 | II. Rambles and reveries |  |
2. II.
The vivid impression which our `first play' leaves upon
moralists, as to that greatly mooted point—the true
influence of the drama. Perchance from the deep and
splendid visions thus awakened to the fancy, the clear
and romantic aspect which humanity thus portrayed assumes,
we might discover no questionable affinity between
our own unsophisticated natures and the dramatic art, we
might appreciate the importance of such an institution as
the theatre to civilized man, to the dawning mind, to the
human being as such; we might with perfect consistency,
learn to rank the legitimate drama in the poetry of life.
But however this may be, there are many incidental experiences
where an universal end is pursued. About
every general object, personal associations abundantly
cling. There is deep truth in the great German writer's
remark—`every individual spirit wakes in the great
stream of multitude.' Lamb's first visit to the theatre was
powerfully associated with a plate prefixed to Rowe's
Shakspeare. This event with me, is linked with a deeper
reminiscence, for it occurred at an age of deeper susceptibility.
`I was educated at the University of St. Andrews, and
from a three years' residence there, divided between study,
solitary walks along the sea-shore, and attendance upon
prudential lectures daily delivered by the maiden aunt
with whom I resided, I was, all at once, removed to the
metropolis and entered as a law student. At Edinburgh,
I boarded with a distant relation who was a great musical
amateur. In his house there also resided a very eccentric
man, a dramatist by profession. He had an interest in
composed or adapted them to the stage. The manager
of one of the principal theatres was his intimate friend,
and had exerted himself to bring out Mr. Connington's
dramas so successfully, that they were then yielding him
a very handsome income. At every meal, dramatic literature
was discussed, and the merits of various actors canvassed.
Not infrequently my kinsman, who was quite an
adept in such matters, gave imitations of the best tragedians,
by way of an evening's pastime. As you may
suppose, I soon became much interested in the subject of
these conversations. To me a new field of thought was
opened. And yet evening after evening, I declined invitations
to attend the theatre. This was thought quite surprising,
particularly as I manifested so much interest in
every thing that was going on there, and after a while took
no inconsiderable part in the dramatic conversations.
The truth was, my imagination was wrought up to the
highest pitch. My `first play' assumed an importance
in my mind, which it is difficult to describe. I came to
regard it as one of the great epochs of existence. I anticipated
its effects as nervous people sometimes fancy
the operation of some powerful nostrum, or as I can imagine
Sir Humphrey Davy looked forward to the effect
of a new gas. In consequence of this feeling, I made
great preparations for the event. I read Shakspeare with
greater attention than ever before, informed myself of the
history of the drama, read innumerable criticisms, biographies
and lectures illustrative of the whole subject, and
finally determined to be governed by circumstances as to
`I entered our little parlor one cold, drizzly evening,
five years ago this very night, my head throbbing with six
long hours' delving into the mysteries of the law. In no
very good humor, I seated myself before the grate to
await the dinner hour. I was gazing rather moodily at
the fire, when something intercepted its rays; I looked
up, Mr. Connington was at my elbow holding a printed
bill before me. I could distinguish but one word, `Virginius.'
`Mr. Graham,' said my friend, `you must go
to-night.'—`I will,' said I, and we sat down to dinner.
`During the meal I was unusually silent. I was quite
oppressed with the thought that I was so near an end so
long anticipated. I fancied I had been too precipitate.
I felt like one standing at the entrance of a splendid
Gothic cathedral; it seemed to me that a single step
would bring me into an overpowering scene.
| II. Rambles and reveries | |