In and About Drury Lane, and Other Papers Vol. 1 (of 2) Reprinted from the pages of the 'Temple Bar' Magazine — A Reader’s Guide

From Pandemonium to Pantomime: The Opening Contrast

The first essay establishes a recurring structural device: the sharp shift between external chaos and internal order. Doran describes Drury Lane's "slums" on a holiday as "hideous," then steps onto the stage where "boundless activity, order, hard work, and cheerful hearts" prevail. This binary—disorder outside, discipline inside—recurs in later pieces, as when he moves from the raucous street life of Leicester Fields to the decorum of aristocratic homes.

The language is sensory and specific: "the effect was not savoury," groups are "not picturesque," children "not lovable." Doran avoids romanticizing poverty; instead, he uses the contrast to frame the theatre as a space of purposeful labor. The rehearsal is a "hive"—a metaphor that implies collective industry rather than artistic mystery. This opening sets up a pattern where the reader is led through a degraded public realm into a refined or organized interior, a movement that structures several essays.

The Sing-Song Cadence and the Natural Revolution

In the essay on French actresses, Doran traces a shift in vocal style that mirrors broader changes in theatrical taste. He notes that French audiences had grown accustomed to the "sing-song cadences of their rhymed plays" until Adrienne Lecouvreur "burst upon Paris" in 1717 with a "natural simplicity." She "spoke as the character she represented might be expected to speak," a style previously attempted by Baron but unsuccessfully.

Doran's account is precise about chronology: Lecouvreur's career lasted only thirteen years, from age twenty-seven. He contrasts her with Mlle. Duclos, who "chanted or recitatived her parts" in the older manner. The anecdote of Duclos scolding the pit—"Brainless pit!"—shows the older style's temperamental vehemence. Doran does not simply praise Lecouvreur; he embeds her innovation in a lineage from Molière through Baron, grounding the change in documented attempts rather than romantic breakthrough.

Anecdote as Evidence: The Death of Champmeslé

Doran's method often relies on the telling detail that encapsulates character. The death of the actor Champmeslé in 1708 is rendered with almost novelistic specificity: he orders two masses for his mother and wife, refuses change for a third mass for himself, then goes to sit at a tavern door, chats gaily, promises to join friends for dinner, and falls dead with "a faint shriek." The detail of the thirty sous and the ten sous change grounds the story in mundane economics.

This anecdote serves multiple purposes: it illustrates the piety and dissolution of the theatrical world, provides a vivid exit for a minor figure, and demonstrates Doran's reliance on concrete incident over abstract analysis. He does not moralize; he lets the juxtaposition of mass, tavern, and sudden death carry the weight. The reader is left to infer the precariousness of a life split between devotion and drink, a theme that recurs in the collection's portraits of actors and actresses.

Readers should approach this collection as a series of discrete essays rather than a continuous narrative. Doran's voice is consistent—witty, erudite, and fond of the unexpected detail—but each piece stands alone. The volume rewards those who dip in and out, following a thread from Drury Lane's backstage bustle to a French actress's provincial training. Pay attention to the dates and locations Doran supplies; they anchor his anecdotes in a specific historical geography that gives the book its texture.

That Drury Lane piece stayed with me—the way Doran finds quiet dignity in grimy streets, how performers once declaimed to the rafters before someone whispered restraint. It reminded me of early American plays, searching for their own voice. Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1765-1819 — Context and Discussion carries that same tender archaeology, unearthing unfamiliar footsteps.