Such are the plays of Byron, Shelley, Keats, Moore, and others. A still greater number have been written solely for acting purposes; and the majority of these may not lay claim to any permanent abiding place in literature. Others still are admirably adapted to both the library and the stage. Such are the plays of Sheridan, Knowles, Bulwer, Schiller, Kotzebue, and later of Heinrick Ibsen. Of such a character also are the plays of our gifted Salt Lake dramatist, the late Edward W. Tullidge. The present-day theatre-goers have little time to indulge in the reading of plays. The overwhelming mass of reading matter thrown from the press, keeps the general reader busy to keep abreast of the current literature of our times. So that plays form no part of the world's reading matter; here and there is one, some stagestruck soul who loves to get hold of and read a play, but the vast majority are content to let the actors read the plays for them, preferring to witness the acting of them. It is a fact and a very gratifying one that Shakespeare's plays are about the only ones that are read nowadays, and these are by no means so universally read as they should be. The masses have not time for reading Shakespeare, or other dramatists, so it is a fortunate thing for them that the theatres are so popular and accessible; here, they can hear the thoughts and sentiments, and see in literal action the characters of both ancient and modern times, and gather from the mimic scene suggestions of the tremendous throes and struggles through which the human race has passed.
During the forty-three years that the Salt Lake Theatre has been in existence, an almost infinite variety of plays have been presented and thousands of actors (as infinite in variety as the plays) have "strutted and fretted their brief hour upon its stage" and now are heard no more. It is a solemn reflection that in all probability more than three-fourths of all who have trod the stage of this theatre, both local and transient actors, in less than half a century of existence are "heard no more." The voices that have thrilled us, the animated and beautified forms that have called forth our admiration and praise, are stilled forever by the chilling touch of death; genius, mediocrity, incompetency, all alike go down, and the greatest names in a few brief years are forgotten; so transitory is the actor's fame. Yet it is not more so perhaps than that of other professions, and certainly not quite so much of a "will o' the wisp" as "seeking the bubble reputation in the cannon's mouth."
Out of the multitudinous dramatic pictures that have been presented on the stage of this theatre during its forty-three years of existence, it is interesting to know which stand out in bold relief. We need not hesitate to reply, the plays of Shakespeare, and those that are nearest akin to them, such as Bulwer's "Richelieu," Knowles' "Virginius," Banim's "Damon and Pythias." The Irish plays of Dion Boucicault, "Colleen Bawn," "Arrah Na Pogue," "Shaugraun," "Kerry," and even his "London Assurance," made very strong impressions, were very popular, and made money both for actors and managers. So with many other plays we might cite; but compared with Shakespeare's plays they have proven to be short-lived and their fame but transitory. They have never found a permanent abiding place in the world of literature.
There is a strange, a marvelous thing in connection with the plays of Shakespeare. In his day the theatre was not popular, as it is in our times. The religionists held it in reprobation; actors were looked upon by the good church people as little better than vagabonds, and the occupation of play writing was scarcely reputable. The Globe Theatre, the best there was in London at that time, was little better than a barn. The art of scene painting was unknown. Candles were the best artificial light they had, all the accessories of the stage were of the most primitive description. The art of costuming plays was crude in the extreme, and woefully inadequate and incorrect. In short, the facilities for staging plays were poor, extremely poor, as compared with those of our own time. The greatest drawback of all however was this. They had no women on the stage; all those beautiful female characters of Shakespeare's were impersonated by men. Woman had not yet asserted her independence and equality with man in this domain of art; and yet under these most adverse conditions, the greatest plays the world has ever seen were written. Three centuries have winged their flight into the past, and in all that time no other dramatist has arisen that can rival Shakespeare. The popularity of the theatre and the actor's art have steadily grown since his time until in our own day we have the most costly and elaborate theatres. In every city, and almost every town of the civilized world, there is some sort of a theatre; many of them are truly temples of the Thespian art; invention has racked its brains to supply original and costly adjuncts to the drama in the way of scenery and mechanical devices; realism has run mad in its efforts to produce novel illusions and startling stage effects. Woman has long since demonstrated her equality with man in the arena of dramatic art, and for more than two centuries she has adorned the stage with her beauty, grace and talents. There is an eager and expectant world of theatregoers waiting for some new genius to come forth and give to the stage another halo, to shed a radiance over its flickering lights, and fill the world with wonder and delight; but alas! no other Shakespeare has arisen; with the models he gave before them, in three centuries no dramatist has arisen that could write a "Hamlet," a "Macbeth," or a "Lear;" nothing in all that time to equal "Romeo and Juliet," "As You Like It," or "The Merchant of Venice."
There have been hundreds of playwrights since Shakespeare's time, thousands of plays have been written, the greater portion of them worthless to the stage, but a great number of excellent playwrights have flourished since then, and their plays have had a greater or less degree of success. We will just instance a few of the most successful ones. Otway wrote "Venice Preserved;" Massinger, "A New Way to Pay Old Debts;" Addison his "Cato," Goethe his "Faust;" Schiller "The Robbers;" Kotzebue, "The Stranger;" Bellinghousen, "Ingomar;" Sheridan, "The School of Scandal," "Pizarro" and "The Rivals;" Knowles, "The Hunchback," "Virginius" and "William Tell;" John Howard Payne, "Brutus;" Bulwer, "The Lady of Lyons," "Richelieu" and "Money;" Dr. Bird, "The Gladiator;" Judge Conrad, "Jack Cade;" George F. Boker, "Francisca de Rimini." I might instance many others, but these will suffice tor my purpose. Now these are all noble productions, and have won fame and money for both authors and actors; but it is questionable if any of them will live indefinitely. Already many of the plays I have named are waning in the dramatic firmament; some of them have already set. Why is it, let us ask. What is there in Shakespeare's plays that lifts them so far above the average of merit and sets them on a plane so distinctively their own? Other authors have certainly equaled Shakespeare in erudition, have even excelled him in the description of the sublime and terrible, surpassed him in glowing pictures of supernatural imagery. Why, then, does the world attach so much importance to the work of Shakespeare? Why are they so highly prized? It is because Shakespeare was the grand High Priest of Nature! He got closer to the human heart than any and all other authors. To him nature was an open book, and he was so thoroughly in love with it, that he left no page unturned or unobserved; from the primer page or the humblest creations of nature's lavish hand up through the countless and variegated specimens of her handiwork to the crowning production of her creative power, man—this son of genius penetrated all her secrets, delved all her depths, scaled her loftiest heights. The heart of man, that secret repository of so many contending passions; that cradle where the affections are rocked into life; that fountain whence so many varying emotions spring, that sea o'er which are swept the multitudinous passions of life, was also to him an open page; the last and greatest chapter in nature's wonderful volume. He understood life in all its phases.
No plays afford greater opportunity for scenic splendor than Shakespeare's, yet none are less dependent on the adjuncts of scenery and outward realism. Shakespeare put his realism into his characters and no inadequate surroundings can rob them of their wondrous charms; they possess such range of mental vision, such tremendous power of thought, such depth and placidity, such glowing imagination; his characters are living, breathing, speaking types of the age in which they lived, and he their creator stands out wholly beyond question or dispute, the most transcendent genius our earth has ever produced.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Mormons and the Theatre, by John S. Lindsay