The Beggar's Opera Overview

The Beggar's Opera Overview

Gay's The Beggar's Opera, first performed in 1728 at Lincoln's Inn Fields,represented a new form of drama in the eighteenth-century—the “ballad opera”—but it was not one that sprung fully formed from the author's head. Gay's work exists in a particular historical context, some of which we discussed last class period—particularly, a growing middle class taste, a public that was invested in spectacle of all kinds, and a socio-political context marked by corruption. Because the political face of the world was changing—particularly, the traditional power relations of the early modern period were giving way to more opaque sense of social order. The metropolis continued to grow, meaning that population was on the rise, and we find a nation characterized by rapid urbanization but an uneven political infrastructure. While many have claimed that the eighteenth century was a period of enlightenment, that is in many respects a claim that serves the interests of those in power.

The world that The Beggar's Opera emerged from—and the world it represents with its particular blend of irony, satire, and cynicism—was divided between extremes of wealth and poverty; the wealthier classes and the landed gentry, those who were relatively unmarked by the demands of trade, were in the 1710s and 1720s moving into the suburbs (think NoVA, or the “white flight” in Detroit), leaving the eastern parts of the city and the city center to fend for themselves. In 1662, one writer described the eastern part of London as a “Pyle” filled with “fumes, steams, and stinks” (qtd in 13)--the flight of the wealthier classes only contributed to this social divide. The city was rife with poverty and filthy living conditions. There was a demand for cheap housing that the unscrupulous in trade sought to exploit. The eastern part of the city—the Beggar, in his Introduction, claims that his Opera was performed multiple times in St. Giles—was very close to a giant slum, with inadequate light and sanitation problems only exacerbated by the explosion of tenement development. It was squalid, and the poor sought relief in alcohol, and particularly Gin—a new industry that was directly supported by governmental policies. The trade in gin quickly became an important—if problematic—source of the nation's overall prosperity. By 1750, over 25% of the houses in St. Giles were gin shops.

Hogarth's GIN LANE—not at all out of the realm of common experience, though it is clearly critical of the socio-economic world that enables and creates such depravity.

These conditions of poverty and squalor led, as you can imagine, to a rise in crime—a subject that was routinely taken up by authors and novelists of the period. Daniel Defoe, whom you may know from his novel Moll Flanders, frequently took the aim at the material, social, and political conditions that made it impossible for people not to turn to crime in order to exist. Because of the rapid increase in population and the great disparity between wealth and poverty, crime was endemic; this was emphasized both by an unstable, cumbersome, decentralized legal system and the fact—which we touched on last class period—that governmental administration was itself corrupt. The city administration was built on a system of patronage modeled on earlier systems of authority, but increasingly ineffective in a modern, rapidly urbanizing and commercial world. Every city official had to buy his place—these places could cost quite a bit of money, and while there was a salary associated with the place, many felt—sensibly--entitled to recoup their initial expenses in any way possible. The post of the Keeper of Newgate Prison, occupied in The Beggar's Opera by Lockit, cost the equivalent of over 100,000 pounds (which, today, would be over $160,000). It was a commonplace practice, something that occurred at every level of society—Gay himself routinely sought to acquire a government post—but through his influential friends. This practice created very real conditions of corruption, and Gay's play is very aware of them.

When Gay's play was performed, there were over 350 crimes which were punishable by death—treason, arson, murder, and rape, of course, but also shoplifting, robbery, breaking and entering, poaching, concealing property by those who have declared bankruptcy, and more. The “justice” system was ruthless, and it worked in the service of those who either had the friends, the money, or the wits to use it. Those convicted—and they usually were, unless their sentences were commuted to transportation to the colonies—were generally hanged at Tyburn, after a long parade from prison through the city—which was itself an opportunity for theatricality and festivity, even entertainment. In 1706, it became a hanging offense to receive stolen goods—for instance, to work as a fence: this is the central occupation of Gay's Peachum and his wife. The act encouraged criminals to inform on their comrades; if they informed, or “impeached” their accomplices, they could receive a pardon as well as a substantial reward of 40 pounds, as discussed in the play. The effect of this was as you would imagine. A new profession emerged—the professional informer. And if it could be merged with fencing, then you've got a nicely protected semi-legal criminal enterprise. The fence is not only pardoned for his crime of receiving stolen goods, but receives a reward for telling on the thief that has brought the stolen goods to be fenced. They often perjured themselves and held the threat of their testimony over a whole host of petty criminals and unfortunate men and women who had been driven to crime in order to live. Henry Fielding wrote a quasi-biographical novel about one famous real-life thief taker, Jonathan Wild, who raised the stakes of this game exponentially—he set himself up as a public benefactor of sorts, one who could serve the public interests by turning over thieves and criminals. He was able to set himself up as a do-gooder by constructing a system whereby he held power over a stable of criminals who couldn't get away from him—he would convince one member of a gang to impeach someone else—or a few someone elses—and then find another person to testify against the first in case he should want to turn straight. In The Beggar's Opera, Peachum and his wife take it one step further—they sell the goods back to those from whom it was stolen, and they collaborate with the Keeper of Newgate Prison, Lockit, to ensure that the con goes as planned!

As you can see, these elements of 18th century culture were bound together in a big, knotty feedback loop—and Gay is fully aware of them. He satirizes not so much the individual, small-time criminals as he does the larger institutions of power and corruption that implicate even those we never see in this play—the wealthy, legitimate gentleman and lady.

Of course, there's another context that we haven't talked about—the 18th century fashion for Italian opera. This was a taste that was part of the broader shifts in cultural power we've been discussing—it is a spectacular, exotic, elaborate, elegant form of musical entertainment patronized by those who wanted to appear (and were) “cultured.” It also became a fad—there were opera stars who were paid over 2,000 pounds for a single season—the rivalry between Lucy Lockit and Polly Peachum for Macheath's affections is modeled on a famous rivalry between Faustina and Cuzzoni, two Italian sopranos who actually came to blows on stage. The aesthetic context of Italian opera is one that Gay is also fully aware of and very well versed in—he routinely parodies various conventions of italian opera, like the many prison scenes, poisoned cups, outrageous and sustained similes, and improbable happy endings. But more than parodying them, he also inverts many of these conventions. Instead of elevated, ornamented arias, his players sing popular folk ballads; instead of subjects from myth or ancient history, he works from contemporary life; instead of high-born characters who sometimes have to disguise themselves as servants, his play is populated by criminals and whores who see themselves as more honest versions of gentlemen and ladies, because they don't hide what they are.

When we couple this with the fact that the play itself became a success, lionized by just those gentlemen and ladies whose wealth and prosperity was built on the backs of beggars, the irony is palpable. This is a cynical play, a funny play, a satirical play, and a play that can tell us a great deal about a distant time.