Part 5

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?

On the whole, this attempt of M. de Fontenelle, to innovate in the province of comedy, puts one in mind of that he made, many years ago, in pastoral poetry. It is exactly the same spirit which has governed this polite writer in both adventures. He was once for bringing courtiers in masquerade into _Arcadia_. And now he would set them unmasked on the comic stage. Here, at least, he thought they would be in place. But the simplicity of pastoral dialogue would not suffer the one; and the familiarity of comic action forbids the other. It must be confessed, however, he hath succeeded better in the example of his comedies, than his pastorals. And no wonder. For what we call the _fashions_ and _manners_ are confined to certain conditions of life, so that _pastoral courtiers_ are an evident contradiction and absurdity. But, the _appetites and passions_ extending through all ranks, hence low tricks and low amours are thought to suit the minister and sharper alike. However it be, the fact is, that M. de Fontenelle hath succeeded best in his _comedies_. And as his theory is likely to gain more credit from the success of his practice than the force of his reasoning, I think it proper to close these remarks with an observation or two upon it.

There are, I observed, three things to be considered in his comedies, his _introduction of great personages, his practice of laying the scene in antiquity, and his pathos_.

Now to see the impropriety of the _first_ of these innovations, we need only observe with what art he endeavours to conceal it. His very dexterity in managing his comic heroes clearly shews the natural repugnance he felt in his own mind betwixt the representation of such characters, and even his own idea of the comic drama.

The TYRANT is a strange title of a comedy. It required singular address to familiarize this frightful personage to our conceptions. Which yet he hath tolerably well done, but by such expedients as confute his general theory. For, to bring him down to the level of a comic character, he gives us to understand, that the _Tyrant_ was an usurper, who from a very mean birth had forced his way into the tyranny. And to lower him still more, we find him represented, not only as odious to his people, but of a very contemptible character. He further makes him the tyrant only of a small Greek town; so that he passes, with the modern reader, for little more than the Mayor of a corporation. There is also a plain illusion in making a _simple citizen_ demand his daughter in marriage. For under the cover of this word, which conveys the idea of a person in lower life, we think very little of the dignity of a free citizen of Corinth. Whence it appears that the poet felt the necessity of unkinging this tyrant as far as possible, before he could make a comic character of him.

The case of his ABDOLONIME is still easier. ’Tis true, the structure of the fable requires us to have an eye to royalty, but all the pride and pomp of the regal character is studiously kept out of sight. Besides, the affair of royalty does not commence till the action draws to a conclusion, the persons of the drama being all simple particulars, and even of the lowest figure through the entire course of it.

The King of Sidon is, further, a paltry sovereign, and a creature of Alexander. And the characters of the persons, which are indeed admirably touched, are purposely contrived to lessen our ideas of sovereignty.

The LYSIANASSE is a tragedy in form, of that kind which hath a happy catastrophe. The _persons_, _subject_, every thing so important, and attaches the mind so intirely to the event, that nothing interests more.

As to his _laying the scene in antiquity, and especially in the free towns of Greece_, I would recommend it as an admirable expedient to all those who are disposed to follow him in this new province of heroic comedy. For amongst other advantages, it gives the writer an occasion to fill the courts of his princes with _simple citizens_, which, as was observed, by no means answer to our ideas of nobility. But in any other view I cannot say much for the practice. It is for obvious reasons highly inconvenient. Even this writer found it so, when in one of his plays, the MACATE, he was obliged to break through the propriety of ancient manners in order to adapt himself to the modern taste. His duel, as he himself says, “_a l’air bien françois et bien peu grec_.” The reader, if he pleases, may see his apology for this transgression of decorum. Or, if there were no inconvenience of this sort, the representation of characters after the _antique_ must, on many occasions, be cold and disgusting. At least none but professed scholars can be taken with it.

Nor is the usage of the Latin writers any precedent. For, besides that Horace, we know, condemned it as suitable only to the infancy of their comic poetry, the manners, laws, religion of the Greeks were in the main so similar to their own, that the difference was hardly discernible. Or if it were otherwise in some points, the neighbourhood of this famous people and the intercourse the Romans had with them, would bring them perfectly acquainted with such difference. And this last reflexion shews how insufficient it was for the author to excuse his own practice from the authority of his countrymen; who, says he, “never scruple laying their scene in Spain or England.” Are the manners of ancient Greece as familiar to a French pit, as those of these two countries?

Lastly, I have very little to object to the _pathos_ of his comedy. When it is subservient to the _manners_, as in the TESTAMENT and ABDOLONIME, I think it admirable. When it exceeds this degree and takes the attention intirely, as in the LYSIANASSE, it gives a pleasure indeed, but not the pleasure appropriate to comedy. I regard it as a faint imperfect species of tragedy. After all, I fear the _tender and pitiable_ in comedy, though it must afford the highest pleasure to sensible and elegant minds, is not perfectly suited to the apprehensions of the generality. Are they susceptible of the soft and delicate emotions which the fine distress in the _Testament_ is intended to raise? Every one indeed is capable of being delighted through the _passions_; but they must be worked up, as in tragedy, to a greater height, before the generality can receive that delight from them. The same objection, it will be said, holds against the finer strokes of character. Not, I think, with the same force. I doubt our sense of imitation, especially of the _ridiculous_, is quicker than our humanity. But I determine nothing. Both these pleasures are perfectly consistent. And my idea of comedy requires only that the _pathos_ be kept in subordination to the _manners_.

CHAP. IV.

OF THE PROVINCE OF FARCE.

Thus much then for the general idea of COMEDY. If considered more accurately, it is, further, of _two kinds_. And in considering these we shall come at a just notion of the province of FARCE. For this _mirror of private life_ either, 1. reflects such qualities and characters, as are common _to human nature at large_: or, 2. it represents the whims, extravagances, and caprices, which characterize the folly of _particular persons or times_.

Again, _each_ of these is, further, to be subdivided into _two species_. For 1. the representations of _common nature_ may either be taken _accurately_, so as to reflect a _faithful and exact image_ of their original; which alone is _that_ I would call COMEDY, as best agreeing to the description which Cicero gives of it, when he terms it IMAGINEM VERITATIS. Or, they may be forced and overcharged above the simple and just proportions of _nature_; as when the excesses of a _few_ are given for _standing_ characters, when not the man is described, but the _passion_, or when, in the draught of the man, the leading feature is extended beyond measure: And in these cases the representation holds of the lower province of FARCE. In like manner, 2. the other _species_, consisting in the representation of _partial nature_, either transcribes such characters as are peculiar to _certain countries or times_, of which _our comedy_ is, in great measure, made up; or it presents the image of _some real individual person_; which was the distinguishing character of the _old comedy_ properly so called.

Both these kinds evidently belong to FARCE: not only as failing in that general and universal imitation of nature, which is alone deserving the name of comedy, but, also, for this reason, that, being more directly written for the present purpose of discrediting certain _characters_ or _persons_, it is found convenient to exaggerate their peculiarities and enlarge their features; and so, on a double account, they are to be referred to that _class_.

And thus the _three forms of dramatic composition_, the only ones which good sense acknowledges, are kept distinct: and the proper END and CHARACTER of each, clearly understood.

1. _Tragedy and Comedy_, by their lively but faithful representations, cannot fail to _instruct_. Such natural exhibitions of the human character, being set before us in the clear mirror of the drama, must needs serve to the highest _moral uses_, in awakening that instinctive approbation, which we cannot withhold from _virtue_, or in provoking the not less necessary detestation of _vice_. But this, though it be their best _use_, is by no means their primary _intention_. Their proper and immediate _end_ is, to PLEASE: the _one_, more especially by interesting the _affections_; the _other_, by _a just and delicate imitation of real life_. _Farce_, on the contrary, professes to _entertain_, but this, in order more effectually to serve the interests of virtue and good sense. Its proper _end_ and purpose (if we allow it to have any reasonable one) is, then, to INSTRUCT. Which the reader will understand me as saying, not of what we know by the name of _farce_ on the modern stage (whose _prime_ intention can hardly be thought even that low one, ascribed to it by Mr. Dryden, _of_ entertaining _citizens, country gentlemen, and Covent Garden fops_), but of the legitimate _end_ of this _drama_; known to the Ancients under the name of the _old Comedy_, but having neither name nor existence, properly speaking, among the Moderns. Of which we may say, as Mr. Dryden did, but with less propriety, of Comedy, “_That it is a sharp manner of_ instruction _for the vulgar, who are never well amended, till they are more than sufficiently exposed_.” [Pref. to Trans. of Fresnoy, p. xix.]

2. Though tragedy and comedy respect the _same general_ END, yet pursuing it by _different means_, hence it comes to pass, their CHARACTERS are wholly different. For tragedy, aiming at _pleasure_, principally through the _affections_, whose flow must not be checked and interrupted by any counter impressions: and comedy, as we have seen, addressing itself _principally_ to our _natural sense of resemblance and imitation_; it follows, that the _ridiculous_ can never be associated with tragedy, without destroying its _nature_, though with the _serious comic_ it very well consists.

And here the _practice_ coincides with the _rule_. All exact writers, though they constantly mix _grave and pleasant_ scenes together in the same _comedy_, yet never presume to do this in _tragedy_, and so keep the two species of _tragedy and comedy_ themselves perfectly distinct. But,

3. It is quite otherwise with _comedy_ and _farce_. These almost perpetually run into each other. And yet the reason of the thing demands as intire and perfect a separation in this case, as in the other. For the perfection of _comedy_ lying in the accuracy and fidelity of universal representation, and _farce_ professedly neglecting or rather purposely transgressing the limits of common nature and just decorum, they clash entirely with each other. And _comedy_ must so far fail of giving the _pleasure_, appropriate to its design, as it allies itself with _farce_; while _farce_, on the other hand, forfeits the _use_, it intends, of promoting popular ridicule, by restraining itself within the exact rules of _Nature_, which Comedy observes.

But there is little occasion to guard against this _latter_ abuse. The danger is all on the other side. And the passion for what is now called _Farce_, the shadow of the Old Comedy, has, in fact, possessed the modern poets to such a degree that we have scarcely one example of a comedy, without this gross mixture. If any are to be excepted from this censure in Moliere, they are his _Misanthrope_ and _Tartuffe_, which are accordingly, by common allowance, the best of his large collection. In proportion as his other plays have less or more of this farcical turn, their true value hath been long since determined.

Of our own comedies, such of them, I mean, as are worthy of criticism, Ben Jonson’s _Alchymist_ and _Volpone_ bid the fairest for being written in this genuine unmixed manner. Yet, though their merits are very great, severe Criticism might find something to object even to these. The ALCHYMIST, some will think, is exaggerated throughout, and so, at best, belongs to that species of comedy, which we have before called _particular and partial_. At least, the extravagant pursuit so strongly exposed in that play, hath now, of a long time, been forgotten; so that we find it difficult to enter fully into the humour of this highly-wrought character. And, in general, we may remark of such characters, that they are a strong temptation to the writer to exceed the bounds of truth in his draught of them at _first_, and are further liable to an imperfect, and even unfair sentence from the reader _afterwards_. For the welcome reception, which these pictures of prevailing _local_ folly meet with on the stage, cannot but induce the poet, almost without design, to inflame the representation: And the want of _archetypes_, in a little time, makes it pass for immoderate, were it originally given with ever so much discretion and justice. So that whether the _Alchymist_ be farcical or not, it will _appear_, at least, to have this note of Farce, “That the principal character is exaggerated.” But then this is all we must affirm. For as to the _subject_ of this Play’s being a _local folly_, which seems to bring it directly under the denomination of Farce, it is but just to make a distinction. Had the _end and purpose_ of the Play been to expose _Alchymy_, it had been liable to this objection. But this mode of _local folly_, is employed as the _means_ only of exposing _another_ folly, extensive as our Nature and coeval with it, namely _Avarice_. So that the subject has all the requisites of true _Comedy_. It is just otherwise, we may observe, in the _Devil’s an Ass_; which therefore properly falls under our censure. For there, the folly of the time, _Projects and Monopolies_, are brought in to be exposed, as the _end and purpose_ of the comedy.

On the whole, the _Alchymist_ is a Comedy in just form, but a little _Farcical_ in the extension of one of its characters.

The VOLPONE, is a subject so manifestly fitted for the entertainment of all times, that it stands in need of no vindication. Yet neither, I am afraid, is this Comedy, in all respects, a complete model. There are even some Incidents of a farcical invention; particularly the _Mountebank Scene_ and _Sir Politique’s Tortoise_ are in the taste of the _old comedy_; and without its rational purpose. Besides, the _humour_ of the dialogue is sometimes on the point of becoming inordinate, as may be seen in the pleasantry of _Corbaccio’s mistakes through deafness_, and in other instances. And we shall not wonder that the best of his plays are liable to some objections of this sort, if we attend to the _character_ of the writer. For his nature was severe and rigid, and this in giving a strength and manliness, gave, at times too, an intemperance to his satyr. His taste for ridicule was strong but indelicate, which made him not over-curious in the choice of his _topics_. And lastly, his _style_ in picturing characters, though masterly, was without that elegance of _hand_, which is required to correct and allay the force of so bold a colouring. Thus, the bias of his nature leading him to Plautus rather than Terence for his model, it is not to be wondered that his wit is too frequently caustic; his raillery coarse; and his humour excessive.

Some later writers for the stage have, no doubt, avoided these defects of the exactest of our old dramatists. But do they reach his excellencies? Posterity, I am afraid, will judge otherwise, whatever may be now thought of some more fashionable comedies. And if they do not, neither the state of general manners, nor the turn of the public taste, appears to be such as countenances the expectation of greater improvements. To those who are not over-sanguine in their hopes, our forefathers will perhaps be thought to have furnished (what, in nature, seem linked together) the fairest example of _dramatic_, as of _real manners_.

But here it will probably be said, an affected zeal for the honour of our old poets has betrayed their unwary advocate into a concession, which discredits his whole pains on this subject. For to what purpose, may it be asked, this waste of dramatic criticism, when, by the allowance of the idle speculatist himself, his theory is likely to prove so unprofitable, at least, if it be not ill-founded? The only part I can take in this nice conjuncture, is to screen myself behind the authority of a much abler critical theorist, who had once the misfortune to find himself in these unlucky circumstances, and has apologized for it. The _objection_ is fairly urged by this fine writer; and in so profound and speculative an age, as the present, I presume to suggest no other answer, than he has thought fit to give to it. “Speculations of this sort, says he, do not bestow genius on those who have it not; they do not, perhaps, afford any great assistance to those who have; and most commonly the men of genius are even incapable of being assisted by speculation. To what use then do they serve? Why, to lead up _to the first principles of beauty_ such persons as love reasoning and are fond of reducing, under the controul of philosophy, subjects that appear the most independent of it, and which are generally thought abandoned to the caprice of taste[15].”

A

DISCOURSE

ON

POETICAL IMITATION.

DISSERTATION III.

ON

POETICAL IMITATION.

I undertake, in the following discourse, to consider TWO QUESTIONS, in which the credit of almost all great writers, since the time of _Homer_, is vitally concerned.

First, “_Whether that Conformity in Phrase or Sentiment between two writers of different times, which we call_ IMITATION, _may not with probability enough, for the most part, be accounted for from general causes, arising from our common nature; that is, from the exercise of our natural faculties on such objects as lie in common to all observers?_”

Secondly, “_Whether, in the case of confessed Imitations, any certain and necessary conclusion holds to the disadvantage of the natural_ GENIUS _of the imitator?_”—QUESTIONS, which there seems no fit method of resolving, but by taking the matter pretty deep, and deducing it from its _first principles_.

SECTION I.