Had the taste of good declamation been known in Congo, there were some comedians who might well be spared. Of thirty persons which composed the band, there was but one great actor, and two tolerable actresses. The genius of authors was obliged to comply with the mediocrity of the greatest number; and there was no room to hope, that a play would be performed with any tolerable success, without taking care to model the characters on the defects of the comedians. This is what was meant in my time by the custom of the stage. Formerly the actors were made for the pieces; but now the pieces were made for the actors. If you offer’d a new play, to be sure it underwent an examination, to know whether the subject was engaging, the intrigue well connected, the characters supported, and the diction pure and flowing: but if there were no parts for Roscius and Amiana, it was refused.

The Kislar Agasi, superintendant of the Sultan’s pleasures, had packed a company of players together, as he could find them; and this was the first representation of a new tragedy at the Seraglio. It was composed by a modern author, who had gain’d such reputation, that though his piece had been but a string of impertinences, it would assuredly have met with a favorable reception. But he did not debase his character. His work was well written, his scenes conducted with art, his incidents managed with dexterity, the interest went on increasing, and the passions in being developed. The acts, naturally link’d together, and full, constantly held the audience in suspence with regard to the sequel, and satisfied with what was past: and they were got to the fourth act of this masterpiece, to a very moving scene, which was a preparation to another still more interesting; when Mangogul, in order to save himself from the ridicule of listening to the tender parts, pull’d out his glass, and acting the inattentive, surveyed the several boxes. In the front box he observed a woman in great emotion, but of an ill-timed sort, as having no relation to the piece. His ring was instantly levelled at her, and in the midst of most pathetic commendations, a Toy, panting for breath, was heard addressing the player in these terms:

“Ah!⁠—Ah!⁠—Pray stop, Orgogli;⁠—you melt me excessively⁠—Ah!⁠—Ah!⁠—There’s no bearing it⁠—”

The audience listened, and look’d towards the place whence the voice proceeded: and the word ran through the pit, that it was a Toy that made the speech. “Which Toy,” says one, “and what has it said?” And without waiting for an answer, there was a general clap and cry: Encore, encore. The author, who was behind the scenes, fearing that this unlucky accident might interrupt the representation of his piece, foamed with rage, and gave the whole race of Toys to Belzebub. The noise was great and lasting; and had it not been for the respect due to the Sultan, the play would have stop’d short at this incident: but Mangogul made a sign for silence; the actors resumed their parts, and went through the play.

The Sultan, curious to know the consequences of so public a declaration, caused the Toy that made it, to be observed. Word was soon brought him, that the player was to go from the stage to Eriphila’s house. He prevented him, thanks to the power of his ring, and was in this lady’s apartment when Orgogli sent in his name.

Eriphila was under arms, that is, in an amorous deshabillé, and wantonly stretch’d on a couch. The comedian entered with a solemn, haughty, insipid air of a conqueror. With the left hand he waved a plain hat with a white feather in it, and caressed his nostrils and upper lip with the tops of the fingers of his right hand, a very theatrical gesture, which was admired by Connoisseurs. His bow was cavalier, and his compliment familiar. “Oh! my queen,” cried he, in an affected tone, stooping to Eriphila, “what a trim you are in! But do you know that in that careless garb you are adorable.”

The tone of this scoundrel shock’d Mangogul. The prince was young, and might possibly be ignorant of certain customs⁠—“Then you like me, my dear,” answered Eriphila. “To ravishment, I tell you.”

“That gives me great joy. I wish you would repeat that passage which raised such emotions in me a while ago. That passage⁠—there⁠—yes⁠—it is that same⁠—How seducing a rogue he is?⁠—But go on; that moves me strangely.”

In pronouncing these words, Eriphila darted such glances on her hero, as bespoke everything, and stretch’d out her hand to him, which the impertinent Orgogli kissed by way of acquittance. Prouder of his talent than of his conquest, he declaimed with emphasis, and the lady was so enraptur’d, that one minute she conjur’d him to continue, and the next to stop. Mangogul judging by her looks, that her Toy would willingly play its part in this rehearsal, chose rather to guess at the rest of the scene, than to be present at it. He disappear’d, and return’d to the favorite, who expected him.

On the recital which the Sultan made her of this adventure⁠—“Prince, what do you say?” cried she. “Then the women are fallen into the lowest degree of meanness! A comedian, the slave of the public! A buffoon! Well, if those folks had nothing against them but their state of life: but most of them have neither morals nor sentiments; and even among them, that Orgogli is but a machine. He has never thought, and if he had not learn’d some parts in plays, perhaps he would never have spoken.”

“Delight of my heart,” replied Mangogul, “you run into lamentations without considering the matter sufficiently. Then have you forgot Haria’s pack? By Jove, a comedian, I think, is as good as a pug-dog.”

“You say right, prince,” resumed the favorite. “I am a fool for interesting myself for creatures that do not deserve it. Let Palabria idolize her boobies! Let Salica have her vapors treated by Farfadi in her own way! Let Haria live and die among her dogs! Let Eriphila abandon herself to all the buffoons of Congo! What is all this to me? I only risk a castle thereby. Nay, I perceive that I must have no thoughts of it, and I have taken my resolution accordingly.”

“Farewell then the little monkey,” says Mangogul.

“Farewell the little monkey,” replies Mirzoza; “and the good opinion which I had conceived of my sex; I believe I shall never resume it. Prince, you will allow me not to suffer a women to enter these doors this fortnight at least.”

“But you must have some company,” added the Sultan.

“I shall enjoy your company, or please myself in expecting it,” replied the favourite: “and if any moments remain on my hands, I shall dispose of them in favor of Ricaric and Selim, who are attached to me, and whose conversation I love. When I happen to be tired of the erudition of my lecturer, your courtier will divert me with the adventures of his youth.”