the Historian of _Peru_ tells us, _that there were no obscenities in
their comedy_, nor on what an encomiast of _China_ pretends, _that
there is not so much as an obscene word in all their language_[7]: as
being sensible, that though indeed these must needs be considerable
abatements to the _humour_ of their comic scenes, yet, their ingenuity
might possibly find means to remedy these defects by the invention and
dextrous application of the _double entendre_, which, on our stage, is
found to supply the place of rank _obscenity_, and, indeed, to do its
office of exciting _laughter_ almost as well.
But, as I said, there is no occasion for this _argument_. We may
venture, without the help of it, to join these authorities to _that_
of Terence; which, together, enable us to conclude very fully, in
opposition to the general sentiment, that _ridicule_ is not of the
_essence of comedy_[8].
But, because the general practice of the _Greek and Roman theatres_,
which strongly countenance the other opinion, may still be thought
to outweigh this single _Latin poet_, together with all the _eastern
and western barbarians_, that can be thrown into the balance, let me
go one step further, and, by explaining the rise and occasion of this
_practice_, demonstrate, that, in the present case, their authority is,
in fact, of no moment.
The form of the Greek, from whence the Roman and our drama is taken,
though generally _improved_ by reflexion and just criticism, yet, like
so many other great inventions, was, in its original, the _product_ of
pure chance. Each of its species had sprung out of a _chorus-song_,
which was afterwards incorporated into the legitimate drama, and found
essential to its true form. But _reason_, which saw to establish
what was _right_ in this fortuitous conformation of the drama, did
not equally succeed in detecting and separating what was _wrong_. For
the _occasion_ of this chorus-song, in their religious festivities,
was widely different: the business _at one time_, being to express
their gratitude, in celebrating the praises of their gods and heroes;
at _another_, to indulge their mirth, in jesting and sporting among
themselves. The character of their drama, which had its rise from
hence,[9] conformed exactly to the difference of these _occasions_.
_Tragedy_, through all its several successive stages of improvement, was
serious and even solemn. And a gay or rather buffoon spirit was the
characteristic of _comedy_.
We see, then, the _genius_ of these two poems was accidentally fixed
in agreement to their respective _originals_; consequent writers
contenting themselves to embellish and perfect, not _change_, the
primary form. The practice of the ancient stage is then of no further
authority, than as it accords to just criticism. The solemn cast of
their _tragedy_, indeed, bears the test, and is found to be suitable
to its real nature. The same does not appear of the burlesque form of
_comedy_; no reason having been given, why _it_ must, of necessity,
have the _ridiculous_ for its object. Nay the effects of improved
criticism on the later Greek comedy give a presumption of the direct
contrary. For, in proportion to the gradual refinement of this
_species_ in the hands of its greatest masters, the buffoon cast of
the comic drama was insensibly dropt and even grew into a severity,
which departed at length very widely from the original idea. The
admirable scholar of THEOPHRASTUS, who had been tutored in the exact
study of human life, saw so much of the genuine character of true
comedy, that he cleansed it, at once, from the greater part of those
buffoonries, which had, till his time, defiled its nature. His great
imitator, Terence, went still further; and, whether impelled by his
native humour, or determined by his truer taste, mixed so little of
the _ridiculous_ in his comedy, as plainly shews, it might, in his
opinion, subsist entirely without it. His _practice_ indeed, and the
theory, here delivered, nearly meet. And the conclusion is, that
_comedy_, which is the image of private life, may take either character
of _pleasant_ or _serious_, as it chances, or even _unite_ them into
one piece; but that the _former_ is, by no means, more essential to its
constitution, than the _latter_.
I foresee but one objection, that can be made to this theory; which
has, in effect, been obviated already. “It may be said, that, if this
account of _comedy_ be just, it would follow, that it might, with
equal propriety, admit the gravest and most affecting events, which
inferior life furnishes, as the lightest. Whereas it is notorious, that
distresses of a deep and solemn nature, though faithfully copied from
the fortunes of private men, would never be endured, under the name of
_comedy_, on the stage. Nay, such representations would rather pass,
in the public judgment, for legitimate _tragedies_; of which kind, we
have, indeed, some examples in our language.”
Two things are mistaken in this objection. _First_, it supposes,
that deep distresses of every kind are inconsistent with comedy; the
contrary of which may be learnt from the SELF-TORMENTOR of Terence.
_Next_, it insinuates, that, if deep distresses of any kind may be
admitted into comedy, the _deepest_ may. Which is equally erroneous.
For the _manners_ being the proper object of comedy, the _distress_
must not exceed a certain degree of _severity_, lest it draw off the
mind from them, and confine it to the _action_ only: as would be the
case of _murder_, _adultery_, and other atrocious crimes, infesting
_private_, as well as _public_, life, were they to be represented,
in all their horrors, on the stage. And though some of these, as
_adultery_, have been brought, of late, into the comic scene, yet
it was not till it had lost the atrocity of its nature, and was made
the subject of mirth and pleasantry to the fashionable world. But for
this happy disposition of the times, comedy, as managed by some of our
writers, had lost its nature, and become _tragic_. And, yet, considered
as _tragic_, such representations of low life had been improper.
Because, where the intent is to _affect_, the subject is with more
advantage taken from _high life_, all the circumstances being, there,
more peculiarly adapted to answer that end.
The solution then of the difficulty is, in one word, this. All
_distresses_ are not _improper_ in comedy; but such only as attach
the mind to the _fable_, in neglect of the _manners_, which are its
chief object. On the other hand, all _distresses_ are not _proper_
in tragedy; but such only as are of force to interest the mind in
the _action_, preferably to the observation of the _manners_; which
can only be done, or is done most effectually, when the _distressful
event_, represented, is taken from _public life_. So that the
_distresses_, spoken of, are equally unsuited to what the natures
_both_ of _comedy and tragedy_, respectively, demand.
CHAP. III.
OF M. DE FONTENELLE’S NOTION OF COMEDY.
Notwithstanding the pains I have taken, in the preceding chapters,
to establish my theory of the comic drama, I find myself obliged to
support it still further against the authority of a very eminent modern
critic. M. de Fontenelle hath just now published two volumes of plays,
among which are some comedies of a very singular character. They are
not only, in a high degree, _pathetic_; but the scene of them is laid
in _antiquity_; and great personages, such as _Kings_, _Princesses_,
&c. are of the drama. He hath besides endeavoured to justify this
extraordinary species of comedy by a very ingenious preface. It will
therefore be necessary for me to examine this new system, and to
obviate, as far as I can, the prejudices which the name of the author,
and the intrinsic merit of the plays themselves, will occasion in
favour of it.
His system, as explained in the preface to these comedies, is, briefly,
this.
“The _subject_ of dramatic representation, he observes, is some event
or action of _human life_, which can be considered only in two views,
as being either that of _public_, or of _private_, persons. The end of
such representation, continues he, is to _please_, which it doth either
by engaging the attention, or by moving the passions. The _former_
is done by representing to us such events as are _great, noble, or
unexpected_: The _latter_ by such as are _dreadful, pitiable, tender,
or pleasant_. Of these several sources of _pleasure_, he forms what
he calls a _dramatic scale_, the extremes of which he admits to be
altogether inconsistent; no art being sufficient to bring together the
_grand_, the _noble_, or the _terrible_, into the same piece with the
_pleasant or ridiculous_. The impressions of these objects, he allows,
are perfectly opposed to each other. So that a tragedy, which takes
for its subject a _noble_, or _terrible_ event, can by no means admit
the _pleasant_. And a comedy, which represents a _pleasant_ action,
can never admit the _terrible_ or _noble_. But it is otherwise, he
conceives, with the intermediate species of this scale. The _singular_,
the _pitiable_, the _tender_, which fill up the interval betwixt the
_noble_ and _ridiculous_, are equally consistent with tragedy and
comedy. An uncommon stroke of Fortune may as well befall a peasant as
a prince. And two lovers of an inferior condition may have as lively a
passion for each other, and, when some unlucky event separates them,
may deserve our pity as much, as those of the highest fortune. These
situations then are equally suited to both dramas. They will only be
modified in each a little differently. From hence he concludes, that
there may be _dramatic representations_, which are neither perfectly
tragedies nor perfectly comedies, but yet partake of the nature of
each, and that in different proportions. There might be a species
of _tragedy_, for instance, which should unite the _tender_ with
the _noble_ in any degree, or even subsist entirely by means of the
_tender_: And of _comedy_, which should associate the _tender_ with the
_pleasant_, or even retain the _tender_ throughout to a certain degree
to the entire exclusion of the _pleasant_.
“As to his laying the _scene_ of his comedy in Greece, he thinks this
practice sufficiently justified by the practice of the French writers,
who make no scruple to lay their scene abroad, as in _Spain_ or
_England_.
“Lastly, for what concerns the introduction of great personages into
the comic drama, he observes that by _ordinary life_, which he supposes
the proper subject of comedy, he understands as well that of Emperors
and Princes, at times when they are only men, as of inferior persons.
And he thinks it very evident that what passes in the ordinary _life_,
so understood, of the greatest men, is truly comic[10].”
This is a simple exposition of M. de Fontenelle’s idea of comedy,
which, however, he hath set off with great elegance and a plausibility
of illustration, such as writers of his class are never at a loss to
give to any subject they would recommend.
Now, tho’ the principal aim of what I have to offer in confutation of
this system be to combat the ingenious writer’s notion of comedy, yet
as the tenor of his _preface_ leads him to deliver his sentiments also
of tragedy, I shall not scruple intermixing, after his example, some
reflexions on this latter drama.
M. de Fontenelle sets out with observing, that the end of dramatic
representation is to _please_. This end is very general. But he
explains himself more precisely, by saying, “_this pleasure is of two
kinds, and consists either in attaching the mind or affecting it_.” And
this is not much amiss. But his further explanation of these terms is
suspicious. “The mind, says he, is ATTACHED by the representation of
what is _great_, _noble_, _singular_, or _unexpected_: It is AFFECTED
by what is _terrible_, _pitiable_, _tender_, or _pleasant_[11].”
In this enumeration he forgets the merely _natural_ draught of the
manners. Yet this is surely one of the means by which the drama is
enabled to _attach_ the spectator. With me, I confess, this is the
first excellence of comedy. Nor could he mean to include this source
of pleasure under his _second_ division. For tho’ a lively picture of
the manners may in some sort be said to _affect_ us, yet certainly not
as coming under the consideration of what is _terrible_, _pitiable_,
_tender_, or _ridiculous_, but simply of what is _natural_. The
picture is _pleasant_ or otherwise, as it chances; but is always the
source of entertainment to the observer. When the pleasantry is high,
it takes indeed the passion of _ridicule_. In other instances, it
can scarcely be said to _move_, “emouvoir.” Now this I take to be a
very considerable omission. For if the observation of character be a
_pleasure_, which comedy is more particularly qualified to give, and
which is not in any degree so compatible with tragedy, does not this
bid fair for being the _proper_ end of comedy? Human life, he says,
which is the subject of the drama, can only be regarded in two views,
as either that _of the great and principally of kings_, and that of
_private men_. Now the _attachments_ and _emotions_, he speaks of, are
excited more powerfully and to more advantage in a representation of
the _former_. That which is _peculiar_ to a draught of _ordinary life_,
or which is attained _most perfectly_ by it, is the delight arising
from a just exhibition of the manners. No, he will say. The _pleasant_
belongs as peculiarly to a picture of common life, as the _natural_.
Surely not. Common life _distorted_, or what we call _farce_, gives
the entertainment of _ridicule_ more perfectly than comedy. The only
pleasure, which an exposition of _ordinary life_ affords, distinct
from that we receive from a view of _high life_ on the one hand,
and ordinary life _disfigured_ on the other, is the satisfaction of
contemplating the _truth of character_. However then this species
of representation may be improved by incorporating other kinds of
excellence with it, is not _this, of pleasing_ by the _truth_ of
character, to be considered as the _appropriate_ end of comedy?
I don’t dispute the propriety of serious or even affecting comedies. I
have already explained myself as to this point, and have shewn under
what restrictions _the weeping comedy_, _la larmoyante comedie_, as
the French call it, may be admitted on my plan. The main question is,
whether there be any foundation in nature for two distinct and separate
species _only_ of the drama; or whether, as he pretends, a certain
_scale_, which connects by an insensible communication the several
modifications of dramatic representation, unites and incorporates the
two species into one.
It is true the laws of the drama, as formed by Aristotle out of the
Greek poets, can of themselves be no rule to us in this matter; because
these poets had given no example of such intermediate species. This,
for aught appears to the contrary, may be an extension of the province
of the drama. The question then must be tried by the success of this
new practice, compared with the general dictates of common sense.
For I perfectly agree with this judicious critic, that we have a
right to inquire if, in what concerns the stage, we are not sometimes
governed by _established customs_ instead of rules; for _Rules_ they
will not deserve to be esteemed, till they have undergone the rigid
scrutiny of reason[12].
In respect of the _Practice_, then, it must be owned, there are many
stories in private life capable of being worked up in such a manner
as to move the passions strongly; and, on the contrary, many subjects
taken from the great world capable of diverting the spectator by a
pleasant picture of the manners. And lastly, it is also true, that
both these ends may be affected together, in some degree, in either
piece. But here is the point of enquiry. Whether if the end in view
be to _affect_, this will not be accomplished BETTER by taking a
subject from the public than private fortunes of men: Or, if the End
be to _please by the truth of character_, whether we are not likely
to perceive this pleasure more FULLY when the story is of private,
rather than of public life? For, as Aristotle said finely on a like
occasion, _we are not to look for every sort of pleasure from tragedy_
[or comedy] _but that which is peculiarly proper to each_[13]. “Human
life” this writer says, “can be considered but as _high_ or _low_;”
and “a representation of it can please only as it _attaches_, or
_affects_.” I ask then, to which sort of life shall the dramatic poet
confine himself, when he would endeavour to raise these _affections_
or these _attachments_ to the highest pitch. The answer is plain. For
if the poet would excite the tender passions, they will rise higher of
necessity, when awakened by noble subjects, than if called forth by
such as are of ordinary and familiar notice. This is occasioned by what
one may call a TRANSITION OF THE PASSIONS: that affection of the mind
which is produced by the impression of great objects, being more easily
convertible into the stronger degrees of pity and commiseration, than
such as arises from a view of the concerns of common life. The more
_important_ the interest, the greater part our minds take in it, and
the more susceptible are we of _passion_.
On the other hand, when the intended pleasure is to result from
strong pictures of human nature, this will be felt more entirely, and
with more sincerity, when we are at leisure to attend to them in the
representation of inferior persons, than when the rank of the speaker,
or dignity of the subject, is constantly drawing some part of our
observation to itself. In a word, though _mixed dramas_ may give us
pleasure, yet the pleasure, in either kind, will be LESS in proportion
to the mixture. And the _end_ of each will be then attained MOST
PERFECTLY when its character, according to the ancient practice, is
observed.
To consider then the writer’s favourite position, that _le pitoyable_
and _le tendre_ are “common both to tragedy and comedy.” The position,
in general, is true. The difficulty is in fixing the degree, with which
it ought to prevail in each. If _passion_ predominates in a picture
of private life, I call it a _tragedy_ of private story, because it
produces the _end_ which tragedy designs. If _humour_ predominates
in a draught of public life, I call it a _comedy_ of public story,
because it gives the _pleasure_ of pure comedy. Let these then be two
new species of the drama, if you please, and let new names be invented
for them. Yet, were I a poet, I should certainly adhere to the old
practice. That is, if I wanted to produce _passion_, I should think
myself able to raise it highest on a great subject. And if I aimed to
_attach_ by _humour_, I should depend on catching the whole attention
of the spectator more successfully on a familiar subject.
But by a _familiar subject_, this critic will say, he means, as I
do, a subject taken from _ordinary life_; and that the affairs of
kings and princes may very properly come into comedy under this view.
Besides the reason already produced against this innovation, I have
this further exception to it. The business of comedy, he will allow,
is in part at least to exhibit the _manners_. Now the princely or
heroic comedy is singularly improper for this end. If persons of so
distinguished a rank be the actors in comedy, propriety demands that
they be shewn in conformity to their characters in real life. But now
that very politeness, which reigns in the courts of princes and the
houses of the great, prevents the _manners_ from shewing themselves,
at least with that distinctness and _relief_ which we look for in
dramatic characters. Inferior personages, acting with less reserve and
caution, afford the fittest occasion to the poet of expressing their
genuine tempers and dispositions. Or, if a picture of the manners be
expected from the introduction of great persons, it can be only in
tragedy, where the importance of the interests and the strong play of
the passions strip them of their borrowed disguises, and lay open their
true characters. So that the princely, or _heroic_, comedy is the least
fitted, of any kind of drama, to furnish this pleasure.
The ancients appear to have had no doubt at all on the matter. The
tragedy on low life, and comedy on high life, were refinements
altogether unknown to them. What then hath occasioned this revolution
of taste amongst us? Principally, I conceive, these three things.
1. The comedy on high life hath arisen from a _different state of
government_. In the free towns of Greece there was no room for that
distinction of high and low comedy, which the moderns have introduced.
And the reason was, the members of those communities were so nearly
on a level, that any one was a representative of the rest. There was
no standing subordination of royalty, nobility, and commonalty, as
with us. Their way of ennobling their characters was, by making them
Generals, Ambassadors, Magistrates, &c. and then, in that public view,
they were fit personages for tragedy. When stripped of these ensigns of
authority, they became simple citizens.
Amongst us, persons of elevated rank make a separate order in the
community, whose private lives however might, no doubt, be the subject
of comic representation. Why then are not these fit personages for
comedy? The reason has been given. They want _dramatic manners_. Or, if
they did not, their elevated and separate estate makes the generality
conceive with such reverence of them, that it would shock their notions
of high life to see them employed in a course of comic adventures.
And of this M. de Fontenelle himself was sufficiently sensible. For,
speaking in another place of the importance which the tragic action
receives from the dignity of its persons, he says, “When the actions
are of such a kind as that, without losing any thing of their beauty,
they might pass between inferior persons, the names of kings and
princes are nothing but a foreign ornament, which the poet gives to
his subject. Yet _this ornament, foreign as it may be, is necessary:
so fated are we to be always dazzled by titles_[14].” Should he not
have seen then, that this pageantry of titles, which is so requisite to
raise the dignity of the tragic drama, must for the same reason prevent
the familiarity of the comic? The great themselves are, no doubt, in
this, as other instances, above _vulgar_ prejudices. But the dramatic
poet writes for the people.
2. The tragedy on low life, I suspect, has been chiefly owing to our
_modern romances_: which have brought the tender passion into great
repute. It is the constant and almost sole object of _le pitoyable_
and _le tendre_ in our drama. Now the prevalency of this passion in
all degrees hath made it thought an indifferent matter, whether the
story, that exemplifies it, be taken from low or high life. As it
rages equally in both, the pathos, it was believed, would be just the
same. And it is true, if tragedy confine itself to the display of this
passion, the difference will be less sensible than in other instances.
Because the concern terminates more directly in the _tender pair_
themselves, and does not so necessarily extend itself to others. Yet
to heighten this same pathos by the _grand_ and _important_, would
methinks be the means of affording a still higher pleasure.
3. After all, that effusion of _softness_ which prevails to such a
degree in all our dramas, comic as well as tragic, to the exclusion of
every other interest, is, perhaps, best accounted for by this writer.
As the matter is delicate, I chuse to give it in his own words: “On
s’imagine naturellement, que les piéces Grecques & les nôtres ont
été jugées au même tribunal, à celui d’un public assés egal dans les
deux nations; mais cela n’est pas tout-a-fait vrai. Dans le tribunal
d’Athenes, _les femmes_ n’avoient pas de voix, ou n’en avoient que très
peu. Dans le tribunal de Paris, c’est précisément le contraire; ici il
est donc question de plaire aux femmes, qui assurément aimeront mieux
le pitoyable & le tendre, que terrible et même le grand.” He adds, “_Et
je ne crois pas au fond qu’elles ayent grand tort_.” And what gallant
man but would subscribe to this opinion?