What we have, in the first instance, to define more emphatically is the
poetic aspect of the dramatic composition as such, that is to say in
its independence of the fact that the same is necessarily presented to
our direct vision on the stage. Our investigation of this will do well
to concentrate itself on the following points:
_Firsts_ there is the general principle of dramatic poetry.
_Secondly_, we have the several specific types of dramatic composition.
_Thirdly_, there is the relation which obtains between these and the
public audience.
(_a_) _The Principle of Dramatic Poetry_
The demand of the drama, in the widest sense, is the presentation of
human actions and relations in their actually visible form to the
imaginative consciousness, that is to say, in the uttered speech of
living persons, who in this way give expression to their action.
Dramatic action, however, is not confined to the simple and undisturbed
execution of a definite purpose, but depends throughout on conditions
of collision, human passion and characters, and leads therefore to
actions and reactions, which in their turn call for some further
resolution of conflict and disruption. What we have consequently
before us are definite ends individualized in living personalities and
situations pregnant with conflict; we see these as they are asserted
and maintained, as they work in co-operation or opposition--all in a
momentary and kaleidoscopic interchange of expression--and along with
this, too, the final result presupposed and issuing from the entirety
of this interthreading and conflicting skein of human life, movement,
and accomplishment, which has none the less to work out its tranquil
resolution. The mode of poetical composition adapted to this novel type
of content can be, as already suggested, no other than a mediating
union of the principles of epic and lyrical art respectively.
(_α_) The _first_ point of importance we have to settle to our
satisfaction is that of the _time_ at which dramatic poetry is able
to assert itself in all its predominance. Drama is the product of an
already essentially cultured condition of national life. It already
presupposes as essentially a feature of past history not only the
primitive poetic period of the genuine Epos, but also the independent
personal excogitation of lyrical rapture. The bare fact that, while
combining these two points of view, it is satisfied with neither
sphere in its separation proves that this is so. And in order that
we may have this poetic combination the free self-consciousness of
human aims, developments and destinies must be already fully alert
and awake, must have attained, in short, a degree of culture such as
is only possible in the intermediate and later epochs of a nation's
development. For this reason, too, the greatest exploits and events
of a nation's primitive history are rather of an epic than a dramatic
type. Such are features of the national existence for the most part
related to communities outside it, such as the Trojan war, or the wave
of popular migration, as illustrated in the Crusades, or the national
resistance to a common enemy, as was the case in the war of Greece
against Persia. It is only at a later stage that we meet with the more
stable independence of single heroes, who create for themselves and out
of themselves in their isolation definite ends, and carry through the
undertakings they imply.
(_β_) We may add the following remarks upon the nature of this
_mediation_ between the opposed principles of _epic_ and _lyric poetry._
The Epos already makes an action visible to our imaginative sense. It
is, however, here presented as the substantive entirety of a national
spirit under the form of definite events and exploits of external life,
in which personal volition, the individual aim and the externality of
vital conditions, together with the obstructions which such external
facts present, are retained in an equal balance. In the Lyric, on the
contrary, it is the individual person, which is emphasized in the
independence of his subjective life and as such expressed.
(_αα_) In combining these two points of view drama has in the _first_
place, following in this respect the Epos, to bring before our vision
an event, action, or practical affair. But above all in everything that
is thus presented the factor of bare externality must be obliterated,
and in, its place the self-conscious and active personality is posited
as the paramount ground and vital force. The drama, in short, does
not take exclusive refuge in-the lyric presence of soul-life, as such
stands in contrast to an external world, but propounds such a life
in and through _its_ external realization. And in virtue of this
the event does not appear to proceed from external conditions, but
rather from personal volition and character; it receives in fact its
dramatic significance exclusively in its relation to subjective aims
and passions. At the same time the individual is not left exclusively
rooted in his self-exclusive independence; he comes to his own through
the peculiar nature of the conditions in which he is placed, and
subject to which his character and purpose become the content of his
volitional faculty, quite as much so in fact as in virtue of the
nature of the particular purpose itself in its opposition to and
conflict with other ends. Consequently the dramatic action in question
must submit to a process of development and collision with other
forces, which themselves, on their own account, and even in a contrary
direction to that willed and intended by the active personality, effect
the ultimate course of the events through which the personal factor,
in its essential, characteristics of human purpose, personality, and
spiritual conflict, is asserted. This substantive or objective aspect,
which is enforced along with the individual character, in other
respects acting independently from its own ideal resources, is no other
than the very point of view which we find effective and vital in the
principle of dramatic poetry, when it coincides with that of the epic
composition.
(_ββ_) However much, therefore, we may have as a centre of attraction
the intimate soul-life of particular men and women, nevertheless
dramatic composition cannot rest content with the purely lyrical
conditions of the emotional life; nor can the poet of such merely limit
his sympathy to the dusty record of exploits that are already complete,
or, speaking generally, merely describe the experience of enjoyment
or other states of emotional or contemplative life. The drama, on the
contrary, has to exhibit situations and the spiritual atmosphere that
belongs to them as definitely motived by the individual character,
which is charged with specific aims, and which makes these an effective
part of the practical content of its volitional self-identity. The
definition of soul-life, therefore, in the drama passes into the
sphere of impulse, the realization of personality by means of active
volition, in a word, effective action; it passes out of the sphere
of pure ideality, it makes itself an object of the outer world, and
inclines itself to the concrete facts of the epic world. The external
phenomenon, however, instead of attaining existence in the bare fact of
an event, is here, in the view of the acting character himself, charged
with the opinions and aims he forms on his own account. Action is here
the executed will, which as such is at the same time _recognized_,
recognized, that is, not merely in its origin and point of departure
from the soul-life, but also in respect to its ultimate purpose. In
other words, all that issues from the action, issues, so far as the
personality in question is concerned, from himself, and reacts thereby
on his personal character and its circumstances. This constant
relation of the entire complexus of external condition to the soul-life
itself of the self-realized and self-realizing individuality, who is
at once the basis and assimilating force of the entire process, marks
the point where dramatic poetry falls in line with the truly lyrical
principle.
(_γγ_) It is only when thus regarded that human action asserts itself
as _action_ in the supreme sense, that is, as actual execution of
ideal intentions and aims with the realization of which the individual
agent associates himself as with himself, discovers himself and his
satisfaction therein, and thereupon further takes his stand with his
entire being in all that proceeds from it as a constituent of the
objective world. A character which is dramatic plucks for himself the
fruit of his own deeds.
Inasmuch, however, as the interest, in a dramatic sense, restricts
itself to the personal aim, whose hero the active personality is, and
it is only necessary in the artistic work to borrow from the external
world so much as is bound in an essential relation to this purpose,
which originates in self-conscious life, for this reason the drama is
_primarily_ of a more abstract nature than the epic poem. For on the
one hand the action, in so far as it reposes in the self-determination
of character, and is deducible from this vital source and centre, does
not presuppose the epic background of an entire world through all the
varied aspects and ramifications of its positive realization, but is
concentrated in the simpler definition of circumstance subject to which
the individual man is absorbed in his immediate purpose and carries
the same to accomplishment. And from a further point of view we have
not here the type of personality which asserts its development to our
vision in the _entire complexity_ of national qualities as such are
displayed by the epic, but rather character viewed in _direct_ relation
to its action, character which possesses a _definite_ end directed to
spirit life in its universality. This end or purpose, this eventual
fact on which it depends, is placed in a more exalted position than
is possible to the extension of the purely individual life, which
appears inclusively as living organ and animating vehicle of the same.
A more widely extended unveiling of character under the most varied
aspects which are present either in no connection at all or only in
a more remote one to its action, as we find it concentrated on _one_
single point of interest would be a superfluity; consequently in this
respect, too, that is, in its relation to the active personality,
dramatic poetry ought to be more simply concentrated than epic poetry.
The same generalization is applicable to the number and variety of
the characters represented. For in virtue of the fact, as previously
insisted, that the movement of the drama is not thrown upon the
background of a national existence essentially complete in its
envisagement of every conceivable variety of class, age, sex, activity,
and so forth, but on the contrary, rivets our attention throughout
on _one_ fundamental purpose and its achievement, a realization of
objective fact so extended and intricate as this would not merely be
ineffective, but would actually impair the result proposed. At the
same time, however, and _secondly_, the end and content of an action
is only dramatic by reason of the fact that on account of its defined
character, in the distinctive qualities of which the particular
personality itself can alone lay hold of it under equally definite
conditions, it calls into being in other individuals other objects
and passions opposed to it, This pathetic excitant[1] may, no doubt,
in each separate active agent, assume the form of spiritual, ethical,
and divine forces, such as duty, love to fatherland, parents, wife,
relations, and the like. If, however, this essential content of human
feeling and activity is to assert itself as dramatic it must in its
specialization _confront_ us as distinct ends, so that in every case
the action will inevitably meet with obstruction in its relation
to other active individuals, and fall into subjection to changing
conditions and contradictions, which alternately prejudice the success
of their own particular fulfilment. The genuine content, the essential
operative energy throughout may therefore very well be the eternal
forces, the essentially explicit ethical State, the gods of vital
reality, in a word the divine and the true, but it is not these in the
might of their tranquillity, in that condition, so to speak, wherein
the unmoved gods abide, saved from all action, as some serene figures
of sculpture self-absorbed in a state of blessedness. What we have here
is the divine in its community, as content, that is, and object of
human personality, as concrete existence in its realization,[2] invited
to act and charged with movement.
If, however, as above described, the godlike presence constitutes
the most vital objective truth in the external precipitate[3] of
human action, then, _thirdly_, the deciding factor in the course and
original departure of such an evolution and conflict cannot reside with
particular individuals, which are placed in a relation of opposition
to one another; it must be referred to the divine presence itself,
regarded as essential totality: and for this reason, the drama, it
matters not in what form it may be shaped, will have to propound to
us the vital energy of a principle of Necessity which is essentially
self-supporting, and capable of resolving every conflict and
contradiction.
(_γ_) Consequently, we have before everything else the demand made
on the dramatic _poet_ in his creative capacity, that to the fullest
extent his intelligence is awake to that ideal and universal substance
which is at the root of human ends, conflicts, and destinies. He must
fully acquaint himself with all the contradictions and developments
which the particular action will, under the proposed conditions,
necessarily involve and display. He must not merely be aware of them
in so far as they originate in personal passion and the specific
characterization of particular individuals, or as he finds such
related to the actual content of human designs and resolves; but also
in so far as they are simply referable to the external relations
and circumstances of concrete life. And, along with this, it should
be within his powers to recognize what the real nature of these
paramount forces are, which apportion to man the just guerdon of his
achievements. The rightful claim, no less than the wrongful misuse
of the passions, which storm through the human heart, and excite to
action, must lie disclosed to him with equal clarity, in order that
precisely in those cases where the ordinary vision can only discover
the ascendancy of obscurity, chance, and confusion, he, at least, will
find revealed the actual selfaccomplishment of what is the essence of
reason and truth itself. It follows, therefore, that the dramatic poet
ought as little to confine his efforts to the indefinite exploration
of the depths of emotional life, as the one-sided retention of any
single exclusive mood of soul-life, or any limited partiality in
the type of his sense-perception and spiritual outlook generally.
He ought, rather, to exclude nothing from his vision that may be
embraced by the widest expansion of Spirit conceivable. And this is
so because the spiritual powers which are exclusively distinct in the
mythological Epos, and which, by virtue of the many-sided aspects of
_actual individualization_[4]tend to lose the _clear definition_ of
their significance, assert themselves in dramatic poetry in consonance
with their simple substantive content as pathos altogether, and as
apart from individual characters. The drama is, in fact, the resolution
of the one-sided aspect of these powers, which discover their
self-stability in the dramatic character. And this is so whether, as
in tragedy, they are opposed to such in hostility, or, as in comedy,
they are displayed within these characters themselves, without further
mediation, in a condition of resolution.
(_b_) _Dramatic Composition_
In discussing the drama as a concrete work of art, I propose to
emphasize, briefly, the following fundamental points:
_First_ there is the unity of the same viewed in contrast to that of
the Epos and the lyric poem.
_Secondly_, we have to consider the articulation of its parts, of its
separate parts and their development.
_Thirdly_, there is the external aspect of diction, dialogue, and
verse-measure.
(_α_) What we have in the first instance to observe and, from the
broadest point of view, to establish with regard to the unity of the
drama, is connected with a remark made in a previous passage to the
effect that dramatic poetry, in contradistinction to the Epos, must
be more strenuously self-concentrated. For, although the Epic makes
a specific event its centre of unity, this is none the less expanded
over a wide and manifold field of the national existence, and may
break up into very various episodes and the independent presentation
which belongs to each as parts of the entire panorama. An analogous
appearance of merely general connection, on grounds which are converse
to the above, is permissible to certain types of lyrical poetry.
Inasmuch, however, as in dramatic poetry, from one point of view,
that epic foundation, as we have seen, falls away--and as, otherwise
regarded, the individual characters do not find their expression
under the insulation proper to lyric expression, but rather assert
in such a way their mutual relations to one another, by means of the
opposed features of their characterization and aims, that it is just
this personal relation which constitutes the ground of their dramatic
realization--it follows, as by a law of necessity, that the synthetic
unity of the entire composition is of a more stringent character. Now
this more restricted homogeneity is quite as much objective as it is
ideal in its nature. It is objective relatively to the features of the
practical content of the objects, which the different characters carry
out in a condition of conflict. It is ideal or subjective in virtue of
the fact that this essentially substantive content appears in dramatic
work as the passion of particular characters, so that the ill-success
or achievement, fortune or misfortune, victory or defeat, essentially
affect the individuals, whom such concern, in their actual intention.[5]
The more obvious laws of dramatic composition may be summarized in the
time-honoured prescription of the so-called unities of place, time, and
action.
(_αα_) The inalterability of one exclusive _locale_ of the action
proposed belongs to the type of those rigid rules, which the French
in particular have deduced from classic tragedy and the critique of
Aristotle thereupon. As a matter of fact, Aristotle merely says[6]
that the duration of the tragic action should not exceed at the most
the length of a day. He does not mention the unity of place at all;
moreover, the ancient tragedians have not followed such a principle
in the strict sense adopted by the French. As examples of such a
deviation, we have a change of scene both in the Eumenides of Æschylus
and the Ajax of Sophocles. To a still less extent can our more modern
dramatic writing, in its effort to portray a more extensive field of
collision, _dramatis personae_ of whatever kind and incidental event,
and, in a word, an action the ideal explication of which requires,
too, an external environment of greater breadth, subject itself to
the yoke of a rigid identity of scene. Modern poetry, in so far, that
is, as its creations are in harmony with the romantic type, which as
a rule displays more variety and caprice in its attitude to external
condition, has consequently freed itself from any such demand. If,
however, the action is in truth concentrated in a few great motives, so
that it can avoid complexity of external exposition, there will be no
necessity for considerable alternation of scene. Indeed, the reverse
will be a real advantage. In other words, however false such a rule
may be in its purely conventional application, it contains at least
the just conception that the constant transition of scene, without
any particular reason why we should have one more than another, is
obviously quite inadmissible. The dramatic concentration of the action
ought necessarily to assert itself also in this external aspect, and
thus present a contrast to the Epos, which is permitted in the most
varied way to adapt itself to the fresh expatiation in the form of
the spatial condition and its changes. Moreover, from a further point
of view, the drama is not, as the Epos, composed exclusively for the
imaginative sense, but for the direct vision of our senses. In the
sphere of the pure imagination we can readily pass from one scene to
another. In a theatrical representation, however, we must not put
too great a strain on the imaginative faculty beyond the point which
contradicts the ordinary vision of life. Shakespeare, for example,
in whose tragedies and comedies there is a very frequent change of
scene, had posts put up with notices attached to them indicating
the particular scene on view. A device of this kind is a poor sort
of affair, and can only impair the dramatic effect. For this reason
the unity of place is at least commendable to the extent that its
intelligibility and convenience are _primâ facie_ assured, in so far,
that is, that all confusion is thus avoided. But after all, no doubt,
much may still be trusted to the imagination, which would conflict with
our ordinary perception and notion of probability. The most convenient
course in this, as in other matters, is a happy mean; in other words,
while not wholly excluding the claim of purely natural fact and
perception, we may still permit ourselves considerable license in our
attitude to both.
(_ββ_) The unity of _time_ is a precisely similar case. In the pure
realm of imaginative idea we may no doubt, with no difficulty, combine
vast periods of time; in the direct vision of perception we cannot
so readily pass over a few years. If the action is, therefore, of a
simple character, viewed in its entire content and conflict, we shall
do best to concentrate the time of such a conflict, from its origin
to its resolution, in a restricted period. If, on the contrary, it
demands character richly diversified, whose development necessitates
many situations which, in the matter of time, lie widely apart from
one another, then the formal unity of a purely relative and entirely
conventional duration of time will be essentially impossible. To
attempt to remove such a representation from the domain of dramatic
poetry, on the _primâ facie_ ground that it is inconsistent with the
strict rule of time-unity would simply amount to making the prose of
ordinary facts the final court of appeal, as against the truth of
poetic creation. Least of all need we waste time in discussing the
purely empirical probability that as audience we could, in the course
of a few hours, witness also, directly through our sense, merely the
passage of a short space of time. For it is precisely in the case
where the poet is most at pains to illustrate this conclusion that,
from other points of view, he well-nigh invariably perpetrates the most
glaring improbabilities.
(_γγ_) In contrast to the above examples of unity, that of _action_ is
the one truly inviolable rule. The true nature, however, of this unity
may be a matter of considerable dispute. I will therefore develop my
own views of its significance at greater length.
Every action must without exception have a _distinct_ object which it
seeks to achieve. It is through his action that man enters actively
into the concrete actual world, in which also the most universal
subject-matter is in its turn accepted in the poetic work and
defined under more specific manifestation. From this point of view,
therefore, the unity will have to be sought for in the realization of
an end itself essentially definite, and carried under the particular
conditions and relations of concrete life to its consummation. The
circumstances adapted to dramatic action are, however, as we have
seen, of a kind that the individual end meets with obstructions at
the hands of other personal agents, and this for the reason that
a contradictory end stands in its path, which in its turn equally
strives after fulfilment, so that it is invariably attached to the
reciprocal relation of conflicts and their devolution. Dramatic action
in consequence rests essentially upon an action that is involved with
_resistance_;[7] and the genuine unity can only find its _rationale_
in the entire movement which consists in the assertion of this
collision relatively to the definition of the particular circumstances,
characters, and ends proposed, not merely under a mode consonant
to such ends and characters, but in such a way as to resolve the
opposition implied. Such a resolution has, precisely as the action
itself has, an external and an inside point of view. In other words, on
the one side, the conflict of the opposed _ends_ is finally composed;
and on the other the particular _characters_, to a greater or less
extent, have committed their entire volitional energy and being to
the undertaking they strive to accomplish. Consequently the success
or misadventure of the same, to complete or partial execution, the
inevitable disaster or the secure union effected with intentions that
are apparently opposed to their extent, also determine the destiny
of the character in question, that it is inextricably involved with
that which it was impelled to commit to such activity. A true end is
therefore only then consummated, where the object and interest of the
action, around which all revolves, are identified with the individuals
concerned, and absolutely united to them. And whether the difference
and opposition of the dramatic character assumes a simple form or
branches out in various accessory episodes and individuals, the unity
in either case may be of a more severe or less stringent nature.
Comedy, for instance, in the many-sided features of its worked-out
intrigue does not require such deliberate self-concentration as tragedy
does, which is as a rule motived on grandiose and simple lines.
Romantic tragedy, however, is also in this respect more varied and
less consistent in its unity than is classic tragedy. And even where
there is more licence the relation of the episodes and supplementary
characters must be throughout recognizable; and the entirety of the
piece should also naturally and without strain fit in with and help to
complete the conclusion. So, for example, in "Romeo and Juliet," the
discord between the families, which lies outside the lovers and their
object and destiny, is no doubt the base on which the action is shaped,
though not the actual matter on which all actually depends. Shakespeare
consequently devotes the necessary, if also wholly subordinate
attention to the final issue of this conflict in his conclusion. In
the same way in "Hamlet" the fortunes of Denmark remain a subsidiary
interest, though with the entrance of Fortinbras they are apparently
considered, and are settled at last satisfactorily.
No doubt in the particular end, which resolves the colliding factors,
the possibility of fresh interests and conflicts may be presented; it
is, however, the _one_ collision with which the action is concerned,
which has to discover its final adjustment in the essentially
independent composition. Of this type are the three tragedies of
Sophocles borrowed from the Theban cycle of myths. The first contains
the discovery by Œdipus of the murderer of Laius; the second his
peaceful death in the home of the Eumenides; the third the fate of
Antigone. And, despite of this connection, every one of the three is
equally an intrinsically complete whole independent of the other two.
(_β_) With regard to our _second_ point, namely, that of the mode of
denouement in a dramatic composition, we have three main features of
distinction to consider between it and epic composition or the song,
namely, the size of its extension, the nature of its progression and
its division into scenes and acts.
(_αα_) We have already seen that the embrace of a drama--is not
so extensive as the demand of the epos implies. I propose,
therefore--over and above the two features already discussed of
that world-condition, which is necessarily implied in the complete
picture of the epic, and the more simple collision which is an equally
essential constituent of the content of drama--merely to advert to
the further ground, that in the drama the greater part of everything
that the muse of the epic poet has to describe and linger over as
servant of our imaginative vision, is omitted altogether from the
scenic reproduction. And, further, in the case of drama it is not
actual exploit, but the exposition of personal passions which is
here the main thing. This personal life, however, in contrast to the
expanse of the phenomenal world, is concentrated in simple emotions,
sentences, decisions, and the like; and here, too, as distinct from
the collateral display of epic narration and its historical part, it
gives effect to the principle of lyric absorption and the origination
and expression in present time of passion and idea. Dramatic poetry is,
however, not satisfied with merely _one_ situation;[8] it presents the
ideal world of emotional life or intelligence in active self-assertion
as a totality of circumstances and ends of very various character,
which expresses taken together, all that, if viewed relatively to
its activity, passes in such an inward world. In comparison with the
lyrical poem, the drama reaches out to and is completed in a far more
extensive embrace of subject-matter. To summarize this comparative
relation we may say, perhaps, that dramatic poetry stands as a
mean between the wide embrace of the Epopaea and the concentrated
compression of the Lyric.
(_ββ_) Yet more important than this aspect of external extension is
the nature of the _dramatic progression_ as opposed to the mode of the
epic's devolution The form of the epic objectivity demands throughout,
as we have seen, a lingering style of description, which may along
with this become more intense and pointed in its display of active
obstruction. It is possible that we may at first blush incline to the
view that, inasmuch as other ends and characters resist the main end
and principal character in dramatic exposition, dramatic poetry is
entitled to accept this sort of pause and obstacle as an essential
feature of its principle. As a matter of fact just the reverse is
the case. The true dramatic progression is a _continuous_ movement
_onwards_ to the final catastrophe. This is clear from the simple fact
that it is in _collision_ that we find the emphatic turning point. In
consequence of this we have the twofold view of, in the first place, a
general strain towards the outbreak of this conflict, and, secondly,
the necessity implied in this discord and contradiction of views, ends,
and activities, that they should find some resolution to which they are
driven forwards. By this we by no means assert that mere celerity of
forward movement is simply in itself beautiful in the dramatic sense.
On the contrary, the dramatic poet should have himself room to supply
every situation on its own account with all the motives which it truly
implies. Episodical scenes, however, which only impede the action are
contrary to the nature of the drama.
(_γγ_) As a final point, we may divide the course of the dramatic work
most naturally by simply following the stages implied in the notion
of dramatic movement itself. In this connection Aristotle[9] long ago
remarks that a whole is that which possesses a beginning, a middle,
and a conclusion. He further defines a beginning 'as that which, of
itself necessary, does not issue from something else, and out of
which something other than itself issues and proceeds. The end is the
reverse of this, namely, that which originates from something else,
either of necessity, or mainly so at least, but which does not itself
lead to further consequence. The middle is that which both issues from
something else, and also is that from which something else proceeds.
Now no doubt in the reality of our experience every action includes
many presuppositions which make it a difficult matter to decide the
exact point where we may find the true commencement. In so far,
however, as dramatic action rests essentially on a definite state of
collision, the right point of departure will lie in the situation,
out of which the future devolution of that conflict, despite the fact
that it has not as yet broken out, will none the less in its further
course issue. The end, on the contrary, will then be attained, when
the resolution of the discord and its development is secured in every
possible respect. In the midway condition between origination and end
we have the conflict of ends, and the struggle of individual persons
in collision. These different section's are in dramatic composition,
so to speak, the phases or moments of the action of what are also
actions, and the definition of this is admirably indicated by the
_acts_ of the piece. They are now of course more or less equivalent
to pauses of time, and a prince on one occasion, who was either in a
hurry, or wished the action to proceed without interruption, blamed
his chamberlain openly that such a pause occurred. With regard to
their _number three_ such acts for every kind of drama is the number
that will adapt itself most readily to intelligible theory. Of
these the _first_ discloses the appearance of the collision, which
is thereupon emphasized in the _second_ with all the animation of
conflicting interests as the positive difference of such discord and
its progression, until, _finally_, driven as it were upon the very
apex of its contradiction, it is necessarily resolved. We may cite--as
some kind of illustration of this division which the nature of such an
action suggests--from ancient drama, in which no doubt the dramatic
articulation is as a rule less distinct, the trilogies of Æschylus,
in which each single play combines with the others to form a single
and completely exclusive whole.[10] In modern poetry the Spaniards
mainly follow such a division into three acts. The English, French,
and Germans, on the contrary, for the most part divide the entire
play into _five_ acts, in which the initial exposition is assigned to
the first, the three next are occupied with the various aggressions
and reactionary effects, the complex intentions and conflicts of the
opposed parties; and it is not until the fifth that we reach the entire
resolution of such contending forces.
(_γ_) The third and final important aspect we have to investigate in
our present connection is the nature of the _external means_, in so far
as the employment of the same by dramatic art can be held distinct from
and independent of the actual scenic representation that is otherwise
essential to its complete display. An account of the specific nature
of diction which is frequently dramatic generally, secondly, of the
distinguishing features of the monologue, dialogue, and the like, and,
lastly, of verse measure, will be all that is necessary here. As we
have more than once insisted in the drama the fact of the action is
not the external aspect to which we refer, but the exposition of the
ideal spirit of the action, not merely in respect to the _dramatis
personae_ and their passion, pathos, resolve, interaction, and
mediation, but also relatively to the universal essence of the action
in its conflict and destiny. It is this ideally pregnant spirit,
in so far as poetry gives embodiment to it in poetic form, which
pre-eminently discovers an appropriate expression in the language
of poetry, viewing this, as we should, as the most spiritual way of
expressing emotions and ideas.
(_αα_) But, moreover, just as the drama combines the principles of
the Epos and the Lyric, dramatic diction, too, is compelled both to
carry and assert within itself elements that are lyrical and those
that are epic. The _lyrical_ approach is rather a special feature of
modern drama, and as a rule in those cases where the personal life is
or tends to be self-absorbed, and seeks in its decision and action
throughout to retain the self-consciousness of its inward resources.
But none the less this unveiling of the individual heart-life, if it is
to remain dramatic, ought not merely to be the exploitation of a vague
and variable cloud of emotions, memories, and visions; it should keep
its relation to the action constant throughout, should make its result
identical with that of the different phases of the same.
In contrast to this subjective pathos the epic character of the
diction, which we may define as the _objective_ pathos, is mainly
concerned with the unfolding of what is substantive in dramatic
relations, ends, and persons on lines rather directed to the vision of
the audience. Such a point of view can also in part assume a lyrical
tone, remaining when it does so dramatic only in so far as it does not
more entirely in its independent force form the progress of the action
and its asserted relation to the same. And over and above this, as a
second residue, so to speak, of epic poetry, we may have the records of
narrative, descriptions of battles and the like thrown in. But these
also, in genuine dramatic composition, ought to be marked with greater
compression and animated movement, and, relatively to their presentment
as narrative, a necessary connection with the progress of the action
should be evident.
In conclusion, genuine dramatic art consists in the expression of
individuals in the conflict of their interests and the discord roused
between their characters and their transitory passions. It is here that
the twofold aspect of lyric and epic poetry[11] will assert its power
in true dramatic union: and we have then attached to this the aspect of
positive external fact expressed likewise in the medium of language, as
where we have, for instance, the departure and entrance of _dramatis
personae_ as a rule announced beforehand; not unfrequently also their
external habit or demeanour is indicated by other persons.
A fundamental distinction over the entire field now under review is the
so-called realistic mode of expression, as opposed to a conventional
speech of the theatre and its rhetoric. Diderot, Lessing, Goethe, and
Schiller also in their youth addressed themselves in modern times
above all to this attitude of direct and natural expression. Lessing
did so with the powers of a trained and sensitive observation Schiller
and Goethe did so with their predilection for the direct animation
of unembellished robustness and force. That men should converse with
one another as in the Greek, or with more insistance--and in this
latter respect the criticism has a reasonable basis--as in French
comedy and tragedy was scouted as contrary to Nature. This type of
naturalism, however, may very readily, with its superfluity of merely
realistic traits, fall into the other extreme of dryness and prose, in
so far, that is, as the characters are not developed in the essential
qualities of their emotional life and action, but only as they happen
to express themselves in the literal accuracy of their individual life,
without indicating therein any more significant self-consciousness
or any further sense of their essential position. The more natural
the characterization is allowed to remain in this sense the more
prosaic it becomes. In actual life men converse and strive with one
another before everything else on the mere basis of their _distinct
singularity._ If our object is to depict them simply as such it
is impossible that they should also be represented in their truly
substantive significance.[12] And, if we look at the essence of the
matter, this question of crudeness and urbanity can only be in the last
instance treated subject to the above considerations. In other words
while, on the one hand, such crudeness or coarseness is made to issue
from the particular personality, which is exclusively committed to the
unmediated dictation of an imaginative type of outlook and feeling, in
the converse treatment an urbanity is the outcome of a purely abstract
and formal generalization of consideration for others, recognition
of the claims of personality, love, honour, and the like, in which
nothing that is suggestive of a rich and objective content can be
expressed.[13] Between these two extremes of a purely formal generality
and this natural expression of unpolished peculiarities we have the
true universal, which is throughout neither formal nor destitute of
individuality, but finds its concrete realization in a twofold way from
the defined content of character and the objective presence of opinions
and aims. Genuine poetry will therefore consist in the assertion
of what belongs to immediate and actual life as characteristic and
individual in the purifying medium of universality,[14] both aspects
being permitted to mediate each other. In this case we are conscious,
even in respect to diction, that without being wholly banished from the
basis of reality and its actual traits of truth, we are nevertheless
carried into another sphere, that is to say the ideal realm of art.
Of this latter character is the diction of Greek dramatic poetry, the
later diction of Goethe, and in part, too, that of Schiller, and in
his own way Shakespeare's also, although the Englishman, owing to the
peculiar conditions of the contemporary stage, is forced in part now
and again to accommodate his verbal language to the actual ability of
the actor.[15]
(_ββ_) We may _further_ classify the mode of dramatic expression as
that of choral interlude, monologue, and dialogue. It is the ancient
drama which has pre-eminently elaborated the distinction between
chorus and dialogue. In our modern drama this falls away. What, in
the classical composition, was presented by the _chorus_, is now
rather placed in the mouths of the leading characters. The choric song
expresses, among the ancients, by way of contrast to the particular
characters and their more personal or more reciprocal conflict, the
general or more impersonal view of the situation, and the emotions it
excites, in a manner which at one time inclines to the objective style
of epic narrative, at another to the impulsive movement of the Lyric.
In the _monologue_, on the other hand, it is the isolated individual
who, in a given situation of the action, becomes objective on his
own account. Monologues are, therefore, dramatically in their right
place at those moments chiefly when the emotional life is entirely
self-concentrated as the result of previous events; when it sums up,
as it were, the nature of the cleft between itself and others, or its
own spiritual division; or when it arrives at some sudden decision, or
comes to the final point of resolve on matters already long debated.
The _third_ and complete form of the drama, however, is the _dialogue_.
For in this the _dramatis personae_ are mutually able to express their
character and aims, not merely relatively to their personal attitude
to each other, but also to the substantive character of the pathos
disclosed; they engage in conflict, and thereby actually advance the
movement of the action. We may further distinguish in the dialogue
between the expression of a pathos that is _subjective_ and one that
is _objective._ The first rather appertains to a given passion of more
accidental a nature, whether it be the case in which it is retained
essentially in suppression, and is only expressed aphoristically, or
that in which it finds a vent in the most complete and exhaustive
explosion. Poets, who endeavour to arouse the full movement of personal
emotion by means of poignant scenes, are exceptionally partial to this
type of pathos. Nevertheless, despite all their endeavour to depict
personal suffering and unrestrained passion, or the unreconciled inward
dissension of soul-life, it remains the fact that the human soul,
in its depth, is less effected thereby than it is through a pathos,
wherein at the same time a genuine objective content is evolved.
For this reason the earlier plays of Goethe, despite all the real
penetration of their subject-matter and the natural force of their
dialogue, make on the whole a weaker impression. And, in the same way,
outbreaks of unrelieved distraction and unrestrained fury, effect a
truly healthy sense only in subordinate degree; and, above all, what
is wholly frightful rather chills us than makes the blood flow. The
poet may describe passion with all the overwhelming power possible.
It is ineffective; the heart is merely rent in pieces,[16] and turns
aside from it. What we fail to find here is that which art can least
dispense with, the positive aspect of reconciliation. The ancient
tragedians, therefore, mainly sought for their effect by means of the
objective type of pathos; nor is there wanting here genuine human
individuality, so far as this was compatible with their art. The plays,
also, of Schiller possess this pathos of a great spiritual force,[17] a
pathos which is penetrative throughout, and is manifested and expressed
everywhere as fundamental to the action. It is, above all, to this
circumstance that we may ascribe the lasting effect which the tragedies
of Schiller produce even in our own day; I refer in particular to
their scenic reproduction. For that which produces a profound dramatic
effect of universal and enduring appeal can be only the substantive in
action--by which I mean, viewing it as definite content, the ethical
substance therein, or, in its more formal aspect, the grandeur of ideal
reach and character, in which respect, again, Shakespeare is supreme.
(_γγ_) I will, in conclusion, add merely a word or two on the point of
_verse-measure._ Dramatic metre is best when it lies midway between
the tranquil, uniform flow of the hexameter and the more interrupted
and split-up syllabic metres congenial to the Lyric. In this respect
the iambic metre is above all others commendable. For the iambus, with
the rhythm of its onward movement, which may be either accelerated by
anapaests, or be made more solemn and weighty with the spondee, forms a
most fitting accompaniment to the march of the action; and in quite a
peculiar way the senarius possesses a real tone of noble and restrained
emotional force. Among modern authors the Spaniards, with an artistic
purpose the reverse of this, adopt trochaeic tetrameters, the effect of
which is one of tranquil retardation; a measure which, with its variety
of interwoven rhymes and assonances, in part, too, with its alternative
absence of rhyme, is admirably adapted to the imaginative exuberance
of phantasy, and to the fine-drawn argumentative antitheses, which
characterize this poetry and impede rather than advance the action.
In a contrast of a similar kind, the French Alexandrine is harmonious
with the formal carriage and the declamatory rhetoric of passions,
sometimes held in restraint and at others expressed at full heat, the
conventional expression of which the art of French drama has tasked
itself to elaborate. The more realistic Englishman, whom we Germans too
have followed in more recent times, has, on the contrary, retained the
iambic metre, which Aristotle long ago defined as τὀ μάλιστα λεκτικὸν
τῶν μἐτρων[18] He has, however, not accepted the same in identical form
with the Greek trimeter, but substituted a measure of less pathetic
character, if capable of the greatest freedom of treatment.
(_c_) _The Relation of the Dramatic Composition to the General Public._
Although the advantages or defects of diction and metre are important,
also, in epic and lyrical poetry, we must nevertheless ascribe a
more emphatic effect to them in dramatic compositions, in virtue of
the circumstance that we are in this case dealing with opinions,
characters, and actions which have to appear before us in all the
reality of life itself. A comedy of Calderon, for example, with all
the interplay of fantastic wit we may assume, embodied, however, in
the kind of diction we associate with this poet, with its logical
niceties and its bombast--subject, also, to all the variations of his
lyrical metres--would not, we may presume, on the simple ground of this
manner of expression, be likely to arouse any general sympathy. It is
on account of this visual presence and nearness of approach that the
other aspects of the content, apart from that of purely dramatic form,
are brought into a far more direct relation to the public before whom
they are reproduced. We should like shortly to explain the nature of
this.
Scientific compositions and lyrical or epic poems either possess a
distinct public, whose interest in such works is associated with their
profession, or it is a matter of chance into what hands compositions
of this character may fall. If a book does not please anyone it can be
neglected, just as a man passes by the picture or statue that he does
not like; such works may, in fact, be held to carry to some extent
with them the author's admission that his book is not written for
such. The case is somewhat otherwise with dramatic works. Here we have
a distinct public for which the author has to cater, and he is under
certain obligations towards it. Such a public possesses the right of
applause no less than expressed displeasure; inasmuch as a work is
represented before it in its entirety, and the appeal is made that it
should be enjoyed, with sympathy in a given place and at a stated time.
A public of this sort, as in the case of any--other public jury, is
of a very varied character; it differs in its education, interests,
accustomed tastes, and hobbies, so that to secure complete success in
certain distinct respects a talent in the display of vulgar effect, or
at least a relative shame-facedness in regard to the finest demand of
genuine art, may be necessary. No doubt the dramatic poet has always
the alternative left him to despise his public. But in that case he
obviously fails to secure the very object for which dramatic writing
exists. With us Germans, to an exceptional extent, it has become the
fashion since the times of Tieck thus to scorn the public. Our German
play-writer will express his own particular individuality, but takes
no trouble to commend the result to his audience. The ideal of our
German egotism is quite the reverse, namely, that every man must turn
out something different to that of other people, in order that he
may prove his originality. It was owing, in part, to this that Tieck
and the brothers Schlegel, men who, from the very nature of their
sentimental irony, were quite unable to master the emotional forces
and intelligence of their nation and time, fell foul of Schiller,
and tried to blacken his poetical reputation on the ground that he
did among us Germans manage to strike the right key, and obtain a
popularity unsurpassed. With our neighbours, the French, we find the
opposite. Their authors write with the present effect on the public
always in view, which further, on its own account, is capable of being
a keener and less indulgent critic of the author, owing to the fact
that a more definite artistic taste is already fixed in France: with us
anarchy prevails, and everyone expresses his critical views, applauds
or condemns just as he likes, or as his opinions, emotion, and mood may
chance to dictate.
Inasmuch, however, as it is an essential part of the definition of
the dramatic composition that it should possess the vitality able
to command a favourable popular reception, the dramatic poet should
submit to the conditions--quite apart, that is, from the accidental
circumstances or tendencies of the time--which are likely to secure
this result in an artistic form. What these are I will attempt to
explain, at least in their more general features.
(_a_) Now, in the _first_ place, the ends, which in a dramatic work
come into conflict and are resolved out of such conflict, either
possess a general human interest, or at least have at bottom a pathos,
which is of a valid and substantive character for the people for whom
the poet creates his work. In such a case, however, the universal human
quality and what is more definitely national, in so far as either are
connected with the substance of dramatic collisions, may lie very
widely apart. Compositions, which stand in the national life, at the
very summit of their dramatic art and development, may consequently
quite fail to be appreciated by another age and nation. We find, for
example, in Hindoo lyrical poetry, even in our own time, much that
carries with it a real charm, tenderness, and fascinating sweetness.
The particular collision, however, around which the action in the
"Sakontala" revolves, in other words, the furious curse upon Sakontala
of the Brahman, because she does not see him, and omits to make her
obeisance, can only strike us as absurd, so much so in fact that,
despite all other excellences in this quite exceptionally beautiful
poem, we fail to discover any interest in the very culminating crisis
of the action. We may affirm very much the same thing of the way
in which the Spaniards treat the motive of personal honour with the
abstract severity of a logic, the brutality of which outrages most
deeply all our ideas and feelings. Let me recall, for example, the
attempt made by our own theatrical management to bring upon the stage
one of the less famous plays of Calderon entitled "Clandestine Revenge
for Clandestine Insult," an attempt condemned to failure from the first
on this ground. Another tragedy, which on similar lines portrays a
more profound human conflict, "The Physician of his own Honour," under
the changed title of "The Intrepid Prince," has after some revision
secured more leeway; but this, too, is handicapped by its abstract
and unyielding Catholic principle. Conversely, and in an opposite
direction, the Shakespearian tragedies and comedies are appreciated
by a public that is constantly increasing. We find here that, despite
all their nationality, the universal human interest is incomparably
greater. Shakespeare has only failed to secure an entrance where the
national conventions of art are so narrow and specific that they either
wholly exclude or materially weaken works of the Shakespearian type. A
similar position of advantage, such as that we allow to Shakespeare,
would be attributable to the tragedies of the ancients, if we did not,
apart from our changed habits in respect to scenic reproduction and
certain aspects of the national consciousness, make the further demand
of a profounder psychological penetration and a greater breadth of
particular characterization. So far, however, as the _subject-matter_
of ancient tragedy is concerned, it could never at any time fail in
its effect. We may, therefore, broadly affirm that, in proportion as
a dramatic work accepts for its content wholly specific rather than
typical characters and passions, conditioned, that is, exclusively
by definite tendencies of a particular epoch of history, instead of
mainly concerning itself with human interests substantive in all times,
to that extent, despite of all its other advantages, it will be more
transitory.
(_β_) And, _further_, it is necessary that universal human ends and
actions of this kind should emphasize their poetic individualization to
the point of animated life itself. Dramatic composition does not merely
address itself to our sense of vitality, a sense which even the public
certainly ought to possess, but it must itself, in all essentials,
offer a living actual presence of situations, conditions, characters,
and actions.
(_αα_) I have already, in a previous passage of this work,[19]
entered into some detail relatively to the aspect of local
environment, customs, usages and other matters which affect the visual
representation of action. In this respect dramatic individualization
ought to be either so thoroughly poetical, vital, and rich with
interest that we can discount what is alien to our sense, and feel
ourselves attracted to the performance by this vital claim on our
attention, or it should not pretend to do more than present such
characteristics as external form, which is entirely outshone by the
spiritual and ideal characteristics which underlie it.
(_ββ_) More important than this external aspect is the vitality of the
_dramatis personae._ Such ought not to be merely specific interests
personified, which is only too frequently the case at the hands
of modern dramatists. Such abstract impersonations of particular
passions and aims are wholly destitute of dramatic effect. A purely
superficial individualization is equally insufficient. Content and form
in such cases, as in the analogous type of allegorical figures, fail
to coalesce. Profound emotions and reflections, imposing ideas and
language offer no real compensation. Dramatic personality ought to be,
on the contrary, vital and self-identical throughout, a complete whole
in short, the opinions and characterization of which are consonant with
its aims and action. It is not the breadth of particular traits which
is here of first importance, but the permeating individuality, which
synthetically binds all in the central unity, which it in truth is, and
displays a given personality in speech and action as issuing from one
and the same living source, from which every characteristic, whether
it be of idea, deed or manner of behaviour, comes into being. That
which is merely an aggregate of different qualities and activities,
even though such be strung together in one string, will not give us
the vital character we require. This presupposes from the point of
view of the poet himself a creative activity which is instinct with
life and imagination. It is to the latter type, for instance, that
the characters of the Sophoclean tragedies belong, despite the fact
that they do not possess the variety of particular characteristics
which distinguish the epic heroes of Homer. Among later writers
Shakespeare and Goethe are pre-eminently famous for the vitality of
their characterization. The French, on the contrary, particularly
in their earlier dramatic compositions, appear to have been rather
content to excogitate characters that are little more than the formal
impersonations of general types and passions, than to have aimed at
giving us true and living persons.
(_γγ_) But, _thirdly_, the task of dramatic creation is not completed
with the presentment of vital characterization. Goethe's Iphigeneia
and Tasso throughout are good enough examples of this poetic
excellence--and yet they are not, if we look at them more strictly,
by any means perfect examples of dramatic vitality and movement. It
is for this reason that Schiller long ago remarked of the Iphigeneia,
that in it is the ethical content, the heart experience, the personal
opinion which is made the object of the action, and is as such visually
reproduced. And unquestionably the display and expression of the
personal experience of different characters in definite situations
is not by itself sufficient; we must also have real emphasis laid
on the collision of the _ultimate ends_ involved, and the forward
and conflicting movement which such imply. Schiller is consequently
of the view that the movement of the Iphigeneia is not sufficiently
disturbed; we are permitted to linger within it too long and easily. He
even maintains that it without question inclines to the sphere of epic
composition, if we contrast it at least with any strict conception of
tragedy. In other words, dramatic effect is action simply as action; it
is not the exposition of personality alone, or practically independent
of the express purpose and its final achievement. In the Epos play
may be permitted to the breadth and variety of character, external
conditions, occurrences and events; in the drama, on the contrary, the
self-concentration of its principle is most asserted relatively to the
particular collision and its conflict. It is thus that we recognize
the truth of Aristotle's dictum,[20] that tragic action possesses two
sources (αἴτια δὐo), opinion and character (διάνoια καὶ ἦδoς), but what
is most important is the end (τέλoς), and individuals do not act in
order to display diverse characters, but these latter are united with a
common bond of imaginative conception to the former in the interest of
the action.
(_γ_) As a matter for our _final_ consideration in this place there is
the relation in which the _poet_ is placed to the general public. Epic
poetry in its truly primitive state requires that the poet place wholly
on one side his distinctive personality in its contrast to his actually
objective work. He offers us the content of that and only that. The
lyric poet, on the contrary, deliberately expresses his own emotional
life and his personal views of the world.
(_αα_) We might imagine that the poet must perforce withdraw himself
in the drama by reason of the very fact that he brings action before
us in its sensuous presence, and makes the characters speak and active
in their own names, to a greater extent than in the Epos, in which he
appears at any rate as narrator of the events. Such an impression is
only, however, very partially valid. For, as I have already contended,
the drama is exclusively referable in its origin to those epochs, in
which the personal self-consciousness, both relatively to the general
outlook on life and artistic culture, has already reached a high degree
of development. A dramatic composition therefore should not, as an
epic one does, present the appearance as though it originated from the
popular consciousness simply, for the display of which content the poet
is merely an instrument of expression which possesses no reference
to the poet's personal life; rather what we seek to recognize in the
complete work is quite as much the product of the self-aware and
original creative force, and by reason of this the art and virtuosity
of a genuine poetic personality. It is only thereby that dramatic
productions attain to the genuine excellence of their artistic vitality
and definition, as contrasted with the actions and events of natural
life. It is on this account that where the authorship of dramatic works
is a subject of controversy we find such to be nowhere more frequent
than where it concerns the primitive Epopaea.
(_ββ_) From the opposite point of view the general public too, if it
has itself preserved a true sense of meaning of art, will not submit
to have placed before it in a drama the more accidental moods and
opinions, the peculiar tendencies and the one-sided outlook of this
or that individual, the expression of which is more appropriate to
the lyric poet. It has a right to demand that in the course and final
issue of the dramatic action, whether of tragedy or comedy, what is
fundamentally reasonable and true should be vindicated. Being myself
convinced of this I have in a previous passage given a place of first
importance to the demand that the dramatic poet must in the profoundest
sense make himself master of the essential significance of human
action and the divine order of the world, and along with this of a
power to unfold this eternal and essential foundation of all human
characters, passions and destinies in its clarity as also in its vital
truth. It is no doubt quite possible that a poet, in rising equal to
this demand upon his powers of penetration and artistic achievement,
may under particular circumstances find himself in conflict with
the restricted and uncultured ideas of his age and nation. In such
a case the responsibility for such a disunion does not rest with
himself, but is a burden the public ought to carry. He has the single
obligation to follow the lead of truth and his own compelling genius,
the ultimate victory of which, provided it is of the right quality,
is no less assured than that of ultimate truth itself universally. It
is impossible to define closely the limits within which a dramatic
poet is entitled to bring his actual personality before the public. I
will therefore merely recall attention to the fact in a general way
that in many periods of history dramatic poetry, no less than other
kinds, is induced to disseminate with a vital impulse novel ideas
upon politics, morals, poetry, religion, and the like. So early as
Aristophanes we have polemics in those comedies of his youth against
the domestic condition of Athens and the Peloponnesian war. Voltaire
again frequently endeavours in his dramatic works to popularize his
free thought principles. But above all worthy of notice is the effort
of our Lessing in his "Nathan" to vindicate his ethical faith against
the strait waistcoat of a blockish orthodoxy. In still more recent
times too Goethe has in his earliest works challenged the prose of our
German life and its defective views of art. Tieck has to some extent
followed his lead in this respect. Where personal views of the above
type are not only of superior worth, but are further not expressed in
such deliberate separation from the action of the drama as to make
the latter appear as a mere means for their exploitation, the claims
of true art are not likely to suffer injury. If, however, the freedom
of the composition is thereby impaired, though no doubt the poet may
possibly produce no inconsiderable impression on the public by his
introduction of his own predilections into his work; yet, however true
they may be, if they are at the same time unable to coalesce with the
work as an artistic whole the interest thereby aroused can only be
limited to the matters thus handled; it is in fact no true artistic
interest at all. The worst case of all is that, however, where a poet
with similar deliberation seeks, out of pure flattery and in order to
please, to give prominence to some popular prejudice which is entirely
false. His sins of commission are in that case twofold, not merely
against art, but truth no less.
(_ββ_) One further remark may be perhaps admitted in this connection
to the effect that among the particular types of dramatic art a more
limited measure of indulgence is permitted to tragedy than to comedy
in this more free expatiation of the personality of the poet. In the
latter type the contingency and caprice of individual self-expression
is from the first agreeable to its main principle. Thus we find that
Aristophanes frequently makes matters of immediate interest to his
Athenian public the subject of his parabases. In portions of these
he gives free utterance to his own views upon contemporary events
and circumstances, and withal shrewd advice to his fellow citizens.
He is at other times concerned to defend himself from the attacks of
political opponents and his artistic rivals. Indeed there are passages
in which he deliberately eulogizes himself and his peculiarities.