The modern Spanish dramatic authors—if it be not profanation so to call them—pandering to the vitiated taste of the day, indulge in all the licence of Aristophanes, without varnishing their obscenities with the brilliancy of his wit. They write, in fact, for auditors, who, whilst endowed with a quick perception of the ridiculous, are too ignorant to discriminate between right and wrong, and cannot perceive where legitimate satire ends, and libertinism commences; who, possessing a vast stock of native wit, inherit with it a coarse, degenerate taste. The human frailties of the monastic orders are, consequently, the favourite subjects now held up to ridicule on the stage, as if to prove the truth of Voltaire’s lines,
"Les prêtres ne sont point ce qu’un vain peuple pense,
Notre credulité fait toute leur science;"
and no modern saynete[51] is considered perfect, unless some member of their church is brought forward to serve as a recipient for the ribald jokes of an Andalusian majo, or to become the amatory dupe of an intriguing graciosa.
These pieces are not suffered to appear in print; or rather, I should say, perhaps, would not sell if they were printed, for the press of the day has far exceeded the bounds of decorum in giving light to many of the somewhat less objectionable productions of Sotomayor, Comella, and other prolific scribblers of Vaudevilles. The only modern dramatic writers who have been at all successful in obtaining public favour on worthier grounds, are Iriate, Martinez de la Rosa, and Moratin, but their writings are by no means numerous.
The plays of the last-named (who is considered the Terence of Spain) are always well received at Seville, where the dramatic taste is somewhat more refined than in the minor provincial towns. They are full of incident, without being encumbered with plot, like those of the old Spanish school; and the dialogue is natural and sprightly, without falling into licentiousness or vulgarity. This author’s translation of Shakspeare’s Hamlet is lamentably weak, however, for his language is not sufficiently elevated for tragedy. To Molière he has done more justice.
The Spanish language is remarkably well adapted to the stage, being not less melodious than emphatic and dignified; and there is a raciness about it well suited to comedy, though, on the whole, I should say, it is better adapted for tragedy. The national taste is, however, in favour of comedy, which, besides being more congenial to the character of the people, speaks more intelligibly to their uncultivated understandings. And, indeed, it must be confessed, that but for the infinite superiority of the language, the long speeches of the heroes of Spanish tragedy would be yet more wearying to listen to, than even the jingling, rhymed declamations of the French drama.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the impatient Andaluzes,—whose whole thoughts are bent upon the coming Bolero and laughter-causing farce,—should complain of the interminable “platicas importunas” of their tragedies, and even of their serious comedies; especially since they are delivered in a diction which to the lower orders is almost unintelligible, the dialogue being generally carried on in the second person plural, vos: a style which is never now heard in common parlance, and is, therefore, quite unnatural to them.
I will, however, draw the curtain upon Spanish tragedy, and bring the graceful Baylarinas upon the stage; at the first click of whose castañets, whilst even yet behind the scenes, every bright eye sparkles with animation, and every tongue is silenced.
The Bolero, which is the favourite national dance, admits of great variety as well of figures as of movements, for it may be executed by any number of persons, though two or four are generally preferred. It is a purified kind of Fandango, and, when danced by Spaniards, is as graceful and pleasing an exhibition as can be imagined. It is altogether divested of those dervish-like gyrations, and other wonderful displays of limbs and under-petticoats, that are so much the vogue on the boards of London and Paris, and on which, in fact, the reputation of a Ballerina seems to depend. In Spain the taste in dancing has not yet reached this pitch of refinement; for, even in the Cachucha, when the dancer turns her back upon the spectators, a Spanish lady deems it necessary to turn her face from the stage.
The castañets, though furnishing but little to the entertainment in the way of music, afford the performers the means of displaying their figures to advantage; and are yet further useful, by giving employment to the hands and arms; which, with most dancers, public as well as private, are generally found to be very much in the way.