Part 4

From the account of comedy, here given, it may appear, that the idea of this drama is much enlarged beyond what it was in Aristotle’s time; who defines it to be, _an imitation of light and trivial actions, provoking ridicule_. His notion was taken from the state and practice of the Athenian stage; that is, from the _old_ or _middle_ comedy, which answers to this description. The great revolution, which the introduction of the _new comedy_ made in the drama, did not happen till afterwards. This proposed for its _object_, in general, _the actions and characters of ordinary life_; which are not, of necessity, ridiculous, but, as appears to every observer, of a mixt kind, _serious_ as well as _ludicrous_, and within their proper sphere of influence, not unfrequently, even _important_. This kind of _imitation_ therefore, now admits the _serious_; and its scenes, even without the least mixture of _pleasantry_, are entirely _comic_. Though the common run of _laughers_ in our theatre are so little aware of the extension of this _province_, that I should scarcely have hazarded the observation, but for the authority of _Terence_; who hath confessedly very little of the _pleasant_ in his drama. Nay, one of the most admired of his comedies hath the gravity, and, in some places, almost the solemnity of _tragedy itself_. But this _idea_ of comedy is not peculiar to the more polite and liberal _ancients_. Some of the best _modern_ comedies are fashioned in agreement to it. And an instance or two, which I am going to produce from the stage of simple nature, may seem to shew it the plain suggestion of common sense.

“The Amautas (says the author of the _Royal Commentaries of_ PERU), who were men of the best ingenuity amongst them, invented COMEDIES and TRAGEDIES; which, on their solemn festivals, they represented before the King and the Lords of his court. The plot or argument of their _tragedies_ was to represent _their military exploits, and the triumphs, victories, and heroic actions of their renowned men_. And the subject or design of their _comedies_ was, to demonstrate _the manner of good husbandry in cultivating and manuring their fields, and to shew the management of domestic affairs, with other familiar matters_. These plays, continues he, were not made up of obscene and dishonest farces, but such as were of _serious entertainment, composed of grave and acute sentences_, &c.”

Two things are observable in this brief account of the Peruvian drama. _First_, that its _species_ had respect to the very different _objects_ of the _higher_ or _lower_ stations. For the _great and powerful_ were occupied in _war_: and _agriculture_ was the chief employment of _private and ordinary life_. And, in this distinction, these _Indian_, perfectly agreed with the old Roman poets; whose PRAETEXTATA and TOGATA shew, that they had precisely the same ideas of the drama. _Secondly_, we do not learn only, what difference there _was_ betwixt their tragedy and comedy, but we are also told, what difference there was _not_. It was not, that one was _serious_, and the other _pleasant_. For we find it expressly asserted of _both_, that they _were of grave and serious entertainment_.

And this last will explain a similar observation on the Chinese, _who_, as P. DE PREMERE acquaints us, _make no distinction betwixt tragedies and comedies_. That is, _no distinction_, but what the different _subjects_ of each make necessary. They do not, as our European dramas, differ in this, that the _one_ is intended to make us _weep_, and the other to make us _laugh_.

These are full and precise testimonies. For I lay no stress on what 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.