rest of Europe, the decrees of justice are executed, and which are designed to serve as a terrible example, would be astonished at the manner in which it is done here. Here there are no soldiers, no representatives of the army, no outward signs of ferocity, no preliminary torture. Here that humanity, which the law seems to forget from the moment the judge has uttered the word guilty--by letting a long delay elapse between the pronouncement of the sentence and the execution--reappears as soon as the prison opens its doors and delivers the prisoner to the sheriffs, who are charged with carrying out the sentence. The sheriffs are not military men; they have no mercenaries under them, but merely a certain number of constables, ordinary _bourgeois_, whose only uniform consists in a long stick painted and partially gilded.

The victim, bound, without constraint, by the cord which is to hang him, is seated on a cart draped in black, or he may obtain leave to use a carriage, and this is what was done yesterday. The carriage passed slowly up Oxford Street, one of the longest and broadest streets of London. The prisoner had no escort, save a small number of constables on foot, and some sheriffs on horseback. He is condemned by the law, it is the law which leads him to death. The officers show no signs, either of threatening or fear, lest the people should oppose themselves to a severity which has their safety for object.

The immense crowd which fills the streets, especially in a case like this one, which has been so much talked about, maintains a respectful silence. When they arrived at Tyburn Dr. Dodd left his carriage and mounted on a cart which stopped under the horizontal beam of the gallows. The executioner then appeared, untied the rope, and attached it to the transverse beam. The victim conversed with a minister of the Church, who recalled his crime, and spoke of the necessity of expiation. After a short pause, the executioner covered the victim’s head with a handkerchief, which he drew down to his chin. The first sheriff made a sign; the executioner touched the horse, the cart went on, and the work of execution was thus almost imperceptibly accomplished. After the body has remained hanging for an hour it is cut down and restored to the relatives of the deceased. He is then no longer a culprit, but a citizen who regains the rights he had forfeited by crime. His memory is not held in obloquy; for instance, the brother of Dr. Dodd succeeded to his living on the recommendation of Lord Chesterfield.

Now to return to the playhouse and “Hamlet.” How is it that a people which abhors bloodshed in general, which fears murder, to whom poison and assassination are unknown, and which carries regard even towards the criminal to the extent I have described, can take pleasure in theatrical spectacles as barbarous and revolting as their own? The executions at London seem but games. The tragedies of the playhouse, on the other hand, are butcheries, causing even such spectators as are familiar with bloodshed to shudder.

It is only fair to say that those Englishmen who have read and travelled are slightly embarrassed when a foreigner, who has heard the extravagant praises paid to the “divine” Shakespeare, comes to London to see for himself the works of this genius. They tell us that the populace are the lords of the English stage, and that they must needs be pleased. It is their depraved taste, we are told, which maintains these spectacles which would empty the theatres in any other country. I am quite ready to believe it; but then it is only drunken sailors who should be asked to admire Shakespeare, since it is only by drunken sailors that his altars are supported.