Introduction
This reprint of Edward Moore’s The Gamester makes available to students of eighteenth century literature a play which, whatever its intrinsic merits, is historically important both as a vehicle for a century of great actors and as a contribution to the development of middle-class tragedy which had considerable influence on the Continent. The Gamester was first presented at the Drury Lane Theatre February 7, 1753 with Garrick in the leading role, and ran for ten successive nights. Up to the middle of the nineteenth century it remained a popular stock piece—John Philip Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, Mrs. Barry, the Keans, Macready, and others having distinguished themselves in it—and in America from 1754 to 1875 it enjoyed even more performances than in England. (J.H. Caskey, The Life and Works of Edward Moore, 96-99). Moore’s middle-class tragedy is the only really successful attempt to follow Lillo’s decisive break with tradition in England in the eighteenth century. His background, like Lillo’s, was humble, religious, and mercantile. The son of a dissenting pastor, Moore received his early education in dissenters’ academies, and then served an apprenticeship to a London linen-draper. After a few years in Ireland as an agent for a merchant, Moore returned to London to join a partnership in the linen trade. The partnership was soon dissolved, and Moore turned to letters for a livelihood. Among his works are Fables for the Female Sex (1744) which went through three editions, The Foundling (1748), a successful comedy, and Gil Blas (1751), an unsuccessful comedy. In 1753, with encouragement and some assistance from Garrick, he produced The Gamester, upon which his reputation as a writer depends.
It is impossible, of course, to review here all the factors involved in the development of middle-class tragedy in England in the eighteenth century. However, certain aspects of that movement which concern Moore’s immediate predecessors and which have not been adequately recognized might be mentioned briefly. Aside from Elizabethan and Jacobean attempts to give tragic expression to everyday human experience, historians have noted the efforts of Otway, Southerne, and Rowe to lower the social level of tragedy; but in this period middle-class problems and sentiments and domestic situations appear in numerous tragedies, long-since forgotten, which in form, setting, and social level present no startling deviations from traditional standards. Little or no attention has been given to some of these obscure dramatists who in the midst of the Collier controversy attempted to illustrate in tragedy the arguments advanced in the third part of John Dennis’s The Usefulness of the Stage, to the Happiness of Mankind, to Government, and to Religion (1698). Striving to demonstrate the usefulness of the stage, these avowed reformers produced essentially domestic tragedies, by treating such problems as filial obedience and marital fidelity in terms of orthodox theology. The argument that the stage can be an adjunct of the pulpit is widespread, and appears most explicitly in Hill’s preface to his Fatal Extravagance (1721), sometimes regarded as the first middle-class tragedy in the eighteenth century, and in Lillo’s dedication to George Barnwell (1731). The line from these obscure dramatists at the turn of the century to Lillo is direct and clear. Of these forgotten plays we can note here only Fatal Friendship (1698) by Mrs. Catherine Trotter whom John Hughes hailed as “the first of stage-reformers”
(To the Author of Fatal Friendship, a Tragedy), an unquestionably domestic tragedy inculcating a theological “lesson”. To this play, which was acted with “great applause” (Biographica Dramatica, 107), Aaron Hill was, I am convinced, considerably indebted for his Fatal Extravagance, which is, in turn, one of the sources of The Gamester.
In the early eighteenth century, then, there is clearly discernible a two-fold tendency toward middle-class tragedy which reaches its fullest expression in Lillo: the desire to lower the social level of the characters in order to make the tragedy more moving; and the desire to defend the stage by demonstrating its religious and moral utility. In his prologue to The Fair Penitent (l703), Rowe gave expression to the first: the “fate of kings and empires”, he argues, is too remote to engage our feelings, for “we ne’er can pity that we ne’er can share”; therefore he offers “a melancholy tale of private woes”. In his prologue, Lillo repeats this idea, but in his dedication he shows himself primarily concerned with the second tendency. Specifically challenging those “who deny the lawfulness of the stage”, he argues that “the more extensively useful the moral of any tragedy is, the more excellent that piece must be of its kind”; the generality of mankind is more liable to vice than are kings; therefore “plays founded on moral tales in private life may be of admirable use... by stifling vice in its first principles”. Dramatists who were concerned only or primarily with the first of these tendencies (the emotional effect), produced domestic or pseudo-domestic tragedies in the manner of Otway and Rowe. But those who stressed the second (moral and religious utility), seeking practical themes of widespread applicability, quite logically moved toward genuine middle-class tragedy. Thus Hill’s Fatal Extravagance is concerned with the “vice” of gambling; while Charles Johnson’s Caelia, or The Perjur’d Lover (1732) attacks fashionable libertinism of the day, telling the story which Richardson was later to retell in seven ponderous volumes. In Caelia the religious rationalization of the tragic action is subdued, Johnson apparently preferring to stress the social and moral aspects of his subject, and to this end he resolutely refused to expunge or modify the boldly realistic brothel scenes, against which a fastidious audience had protested.
A comparison of The Gamester with its predecessor, Fatal Extravagance, reflects certain developments in the intellectual background of the first half of the eighteenth century. Hill anticipated Lillo in repeating Rowe’s argument for lowering the social level of tragedy and in stating vigorously his desire to defend the stage by demonstrating its religious and moral utility. An admirer of Dennis’s critical writings, Hill repeats Dennis’s argument that the stage can affect those whom the pulpit falls to reach, and he offers his play as proof that “sound and useful instruction may be drawn from the Theatre”, challenging the enemies of the stage to test his play “by the rules of religion and virtue” (Preface). Taking a “hint”, as he says, from A Yorkshire Tragedy, Hill endeavored to show the “private sorrows” that result from gaming.
At the opening of the play, the hero, having gambled away his fortune, faces poverty. His friend who signed his bond is in jail and a kindly uncle has failed to secure the needed relief. In a fit of passion growing out of despair, the hero kills the villainous creditor, and decides to poison his (the hero’s) wife and children, and then stab himself. In his dying moments he learns that the uncle has substituted a harmless cordial for the poison and that a long-lost brother has died leaving him a fortune. This bare outline gives no indication of Hill’s careful theological rationalization of character and plot which he promised in his preface. Hill incorporated in his play the teachings of orthodox divines; there is nothing ‘revolutionary’ in his analytical presentation of human nature. The theological significance of Hill’s play has not, to my knowledge, been recognized; thematic passages tend to be dismissed as tiresome and gratuitous moralizing and the plot is often regarded as empty melodrama or the representation of some ambiguous ‘fate’. It is in this deliberate theological rationalization of his materials that Hill owes most to Mrs. Trotter’s domestic tragedy and that he differs significantly from Moore.
As with Hill and Lillo, Moore’s desire to write a play with an extensively useful ‘moral’ led him to middle-class realism and prose. To attack the widespread fashion of gaming which he regarded as a “vice”, Moore attempted to present “a natural picture” in language adapted “to the capacities and feelings of every part of the audience” (Preface, 1756). That he should have treated this social problem tragically is to be explained, perhaps, by his sources and by his religious background. He justified the “horror of its catastrophe” on the grounds that “so prevailing and destructive a vice as Gaming” warranted it. The Gamester has been justly credited with superior dramatic qualities in comparison with Hill’s Fatal Extravagance,, but we might perhaps note briefly certain aspects of the two plays which reflect changes in the intellectual background. In both plays theological ideas are involved in the treatment of the fall of the hero, partially in Moore’s play, completely In Hill’s. Not recognizing ideas common to early eighteenth century sermons, the modern reader may perhaps puzzle over the steadily increasing moral paralysis and despondency in Moore’s hero, Beverly. Vice, preached the divines, beclouds the reason, leaving it progressively incapable of controlling the passions:
Follies, if uncontroul’d, of every kind,
Grow into passions, and subdue the mind. (V, 4)
Further each commission of sin causes progressive loss of grace, without which man cannot act rightly. In prison Beverly is incapable of prayer (“I cannot pray—Despair has laid his iron hand upon me, and seal’d me for perdition...”). However, a benevolent deity touches him with the finger of grace, enabling him to repent (“I wish’d for ease, a moment’s ease, that cool repentance and contrition might soften vengeance”). He can now pray for mercy and in his dying moments is vouchsafed assurance of forgiveness (“Yet Heaven is gracious—I ask’d for hope, as the bright presage of forgiveness, and like a light, blazing thro’ darkness, it came and chear’d me...”).
In this aspect Moore is working along the lines laid down by Hill, but there is a significant difference, attributable perhaps to the weakening of orthodox theology and the spreading influence of the Shaftesburian school of ethical theorists. In the older theology, man’s progressive loss of grace correspondingly releases his natural propensity for evil, and working in these concepts neither Hill nor Lillo hesitated to show his hero descending to murder. Moore, influenced perhaps by the ethical sentiments of the day, compromised his theological concepts and permitted his hero no really evil act (excluding of course his suicide), and stressed instead Beverly’s mistaken trust in Stukely, who is, as Elton has pointed out, a “Mandevillian man” (Survey of English Literature: 1730-1760, I, 329-30).
There is another significant difference between the two plays which reflects the development of religious thought in the first half of the eighteenth century. Commenting on the too-late arrival of the news of the uncle’s death, Elton remarks that “this too-lateness... which is in the nature of an accident, is a common and mechanical device of Georgian tragedy” (I, 330). Hill employed the device, the good news coming as a complete surprise, but he made it part of a carefully ordered plot designed to reveal the direct intervention and mysterious workings of a particular Providence, making characterization and action consistent, and giving his play a precise theological significance. In Moore’s day, however, under the impact of deism and the developing rationalism, the concept of a particular Providence in orthodox theology had become so subtilized that the older idea of direct and striking intervention in human affairs all but disappeared. By mid-eighteenth century, deity, as Leslie Stephen points out, “appears under the colourless shape of Providence—a word which may be taken to imply a remote divine superintendence, without admitting an actual divine interference” (History of English Thought In the Eighteenth Century, II, 336). The references to Providence in Moore’s play are of this type, pious labels on prudential morality. Moore carefully avoids the various devices employed by Hill to indicate direct divine intervention; consequently the late arrival of the news of the uncle’s death (which was expected throughout the play) is without special meaning, and serves only as a theatrical device intended to heighten the emotional effect. The Gamester, then, is a clear reflection of the state of English thought in the middle of the eighteenth century, in which a declining theology becomes suffused with the ideas and sentiments of the moralists of the age.
Despite the popularity of their plays, neither Lillo nor Moore inspired any significant followers in England. On the Continent, however, their influence was considerable. In his introduction to his edition of The London Merchant, A.W. Ward traces Lillo’s influence on the Continent, and Caskey gives a detailed account of Moore’s (119-134). The Gamester was translated into German, French, Dutch, Spanish, and Italian. It was first acted at Breslau in 1754 and retained its stage popularity for more than two decades. A German translation appeared in 1754, and for more than twenty years numerous editions and translations continued to appear. In France, Diderot admired the play and translated it in 1760 (not published until 1819); Saurin’s translation and adaptation (1767) proved popular on the French stage (he later provided an alternate happy ending which was frequently played).
The Gamester is reproduced, with permission, from a copy owned by the University of Michigan.
Charles H. Peake
University of Michigan