Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

These _lights and shades_ (as the poet finely calls the intermixture of many passions, which, with the _leading_ or principal one, form the human character) must be blended together in every picture of dramatic manners; because the avowed business of the drama is to image real life. Yet the draught of the _leading_ passion must be as general as this _strife_ in nature permits, in order to express the intended character more perfectly.

All which again is easily illustrated in the instance of painting. In _portraits of character_, as we may call those that give a picture of the _manners_, the artist, if he be of real ability, will not go to work on the possibility of an abstract idea. All he intends, is to shew that some one quality _predominates_: and this he images strongly, and by such signatures as are most conspicuous in the operation of the _leading passion_. And when he hath done this, we may, in common speech or in compliment, if we please, to his art, say of such a portrait that it images to us not the _man_ but the _passion_; just as the ancients observed of the famous statue of Apollodorus by Silarion, that it expressed not the angry _Apollodorus_, but his passion of _anger_[6]. But by this must be understood only that he has well expressed the leading parts of the designed character. For the rest he treats his _subject_ as he would any other; that is, he represents the _concomitant affections_, or considers merely that general symmetry and proportion which are expected in a human figure. And this is to copy nature, which affords no specimen of a man turned all into a single passion. No metamorphosis could be more strange or incredible. Yet portraits of this vicious taste are the admiration of common starers, who, if they find a picture of a _miser_ for instance (as there is no commoner subject of moral portraits) in a collection, where every muscle is strained, and feature hardened into the expression of this idea, never fail to profess their wonder and approbation of it.—On this idea of excellence Le Brun’s book of the PASSIONS must be said to contain a set of the justest _moral portraits_: And the CHARACTERS of Theophrastus might be recommended, in a _dramatic_ view, as preferable to those of Terence.

The virtuosi in the fine arts would certainly laugh at the former of these judgments. But the latter, I suspect, will not be thought so extraordinary. At least if one may guess from the practice of some of our best comic writers, and the success which such plays have commonly met with. It were easy to instance in almost all plays of character. But if the reader would see the extravagance of building dramatic manners on abstract ideas, in its full light, he needs only turn to B. Jonson’s _Every man out of his humour_; which under the name of a _play of character_ is in fact, an unnatural, and, as the painters call it, _hard_ delineation of a group of _simply existing passions_, wholly chimerical, and unlike to any thing we observe in the commerce of real life. Yet this comedy has always had its admirers. And _Randolph_, in particular, was so taken with the design, that he seems to have formed his _muse’s looking-glass_ in express imitation of it.

Shakespeare, we may observe, is in this as in all the other more essential beauties of the drama, a perfect model. If the discerning reader peruse attentively his comedies with this view, he will find his _best-marked_ characters discoursing through a great deal of their _parts_, just like any other, and only expressing their essential and leading qualities occasionally, and as circumstances concur to give an easy exposition to them. This singular excellence of his comedy, was the effect of his copying faithfully after nature, and of the force and vivacity of his genius, which made him attentive to what the progress of the scene successively presented to him: whilst _imitation_ and _inferior talents_ occasion little writers to wind themselves up into the habit of attending perpetually to their main view, and a solicitude to keep their favourite characters in constant play and agitation. Though in this illiberal exercise of their wit, they may be said to use the _persons of the drama_ as a certain facetious sort do their _acquaintance_, whom they urge and teize with their civilities, not to give them a reasonable share in the conversation, but to force them to play _tricks_ for the diversion of the company.

I have been the longer on this argument, to prevent the reader’s carrying what I say of the superiority of _plays of character_ to _plays of intrigue_ into an extreme; a mistake, into which some good writers have been unsuspectingly betrayed by the acknowledged truth of the general principle. It is so natural for men on all occasions, to fly out into extremes, that too much care cannot be had to retain them in a due medium. But to return from the digression to the consideration of the difference of the two dramas.

3. A sameness of _character is not usually objected to in tragedy: in comedy, it would not be endured_. The passion of _avarice_, to resume the instance given above, being the main object, we find nothing but a disgustful repetition in a second attempt to delineate that _character_. _A particular cruel man_ only engrossing our regard in _Nero_, when the train of events evidencing such cruelty is changed, we have all the novelty we look for, and can contemplate, with pleasure, the very _same_ character, set forth by a different course of action, or displayed in some other _person_.

4. Comedy succeeds best when the scene is laid _at home_, tragedy for the most part when _abroad_. “This appears at first sight whimsical and capricious, but has its foundation in nature. What we chiefly seek in comedy is a true image of life and _manners_, but we are not easily brought to think we have it given us, when dressed in foreign modes and fashions. And yet a good writer must follow his scene, and observe decorum. On the contrary, ’tis the action in tragedy which most engages our attention. But to fit a domestic occurrence for the stage, we must take greater liberties with the action than a well-known story will allow.” [_Pope’s Works_, vol. iv. p. 185.]

Other _characters_ of the two dramas, as well _peculiar_, as _common_, which might be accounted for from the just notion of them, delivered above, I leave to the observation of the reader. For my intention is not to write a complete treatise on the drama, but briefly to lay down such principles, from whence its _laws_ may be derived.

CHAP. II.

OF THE GENIUS OF COMEDY.

But it may not be amiss to express myself a little more fully as to the _genius_ of comedy; which for want of passing through the hands of such a critic as Aristotle, has been less perfectly understood.

Its _end_ is the production of _humour_: or which comes to the same thing, “of that _pleasure_, which the _truth_ of representation affords, in the _exhibition_ of the _private characters_ of life, more particularly their _specific differences_.” I add this _latter_ clause, because the principal pleasure we take in contemplating characters consists in noting those _differences_. The general attributes of humanity, if represented ever so truly, give us but a slender entertainment. They, of course, make a part of the drama; but we chiefly delight in a picture of those peculiar _traits_, which distinguish the species. Now these discriminating marks in the characters of men are not _necessarily_ the causes of ridicule, or pleasantry of any kind; but _accidentally_, and according to the nature or quality of them. The vanity, and impertinent boasting of _Thraso_ is the natural object of _contempt_, and, when truly and forcibly expressed in his own character, provokes _ridicule_. The easy humanity of _Mitio_, which is the leading part of his character, is the object of _approbation_; and, when shewn in his own conduct, excites a _pleasure_, in common with all just _expression of the manners_, but of a _serious_ nature, as being joined with the sentiment of _esteem_.

But now as most men find a greater pleasure in gratifying the passion of _contempt_, than the calm instinct of _approbation_, and since perhaps the constitution of human life is such, as affords more exercise for the one, than the other, hence it hath come to pass, that the comic poet, who paints for the generality, and follows nature, chuses more commonly to select and describe those _peculiarities_ in the human character, which, by their nature, excite _pleasantry_, than such as create a serious regard and esteem. Hence some persons have appropriated the name of _comedies_ to those dramas, which chiefly aim at producing _humour_, in the more _proper_ sense of the word; under which view it means “such an expression or picture of what is odd, or inordinate in each character, as gives us the fullest and strongest image of the original, and by the truth of the representation exposes the _ridicule_ of it.” And it is certain, that comedy receives great advantage from representations of this kind. Nay, it cannot well subsist without them. Yet it doth not exclude the other and more _serious_ entertainment, which, as it stands on the same foundation of _truth of representation_, I venture to include under the _common term_.

Further, there are _two ways_ of evidencing the characteristic and predominant qualities of men, or, of producing _humour_, which require to be observed. The _one_ is, when they are shewn in the perpetual course and tenor of the representation; that is, when the _humour_ results from the _general_ conduct of the person in the drama, and the discourse, which he holds in it. The _other_ is, when by an happy and lively stroke, the characteristic quality is laid open and exposed _at once_.

The _first_ sort of _humour_ is that which we find in the ancients, and especially Terence. The _latter_ is almost peculiar to the moderns; who, in uniting these two species of _humour_, have brought a vast improvement to the comic scene. The reason of this difference may perhaps have been the singular simplicity of the old writers, who were contented to take up with such sentiments or circumstances, as most naturally and readily occurred in the course of the drama: whereas the moderns have been ambitious to shew a more exquisite and studied investigation into the workings of human nature, and have sought out for those peculiarly striking lineaments, in which the essence of character consists. On the same account, I suppose, it was that the ancients had _fewer_ characters in their plays, than the moderns, and those more _general_; that is, their dramatic writers were well satisfied with picturing the most _usual_ personages, and in their most _obvious_ lights. They did not, as the moderns (who, if they would aspire to the praise of _novelty_, were obliged to this route), cast about for less _familiar_ characters; and the nicer and _less observed_ peculiarities which distinguish _each_. Be it as it will, the observation is certain. Later dramatists have apparently shewn a more accurate knowledge of human life: and, by opening these new and untryed veins of _humour_, have exceedingly enriched the comedy of our times.

But, though we are not to look for the _two species of humour_, before-mentioned, in the same perfection on the simpler stages of _Greece and Rome_, as in _our_ improved Theatres, yet the _first_ of them was clearly seen and successfully practised by the ancient comic masters; and there are not wanting in them some few examples even of the _last_. “The old man in the _Mother-in-Law_ says to his Son,

_Tum tu igitur nihil adtulisti huc plus unâ sententiâ._

This, as an excellent person observed to me, is true _humour_. For his character, which was that of a lover of money, drew the observation naturally and forcibly from him. His disappointment of a rich succession made him speak contemptibly of a moral lesson, which rich and covetous men, in their best humours, have no high reverence for. And this too without _design_; which is important, and shews the distinction of what, in the more restrained sense of the word, we call _humour_, from other modes of _pleasantry_. For had a young friend of the son, an unconcerned spectator of the scene, made the observation, it had then, in another’s mouth, been _wit_, or a designed _banter_ on the father’s disappointment. As, on the other hand, when such characteristic qualities are exaggerated, and the expression of them stretched beyond _truth_, they become _buffoonry_, even in the person’s _own_.”

This is an instance of the _second species_ of humour, under its idea of exciting _ridicule_. But it may, also, be employed with the utmost _seriousness_; as being only a method of expressing the _truth_ of character in the _most striking_ manner. This same _old man_ in the Hecyra will furnish an example. Though a lover of money, he appears, in the main, of an honest and worthy nature, and to have born the truest affection to an amiable and favourite son. In the perplexity of the scene, which had arisen from the supposed misunderstanding between his _son’s_ wife and his _own_, he proposes, as an expedient to end all differences, to retire with his wife into the country. And to enforce this proposal to the young man, who had his reasons for being against it, he adds,

_odiosa est haec aetas adolescentulis:
E medio aequum excedere est: postremò nos jam fabula
Sumus, Pamphile, senex atque anus_.

There is nothing, I suppose in these words, which provokes a smile. Yet the _humour_ is strong, as before. In his solicitude to promote his son’s satisfaction, he lets fall a sentiment truly characteristic, and which old men usually take great pains to conceal; I mean, his acknowledgment of _that suspicious fear of contempt, which is natural to old age_. So true a picture of life, in the representation of this _weakness_, might, in other circumstances, have created some _pleasantry_; but the _occasion_, which forced it from him, discovering, at the same time, the _amiable disposition_ of the speaker, covers the ridicule of it, or more properly converts it into an object of our _esteem_.

We have here, then, a kind of _intermediate_ species of _humour_ betwixt the _ridiculous_ and the _grave_; and may perceive how insensibly the _one_ becomes the _other_, by the accidental mixture of a virtuous _quality_, attracting _esteem_. Which may serve to reconcile the reader to the application of this _term_ even to such _expression_ of the manners, as is perfectly _serious_; that is, where the _quality represented_ is entirely, and without the least _touch_ of attending ridicule, the object of _moral approbation_ to the mind. As in that famous asseveration of Chremes in the _Self-tormentor_:

_Homo sum: humani nihil à me alienum puto._

This is a strong expression of character; and, coming unaffectedly from him in answer to the cutting reproof of his friend,

_Chreme, tantumne ab re tuâ’st otî tibi
Aliena ut cures; ea quae nihil ad te adtinent?_

hath the essence of true _humour_, that is, is a _lively picture of the manners without design_.

Yet in this instance, which hath not been observed, the _humour_, though of a serious cast, is heightened by a mixture of _satire_. For we are not to take this, as hath constantly been done, for a sentiment of pure humanity and the natural ebullition of benevolence. We may observe in it a designed stroke of satirical resentment. _The Self-tormentor_, as we saw, had ridiculed Chremes’ _curiosity_ by a severe reproof. Chremes, to be even with him, reflects upon the _inhumanity_ of his temper. “You, says he, seem such a foe to humanity, that you spare it not _in yourself_; I, on the other hand, am affected, when I see it suffer in _another_.”

Whence we learn, that, though all which is requisite to constitute comic humour, be a _just expression of character without design_, yet such _expression_ is felt more _sensibly_, when it is further enlivened by _ridicule_, or quickened by the poignancy of _satire_.

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.

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_.