_Conversation on literature._
The favorite loved men of genius, without pretending to be a genius
herself. On her toilette, among jewels and other female ornaments,
the novels and pamphlets of the time were to be met with, and she
talk'd of them wonderfully well. From a Cavagnol and Biribi she passed
with ease and propriety to the course of an academician, or other
learned man: and every body confessed, that the natural delicacy of
her understanding made her discover beauties or defects in those
several works, which had sometimes escaped their lucubrations. Mirzoza
astonished them by her penetration, embarrassed them by her questions;
but never abused the advantages which her wit and beauty gave her: and
people were not sorry for being detected in the wrong by her. Towards
the close of an evening, which she had passed with Mangogul, Selim
came, and she sent for Ricaric. The African author has reserved Selim's
character for another place: but he informs us here, that Ricaric was
a member of the academy of Congo; that his erudition had not hindered
him from being a man of wit; that he had acquired a profound knowledge
of former ages; that he had a scrupulous attachment to the ancient
rules which he cited eternally; that he was a machine by principles;
and that it was impossible to be a more zealous partisan of the first
writers of Congo; but more especially of one Miroufla, who, about 3040
years before, had composed a sublime poem in the Caffrian language, on
the conquest of a great forest, out of which the Caffres expelled the
monkeys, who were in possession of it from time immemorial. Ricaric
had translated it into Congese, and published a very beautiful edition
of it, illustrated with notes, Scholia, various readings, and all the
embellishments of a Benedictine edition. Besides, they had of him
two bad tragedies writ according to all the rules, a panegyric on
crocodiles, and some opera's.
"I bring you, madam," says Ricaric with a low bow, "a novel, which is
ascribed to the marchioness Tamazi; but in which we unluckily discover
the hand of Mulhazen, the answer of our president Lambadago to the
discourse of the poet Tuxigraphus, which we received yesterday; and
the Tamerlan of this last."
"This is admirable!" says Mangogul. "The press goes on incessantly; and
if the husbands of Congo performed their duty as well as the writers,
in less than ten years I might be enabled to set sixteen hundred
thousand men on foot, and promise myself the conquest of Monoémugi. We
will read the novel at leisure. Now let us see the harangue, especially
that part which relates to me."
Ricaric turn'd it over, and light on this passage. "The ancestors of
our august emperor have rendered themselves illustrious without doubt.
But Mangogul, greater than they, has prepared quite different subjects
of admiration for future ages. What do I say of admiration? Let us
speak more accurately; of incredulity. If our ancestors had cause to
assert, that posterity would esteem as fables the wonders of Kanaglou's
reign; how much more reason have we to think, that our descendants will
refuse credit to the prodigies of wisdom and valor, of which we are
witnesses?"
"My poor Mr. Lambadago," says the Sultan, "you are but retailer of
phrases. What I have reason to believe, is that your successors will
one day eclipse my glory by that of my son, as you make my father's
vanish before mine; and so on, as long as there will be one academician
left. What think you, Mr. Ricaric?"
"Prince, all that I can say," answered Ricaric, "is, that the passage
which I have read to your highness, was extremely relished by the
public."
"So much the worse," replied Mangogul. "Then the true taste of
eloquence is lost in Congo? It was not thus that the sublime Homilogo
praised the great Aben."
"Prince," said Ricaric, "true eloquence is nothing but the art of
speaking in a noble, and at the same time agreeable and perswasive
manner."
"Add, and sensible," continued the Sultan, "and upon this principle
judge your friend Lambadago. With all the respect that I have for
modern eloquence, he is but a false declaimer."
"But, prince," answered Ricaric, "without passing the bounds of that,
which I owe your highness, will you permit me----"
"What I give you full permission to do," replied Mangogul smartly, "is
to respect good sense beyond my highness, and to tell me sincerely, if
an eloquent man can ever dispense himself from shewing some signs of
it."
"No, prince," answered Ricaric, and he was going to string up a long
bead-roll of authorities, and cite all the rhetoricians of Afric, the
two Arabia's, and China, in order to prove the most incontestable thing
in the world, when he was interrupted by Selim.
"All your authors," said the courtier, "will never prove that Lambadago
is not a very awkward and indecent haranguer. Pray, Mr. Ricaric, excuse
these expressions. I honour you in a singular manner; but indeed,
laying aside the prejudice of confraternity, can you avoid allowing
with us, that, as the Sultan now reigning is just, amiable, beneficent,
and a great warrior, he does not stand in need of the embroidery of
your rhetoricians, to be as great as his ancestors; and that a son, who
is exalted by depressing his father and grandfather, would be very
ridiculously vain, if he were not sensible, that in embellishing him
with one hand, he is disfigured by the other. In order to prove that
Mangogul is as well-made a man as any of his predecessors, do you think
it necessary to knock off the heads of the statues of Erguebzed and
Kanaglou?"
"Mr. Ricaric," says Mirzoza, "Selim is in the right. Let every one
enjoy what belongs to him, and let us not make the public suspect, that
our panegyrics are a sort of robberies committed on the memory of our
fathers: declare this from me in the next full meeting of the academy."
"People are too long in possession of this custom," replied Selim, "to
expect any benefit from this advice."
"I believe, Sir, that you are mistaken," said Ricaric to Selim. "The
academy is still the sanctuary of good taste; and its best times do
not afford us either philosophers or poets, whom we cannot match at
this day. Our stage has passed, and may still pass for the first stage
of Africa. Oh! what a work is the Tamerlane of Tuxigraphus! 'Tis the
pathetic of Eurisope, and the loftiness of Azopha. 'Tis antiquity quite
pure."
"I saw," said the favorite, "the first representation of Tamerlane;
and join with you in thinking the work well conducted, the dialogue
elegant, and the propriety of characters well observed."
"What difference, madam," interrupted Ricaric, "between such an author
as Tuxigraphus, fatted with the perusal of the ancients, and most part
of our moderns."
"Yet these moderns," said Selim, "whom you demolish here at your ease,
are not so contemptible as you pretend. What, don't you find genius,
invention, fire, details, characters, and fine strokes of wit in them?
And of what importance are rules to me, provided a writer pleases me?
Certainly it is neither the observations of the wise Almudir and the
learned Abaldok, nor the art of poetry of the deep-read Facardin, which
I have never perused, that makes me admire the pieces of Aboulcazem,
Muhardar, Albaboukre, and many other Sarracens! Is there any other rule
but the imitation of nature; and have we not as good eyes as those who
studied her?"
"Nature," answered Ricaric, "presents us with different faces every
instant. They are all true, but all are not equally beautiful. It is
in these works, on which you seem not to set any great value, that we
should learn to choose. They are collections of their own experiments,
and also of those which had been made before them. Whatever
strength of understanding a person may have, things must be observed
successively; and one man cannot hope to see in the short course of
his life, all that had been discovered to his time. Otherwise we may
assert, that any one science might owe its birth, progress, and utmost
perfection to one head: which is contrary to experience."
"Mr. Ricaric," replied Selim, "the only consequence that I can draw
from your argument is, that as the moderns are in possession of
treasures amassed up to their times, they must be richer than the
ancients; or, if this comparison displeases you, that as they are
raised on the shoulders of those giants, they ought to see farther than
them. And in fact, what is their natural philosophy, their astronomy,
their navigation, their mechanics, their calculations, in comparison
of ours? And why may not our eloquence and poesy have the superiority
likewise?"
"Selim," said the Sultana, "Ricaric will, at some proper time, give you
the reasons of this difference. He will tell you why our tragedy is
inferior to that of the ancients: for my part, I willingly undertake
to shew you, that it is so. I will not accuse you," continued she, "of
not having read the ancients. Your mind is too well adorned, to be
ignorant of their stage. Now, abstracting from certain notions relative
to their customs, manners and religion, which shock you purely because
circumstances are changed; you will allow that their subjects are
noble, well-chosen, and interesting; that the action naturally develops
itself; that their dialogue is simple, and very near nature; that the
unravelling of their plot is not strained; that the interest is not
divided, nor the action overloaded with episodes. Transport yourself in
idea to the isle of Alindala; examine every thing that passes there;
attend to all that is said, from the moment that young Ibrahim and
the crafty Forfanti landed thereon: approach the cave of the wretched
Polipsile; lose not a word of her complaints; and then tell me, if any
one circumstance draws you out of the illusion. Name me a modern piece
that can bear the same examination, and pretend to the same degree of
perfection; and I grant you the victory."
"By Brama," cried the Sultan, yawning, "madam has made an academical
dissertation."
"I do not understand the rules," continued the favorite; "and much
less the learned words, in which they are expressed: but I know that
nothing but the _True_ can please and touch. I also know that the
perfection of a dramatic piece consists in the exact imitation of an
action, so that the spectator, continually deceived, imagines he is
present at the very action. Now, pray, is there any thing like this in
the tragedies which you extol to us?
"Do you admire the manner in which they are conducted? It is generally
so complicated, that it must be a miracle, that so many things should
happen in so little time. The ruin or preservation of an empire, the
marriage of a princess, the loss of a prince; all this is done with
the turn of a hand. Is the subject a conspiracy? It is sketch'd out
in the first act; it is connected and strengthened in the second; all
the measures are taken, the obstacles removed, the conspirators are
quite ready for action in the third; immediately there shall be a
revolt, an engagement, perhaps a pitch'd battle; and you will call this
conduct, interest, fire, verisimilitude: I can never excuse it, in you
especially, who are not ignorant, what it sometimes costs to put an end
to a pitiful intrigue; and how much time the smallest political affair
absorbs in taking measures, in previous meetings, and in deliberations."
"I grant, madam," answered Selim, "that our pieces are a little
overcharged; but it is a necessary evil: without the assistance of
episodes, the audience would be chill'd."
"That is to say, that in order to give spirit to the representation of
a fact, it must be made such as it neither is, nor ought to be. This
is ridiculous in the highest degree; unless it be still more absurd
to make the violins play up rigadoons and country-dances, while the
audience are in deep concern for a prince, who is on the point of
losing his mistress, his throne and his life."
"Madam, you are are in the right," said Mangogul: "the music should be
mournful on those occasions; and I go to order you some of that kind."
Mangogul rose up, went out, and the conversation was continued between
Selim, Ricaric, and the favorite.
"At least, madam," replied Selim, "you will not deny, that if the
episodes draw us out of the illusion, the dialogue leads us back into
it. I see none who understand it like our tragic writers."
"Then, nobody understands it," resumed Mirzoza. "The emphasis, wit and
affected decorations, which predominate in it, are a thousand leagues
distant from nature. In vain does the author endeavour to conceal
himself, my eyes are penetrating and I discover him incessantly behind
the persons of the drama. Cinna, Sertorius, Maximus, and Æmilius, are
Corneille's speaking trumpets in almost every page. This is not the way
that people converse in our ancient Sarracen authors. Ricaric will, if
you desire it, translate you some scenes out of them; and then you will
hear pure nature speaking by their mouths. I could willingly say to the
moderns: 'Gentlemen, instead of dealing out wit to your personages on
every occasion, put them into such circumstances as must inspire them
with some.'"
"After what madam has declared on the management and the dialogue of
our drama's; there is no great probability," says Selim; "that she
will shew indulgence to the plots."
"No certainly," replied the favorite: "there are a hundred bad for one
good. This is not brought on properly, that is quite miraculous. Is
an author encumbered with a personage, which he has drag'd from scene
to scene thro' five acts, he dispatches him with a stab of a ponyard:
every body falls to crying, and I burst into laughter. Besides, did
mortals ever speak as we declaim? Do kings and princes walk otherwise
than a well-bred man? Have they ever gesticulated like persons
possessed or raging mad? Do princesses speak in a shrill squeaking
tone? It is generally supposed that we have carried tragedy to a
high degree of perfection; and I on the contrary think it is next to
demonstration, that of all the kinds of literary works, to which the
Africans have applied themselves in these latter ages, this is the
most imperfect."
The favorite was advanced thus far in her sally against our theatrical
pieces, when Mangogul returned. "Madam," said he, "you will oblige me
in continuing. You see I have a secret to abridge a poetical subject,
when I find it tedious."
"I suppose," continued the favorite, "a person just arrived from
Angola, who had never heard a play mentioned, but otherwise does not
want good sense and breeding, has some acquaintance with the courts of
princes, the intrigues of courtiers, the jealousies of ministers, and
the double dealings of women; to whom I say in confidence 'My friend,
there are terrible commotions actually in the Seraglio. The prince,
dissatisfied with his son, in whom he suspects a passion for the
Manimonbanda, is a man capable of taking the most cruel vengeance of
them both. This adventure will, in all probability, be attended with
dismal consequences. If you choose it, I will make you an eye-witness
of all that passes.' He accepts my offer, and I carry him into a box
screen'd by a blind, from whence he sees the stage, which he takes for
the Sultan's palace, Do you believe, notwithstanding the serious air
I put on, that this person's illusion can last a moment? Will you not
rather agree with me, that the stiff-affected carriage of the actors,
the oddity of their dress, the extravagance of their gestures, the
emphasis of a singular language in rhyme and cadence, and a thousand
other shocking dissonances, must make him laugh in my face before the
first scene is over, and tell me either that I make game of him, or
that the prince and all his court are mad."
"I own," said Selim, "that this supposition strikes me: but may I not
observe to you, that people go to the play-house, fully perswaded that
they are to see the imitation of an event, and not the event itself."
"And ought that perswasion," replied Mirzoza, "to hinder the players
from representing the event in the most natural manner?"
"All this means, madam," interrupted Mangogul, "that you put yourself
at the head of the censors."
"And if your opinion be received," continued Selim, "the empire is
threatened with the decay of good taste; barbarism will revive, and we
are in danger of relapsing into the ignorance of the ages of Mamurrha
and Orondado."
"My lord, pray have no such apprehensions. I hate peevish humors, and
will not add to their number. Besides, I have the glory of his highness
too much at heart, to think of ever attempting to tarnish the splendor
of his reign. But if credit were given to us, is it not true, Mr.
Ricaric, that literature would shine with greater lustre?"
"How," said Mangogul, "have you not a memorial on this subject to
present to my Seneschal?"
"No, sir," answered Ricaric; "but after having thanked your highness
in behalf of the Literati, for the new inspector, which you have given
them; I would most humbly remonstrate to your Seneschal, that the
choice of learned men appointed to revise manuscripts is an affair
of great nicety: that this trust is committed to persons, who seem
to me very much inferior to their employ; and from thence results a
crowd of evil effects, such as curtailing good works, cramping the
best genius's, who not being at liberty to write in their own way,
either write not at all, or send their productions with considerable
sums to foreigners; giving a bad opinion of those topicks which are
prohibited to be discussed, and a thousand other inconveniencies,
which it would be too tedious to mention to your highness. I would
advise him to retrench the pensions of certain literary leaches, who
are always craving unmercifully; I mean glossators, antiquaries,
commentators, and others of this stamp, who would be very useful,
if they did their business well; but who are got into the wretched
custom of passing over obscure places, and of dwelling upon passages
that admit of no difficulty. I would have him be very attentive to
suppress almost all posthumous works; and not to suffer the memory of
a great author to be tarnished by the covetousness of a bookseller,
who collects and publishes, a long time after a man's death, such
works as he had condemned to oblivion in his lifetime." "And I,"
continued the favorite, "would point out to him a small number of men
of distinguished merit, such as Mr. Ricaric, on whom he may bestow
your benefactions. Is it not somewhat surprising, that the poor man
has no provision made for him, while the precious chiromancer of the
Manimonbanda receives a thousand sequins a year from your treasury."
"Well, madam,", answered Mangogul, "I assign Mr. Ricaric the like sum
on my coffers, in consideration of the wonderful things you tell me of
him."
"Mr. Ricaric," said the favorite, "I also must do something for you:
in your favor I sacrifice the small resentment of my self-love; and
in consideration of the recompence which Mangogul has granted to your
merit, I forget the injury he has done me."
"Pray, madam, may I ask you what that injury is?" replied Mangogul.
"You may, Sir, and I will tell you. You yourself make us embark in a
conversation on the _Belles-Lettres_: you begin by a piece of modern
eloquence, which is not extraordinary; and when, to oblige you, we
prepare to pursue the disagreeable argument which you have started,
you are seized with uneasiness and yawning, you teize yourself in your
seat, you change your posture a hundred times, without finding one
easy one: tired in fine of keeping your countenance, tho' a sad one,
you come to a sudden resolution, you get up and disappear: and then,
whither do you go? Perhaps to give ear to a Toy!"
"I own the fact, madam, but I see nothing in it that should give
offence. If a man happens to be disgusted at fine things, and amuse
himself with hearing bad, so much the worse for him. This unjust
preference takes nothing from the merit of what he has quitted: he only
declares himself a bad judge. To this I could add, madam, that while
you were labouring hard at Selim's conversion, I was working with no
better success to procure you a castle. In fine, if I must be culpable,
since you have pronounc'd me so, I can assure you that you have had
your revenge at the very time."
"Pray, how that?" said the favorite. "Thus it is," answered the Sultan.
"In order to refresh myself from the fatigue of the academical
sitting which I had undergone, I went to examine some Toys."----"Well,
prince"----"Well, I never heard such insipid creatures as the two
which I light upon."----"This gives me the highest joy," replied the
favorite.----They both fell to talking an unintelligible language. I
have perfectly well retained every thing they said; but let me die, if
I understand a word of it.