The Mirror of Taste, and Dramatic Censor, Vol. I, No. 1, January 1810

In Short

This volume is a foundational piece of dramatic criticism, serving as the inaugural issue of a periodical dedicated to elevating the standards of the American stage. By blending lofty essays on the moral necessity of theater with the publication of full-length plays, the work aims to refine the public’s taste and advocate for the professional dignity of actors. It remains a fascinating artifact, capturing a moment when the theater was viewed not merely as entertainment, but as an essential school for public virtue and intellectual development.

The Story

The work opens with a ambitious prospectus, arguing that a refined judgment is the primary enemy of the "hateful passions." The author posits that drama, when properly cultivated, transforms the theater into a mirror of human nature, capable of circulating virtue and morality. To support this, the text traces the history of dramatic art back to ancient China, Greece, and India, framing the stage as a universal human necessity. The argument pivots toward a practical concern: the status of actors in society. The author insists that if actors are treated with contempt, the profession will descend into vice; conversely, if they are respected—as they are in Britain—the stage becomes a nursery for oratory and noble character.

Following this theoretical foundation, the book examines the life of the actor Mr. Cooper, framing his career as a testament to self-made success and artistic dedication. His rise in New York and his eventual professional maturation serve as a case study for the "strict critical regimen" the periodical hopes to enforce. The narrative then shifts to the play The Foundling, which occupies the latter portion of the volume.

In this drama, the melancholic Count de Valmont lives in self-imposed isolation, haunted by his past and the presumed death of his wife, Eugenia, and their infant son. The peace of his estate is disrupted by the arrival of a mysterious young man named Florian. As the plot unfolds, it is revealed that the villainous Baron Longueville had attempted to destroy the Count’s family years prior. Through a series of tense encounters and the discovery of a long-lost document, the truth surfaces: Florian is the Count’s son, saved from the flames and raised in obscurity. The play concludes with a grand recognition scene. The Count, though physically broken by the intensity of his emotions, finds his "long-benighted loves" reunited. The family is restored, the villainy of the past is eclipsed by the arrival of domestic peace, and the characters transition from the "sky-crown'd rocks" of their suffering to the hallowed floor of their own home. The volume closes by emphasizing that this resolution is the ultimate goal of true art: to guide the human spirit through trials toward a state of lasting, serene fulfillment.

How It Unfolds

The call to criticism The author establishes that critical judgment is a moral tool, essential for refining the manners of society and extending intellectual enjoyment. By analyzing the stage, the periodical seeks to correct the "fugitive, useless pastime" of unchecked popular entertainment.

The historical mandate The text connects the dramatic arts to the wisdom of antiquity, citing the practices of the Bramins and the plays of Aeschylus. This historical survey legitimizes the stage as a vital instrument for conveying political and moral truth.

The elevation of the performer The focus shifts to the legal and social rights of the actor, arguing that an actor’s dignity is essential to their effectiveness. The comparison to the British model highlights the need for a protective, respectful environment in American playhouses.

The practical example The biography of Mr. Cooper demonstrates the triumph of talent over adversity, showcasing the actor as an artist who must be shaped by sound, professional standards. This section bridges the gap between high theory and the reality of the theater floor.

The dramatic application The play The Foundling serves as a practical demonstration of the principles discussed earlier. The emotional stakes of the characters embody the "penetrating moral" that the author claims is the true purpose of dramatic representation.

The final resolution The narrative arc concludes with the dramatic restoration of the Count’s family, linking their personal salvation to the broader themes of the volume. The play ends on a note of triumph, reinforcing the idea that suffering is merely a path toward a higher, more virtuous end.

The People

The Count de Valmont is the central figure of the dramatic portion, a man defined by his "devoted" heart and his recoil from the world’s mirth. His journey from an anchorite of misery to a patriarch reunited with his family mirrors the emotional arc the author prescribes for the theater’s audience.

Florian stands as the archetype of the noble youth. Despite being a foundling, his integrity and bravery reveal his inherent virtue, proving that character transcends birth. He is the bridge between the Count’s dark past and his future hope.

Eugenia represents the "suffering excellence" of the piece. Her survival through "loneliest paths" and her unwavering maternal devotion provide the emotional core of the play, standing in stark contrast to the destructive, "double traitor" Bertrand and the murderous Baron Longueville.

The author of the periodical acts as an invisible, authoritative mentor. This persona is stern regarding the "congeries of inexplicable nonsense" found in poor farces, yet deeply sensitive to the "sunshine of delight" that great drama can cast over the final moments of a human life.

In Its Own Voice

Criticism, the parent of these qualities, therefore, mends the heart, while it improves the understanding.

(In the opening prospectus, the author defines the high moral stakes of the critic's task.)

Till Garrick, led on by Nature herself, introduced her school, the theatre presented a stage on which scarce a vestige of the human character as it really existed, was to be seen.

(The author contrasts the artificiality of the past with the naturalistic revolution led by David Garrick.)

Thro' many a storm of perilous and marring cares o'erborne, our long-benighted loves at last encounter on a sun-bright course, and reach the haven of domestic peace.

(In the final scene of the play, the Count reflects on the long, difficult path that led to his family's reunion.)

What It's Really About

The work is a treatise on the civilizing power of art. It argues that the theater is not a mere distraction, but a crucial "school" for the citizenry, where the observation of human character, elocution, and moral action shapes the audience's own behavior. The underlying question is how a young nation can foster an environment where art is treated with the same intellectual rigor as law or politics. The author contends that without a "strict critical regimen," the theater will inevitably collapse into vulgarity. By linking the internal life of the individual to the external health of the state, the text makes a case for the theater as a bastion of order, virtue, and high-minded reflection against the encroaching chaos of a changing world.

Why Read It Today

Reading this volume feels like stepping into a heated debate held in the flickering candlelight of a nineteenth-century parlor. You will love it if you are interested in the history of ideas, specifically how the American public was encouraged to view "taste" as a moral compass. The tone is bracingly confident; the author is unafraid to call a play "a wretched thing" or to demand that the public treat actors with the same professional deference afforded to judges.

However, modern readers should be prepared for the dense, elevated prose and the occasionally rigid, moralizing tone of the period. The excerpts reveal an author who moves between complex philosophical arguments and very specific, often petty, grievances about rowdy theater-goers and overpaid Italian musicians. This contrast is the book’s greatest strength: it is at once a lofty defense of the human spirit and a gritty look at the reality of early American performance culture. It remains a persistent reminder that the struggle to define "good taste" is never truly over, and that the desire to see our own lives mirrored on stage—whether in a period play or a modern production—is a fundamental human constant that transcends the passage of time.