Part 2

Critics and antiquaries have been sollicitous to find out who were the inventors of rhyme, which some fetch from the Monks, some from the Goths, and others from the Arabians: whereas, the truth seems to be, that _rhyme_, or the consonance of final syllables, occurring at stated intervals, is the dictate of nature, or, as we may say, an appeal to the _ear_, in all languages, and in some degree pleasing in all. The difference is, that, in some languages, these consonances are apt of themselves to occur so often that they rather nauseate, than please, and so, instead of being affected, are studiously avoided by good writers; while in others, as in all the modern ones, where these consonances are less frequent, and where the quantity of syllables is not so distinctly marked as, of itself, to afford an harmonious measure and musical variety, there it is of necessity that poets have had recourse to _Rhyme_; or to some other expedient of the like nature, such as the _Alliteration_, for instance; which is only another way of delighting the ear by iterated sound, and may be defined, _the consonance of initial letters_, as rhyme is, the _consonance of final syllables_. All this, I say, is of necessity, because what we call verses in such languages will be otherwise untuneful, and will not strike the ear with that vivacity, which is requisite to put a sensible difference between poetic numbers and measured prose.

In short, no method of gratifying the ear by _measured sound_, which experience has found pleasing, is to be neglected by the poet: and although, from the different structure and genius of languages, these methods will be different, the studious application of such methods, as each particular language allows, becomes a necessary part of his office. He will only cultivate those methods most, which tend to produce, in a given language, the most harmonious structure or measure, of which it is capable.

Hence it comes to pass, that the poetry of some modern languages cannot so much as subsist, without rhyme: In others, it is only embellished by it. Of the _former_ sort is the French, which therefore adopts, and with good reason, rhymed verse, not in tragedy only, but in comedy: And though foreigners, who have a language differently constructed, are apt to treat this observance of rhyme as an idle affectation, yet it is but just to allow that the French themselves are the most competent judges of the natural defect of their own tongue, and the likeliest to perceive by what management such defect is best remedied or concealed.

In the _latter_ class of languages, whose poetry is only embellished by the use of rhyme, we may reckon the Italian and the English: which being naturally more tuneful and harmonious than the French, may afford all the melody of sound which is expected in some sorts of poetry, by its _varied pause_, and _quantity_ only; while in other sorts, which are more sollicitous to please the ear, and where such solicitude, if taken notice of by the reader or hearer, is not resented, it may be proper, or rather it becomes a law of the English and Italian poetry, to adopt _rhyme_. Thus, our tragedies are usually composed in blank verse: but our epic and Lyric compositions are found most pleasing, when cloathed in rhyme. Milton, I know, it will be said, is an exception: But, if we set aside some learned persons, who have suffered themselves to be too easily prejudiced by their admiration of the Greek and Latin languages, and still more, perhaps, by the prevailing notion of the monkish or gothic original of rhymed verse, all other readers, if left to themselves, would, I dare say, be more delighted with this poet, if, besides his various pause, and measured quantity, he had enriched his numbers, with _rhyme_. So that his love of liberty, the ruling passion of his heart, perhaps transported him too far, when he chose to follow the example set him by one or two writers of _prime note_ (to use his own eulogium), rather than comply with the regular and prevailing practice of his favoured Italy, which first and principally, as our best rhymist sings,

With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell’d words, And all the graces a good ear affords, MADE RHYME AN ART—

Our comedy, indeed, is generally written in _prose_; but through the idleness, or ill taste, of our writers, rather than from any other just cause. For, though rhyme be not necessary, or rather would be improper, in the comedy of our language, which can support itself in poetic numbers, without the diligence of rhyme; yet some sort of metre is requisite in this humbler species of poem; otherwise, it will not contribute all that is within its power and province, to _please_. And the particular metre, proper for this species, is not far to seek. For it can plainly be no other than a careless and looser Iambic, such as our language naturally runs into, even in conversation, and of which we are not without examples, in our old and best writers for the comic stage. But it is not wonderful that those critics, who take offence at English epic poems in _rhyme_, because the Greek and Latin only observed _quantity_, should require English comedies to be written in _prose_, though the Greek and Latin comedies were composed in _verse_. For the ill application of examples, and the neglect of them, may be well enough expected from the same men, since it does not appear that their judgment was employed, or the reason of the thing attended to, in either instance.

And THUS much for the idea of UNIVERSAL POETRY. It is the art of treating any subject in _such_ a way as is found most delightful to us; that is, IN AN ORNAMENTED AND NUMEROUS STYLE—IN THE WAY OF FICTION—AND IN VERSE. Whatever deserves the name of POEM must unite these three properties; only in different degrees of each, according to its nature. For the art of every _kind_ of poetry is only this general art so modified as the _nature_ of each, that is, its more immediate and subordinate end, may respectively require.

We are now, then, at the well-head of the poetic art; and they who drink deeply of this spring, will be best qualified to perform the rest. But all heads are not equal to these copious draughts; and, besides, I hear the sober reader admonishing me long since—

Lusisti satis atque BIBISTI; Tempus abire tibi est, ne POTUM LARGIUS AEQUO Rideat, et pulset lasciva decentius AETAS.

THURCASTON, MDCCLXV.

A

DISSERTATION

ON THE

PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA.

DISSERTATION II.

ON THE

PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA.

In the former Essay, I gave an idea, or slight sketch, of _Universal Poetry_. In this, I attempt to deduce the laws of one of its kinds, the _Dramatic_, under all its forms. And I engage in this task, the rather, because, though much has been said on the subject of the drama, writers seem not to have taken sufficient pains to distinguish, with exactness, its several species.

I deduce the laws of this poem, as I did those of poetry at large, from the consideration of its _end_: not the general end of poetry, which alone was proper to be considered the former case, but the proximate end of this kind. For from these ends, in subordination to that, which governs the genus, or which all poetry, as such, designs and prosecutes, are the peculiar rules and maxims of each species to be derived.

THE PURPOSE OF THE DRAMA is, universally, “to represent human life in the way of _action_.” But as such representation it made for separate and distinct ENDS, it is, further, distinguished into different _species_, which we know by the names of TRAGEDY, COMEDY, and FARCE.

By TRAGEDY, then, I mean that species of dramatic representation, whose _end_ is “_to excite the passions of_ PITY _and_ TERROR, _and perhaps some others, nearly allied to them_.”

By COMEDY _that_, which proposeth, for the _ends_ of its representation, “_the sensation of pleasure arising from a view of the truth of_ CHARACTERS, _more especially their specific differences_.”

By FARCE I understand, that species of the drama, “_whose sole aim and tendency is to excite_ LAUGHTER.”

The idea of these _three species_ being then proposed, let us now see, what conclusions may be drawn from it. And chiefly in respect of _Tragedy_ and _Comedy_, which are most important. For as to what concerns the province of _Farce_, this will be easily understood, when the character of the other two is once settled.

CHAP. I.

ON THE PROVINCES OF TRAGEDY AND COMEDY.

From the idea of these two species, as given above, the following conclusions, about the _natures_ of each, are immediately deducible.

1. If the proper end of TRAGEDY be to _affect_, it follows, “that _actions_, not characters, are the chief object of its representations.” For that which _affects_ us most in the view of human life is the observation of those signal circumstances of _felicity or distress_, which occur in the fortunes of men. But _felicity_ and _distress_, as the great critic takes notice, depend on _action_; κατὰ τὰς πράξεις, εὐδαίμονες, ἢ τουναντίον. They are then the calamitous _events_, or fortunate _Issues_ in human action, which stir up the stronger _affections_, and agitate the heart with _Passion_. The _manners_ are not, indeed, to be neglected. But they become an inferior consideration in the views of the tragic poet, and are exhibited only for the sake of making the _action_ more proper to interest us. Thus our _joy_, on the _happy catastrophe_ of the fable, depends, in a good degree, on the _virtuous character_ of the agent; as on the other hand, we sympathize more strongly with him, on a _distressful issue_. The _manners_ of the several persons in the drama must, also, be signified, that the _action_, which in many cases will be determined by them, may appear to be carried on with _truth and probability_. Hence every thing passing before us, as we are accustomed to see it in real life, we enter more warmly into their interests, as forgetting, that we are attentive to a _fictitious scene_. And, besides, from knowing the personal _good, or ill, qualities_ of the agents, we learn to anticipate their future _felicity_ or _misery_, which gives increase to the _passion_ in either case. Our acquaintance with IAGO’S _close villainy_ makes us tremble for Othello and Desdemona beforehand: and HAMLET’S _filial piety and intrepid daring_ occasion the audience secretly to exult in the _expectation_ of some successful vengeance to be inflicted on the incestuous murderers.

2. For the same reason as tragedy takes for its _object_ the actions of men, it, also, prefers, or rather confines itself to, such actions, as are most _important_. Which is only saying, that as it intends to _interest_, it, of course, chuses the representation of those _events_, which are most _interesting_.

And this shews the defect of modern tragedy, in turning so constantly as it does, on _love subjects_; the effect of this practice is, that, excepting only the rank of the actors (which indeed, as will be seen presently, is of considerable importance), the rest is below the dignity of this drama. For the _action_, when stripped of its accidental ornaments and reduced to the _essential fact_, is nothing more than what might as well have passed in a cottage, as a king’s palace. The Greek poets should be our guides here, who take the very grandest events in their story to ennoble their tragedy. Whence it comes to pass that the _action_, having an essential dignity, is always _interesting_, and by the simplest management of the poet becomes in a supreme degree, _pathetic_.

3. On the same account, the _persons_, whose actions Tragedy would exhibit to us, must be of _principal rank and dignity_. For the actions of these are, both in _themselves_ and in their _consequences_, most fitted to excite passion. The _distresses_ of private and inferior persons will, no doubt, _affect_ us greatly; and we may give the name of _tragedies_, if we please, to dramatic representations of them: as, in fact, we have several applauded pieces of this kind. Nay, it may seem, that the fortunes of private men, as more nearly resembling _those_ of the generality, should be most _affecting_. But this circumstance, in no degree, makes amends for the loss of other and much greater _advantages_. For, whatever be the _unhappy incidents_ in the story of private men, it is certain, they must take faster hold of the _imagination_, and, of course, impress the heart more forcibly, when related of the higher characters in life.

Τῶν γὰρ μεγάλων ἀξιοπενθεῖς Φῆμαι μᾶλλον κατέχουσιν. EURIP. HIPP. v. 1484.

Kings, Heroes, Statesmen, and other persons of great and public authority, influence by their _ill-fortune_ the whole community, to which they belong. The attention is rouzed, and all our faculties take an alarm, at the apprehension of such extensive and important wretchedness. And, besides, if we regard the _event_ itself, without an eye to its _effects_, there is still the widest difference between the two cases. Those ideas of awe and veneration, which opinion throws round the persons of princes, make us esteem the very _same event_ in their fortunes, as more august and emphatical, than in the fortunes of private men. In the _one_, it is ordinary and familiar to our conceptions; it is singular and surprizing, in the _other_. The fall of a _cottage_, by the accidents of time and weather, is almost unheeded; while the ruin of a _tower_, which the neighbourhood hath gazed at for ages with admiration, strikes all observers with concern. So that if we chuse to continue the absurdity, taken notice of in the last article of planning _unimportant action_ in our tragedy, we should, at least, take care to give it this foreign and extrinsic _importance_ of great _actors_: Yet our passion for the _familiar_ goes so far, that we have tragedies, not only of private action, but of _private persons_; and so have well nigh annihilated the noblest of the two dramas amongst us. On the whole it appears, that as the proper object or tragedy is _action_, so it is _important_ action, and therefore more especially the action of _great and illustrious men_. Each of these conclusions is the direct consequence of our idea of its _end_.

The reverse of all this holds true of COMEDY. For,

1. Comedy, by the very terms of the definition, is conversant about _characters_. And if we observe, that which creates the pleasure we find in contemplating the lives of men, considered as distinct from the _interest_ we take in their fortunes, is the contemplation of their manners and humours. Their _actions_, when they are not of that sort, which seizes our admiration, or catches the affections, are not otherwise considered by us, than as they are sensible indications of the internal sentiment and disposition. Our intimate consciousness of the several turns and windings of our nature, makes us attend to these pictures of human life with an incredible curiosity. And herein the proper entertainment, which comic representation, _as such_, administers to the mind, consists. By turning the thought on _event and action_, this entertainment is proportionably lessened; that is, the _end_ of comedy is less perfectly attained[4].

But here, again, though _action_ be not the main object of comedy, yet it is not to be neglected, any more than _character_ in tragedy, but comes in as an useful accessary, or assistant to it. For the _manners of men_ only shew themselves, or shew themselves most usually, in _action_. It is this, which fetches out the latent strokes of _character_, and renders the inward _temper and disposition_ the object of sense. _Probable circumstances_ are then imagined, and a certain _train of action_ contrived, to evidence the _internal qualities_. There is no _other_, or no _probable_ way, but this, of bringing us acquainted with them. Again; by engaging his _characters_ in a course of action and the pursuit of some _end_, the comic poet leaves them to express themselves undisguisedly, and _without design_; in which the essence of _humour_ consists.

Add to this, that when the _fable_ is so contrived as to attach the mind, we very naturally fancy ourselves present at a course of _living_ action. And this illusion quickens our attention to the _characters_, which no longer appear to us creatures of the poet’s fiction, but actors in real life.

These observations concerning the _moderated_ use of action in comedy, instruct us what to think “of those intricate Spanish plots, which have been in use, and have taken both with us and some French writers for the stage. The truth is, they have hindered very much the main end of comedy. For when these unnatural plots are used, the mind is not only entirely _drawn off_ from the characters by those surprizing turns and revolutions; but characters have no opportunity even of being _called out_ and displaying themselves. For the actors of all characters _succeed_ and are _embarrassed_ alike, when the instruments for carrying on designs are only _perplexed apartments_, _dark entries_, _disguised habits_, and _ladders of ropes_. The comic plot is, and must, indeed, be carried on by _deceipt_. The Spanish scene does it by deceiving the man _through his senses_: Terence and Moliere, by deceiving him _through his passions and affections_. This is the right method: for the character is _not_ called out under the _first_ species of deceipt: under the _second_, the character does _all_.”

2. As _character_, not _action_, is the object of comedy; so the _characters_ it paints must not be of _singular and illustrious note_, either for their _virtues_ or _vices_. The reason is, that such characters take too fast hold of the _affections_, and so call off the mind from adverting to the _truth_ of the manners; that is, from receiving the _pleasure_, which this poem _intends_. Our _sense of imitation_ is that to which the comic poet addresses himself; but such pictures of _eminent worth_ or _villainy_ seize upon the _moral sense_; and by raising the strong correspondent passions of _admiration_ and _abhorrence_, turn us aside from contemplating the _imitation itself_. And,

3. For a like cause, comedy confines its views to the characters of _private and inferior persons_. For the _truth of character_, which is the spring of _humour_, being necessarily, as was observed, to be shewn through the medium of _action_, and the actions of the great being usually such as excite the _pathos_, it follows of course, that these cannot, with propriety, be made the actors in comedy. Persons of high and public life, if they are drawn agreeably to our accustomed ideas of them, must be employed in such a _course of action_, as arrests the attention, or interests the passions; and either way it diverts the mind from observing the _truth_ of manners, that is, it prevents the attainment of the specific _end_, which comedy designs.

And if the reason, here given, be sufficient to exclude the _higher characters_ in life from this _drama_, even where the representation is intended to be _serious_, we shall find it still more improper to expose them in any pleasant or ridiculous light. ’Tis true, the follies and foibles of the great will apparently take an easier ridicule by representation, than those of their inferiors. And this it was, which misled the celebrated P. CORNEILLE into the opinion, _that the actions of the great, and even of kings themselves, provided they be of the ridiculous kind, are as fit objects of comedy, as any other_. But he did not reflect, that the _actions_ of the great being usually such, as interest the intire community, at least scarcely any other falling beneath vulgar notice; and the higher _characters_ being rarely seen or contemplated by the people but with reverence, hence it is, that in fact, _the representation of high life_ cannot, without offence to probability, be made _ridiculous_, or consequently be admitted into comedy under this view. And therefore PLAUTUS, when he thought fit to introduce these reverend personages on the comic stage in his AMPHITRUO, though he employed them in no very serious matters, was yet obliged to apologize for this impropriety in calling his play a _Tragicomedy_. What he says upon the occasion, though delivered with an air of pleasantry, is according to the laws of just criticism.

_Faciam ut commista sit_ TRAGICOCOMOEDIA. _Nam me perpetuo facere, ut sit Comoedia_ REGES QUO VENIANT ET DII, _non par arbitror. Quid igitur? Quoniam hic_ SERVOS QUOQUE PARTES HABET, _Faciam sit, proinde ut dixi_, TRAGICOCOMOEDIA. PROL. IN AMPHIT.

And now, taking the _idea_ of the _two dramas_, as here opened, along with us, we shall be able to give an account of several attributes, _common_ to both, or which further _characterize_ each of them. And,

1. _A plot will be required in both._ For the end of tragedy being to excite the affections _by_ action, and the end of comedy, to manifest the truth of character _through_ it, an artful _constitution of the Fable_ is required to do justice both to the one and the other. It serves to bring out the _pathos_, and to produce _humour_. And thus the general form or structure of the two dramas will be one and the same.

2. More particularly, _an unity and even simplicity in the conduct of the fable[5] is a perfection in each_. For the course of the _affections_ is diverted and weakened by the intervention of what we call a _double plot_; and even by a multiplicity of _subordinate events_, though tending to a common _end_; and, of _persons_, though all of them, some way, concerned in promoting it. The like consideration shews the observance of this _rule_ to be essential to just comedy. For when the _attention_ is split on so many interfering objects, we are not at leisure to observe, nor do we so fully enter into, the _truth of representation_ in any of them; the _sense of humour_, as of the _pathos_, depending very much on the continued and undiverted operation of its _object_ upon us.

3. The two dramas agree, also, in this circumstance; that the _manners_ of the persons exhibited should be _imperfect_. An absolutely good, or an absolutely bad, character is foreign to the purpose of each. And the reason is, 1, That such a representation is _improbable_. And _probability_ constitutes, as we have seen, the very essence of comedy; and is the _medium_, through which tragedy is enabled most powerfully to affect us. 2. Such _characters_ are improper to _comedy_, because, as was hinted above, they turn the attention aside from contemplating the _expression_ of them, which we call _humour_. And they are not less unsuited to _tragedy_, because though they make a forcible impression on the mind, yet, as Aristotle well observes, they do not produce the passions of _pity and terror_; that is, their _impressions_ are not of the nature of that _pathos_, by which tragedy works its purpose. [κ. ίγ.]

There are, likewise, some peculiarities, which distinguish the two dramas. And