CHAPTER VI
DRAMATIC VENTURES
We are accustomed to think of the early New England life as offering few expressions of artistic beauty, and there is much truth in this view, for the thoughts of our forefathers were directed chiefly toward theology. But we must never forget that those first adventurers came from England during the greatest age of artistic expression that England ever had, the time of Sidney and Spenser and Shakespeare. When the New Englanders had become settled in their new home, had become somewhat unified, that “fervid activity of an intense, newly-kindled, peculiar and individual life” resulted in all sorts of out-croppings of that desire for beauty invincible in the human soul. We should be surprised to see how general were attempts in dramatic form. In all the schools, in the homes, in the societies and lyceums everywhere, original dialogues and plays were the order; and the Sunday school, when invented, threw a generous mantle of charity over various colloquies, symbolisms, moralities, and other kinds of dramatic presentation.
In Miss Pierce’s school there were many exercises of this character. Miss Pierce herself was devoted, like her nephew, to the English classics; she was a good reader, given to quoting long passages of poetry and making her pupils do likewise. To the compositions for gala days, declamations, colloquies and dramatic sketches were added. Then
was invariably spouted. “The Will, or The Power of Medicine,” is the subject of one play on record; also a colloquy on “Improvements in Education.” A play called “The Country Boy” was given, in which the characters were John Hickory and Hotspur. In one called “The Curfew,” the hero is a robber disguised as a minstrel. “The Combat,” from “The Lady of the Lake,” was another favorite. Miss Pierce herself wrote some very respectable dramas which the pupils presented in the exhibitions at the close of school. On these occasions a stage was erected, scenery was painted and hung in true theatrical style, while all the wardrobes of the community were ransacked for stage dresses. When the principal’s favorite, “Jephtha’s Daughter,” was given, the Biblical hero, adorned with a helmet of gilt paper, surmounted by waving ostrich plumes, strode grandly in, declaiming,
There was a procession of Judæan maidens, bearing the body of Jephtha’s daughter on a bier after the sacrifice, and there was also a procession of sympathizing youths. For this part of the program the young students from the Law School came in very handy; and, judging by the diary of one of them which has been lately exhumed and published,4 the young gentlemen of a hundred years ago were not so different from those of to-day.
If one desired to know the type of a young man to be found in the town of Litchfield during the time that Harriet Beecher and her two sisters, Catherine and Mary, were a part of the social life there, one may have recourse to this published journal. George Younglove Cutler is the name of the writer, and, judging by the fascinating pages he indited, the name was not wholly inappropriate. He had a vivid way of writing, as if he were directly addressing the person to whom he was speaking, and he writes in his vehemence with a sublime disregard of punctuation. For instance, he says: “Miss M., you were becomingly dressed last night because there was less fix about you than common. I like richness of dress but hate ribbons & bows & knots & ruffles & rigmaroles generally speaking I dislike ornaments of any kind. To see ladies loaded with as many kickshaws as are put on now-a-days looks more like burlesque than reality!” Again he harps on the same string when he says: “It is a very pretty thing, no doubt, to see a young lady dressed with Parisian flowers & Parisian gauzes & an Indian fan & the whole &c of fashionable array. But I question after all, the style in which a young man of any understanding sees a young lady with most danger to his peace.” Extremely critical as he is of the Litchfield young ladies, Mr. Younglove himself betrays a touch of vanity. There is a great deal of talk in his diary about his “adonizationizing” of himself in his toilet—by which manufactured word he means “frushing up,” “furbishing,” “making fix,” or “prigging.” Once he takes pains to say: “It being Sunday, I wore pumps and white stockings to meeting.” Again he records the sad news: “Tore my Angola pantaloons!” On one date he sets it down with an outburst of enthusiasm: “To begin this great day was powdered. Huzza!”
We may not know by what logic we reach the conclusion, but I believe all will agree that the sort of young man self-depicted in this long-buried, old diary could never have been averse to coming on the stage as a robber in the disguise of a minstrel, or as a proud Jephtha in a gilt paper helmet declaiming in stentorian voice,
and if George Younglove ever became in any way unruly, there was always the overwhelming Miss Pierce, more powerful than any warrior, to bring order out of chaos. The discipline that she gave to one youth of George’s class is recorded. He gazed for something more than a minute at one of the sacred members of her household, and the worst happened! He was exiled. Surely not very frequently did anything take place to bring so dire a fate upon a Litchfield youth!
But to come back to the play by Miss Pierce and the actors that took part in it. They certainly did all the honor they could to the dramatist. The costumes were copied out of the “Bible Dictionary”—with the single exception, perhaps, of the nose-jewels—and the stabbing to the heart and the chorus of wailing maidens were done to the life. In this play the part of Bethulah, wife of Jephtha, was taken by “C. Beecher,” as the list of actors shows, and she is on the stage most of the time. Catherine also took a prominent place in the dramatic representation of the beautiful story of Ruth. The story of Esther the Queen was also enacted. Her majesty had a dress of old flowered brocade from somebody’s wedding chest; Mordecai and Ahashuerus were appropriately enrobed, and the part of Haman—who was to be hanged—was taken by the dog. At least this is the way Mrs. Stowe tells about it, long afterward, in “Oldtown Folks,” but perhaps by that time she may have forgotten some of the particulars as to the death of Haman. For the plots of their plays, the young ladies in Miss Pierce’s Seminary analyzed the stories in “Plutarch’s Lives,” and found treasures there for dramatic representation from Romulus and Remus down to Julius Cæsar. History in their own country came in for a share of attention. Bunker Hill was done with a couple of old guns to give effect to the scene and with the rolling of a cannon ball across the floor behind the curtains to make the cannonades of battle. Harriet, like Tina, a past master in getting up a cave of banditti, borrowed suggestions from the “Mysteries of Udolpho,” and delighted one audience with a playlet of the purest romance.
Those dramatic representations seem to have awakened no unfavorable comment in the Beecher family so long as they were carried on under the supervision of the Academy. But on an unlucky day Harriet’s brilliant sister Catherine lighted upon a thrilling story in Miss Edgeworth’s “Moral Tales,” called “The Unknown Friend,” which tells how an attractive sixteen-year-old young lady was cured of a foolish sentimentality. In this story Angelina, the heroine, reads a book written by an unknown lady by the name of Araminta. This book speaks extravagantly, and as it seems to Angelina alluringly, of the charms of friendship, and on the theory that one who wrote so feelingly of the beautiful and romantic must be herself the embodiment of those traits, Angelina sets out to find this paragon, believing that in her she will gain such a friend as she has dreamed of. After wandering futilely for a time, she reaches a hut in the Welch mountains, where the writer of the sentimental book has taken refuge. She finds in Araminta a disheveled, unlovely, forbidding person. Every sense of taste and propriety is shocked, and they do not get on well together at all. The story shows Angelina’s complete disillusionment and the sorrows that will come to one who disregards the practical side of life. The incidents in this tale of Miss Edgeworth’s are ludicrous and the story is not a bit tame. It might afford amusement even to-day.
The clever Catherine conceived the idea of making it into a play and giving a happy surprise to the whole family by setting up the little drama in the house itself. There were characters enough for every one of the Beecher children to have one to himself—and that is saying a good deal! There was also variety. The dialects used included Welsh, Scotch, and broad Irish. The Lady Diana Chillingworth and her sister, the Lady Frances Somerset, trailed about in finery extracted from mother’s band-boxes and chests. A palace, a mountain top, a shop, afforded changes of scene that were easily designated in true Elizabethan fashion by the use of a parlor table, or a kitchen chair, or a set of shelves; and costumes were delightfully relied upon to give aid to the imagination. Rehearsals were carried on in the strictest secrecy for some weeks. The appointed evening came. Father and mother wondered why a fire was built in the large parlor or why so many neighbors and students happened to come in at about the same moment; but before any questions could be asked, the door to the dining room was suddenly thrown open and a mysterious drapery was seen at the farther end of the room. The curtain rose and forthwith the actors appeared and completed the whole drama amid thunders of applause—at least so runs the account by an eye witness. The next day, however, Catherine was told with some severity that while it was very good, they must not do so any more!
When Catherine Beecher, the tragedy queen and star actress in all Miss Pierce’s plays, went away to Hartford, she left a great vacancy in the society of Litchfield; and when Harriet, author of the essay that had astonished Dr. Lyman Beecher, departed, she carried with her a secluded little ambition of which she spoke to no one. For in those days Harriet was full of poetry and shyly entertained a dream that she herself might join the glorious band of immortal poets. She was soon trying her hand at blank verse, and she planned out a drama that should be written in that form.
When at the age of about thirteen she was filled with her first enthusiasm for classic lore, the subject of “Cleon” attracted her dramatic instinct. Cleon was an historical person whose character and problem were, not so very long after Harriet’s attempt, made the basis of a noble poem by Robert Browning.
The story of Cleon is this: He was a Greek, living at the court of Nero. This fixes the date for us as the first century of the Christian era. He was a follower of the Greek gods, but he heard about Christ and after much searching and doubting he at last came to a true knowledge of Christianity. This transformation is the theme of Harriet’s play.
The scene opens in a street in Rome. Some Roman patricians, dressed in their flowing togas, come upon the stage and discuss the lavish entertainment that this wealthy Greek, Cleon, has been giving.
says one of them.
declares the other. The first speaker continues the conversation, describing Cleon as one who has a thirst for pleasure so ravenous that he works with hand and foot and soul, both night and day, to gain diversion, and is so lavish of money that the Emperor Nero with all his waste seems parsimonious compared to Cleon.
This is the picture of Cleon given in the opening scene of the play. In the next scene we find him reclining upon a luxurious couch in his palatial apartment. Enter his old friend and teacher, Diagoras, who has come from Athens to visit him. Diagoras is amazed to see the lavish richness and splendor of the house and the room. When Cleon asks him politely to sit down, he answers that he cannot, for he does not see any seat! Cleon cries out that he thinks that Diagoras must have lost his eyes, and points out that there is in the room a fair choice among some thirty different kinds of couches—couches of the Phrygian and of the Grecian pattern, and many other kinds. Diagoras is astonished when told that these beds adorned with pearls and gold are made to sit on; he is, he says, a simple man, used to plain things, and begs the pardon of Cleon if he has been unappreciative. Cleon thinks that behind this excuse his old teacher is displeased with him; but, as it is, there is no choice between two evils: either Diagoras must rest his philosophic feet upon that most profanely glittering floor which is all inlaid with gems, or he must rest himself upon one of those rich beds. Cleon perceives that this jesting way of speaking is giving pain to his good master, who should have known of old the reckless tongue of Cleon. He assures Diagoras of a hearty welcome and begs him to sit down that they may have a long visit.
Diagoras thereupon is made to recline upon one of the couches. He proceeds to tell the cause of his disappointment in his pupil. He has heard that Cleon is the common talk of the city on account of his evil ways, his rioting and his luxuriousness. He has heard that his former pupil has become the companion of the very dross and dregs of all mankind. Cleon interposes, and asks if Diagoras means by the “dross and dregs” the Emperor Nero. Diagoras will not answer directly, but assures him that this is the tale that he has heard about him. He exclaims:
he asks.
Diagoras succeeds in calling the soul of Cleon back from the downward path that it is following. At last Cleon exclaims that it has been only a curse to him to have had so much wealth; he has striven desperately to satisfy himself with the things that satisfy the common crowd, but he has not succeeded.
As the play goes on Cleon passes through a spiritual crisis and becomes a Christian. Now this, we must remember, is the time of the most extreme persecutions of the Christians. Cleon is brought to the supreme test that the followers of Christ were subjected to under the persecuting monarch Nero. An on-looker describes the scene, and tells us that Cleon bore the ordeal with courage; he was steady and undismayed; he declared his fixed purpose, saying that he was willing to abide by whatever should come to him. The one who tells the story says that Cleon would have fared better if he had given a fiery answer to the Emperor, for his very composure made Nero mad and he stamped his foot as a signal to the slaves to bring in the torture.
In the next scene Cleon is led in by two soldiers. Though he is weak and faint from the torture he has endured, he insists upon standing on his feet. Harriet Beecher follows the historical tradition of Nero’s character, in making him cause his friend Cleon to suffer these frightful agonies. The unspeakable Emperor now apologizes for the severity of the torture, and assures Cleon that he has only loving intentions toward him. He gives him permission to keep his religion if he will but consent to worship—privately! “Suppose you do call yourself a Christian,” he says, “why need you let everybody know it? Only be quiet about it and I will not interfere; worship in any way you will, only let it be—out of my sight.” Cleon then asks the Emperor what he shall do if he is questioned about his faith. The Emperor suggests that he should under those circumstances make up some “smooth, decoying phrase” that would turn off the inquiry. Cleon receives this proposal with the shock that shows the inner truth of his nature. He exclaims:
Cleon’s whole nature revolts against anything so base. He declares that it is his settled purpose while he lives to leave nothing undone or untried to win everybody to the reverence for Christ that he has learned to enjoy within himself. Thus he defies the Emperor and all the world.
This drama which has many elements of nobility in it and which shows a great deal of skill, filled Harriet’s waking thoughts and her dreams at night, and for a long time she was joyously filling blank book after blank book with the flowing lines. But the play was never finished. Her sister Catherine pounced down upon her one day and told her that she should not waste any more time writing poetry, but that she should discipline her mind by the study of Butler’s “Analogy.” So the obedient Harriet laid aside her loved play and began to write out abstracts of the “Analogy.” Thus her dramatic aspirations were for the time arrested. Catherine snuffed out the little light of her sister’s budding poetic genius; or, rather, perhaps we should say that she turned those powers in another direction; she saved and stored that intellectual energy for a purpose of which neither of them had at that time the remotest dream.