_The drift of the ensuing Discourse was chiefly to vindicate the honour
of our English Writers from the censure of those who unjustly prefer the
French before them. This I intimate, lest any should think me so
exceeding vain, as to teach others an Art which they understand much
better than myself. But if this incorrect Essay, written in the country,
without the help of books or advice of friends, shall find any acceptance
in the World: I promise to myself a better success of the Second Part,
wherein the virtues and faults of the English Poets who have written,
either in this, the Epic, or the Lyric way, will be more fully treated
of; and their several styles impartially imitated._
AN ESSAY OF Dramatic Poesy.
It was that memorable day [_3rd of June_ 1665] in the first summer of the
late war, when our Navy engaged the Dutch; a day, wherein the two most
mighty and best appointed Fleets which any Age had ever seen, disputed
the command of the greater half of the Globe, the commerce of Nations,
and the riches of the Universe. While these vast floating bodies, on
either side, moved against each other in parallel lines; and our
countrymen, under the happy conduct of His Royal Highness [_the Duke of
YORK_], went breaking by little and little, into the line of the enemies:
the noise of the cannon from both navies reached our ears about the City;
so that all men being alarmed with it, and in a dreadful suspense of the
event which we knew was then deciding, every one went following the sound
as his fancy [_imagination_] led him. And leaving the Town almost empty,
some took towards the Park; some cross the river, others down it: all
seeking the noise in the depth of silence.
Among the rest, it was the fortune of EUGENIUS, CRITES, LISIDEIUS and
NEANDER to be in company together: three of them persons whom their Wit
and Quality have made known to all the Town; and whom I have chosen to
hide under these borrowed names, that they may not suffer by so ill a
Relation as I am going to make, of their discourse.
Taking then, a barge, which a servant of LISIDEIUS had provided for them,
they made haste to shoot the Bridge [_i.e., London Bridge_]: and [so] left
behind them that great fall of waters, which hindered them from hearing
what they desired.
After which, having disengaged themselves from many vessels which rode at
anchor in the Thames, and almost blocked up the passage towards Greenwich:
they ordered the watermen to let fall their oars more gently; and then,
every one favouring his own curiosity with a strict silence, it was not
long ere they perceived the air break about them, like the noise of
distant thunder, or of swallows in a chimney. Those little undulations of
sound, though almost vanishing before they reached them; yet still seeming
to retain somewhat of their first horror, which they had betwixt the
fleets.
After they had attentively listened till such time, as the sound, by
little and little, went from them; EUGENIUS [_i.e., Lord BUCKHURST_]
lifting up his head, and taking notice of it, was the first to
congratulate to the rest, that happy Omen of our nation's victory:
adding, "we had but this to desire, in confirmation of it, that we might
hear no more of that noise, which was now leaving the English coast."
When the rest had concurred in the same opinion, CRITES [_i.e., Sir
ROBERT HOWARD_] (a person of a sharp judgment, and somewhat a too
delicate a taste in wit, which the World have mistaken in him for ill
nature) said, smiling, to us, "That if the concernment of this battle had
not been so exceeding[ly] great, he could scarce have wished the victory
at the price, he knew, must pay for it; in being subject to the reading
and hearing of so many ill verses, he was sure would be made upon it."
Adding, "That no argument could 'scape some of those eternal rhymers, who
watch a battle with more diligence than the ravens and birds of prey; and
the worst of them surest to be first in upon the quarry: while the better
able, either, out of modesty, writ not at all; or set that due value upon
their poems, as to let them be often called for, and long expected."
"There are some of those impertinent people you speak of," answered
LISIDEIUS [_i.e., Sir CHARLES SEDLEY_], "who, to my knowledge, are
already so provided, either way, that they can produce not only a
Panegyric upon the Victory: but, if need be, a Funeral Elegy upon the
Duke, and, after they have crowned his valour with many laurels, at last,
deplore the odds under which he fell; concluding that his courage deserved
a better destiny." All the company smiled at the conceit of LISIDEIUS.
But CRITES, more eager than before, began to make particular exceptions
against some writers, and said, "The Public Magistrate ought to send,
betimes, to forbid them: and that it concerned the peace and quiet of all
honest people, that ill poets should be as well silenced as seditious
preachers."
"In my opinion" replied EUGENIUS, "you pursue your point too far! For, as
to my own particular, I am so great a lover of Poesy, that I could wish
them all rewarded, who attempt but to do well. At least, I would not have
them worse used than SYLLA the Dictator did one of their brethren
heretofore. _Quem in concione vidimus_ (says TULLY, speaking of him) _cum
ei libellum malus poeta de populo subjecisset, quod epigramma in eum
fecisset tantummodo alternis versibus longiuculis, statim ex iis rebus
quae tunc vendebat jubere ei praemium tribui, sub ea conditione ne quid
postea scriberet_."
"I could wish, with all my heart," replied CRITES, "that many whom we
know, were as bountifully thanked, upon the same condition, that they
would never trouble us again. For amongst others, I have a mortal
apprehension of two poets, whom this Victory, with the help of both her
wings, will never be able to escape."
"'Tis easy to guess, whom you intend," said LISIDEIUS, "and without
naming them, I ask you if one [_i.e., GEORGE WITHER_] of them does not
perpetually pay us with clenches upon words, and a certain clownish kind
of raillery? If, now and then, he does not offer at a catachresis [_which
COTGRAVE defines as 'the abuse, or necessary use of one word, for lack of
another more proper'_] or Clevelandism, wresting and torturing a word
into another meaning? In fine, if be not one of those whom the French
would call _un mauvais buffon_; one that is so much a well willer to the
Satire, that he spares no man: and though he cannot strike a blow to hurt
any, yet ought to be punished for the malice of the action; as our witches
are justly hanged, because they think themselves so, and suffer deservedly
for believing they did mischief, because they meant it."
"You have described him," said CRITES, "so exactly, that I am afraid to
come after you, with my other Extremity of Poetry. He [_i.e., FRANCIS
QUARLES_] is one of those, who, having had some advantage of education
and converse [_i.e., conversation, in the sense of Culture through
mixture with society_], knows better than the other, what a Poet should
be; but puts it into practice more unluckily than any man. His style and
matter are everywhere alike. He is the most calm, peaceable writer you
ever read. He never disquiets your passions with the least concernment;
but still leaves you in as even a temper as he found you. He is a very
Leveller in poetry; he creeps along, with ten little words in every line,
and helps out his numbers with _For to_, and _Unto_, and all the pretty
expletives he can find, till he drags them to the end of another line:
while the Sense is left, tired, halfway behind it. He doubly starves all
his verses; first, for want of Thought, and then, of Expression, His
poetry neither has wit in it, nor seems to have it; like him, in MARTIAL,
"_Pauper videri CINNA vult, et est pauper_.
"He affects plainness, to cover his Want of Imagination. When he writes
in the serious way; the highest flight of his Fancy is some miserable
_antithesis_ or seeming contradiction: and in the comic; he is still
reaching at some thin conceit, the ghost of a jest, and that too flies
before him, never to be caught. These swallows, which we see before us on
the Thames, are the just resemblance of his Wit. You may observe how near
the water they stoop! how many proffers they make to dip, and yet how
seldom they touch it! and when they do, 'tis but the surface! they skim
over it, but to catch a gnat, and then mount in the air and leave it!"
"Well, gentlemen!" said EUGENICS, "you may speak your pleasure of these
authors; but though. I and some few more about the Town, may give you a
peaceable hearing: yet, assure yourselves! there are multitudes who would
think you malicious, and them injured; especially him whom you first
described, he is the very _Withers_ of the City. They have bought more
Editions of his works, than would serve to lay under all their pies at
the Lord Mayor's Christmas. When his famous poem [_i.e., Speculum
Speculativium; Or, A Considering Glass, Being an Inspection into the
present and late sad condition of these Nations.... London. Written June
xiii. XDCLX, and there imprinted the same year_] first came out in the
year 1660, I have seen them read it in the midst of Change time. Nay, so
vehement were they at it, that they lost their bargain by the candles'
ends! But what will you say, if he has been received among the Great
Ones? I can assure you, he is, this day, the envy of a Great Person, who
is Lord in the Art of Quibbling; and who does not take it well, than any
man should intrude so far into his province."
"All I would wish," replied CRITES, "is that they who love his writings,
may still admire him and his fellow poet. _Qui Bavium non odit &c._, is
curse sufficient."
"And farther," added LISIDEIUS; "I believe there is no man who writes
well; but would think himself very hardly dealt with, if their admirers
should praise anything of his. _Nam quos contemnimus eorum quoque laudes
contemnimus_."
"There are so few who write well, in this Age," said CRITES, "that
methinks any praises should be welcome. They neither rise to the dignity
of the last Age, nor to any of the Ancients: and we may cry out of the
Writers of this Time, with more reason than PETRONIUS of his, _Pace
vestra liceat dixisse, primi omnium eloquentiam perdidistis_! 'You have
debauched the true old Poetry so far, that Nature (which is the Soul of
it) is not in any of your writings!'"
"If your quarrel," said EUGENIUS, "to those who now write, be grounded
only upon your reverence to Antiquity; there is no man more ready to
adore those great Greeks and Romans than I am: but, on the other side, I
cannot think so contemptibly of the Age I live in, or so dishonourably of
my own Country as not to judge [that] we equal the Ancients in most kinds
of Poesy, and in some, surpass them; neither know I any reason why I may
not be as zealous for the reputation of our Age, as we find the Ancients
themselves, in reference to those who lived before them. For you hear
HORACE saying
"_Indignor quidquam reprehendi, non quia crasse
Compositum, ille pide've putetur, sed quia nuper._
"And, after,
"Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit,
Scire velim pretium chartis quotus arroget annus?_
"But I see I am engaging in a wide dispute, where the arguments are not
like[ly] to reach close, on either side [p. 497]: for Poesy is of so
large extent, and so many (both of the Ancients and Moderns) have done
well in all kinds of it, that, in citing one against the other, we shall
take up more time this evening, than each man's occasions will allow him.
Therefore, I would ask CRITES to what part of Poesy, he would confine his
arguments? and whether he would defend the general cause of the Ancients
against the Moderns; or oppose any Age of the Moderns against this of
ours?"
CRITES, a little while considering upon this demand, told EUGENIUS, he
approved of his propositions; and, if he pleased, he would limit their
dispute to Dramatic Poesy: in which, he thought it not difficult to
prove, either that the Ancients were superior to the Moderns; or the last
Age to this of ours.
EUGENIUS was somewhat surprised, when he heard CRITES make choice of that
subject. "For ought I see," said he, "I have undertaken a harder province
than I imagined. For though I never judged the plays of the Greek and
Roman poets comparable to ours: yet, on the other side, those we now see
acted, come short of many which were written in the last Age. But my
comfort is, if we were o'ercome, it will be only by our own countrymen;
and if we yield to them in this one part of Poesy, we [the] more surpass
them in all the other[s].
"For in the Epic, or Lyric way, it will be hard for them to shew us one
such amongst them, as we have many now living, or who lately were so.
They can produce nothing so Courtly writ, or which expresses so much the
conversation of a gentleman, as Sir JOHN SUCKLING; nothing so even,
sweet, and flowing, as Mr. WALLER; nothing so majestic, so correct, as
Sir JOHN DENHAM; nothing so elevated, so copious, and full of spirit, as
Mr. COWLEY. As for the Italian, French, and Spanish plays, I can make it
evident, that those who now write, surpass them; and that the Drama is
wholly ours."
All of them were thus far of EUGENIUS his opinion, that "the sweetness of
English Verse was never understood or practised by our fathers"; even
CRITES himself did not much oppose it: and every one was willing to
acknowledge how much our Poesy is improved by the happiness of some
writers yet living, who first taught us to mould our thoughts into easy
and significant words; to retrench the superfluities of expression; and
to make our Rhyme so properly a part of the Verse, that it should never
mislead the Sense, but itself be led and governed by it.
EUGENIUS was going to continue this discourse, when LISIDEIUS told him,
that "it was necessary, before they proceeded further, to take a Standing
Measure of their controversy. For how was it possible to be decided who
writ the best plays, before we know what a Play should be? but this once
agreed on by both parties, each might have recourse to it; either to
prove his own advantages, or discover the failings of his adversary."
He had no sooner said this; but all desired the favour of him to give the
definition of a Play: and they were the more importunate, because neither
ARISTOTLE, nor HORACE, nor any other who writ of that subject, had ever
done it.
LISIDEIUS, after some modest denials, at last, confessed he had a rude
notion of it; indeed, rather a Description than a Definition; but which
served to guide him in his private thoughts, when he was to make a
judgment of what others writ. That he conceived a Play ought to be A JUST
AND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, REPRESENTING ITS PASSIONS AND HUMOURS;
AND THE CHANGES OF FORTUNE, TO WHICH IT IS SUBJECT: FOR THE DELIGHT AND
INSTRUCTION OF MANKIND.
This Definition, though CRITES raised a logical objection against it
(that "it was only _a genere et fine_," and so not altogether perfect),
was yet well received by the rest.
And, after they had given order to the watermen to turn their barge, and
row softly, that they might take the cool of the evening in their return:
CRITES, being desired by the company to begin, spoke on behalf of the
Ancients, in this manner.
"If confidence presage a victory; EUGENIUS, in his own opinion, has
already triumphed over the Ancients. Nothing seems more easy to him, than
to overcome those whom it is our greatest praise to have imitated well:
for we do not only build upon their foundation, but by their models.
"Dramatic Poesy had time enough, reckoning from THESPIS who first
invented it, to ARISTOPHANES; to be born, to grow up, and to flourish in
maturity.
"_It has been observed of Arts and Sciences, that in one and the same
century, they have arrived to a great perfection_ [p. 520]. And, no
wonder! since every Age has a kind of Universal Genius, which inclines
those that live in it to some particular studies. The work then being
pushed on by many hands, must, of necessity, go forward.
"Is it not evident, in these last hundred years, when the study of
Philosophy has been the business of all the _Virtuosi_ in Christendom,
that almost a new Nature has been revealed to us? that more errors of the
School have been detected, more useful experiments in Philosophy have been
made, more noble secrets in Optics, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy,
discovered; than, in all those credulous and doting Ages, from ARISTOTLE
to us [p. 520]? So true it is, that nothing spreads more fast than
Science, when rightly and generally cultivated.
"Add to this, _the more than common Emulation that was, in those times,
of writing well_: which, though it be found in all Ages and all persons
that pretend to the same reputation: yet _Poesy, being then in more
esteem than now it is, had greater honours decreed to the Professors of
it, and consequently the rivalship was more high between them_. They had
Judges ordained to decide their merit, and prizes to reward it: and
historians have been diligent to record of AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES,
SOPHOCLES, LYCOPHRON, and the rest of them, both who they were that
vanquished in these Wars of the Theatre, and how often they were crowned:
while the Asian Kings and Grecian Commonwealths scarce[ly] afforded them a
nobler subject than the unmanly luxuries of a debauched Court, or giddy
intrigues of a factious city. _Alit oemulatio ingenia_, says PATERCULUS,
_et nunc invidia, nunc admiratio incitationem accendit_: 'Emulation is
the spur of wit; and sometimes envy, sometimes admiration quickens our
endeavours.'
"But now, since the rewards of honour are taken away: that Virtuous
Emulation is turned into direct Malice; yet so slothful, that it contents
itself to condemn and cry down others, without attempting to do better.
'Tis a reputation too unprofitable, to take the necessary pains for it;
yet wishing they had it, is incitement enough to hinder others from it.
And this, in short, EUGENIUS, is the reason why you have now so few good
poets, and so many severe judges. Certainly, to imitate the Ancients
well, much labour and long study is required: which pains, I have already
shown, our poets would want encouragement to take; if yet they had ability
to go through with it.
"Those Ancients have been faithful Imitators and wise Observers of that
Nature, which is so torn and ill-represented in our Plays. They have
handed down to us a perfect Resemblance of Her, which we, like ill
copyers, _neglecting to look on_, have rendered monstrous and disfigured.
"But that you may know, how much you are indebted to your Masters! and be
ashamed to have so ill-requited them! I must remember you, that all the
Rules by which we practise the Drama at this day (either such as relate
to the Justness and Symmetry of the Plot; or the episodical ornaments,
such as Descriptions, Narrations, and other beauties which are not
essential to the play), were delivered to us from the Observations that
ARISTOTLE made of those Poets, which either lived before him, or were his
contemporaries. We have added nothing of our own, except we have the
confidence to say, 'Our wit is better!' which none boast of in our Age,
but such as understand not theirs. Of that book, which ARISTOTLE has left
us, [Greek: peri taes Poietikaes]; HORACE his _Art of Poetry_ is an
excellent _Comment_, and, I believe, restores to us, that Second Book of
his [_i.e., ARISTOTLE_] concerning _Comedy_, which is wanting in him.
"Out of these two [Authors], have been extracted the Famous Rules, which
the French call, _Des trois Unités_, or 'The Three Unities,' which ought
to be observed in every _regular_ Play; namely, of TIME, PLACE, and
ACTION.
"The UNITY OF TIME, they comprehend in Twenty-four hours, _the compass of
a natural Day_; or, as near it, as can be contrived. And the reason of it
is obvious to every one. That _the Time_ of the feigned Action or Fable
of the Play _should be proportioned_, as near as can be, _to the duration
of that Time in which it is REPRESENTED_. Since therefore all plays are
acted on the Theatre in a space of time _much within_ the compass of
Twenty-four hours; that Play is to be thought the _nearest Imitation_ of
Nature, whose Plot or Action is confined within that time.
"And, by the same Rule which concludes this General Proportion of Time,
it follows, _That all the parts of it are to be equally subdivided_. As,
namely, that one Act take not up the supposed time of Half a day, which
is out of proportion to the rest; since the other four are then to be
straitened within the compass of the remaining half: for it is unnatural
that one Act which, being spoken or written, is not longer than the rest;
should be supposed longer by the audience. 'Tis therefore the Poet's duty
to take care _that no Act_ should be imagined to _exceed the Time in
which it is Represented on the Stage_; and that the intervals and
inequalities of time, be supposed to fall out _between_ the Acts.
"This Rule of TIME, how well it has been observed by the Ancients, most
of their plays will witness. You see them, in their Tragedies (wherein to
follow this Rule is certainly most difficult), from the very beginning of
their Plays, falling close into that part of the Story, which they intend
for the Action or principal Object of it: leaving the former part to be
delivered by Narration. So that they set the audience, as it were, at the
post where the race is to be concluded: and, saving them the tedious
expectation of seeing the Poet set out and ride the beginning of the
course; you behold him not, till he is in sight of the goal, and just
upon you.
"For the Second Unity, which is that of PLACE; the Ancients meant by it,
_That the scene_ [locality] _ought to be continued_, through the Play,
_in the same place, where it was laid in the beginning_. For _the Stage_,
on which it is represented, _being but one, and the same place; it
isunnatural to conceive it many, and those far distant from one another_.
I will not deny but by the Variation of Painted scenes [_scenery was
introduced about this time into the English theatres, by Sir WILLIAM
D'AVENANT and BETTERTON the Actor: see Vol. II. p. 278_] the Fancy which,
in these casts, will contribute to its own deceit, may sometimes imagine
it several places, upon some appearance of probability: yet it still
carries _the greater likelihood of truth_, if those places be supposed so
near each other as in the same town or city, which may all be comprehended
under the larger denomination of One Place; for a greater distance will
bear no proportion to the _shortness of time which is allotted in the
acting_, to pass from one of them to another.
"For the observation of this; next to the Ancients, the French are most
to be commended. They tie themselves so strictly to the Unity of Place,
that you never see in any of their plays, a scene [_locality_] changed in
the middle of an Act. If the Act begins in a garden, a street, or [a]
chamber; 'tis ended in the same place. And that you may know it to be the
same, the Stage is so supplied with persons, that it is never empty all
the time. He that enters the second has business with him, who was on
before; and before the second quits the stage, a third appears, who has
business with him. This CORNEILLE calls _La Liaison des Scenes_,'the
Continuity or Joining of the Scenes': and it is a good mark of a well
contrived Play, when all the persons are known to each other, and every
one of them has some affairs with all the rest.
"As for the third Unity, which is that of ACTION, the Ancients meant no
other by it, than what the Logicians do by their _Finis_; the End or
Scope of any Action, that which is the First in intention, and Last in
execution.
"Now the Poet is to aim at _one great and complete Action_; to the
carrying on of which, all things in the Play, even the very obstacles,
are to be subservient. And the reason of this, is as evident as any of
the former. For two Actions, equally laboured and driven on by the
Writer, would destroy the Unity of the Poem. It would be no longer one
Play, but two. Not but that there may be many actions in a Play (as BEN.
JOHNSON has observed in his _Discoveries_), but they must be all
subservient to the great one; which our language happily expresses, in
the name of Under Plots. Such as, in TERENCE's _Eunuch_, is the deference
and reconcilement of _THAIS_ and _PHAEDRIA_; which is not the chief
business of the Play, but promotes the marriage of _CHOEREA_ and
_CHREMES's sister_, principally intended by the Poet.
"'There ought to be but one Action,' says CORNEILLE, 'that is, one
complete Action, which leaves the mind of the audience in a full repose.'
But this cannot be brought to pass, but by many other imperfect ones,
which conduce to it, and hold the audience in a delightful suspense of
what will be.
"If by these Rules (to omit many others drawn from the Precepts and
Practice of the Ancients), we should judge our modern plays, 'tis
probable that few of them would endure the trial. That which should be
the business of a Day, takes up, in some of them, an Age. Instead of One
Action, they are the Epitome of a man's life. And for one spot of ground,
which the Stage should represent; we are sometimes in more countries than
the map can show us.
"But if we will allow the Ancients to have _contrived_ well; we must
acknowledge them to have _writ_ better. Questionless, we are deprived of
a great stock of wit, in the loss of MENANDER among the Greek poets, and
of COECILIUS, AFFRANIUS, and VARIUS among the Romans. We may guess of
MENANDER's excellency by the Plays of TERENCE; who translated some of
his, and yet wanted so much of him, that he was called by C. CAESAR, the
Half-MENANDER: and of VARIUS, by the testimonies of HORACE, MARTIAL, and
VELLEIUS PATERCULUS. 'Tis probable that these, could they be recovered,
would decide the controversy.
"But so long as ARISTOPHANES in the Old Comedy, and PLAUTUS in the New
are extant; while the Tragedies of EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA are
to be had: I can never see one of those Plays which are now written, but
it increases my admiration of the Ancients. And yet I must acknowledge
further, that to admire them as we ought, we should understand them
better than we do. Doubtless, many things appear flat to us, whose wit
depended upon some custom or story, which never came to our knowledge; or
perhaps upon some criticism in their language, which, being so long dead,
and only remaining in their books, it is not possible they should make us
know it perfectly.
"To read MACROBIUS explaining the propriety and elegancy of many words in
VIRGIL, which I had before passed over without consideration as common
things, is enough to assure me that I ought to think the same of TERENCE;
and that, in the purity of his style, which TULLY so much valued that he
ever carried his _Works_ about him, there is yet left in him great room
for admiration, if I knew but where to place it.
"In the meantime, I must desire you to take notice that the greatest man
of the last Age, BEN. JOHNSON, was willing to give place to them in all
things. He was not only a professed imitator of HORACE, but a learned
plagiary of all the others. You track him everywhere in their snow. If
HORACE, LUCAN, PETRONIUS _Arbiter_, SENECA, and JUVENAL had their own
from him; there are few serious thoughts that are new in him. You will
pardon me, therefore, if I presume, he loved their fashion; when he wore
their clothes.
"But since I have otherwise a great veneration for him, and you,
EUGENIUS! prefer him above all other poets: I will use no farther
argument to you than his example. I will produce Father BEN. to you,
dressed in all the ornaments and colours of the Ancients. You will need
no other guide to our party, if you follow him: and whether you consider
the bad plays of our Age, or regard the good ones of the last: both the
best and worst of the Modern poets will equally instruct you to esteem
the Ancients."
CRITES had no sooner left speaking; but EUGENIUS, who waited with some
impatience for it, thus began:
"I have observed in your speech, that the former part of it is
convincing, as to what the Moderns have profited by the Rules of the
Ancients: but, in the latter, you are careful to conceal, how much they
have excelled them.
"We own all the helps we have from them; and want neither veneration nor
gratitude, while we acknowledge that, to overcome them, we must make use
of all the advantages we have received from them. But to these
assistances, we have joined our own industry: for had we sate down with a
dull imitation of them; we might then have lost somewhat of the old
perfection, but never acquired any that was new. We draw not, therefore,
after their lines; but those of Nature: and having the Life before us,
besides the experience of all they knew, it is no wonder if we hit some
airs and features, which they have missed.
"I deny not what you urge of Arts and Sciences [p. 514]; that they have
flourished in some ages more than others: but your instance in Philosophy
[p. 514] makes for me.
"For if Natural Causes be more known now, than in the time of ARISTOTLE,
because more studied; it follows that Poesy and other Arts may, with the
same pains, arrive still nearer to perfection. And that granted, it will
rest for you to prove, that they wrought more perfect Images of Human
Life than we.
"Which, seeing, in your discourse, you have avoided to make good; it
shall now be my task to show you some of their Defects, and some few
Excellencies of the Moderns. And I think, there is none amongst us can
imagine I do it enviously; or with purpose to detract from them: for what
interest of Fame, or Profit, can the Living lose by the reputation of the
Dead? On the other side, it is a great truth, which VELLEIUS PATERCULUS
affirms, _Audita visis libentius laudamus; et proesentia invidia,
proeterita, admiratione prosequimur, et his nos obrui, illis instrui
credimus_, 'That Praise or Censure is certainly the most sincere, which
unbribed Posterity shall give us.'
"Be pleased, then, in the first place, to take notice that the Greek
Poesy, which CRITES has affirmed to have arrived to perfection in the
reign of the Old Comedy [p. 514], was so far from it, that _the
distinction of it into Acts was not known to them_; or if it were, it is
yet so darkly delivered to us, that we cannot make it out.
"All we know of it is, from the singing of their Chorus: and that too, is
so uncertain, that in some of their Plays, we have reason to conjecture
they sang more than five times.
"ARISTOTLE, indeed, divides the integral parts of a Play into four.
"Firstly. The _Protasis_ or Entrance, which gives light only to the
Characters of the persons; and proceeds very little into any part
of the Action.
"Secondly. The _Epitasis_ or Working up of the Plot, where the Play
grows warmer; the Design or Action of it is drawing on, and you see
something promising, that it will come to pass.
"Thirdly. The _Catastasis_ or Counter-turn, which destroys that
expectation, embroils the action in new difficulties, and leaves
you far distant from that hope in which it found you: as you may
have observed in a violent stream, resisted by a narrow passage; it
turns round to an eddy, and carries back the waters with more
swiftness than it brought them on.
"Lastly. The _Catastrophe_, which the Grecians call [Greek: desis];
the French, _Le denoument_; and we, the Discovery or Unravelling of
the Plot. There, you see all things settling again upon the first
foundations; and the obstacles, which hindered the Design or Action
of the Play, once removed, it ends with that Resemblance of Truth
or Nature, that the audience are satisfied with the conduct of it.
"Thus this great man delivered to us the Image of a Play; and I must
confess it is so lively, that, from thence, much light has been derived
to the forming it more perfectly, into Acts and Scenes. But what Poet
first limited to Five, the number of the Acts, I know not: only we see it
so firmly established in the time of HORACE, that he gives it for a rule
in Comedy.
"_Neu brevier quinto, neu sit productior actu:_
"So that you see, the Grecians cannot be said to have consumated this
Art: writing rather by Entrances than by Acts; and having rather a
general indigested notion of a Play, than knowing how and where to bestow
the particular graces of it.
"But since the Spaniards, at this day, allow but three Acts, which they
call _Jornadas_, to a Play; and the Italians, in many of theirs, follow
them: when I condemn the Ancients, I declare it _is not altogether
because they have not five Acts to every Play; but because they have not
confined themselves to one certain number_. 'Tis building a house,
without a model: and when they succeeded in such undertakings, they ought
to have sacrificed to Fortune, not to the Muses.
"Next, for the Plot, which ARISTOTLE called [Greek: to muthos], and often
[Greek: ton pragmaton sunthesis]; and from him, the Romans, _Fabula_. It
has already been judiciously observed by a late Writer that 'in their
_TRADGEDIES_, it was only some tale derived from Thebes or Troy; or, at
least, something that happened in those two Ages: which was worn so
threadbare by the pens of all the Epic Poets; and even, by tradition
itself of the _talkative Greeklings_, as BEN. JOHNSON calls them, that
before it came upon the Stage, it was already known to all the audience.
And the people, as soon as ever they heard the name of _OEDIPUS_, knew as
well as the Poet, that he had killed his father by a mistake, and
committed incest with his mother, before the Play; that they were now to
hear of a great plague, an oracle, and the ghost of _LAIUS_: so that they
sate, with a yawning kind of expectation, till he was to come, with his
eyes pulled out, and speak a hundred or two of verses, in a tragic tone,
in complaint of his misfortunes.'
"But one _OEDIPUS_, _HERCULES_, or _MEDEA_ had been tolerable. Poor
people! They scaped not so good cheap. They had still the _chapon
bouillé_ set before them, till their appetites were cloyed with the same
dish; and the Novelty being gone, the Pleasure vanished. So that one main
end of Dramatic Poesy, in its definition [p. 513] (which was, to cause
_Delight_) was, of consequence, destroyed.
"In their _COMEDIES_, the Romans generally borrowed their Plots from the
Greek poets: and theirs were commonly a little girl stolen or wandered
from her parents, brought back unknown to the same city, there got with
child by some lewd young fellow, who (by the help of his servant) cheats
his father. And when her time comes to cry _JUNO Lucina fer opem!_ one or
other sees a little box or cabinet, which was carried away with her, and
so discovers her to her friends: if some god do not prevent
[_anticipate_] it, by coming down in a machine [_i.e., supernaturally_],
and take the thanks of it to himself.
"By the Plot, you may guess much [_many_] of the characters of the
Persons. An old Father that would willingly, before he dies, see his son
well married. His debauched Son, kind in his nature to his wench, but
miserably in want of money. A Servant or Slave, who has so much wit [as]
to strike in with him, and help to dupe his father, A braggadochio
Captain, a Parasite, and a Lady of Pleasure.
"As for the poor honest maid, upon whom all the story is built, and who
ought to be one of the principal Actors in the Play; she is commonly a
Mute in it. She has the breeding of the old ELIZABETH [_Elizabethan_]
way, for 'maids to be seen, and not to be heard': and it is enough, you
know she is willing to be married, when the Fifth Act requires it.
"These are plots built after the Italian mode of houses. You see through
them all at once. The Characters, indeed, are Imitations of Nature: but
so narrow as if they had imitated only an eye or an hand, and did not
dare to venture on the lines of a face, or the proportion of a body.
"But in how strait a compass sorever, they have bounded their Plots and
Characters, we will pass it by, if they have regularly pursued them, and
perfectly observed those three Unities, of TIME, PLACE, and ACTION; the
knowledge of which, you say! is derived to us from them.
"But, in the first place, give me leave to tell you! that the Unity of
PLACE, however it might be practised by them, was never any of their
Rules. We neither find it in ARISTOTLE, HORACE, or any who have written
of it; till, in our Age, the French poets first made it a Precept of the
Stage.
"The Unity of TIME, even TERENCE himself, who was the best and most
regular of them, has neglected. His _Heautontimoroumenos_ or 'Self
Punisher' takes up, visibly, two days. 'Therefore,' says SCALIGER, 'the
two first Acts concluding the first day, were acted overnight; the last
three on the ensuing day.'
"And EURIPIDES, in tying himself to one day, has committed an absurdity
never to be forgiven him. For, in one of his Tragedies, he has made
THESEUS go from Athens to Thebes, which was about forty English miles;
under the walls of it, to give battle; and appear victorious in the next
Act: and yet, from the time of his departure, to the return of the
_Nuntius_, who gives relation of his victory; _AETHRA_ and the _Chorus_
have but thirty-six verses, that is, not for every mile, a verse.
"The like error is evident in TERENCE his _Eunuch_; when _LACHES_ the old
man, enters, in a mistake, the house of _THAIS_; where, between his _Exit_
and the Entrance of _PYTHIAS_ (who comes to give an ample relation of the
garboils he has raised within), _PARMENO_ who was left upon the stage,
has not above five lines to speak. _C'est bien employé, un temps si
court!_ says the French poet, who furnished me with one of the[se]
observations.
"And almost all their Tragedies will afford us examples of the like
nature.
"'Tis true, they have kept the Continuity, or as you called it, _Liaison
des Scenes_, somewhat better. Two do not perpetually come in together,
talk, and go out together; and other two succeeded them, and do the same,
throughout the Act: which the English call by the name of 'Single Scenes.'
But the reason is, because they have seldom above two or three Scenes,
properly so called, in every Act. For it is to be accounted a _new_
Scene, not every time the Stage is empty: but every person _who enters_,
though to others, makes it so; because he introduces a new business.
"Now the Plots of their Plays being narrow, and the persons few: one of
their Acts was written in a less compass than one of our well-wrought
Scenes; and yet they are often deficient even in this.
"To go no further than TERENCE. You find in the _Eunuch_, _ANTIPHO_
entering, single, in the midst of the Third Act, after _CHREMES_ and
_PYTHIAS_ were gone off. In the same play, you have likewise _DORIAS_
beginning the Fourth Act alone; and after she has made a relation of what
was done at the soldier's entertainment (which, by the way, was very
inartificial to do; because she was presumed to speak directly to the
Audience, and to acquaint them with what was necessary to be known: but
yet should have been so contrived by the Poet as to have been told by
persons of the Drama to one another, and so by them, to have come to the
knowledge of the people), she quits the Stage: and _PHAEDRIA_ enters
next, alone likewise. He also gives you an account of himself, and of his
returning from the country, in monologue: to which unnatural way of
Narration, TERENCE is subject in all his Plays.
"In his _Adelphi_ or 'Brothers,' _SYRUS_ and _DEMEA_ enter after the
Scene was broken by the departure of _SOSTRATA_, _GETA_, and _CANTHARA_;
and, indeed, you can scarce look into any of his Comedies, where you will
not presently discover the same interruption.
"And as they have failed both in [the] laying of the Plots, and managing
of them, swerving from the Rules of their own Art, by misrepresenting
Nature to us, in which they have ill satisfied one intention of a Play,
which was Delight: so in the Instructive part [pp. 513, 582-4], they have
erred worse. Instead of punishing vice, and rewarding virtue; they have
often shown a prosperous wickedness, and an unhappy piety. They have set
before us a bloody Image of Revenge, in _MEDEA_; and given her dragons to
convey her safe from punishment. A _PRIAM_ and _ASTYANAX_ murdered, and
_CASSANDRA_ ravished; and Lust and Murder ending in the victory of him
that acted them. In short, there is no indecorum in any of our modern
Plays; which, if I would excuse, I could not shadow with some Authority
from the Ancients.
"And one farther note of them, let me leave you! Tragedies and Comedies
were not writ then, as they are now, promiscuously, by the same person:
but he who found his genius bending to the one, never attempted the other
way. This is so plain, that I need not instance to you, that ARISTOPHANES,
PLAUTUS, TERENCE never, any of them, writ a Tragedy; AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES,
SOPHOCLES, and SENECA never meddled with Comedy. The Sock and Buskin were
not worn by the same Poet. Having then so much care to excel in one kind;
very little is to be pardoned them, if they miscarried in it.
"And this would lead me to the consideration of their Wit, had not CRITES
given me sufficient warning, not to be too bold in my judgement of it;
because (the languages being dead, and many of the customs and little
accidents on which it depended lost to us [p. 518]) we are not competent
judges of it. But though I grant that, here and there, we may miss the
application of a proverb or a custom; yet, a thing well said, will be Wit
in all languages: and, though it may lose something in the translation;
yet, to him who reads it in the original, 'tis still the same. He has an
Idea of its excellency; though it cannot pass from his mind into any
other expression or words than those in which he finds it.
"When _PHAEDRIA_, in the _Eunuch_, had a command from his mistress to be
absent two days; and encouraging himself to go through with it, said,
_Tandem ego non illa caream, si opus sit, vel totum triduum? PARMENO_ to
mock the softness of his master, lifting up his hands and eyes, cries
out, as it were in admiration, _Hui! universum triduum!_ The elegancy of
which _universum_, though it cannot be rendered in our language; yet
leaves an impression of the Wit on our souls.
"But this happens seldom in him [_i.e., TERENCE_]; in PLAUTUS oftner, who
is infinitely too bold in his metaphors and coining words; out of which,
many times, his Wit is nothing. Which, questionless, was one reason why
HORACE falls upon him so severely in those verses.
"_Sed Proavi nostri Plautinos el numeros et
Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrumque
Ne dicam stolidè_.
"For HORACE himself was cautious to obtrude [_in obtruding_] a new word
upon his readers: and makes custom and common use, the best measure of
receiving it into our writings,
"_Multa renascentur quae nunc cecidere, cadentque
Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus
Quem penes, arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi_.
"The not observing of this Rule, is that which the World has blamed in
our satirist CLEVELAND. To express a thing hard and unnaturally is his
New Way of Elocution. Tis true, no poet but may sometimes use a
_catachresis_. VIRGIL, does it,
"_Mistaque ridenti Colocasia fundet Acaniho_--
"in his Eclogue of _POLLIO_.
"And in his Seventh AEneid--
"_Mirantur et unda,
Miratur nemus, insuetam fulgentia longe,
Scuta virum fluvio, pictaque innare carinas_.
"And OVID once; so modestly, that he asks leave to do it.
"_Si verbo audacia, detur
Haud metuam summi dixisse Palatia coeli_
"calling the Court of JUPITER, by the name of AUGUSTUS his palace.
Though, in another place, he is more bold; where he says, _Et longas
visent Capitolia pompas_.
"But to do this always, and never be able to write a line without it,
though it may be admired by some few pedants, will not pass upon those
who know that _Wit is best conveyed to us in the most easy language: and
is most to be admired, when a great thought comes dressed in words so
commonly received, that it is understood by the meanest apprehensions; as
the best meat is the most easily digested_. But we cannot read a verse of
CLEVELAND's, without making a face at it; as if every word were a pill to
swallow. He gives us, many times, a hard nut to break our teeth, without a
kernel for our pains. So that there is this difference between his
_Satires_ and Doctor DONNE's: that the one [_DONNE_] gives us deep
thoughts in common language, though rough cadence; the other
[_CLEVELAND_] gives us common thoughts in abtruse words. 'Tis true, in
some places, his wit is independent of his words, as in that of the
_Rebel Scot_--
"Had CAIN been Scot, GOD would have changed his doom,
Not forced him wander, but confined him home.
"_Si sic, omnia dixisset!_ This is Wit in all languages. 'Tis like
MERCURY, never to be lost or killed. And so that other,
"For beauty, like white powder, makes no noise,
And yet the silent hypocrite destroys.
"You see the last line is highly metaphorical; but it is so soft and
gentle, that it does not shock us as we read it.
"But to return from whence I have digressed, to the consideration of the
Ancients' Writing and Wit; of which, by this time, you will grant us, in
some measure, to be fit judges.
"Though I see many excellent thoughts in SENECA: yet he, of them, who had
a genius most proper for the Stage, was OVID. He [_i.e., OVID_] had a way
of writing so fit to stir up a pleasing admiration and concernment, which
are the objects of a Tragedy; and to show the various movements of a soul
combating betwixt different passions: that, had he lived in our Age, or
(in his own) could have writ with our advantages, no man but must have
yielded to him; and therefore, I am confident the _MEDEA_ is none of his.
For, though I esteem it, for the gravity and sentiousness of it (which he
himself concludes to be suitable to a Tragedy, _Omne genus scripti
gravitate Tragadia, vincit_); yet it moves not my soul enough, to judge
that he, who, in the Epic way, wrote things so near the Drama (as the
stories of _MYRRHA,_ of _CAUNUS and BIBLIS,_ and the rest) should stir up
no more concernment, where he most endeavoured it.
"The masterpiece of SENECA, I hold to be that Scene in the _Troades_,
where _ULYSSES_ is seeking for _ASTYANAX,_ to kill him. There, you see
the tenderness of a mother so represented in _ANDROMACHE_, that it raises
compassion to a high degree in the reader; and bears the nearest
resemblance, of anything in their Tragedies, to the excellent Scenes of
Passion in SHAKESPEARE or in FLETCHER.
"For Love Scenes, you will find but few among them. Their Tragic poets
dealt not with that soft passion; but with Lust, Cruelty, Revenge,
Ambition, and those bloody actions they produced, which were more capable
of raising horror than compassion in an audience: leaving Love untouched,
whose gentleness would have tempered them; which is the most frequent of
all the passions, and which (being the private concernment of every
person) is soothed by viewing its own Image [p. 549] in a public
entertainment.
"Among their Comedies, we find a Scene or two of tenderness: and that,
where you would least expect it, in PLAUTUS. But to speak generally,
their lovers say little, when they see each others but anima mea! vita
mea! [Greek: zoae kai psuchae!] as the women, in JUVENAL's time, used to
cry out, in the fury of their kindness.
"Then indeed, to speak sense were an offence. Any sudden gust of passion,
as an ecstasy of love in an unexpected meeting, cannot better be expressed
than in a word and a sigh, breaking one another. Nature is dumb on such
occasions; and to make her speak, would be to represent her unlike
herself. But there are a thousand other concernments of lovers as
jealousies, complaints, contrivances, and the like; where, not to open
their minds at large to each other, were to be wanting to their own love,
and to the expectation of the audience: who watch the Movements of their
Minds, as much as the Changes of their Fortunes. For the Imaging of the
first [p. 549], is properly the work of a Poet; the latter, he borrows of
the Historian."
EUGENIUS was proceeding in that part of his discourse, when CRITES
interrupted him.
"I see," said he, "EUGENIUS and I are never likely to have this question
decided betwixt us: for he maintains the Moderns have acquired a _new
perfection_ in writing; I only grant, they have _altered the mode_ of it.
"HOMER describes his heroes, [as] men of great appetites; lovers of beef
broiled upon the coals, and good fellows: contrary to the practice of the
French romances, whose heroes neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep for love.
"VIRGIL makes _AENEAS_, a bold avower of his own virtues,
"_Sum pius AENEAS fama super aethera notus_;
"which, in the civility of our Poets, is the character of a _Fanfaron_ or
Hector. For with us, the Knight takes occasion to walk out, or sleep, to
avoid the vanity of telling his own story; which the trusty Squire is
ever to perform for him [p. 535].
"So, in their Love Scenes, of which EUGENIUS spoke last, the Ancients
were more hearty; we, the more talkative. They writ love, as it was then
the mode to make it.
"And I will grant thus much to EUGENIUS, that, perhaps, one of their
Poets, had he lived in our Age,
"_Si foret hoc nostrum fato delupsus in aevum_,
"as HORACE says of LUCILIUS, he had altered many things: not that they
were not natural before; but that he might accommodate himself to the Age
he lived in. Yet, in the meantime, we are not to conclude anything rashly
against those great men; but preserve to them, the dignity of Masters:
and give that honour to their memories, _quos libitina sacravit_; part of
which, we expect may be paid to us in future times."
This moderation of CRITES, as it was pleasing to all the company, so it
put an end to that dispute: which EUGENIUS, who seemed to have the better
of the argument, would urge no further.
But LISIDEIUS, after he had acknowledged himself of EUGENIUS his opinion,
concerning the Ancients; yet told him, "He had forborne till his discourse
was ended, to ask him, Why he preferred the English Plays above those of
other nations? and whether we ought not to submit our Stage to the
exactness of our next neighbours?"
"Though," said EUGENIUS, "I am, at all times, ready to defend the honour
of my country against the French; and to maintain, we are as well able to
vanquish them with our pens, as our ancestors have been with their swords:
yet, if you please!" added he, looking upon NEANDER, "I will commit this
cause to my friend's management. His opinion of our plays is the same
with mine. And besides, there is no reason that CRITES and I, who have
now left the Stage, should re-enter so suddenly upon it: which is against
the laws of Comedy."
"If the question had been stated," replied LISIDEIUS, "Who had writ best,
the French or English, forty years ago [_i.e., in_ 1625]? I should have
been of your opinion; and adjudged the honour to our own nation: but,
since that time," said he, turning towards NEANDER, "we have been so long
bad Englishmen, that we had not leisure to be good Poets. BEAUMONT [_d._
1615], FLETCHER [_d._ 1625], and JOHNSON [_d._ 1637], who were only
[_alone_] capable of bringing us to that degree of perfection which we
have, were just then leaving the world; as if, in an Age of so much
horror, Wit and those milder studies of humanity had no farther business
among us. But the Muses, who ever follow peace, went to plant in another
country. It was then, that the great Cardinal DE RICHELIEU began to take
them into his protection; and that, by his encouragement, CORNEILLE and
some other Frenchmen reformed their _Theatre_: which, before, was so much
below ours, as it now surpasses it, and the rest of Europe. But because
CRITES, in his discourse for the Ancients, has prevented [_anticipated_]
me by touching on many Rules of the Stage, which the Moderns have
borrowed from them; I shall only, in short, demand of you, 'Whether you
are not convinced that, of all nations, the French have best observed
them?'
"In the Unity of TIME, you find them so scrupulous, that it yet remains a
dispute among their Poets, 'Whether the artificial day, of twelve hours
more or less, be not meant by ARISTOTLE, rather that the natural one of
twenty-four?' and consequently, 'Whether all Plays ought not to be
reduced into that compass?' This I can testify, that in all their dramas
writ within these last twenty years [1645-1665] and upwards, I have not
observed any, that have extended the time to thirty hours.
"In the Unity of PLACE, they are full[y] as scrupulous. For many of their
critics limit it to that spot of ground, where the Play is supposed to
begin. None of them exceed the compass of the same town or city.
"The Unity of ACTION in all their plays, is yet more conspicuous. For
they do not burden them with Under Plots, as the English do; which is the
reason why many Scenes of our Tragi-Comedies carry on a Design that is
nothing of kin to the main Plot: and that we see two distincts webs in a
Play, like those in ill-wrought stuffs; and two Actions (that is, two
Plays carried on together) to the confounding of the audience: who,
before they are warm in their concernments for one part, are diverted to
another; and, by that means, expouse the interest of neither.
"From hence likewise, it arises that one half of our Actors [_i.e., the
Characters in a Play_] are not known to the other. They keep their
distances, as if they were _MONTAGUES_ and _CAPULETS_; and seldom begin
an acquaintance till the last Scene of the fifth Act, when they are all
to meet on the Stage.
"There is no _Theatre_ in the world has anything so absurd as the English
Tragi-Comedy. 'Tis a Drama of our own invention; and the fashion of it is
enough to proclaim it so. Here, a course of mirth; there, another of
sadness and passion; a third of honour; and the fourth, a duel. Thus, in
two hours and a half, we run through all the fits of Bedlam.
"The French afford you as much variety, on the same day; but they do it
not so unseasonably, or _mal apropos_ as we. Our Poets present you the
Play and the Farce together; and our Stages still retain somewhat of the
original civility of the 'Red Bull.'
"_Atque ursum et pugiles media inter carmina poscunt._
"'The end of Tragedies or serious Plays,' says ARISTOTLE, 'is to beget
Admiration [_wonderment_], Compassion, or Concernment.' But are not mirth
and compassion things incompatible? and is it not evident, that the Poet
must, of necessity, destroy the former, by intermingling the latter? that
is, he must ruin the sole end and object of his Tragedy, to introduce
somewhat that is forced in, and is not of the body of it! Would you not
think that physician mad! who having prescribed a purge, should
immediately order you to take restringents upon it?
"But to leave our Plays, and return to theirs. I have noted one great
advantage they have had in the Plotting of their Tragedies, that is, they
are always grounded upon some known History, according to that of HORACE,
_Ex noto fictum carm n sequar_: and in that, they have so imitated the
Ancients, that they have surpassed them. For the Ancients, as was
observed before [p. 522], took for the foundation of their Plays some
poetical fiction; such as, under that consideration, could move but
little concernment in the audience, because they already knew the event
of it. But the French[man] goes farther.
"_Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falso remiscet,
Primo ne medium, media ne discrepet imum._
"He so interweaves Truth with probable Fiction, that he puts a pleasing
fallacy upon us; mends the intrigues of Fate; and dispenses with the
severity of History, to reward that virtue, which has been rendered to
us, there, unfortunate. Sometimes the Story has left the success so
doubtful, that the writer is free, by the privilege of a Poet, to take
that which, of two or more relations, will best suit his Design. As, for
example, the death of CYRUS; whom JUSTIN and some others report to have
perished in the Scythian War; but XENOPHON affirms to have died in his
bed of extreme old age.
"Nay more, when the event is past dispute, even then, we are willing to
be deceived: and the Poet, if he contrives it with appearance of truth,
has all the audience of his party [_on his side_], at least, during the
time his Play is acting. So naturally, we are kind to virtue (when our
own interest is not in question) that we take It up, as the general
concernment of mankind.
"On the other side, if you consider the Historical Plays of SHAKESPEARE;
they are rather so many Chronicles of Kings, or the business, many times,
of thirty or forty years crampt into a Representation of two hours and a
half: which is not to imitate or paint Nature, but rather to draw her in
miniature, to take her in little; to look upon her, through the wrong of
a perspective [_telescope_], and receive her Images [pp. 528, 549], not
only much less, but infinitely more imperfect than the Life. This,
instead of making a Play delightful, renders it ridiculous.
"_Quodeunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi._
"For the Spirit of Man cannot be satisfied but with Truth, or, at least,
Verisimilitude: and a Poem is to contain, if not [Greek ta hetuma], yet
[Greek: hetmoisiu homia]; as one of the Greek poets has expressed it
[_See_ p. 589.].
"Another thing, in which the French differ from us and from the
Spaniards, is that they do not embarrass or cumber themselves with too
much Plot. They only represent so much of a Story as will constitute One
whole and great Action sufficient for a Play. We, who undertake more, do
but multiply _Adventures [pp. 541, 552]; which (not being produced from
one another, as Effects from Causes, but, barely, following) constitute
many Actions in the Drama, and consequently make it many Plays.
"But, by pursuing close[ly] one Argument, which is not cloyed with many
Turns; the French have gained more liberty for Verse, in which they
write. They have leisure to dwell upon a subject which deserves it; and
to represent the passions [p. 542] (which we have acknowledged to be the
Poet's work) without being hurried from one thing to another, as we are
in the plays of CALDERON; which we have seen lately upon our theatres,
under the name of Spanish Plots.
"I have taken notice but of one Tragedy of ours; whose Plot has that
uniformity and unity of Design in it, which I have commended in the
French; and that is, ROLLO, or rather under the name of ROLLO, the story
of BASSANIUS _and_ GOETA, in HERODIAN. There, indeed, the plot is neither
large nor intricate; but just enough to fill the minds of the audience,
not to cloy them. Besides, you see it founded on the truth of History;
only the time of the Action is not reduceable to the strictness of the
Rules. And you see, in some places, a little farce mingled, which is
below the dignity of the other parts. And in this, all our Poets are
extremely peccant; even BEN. JOHNSON himself, in _SEFANUS_ and
_CATILINE,_ has given this Oleo [_hodge-podge_] of a Play, this unnatural
mixture of Comedy and Tragedy; which, to me, sounds just as ridiculous as
_The History of DAVID, with the merry humours of GOLIAS_. In _SEFANUS_,
you may take notice of the Scene between _LIVIA_ and the _Physician;_
which is a pleasant satire upon the artificial helps of beauty. In
_CATILINE_, you may see the Parliament of Women; the little envies of
them to one another; and all that passes betwixt _CURIO_ and _FULVIA_.
Scenes, admirable in their kind, but of an ill mingle with the rest.
"But I return again to the French Writers: who, as I have said, do not
burden themselves too much with Plot; which has been reproached to them
by an Ingenious Person of our nation, as a fault. For he says, 'They
commonly make but one person considerable in a Play. They dwell upon him
and his concernments; while the rest of the persons are only subservient
to set him off.' If he intends this by it, that there is one person in
the Play who is of greater dignity than the rest; he must tax not only
theirs, but those of the Ancients, and (which he would be loath to do)
the best of ours. For it 'tis impossible but that one person must be more
conspicuous in it than any other; and consequently the greatest share in
the Action must devolve on him. We see it so in the management of all
affairs. Even in the most equal aristocracy, the balance cannot be so
justly poised, but some one will be superior to the rest, either in
parts, fortune, interest, or the consideration of some glorious exploit;
which will reduce [_lead_] the greatest part of business into his hands.
"But if he would have us to imagine, that in exalting of one character,
the rest of them are neglected; and that all of them have not some share
or other in the Action of the Play: I desire him to produce any of
CORNEILLE's Tragedies, wherein every person, like so many servants in a
well governed family, has _not_ some employment; and who is _not_
necessary to the carrying on of the Plot, or, at least, to your
understanding it.
"There are, indeed, some protactic persons [_precursors_] in the
Ancients; whom they make use of in their Plays, either to hear or give
the Relation; but the French avoid this with great address; making their
Narrations only to, or by such, who are some way interessed
[_interested_] in the main Design.
"And now I am speaking of RELATIONS; I cannot take a fitter opportunity
to add this, in favour of the French, that they often use them with
better judgement, more _apropos_ than the English do.
"Not that I commend NARRATIONS in general; but there are two sorts of
them:
"One, of those things which are antecedent to the Play, and are related
to make the Conduct of it more clear to us. But 'tis a fault to choose
such subjects for the Stage, as will inforce us upon that rock: because
we see that they are seldom listened to by the audience; and that it is,
many times, the ruin of the play. For, being once let pass without
attention, the audience can never recover themselves to understand the
Plot; and, indeed, it is somewhat unreasonable that they should be put to
so much trouble, as that, to comprehend what passes in their sight, they
must have recourse to what was done, perhaps ten or twenty years ago.
"But there is another sort of RELATIONS, that is, of things happening in
the Action of a Play, and supposed to be done behind the scenes: and this
is, many times, both convenient and beautiful. For by it, the French avoid
the tumult, which we are subject to in England, by representing duels,
battles, and such like; which renders our Stage too like the theatres
where they fight for prizes [_i.e., theatres used as Fencing Schools, for
Assaults of Arms, &c._]. For what is more ridiculous than to represent an
army, with a drum and five men behind it? All which, the hero on the
other side, is to drive in before him. Or to see a duel fought, and one
slain with two or three thrusts of the foils? which we know are so
blunted, that we might give a man an hour to kill another, in good
earnest, with them.
"I have observed that in all our Tragedies, the audience cannot forbear
laughing, when the Actors are to die. 'Tis the most comic part of the
whole Play.
"All Passions may be lively Represented on the Stage, if, to the well
writing of them, the Actor supplies a good commanded voice, and limbs
that move easily, and without stiffness: but there are many Actions,
which can never be Imitated to a just height.
"Dying, especially, is a thing, which none but a Roman gladiator could
naturally perform upon the Stage, when he did not Imitate or Represent
it, but naturally Do it. And, therefore, it is better to omit the
Representation of it. The words of a good writer, which describe it
lively, will make a deeper impression of belief in us, than all the Actor
can persuade us to, when he seems to fall dead before us: as the Poet, in
the description of a beautiful garden, or meadow, will please our
Imagination more than the place itself will please our sight. When we see
death Represented, we are convinced it is but fiction; but when we hear it
Related, our eyes (the strongest witnesses) are wanting, which might have
undeceived us: and we are all willing to favour the sleight, when the
Poet does not too grossly impose upon us.
"They, therefore, who imagine these Relations would make no concernment
in the audience, are deceived, by confounding them with the other; which
are of things antecedent to the Play. Those are made often, in cold
blood, as I may say, to the audience; but these are warmed with our
concernments, which are, before, awakened in the Play.
"What the philosophers say of Motion, that 'when it is once begun, it
continues of itself; and will do so, to Eternity, without some stop be
put to it,' is clearly true, on this occasion. The Soul, being moved with
the Characters and Fortunes of those Imaginary Persons, continues going of
its own accord; and we are no more weary to hear what becomes of them,
when they are not on the Stage, than we are to listen to the news of an
absent mistress.
"But it is objected, 'That if one part of the Play may be related; then,
why not all?'
"I answer. Some parts of the Action are more fit to be Represented; some,
to be Related. CORNEILLE says judiciously, 'That the Poet is not obliged
to expose to view all particular actions, which conduce to the principal.
He ought to select such of them to be Seen, which will appear with the
greatest beauty, either by the magnificence of the shew, or the vehemence
of the passions which they produce, or some other charm which they have in
them: and let the rest arrive to the audience, by Narration.'
"'Tis a great mistake in us, to believe the French present no part of the
Action upon the Stage. Every alteration, or crossing of a Design; every
new sprung passion, and turn of it, is a part of the Action, and much the
noblest: except we conceive nothing to be Action, till they come to blows;
as if the painting of the Hero's Mind were not more properly the Poet's
work, than, the strength of his Body.
"Nor does this anything contradict the opinion of HORACE, where he tells
us
"_Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem
Quam quae sunt occulis subjecta fidelibus._
"For he says, immediately after,
"_Non tamen intus
Digna, geri promes in scenam, Multaque tolles
Ex occulis, quae mox narret facundia praesens._
"Among which 'many,' he recounts some,
"_Nec pueros coram populo MEDEA trucidet,
Aut in avem PROGNE mutetur, CADMUS in anguem, &c._
"that is, 'Those actions, which, by reason of their cruelty, will cause
aversion in us; or (by reason of their impossibility) unbelief [pp. 496,
545], ought either wholly to be avoided by a Poet, or only delivered by
Narration.' To which, we may have leave to add, such as 'to avoid
tumult,' as was before hinted [pp. 535, 544]; or 'to reduce the Plot into
a more reasonable compass of time,' or 'for defect of beauty in them,' are
rather to be Related than presented to the eye.
"Examples of all these kinds, are frequent; not only among all the
Ancients, but in the best received of our English poets.
"We find BEN. JOHNSON using them in his _Magnetic Lady_, where one comes
out from dinner, and Relates the quarrels and disorders of it; to save
the indecent appearing of them on the Stage, and to abbreviate the story:
and this, in express imitation of TERENCE, who had done the same before
him, in his _Eunuch_; where _PYTHIAS_ makes the like Relation of what had
happened within, at the soldiers' entertainment.
"The Relations, likewise, of _SEFANUS_'s death and the prodigies before
it, are remarkable. The one of which, was hid from sight, to avoid the
horror and tumult of the Representation: the other, to shun the
introducing of things impossible to be believed.
"In that excellent Play, the _King and no King_, FLETCHER goes yet
farther. For the whole unravelling of the Plot is done by Narration in
the Fifth Act, after the manner of the Ancients: and it moves great
concernment in the audience; though it be only a Relation of what was
done many years before the Play.
"I could multiply other instances; but these are sufficient to prove,
that there is no error in chosing a subject which requires this sort of
Narration. In the ill managing of them, they may.
"But I find, I have been too long in this discourse; since the French
have many other excellencies, not common to us.
"As that, _you never see any of their Plays end with a Conversion, or
simple Change of Will_: which is the ordinary way our Poets use [_are
accustomed_] to end theirs.
"It shows little art in the conclusion of a Dramatic Poem, when they who
have hindered the felicity during the Four Acts, desist from it in the
Fifth, without some powerful cause to take them off: and though I deny
not but such reasons may be found; yet it is a path that is cautiously to
be trod, and the Poet is to be sure he convinces the audience, that the
motive is strong enough.
"As, for example, the conversion of the _Usurer_ in the _Scornful Lady_,
seems to me, a little forced. For, being a Usurer, which implies a Lover
of Money in the highest degree of covetousness (and such, the Poet has
represented him); the account he gives for the sudden change, is, that he
has been duped by the wild young fellow: which, in reason, might render
him more wary another time, and make him punish himself with harder fare
and coarser clothes, to get it up again. But that he should look upon it
as a judgement, and so repent; we may expect to hear of in a Sermon, but
I should never endure it in a Play.
"I pass by this. Neither will I insist upon _the care they take, that no
person, after his first entrance, shall ever appear; but the business
which brings upon the Stage, shall be evident_. Which, if observed, must
needs render all the events of the Play more natural. For there, you see
the probability of every accident, in the cause that produced it; and
that which appears chance in the Play, will seem so reasonable to you,
that you will there find it almost necessary: so that in the Exits of
their Actors, you have a clear account of their purpose and design in the
next Entrance; though, if the Scene be well wrought, the event will
commonly deceive you. 'For there is nothing so absurd,' says CORNEILLE,
'as for an Actor to leave the Stage, only because he has no more to say!'
"I should now speak of _the beauty of their Rhyme_, and the just reason I
have to prefer _that way of writing_, in Tragedies, _before ours, in Blank
Verse_. But, because it is partly received by us, and therefore, not
altogether peculiar to them; I will say no more of it, in relation to
their Plays. For our own; I doubt not but it will exceedingly beautify
them: and I can see but one reason why it should not generally obtain;
that is, because our Poets write so ill in it [pp. 503, 578, 598]. This,
indeed, may prove a more prevailing argument, than all others which are
used to destroy it: and, therefore, I am only troubled when great and
judicious Poets, and those who are acknowledged such, have writ or spoke
against it. As for others, they are to be answered by that one sentence
of an ancient author. _Sed ut primo ad consequendos eos quos priores
ducimus accendimur, ita ubi aut praeteriri, aut aequari eos posse
desperavimus, studium cum spe senescit: quod, scilicet, assequi non
potest, sequi desinit; praeteritoque eo in quo eminere non possumus,
aliquid in quo nitamur conquirimus_."