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Me? To regulate this conduct, what of what must the poet beware; and famous rule have critics laid down; why? What instance is given to illus and of them, what is observed? But in trate this remark; and of it, what in order to do this with more advantage, observed? What must unity of action what is first necessary? What was the also regulate? What foundation has state of tragedy, in its beginning? the division of every play intc five What was its origin among the Greeks? acts? How does it appear to be purely How were these poems sung? In or- arbitrary? On the Greek stage, what der to throw some variety into this en-was totally unknown; and from what tertainment, what was thought proper? does this appear? What was the Greek Who made this innovation; of him, tragedy? How is this illustrated? what is observed; and what is said of What is remarked of the intervals at Eschylus? Of what these actors reci- which the chorus gung? As practice ted, what is remarked? What did this has now established a different plan, begin to give the drama, and by whom about what must the poet be careful? was it soon perfected? What is remark- What should the first act contain, and able; and how is this illustrated? how ought it to be managed? With From this account, what appears; and what does it make them acquainted? of it, what is further observed? To Of a striking introduction, what is obwhat question has this given rise? served? In the ruder times of the dra What must be admitted; and why?ma, how was the exposition of the sub The chorus, at the same time, conveyed [ject made; and what instance is men what; and of what persons was it tioned? As such an introduction is cxcomposed? Of this company, what is tremely artificial, what follows? Durfurther remarked? What illustration ing which acts, should the plot graduof this remark is given? But, notwith-ally thicken? Here, what should be standing the advantages of the chorus, the poets great object; and why? yet what is observed; and why? How What should he therefore do? What is this remark fully illustrated? What remark follows; and of whom is this may be confidently asserted? What the great excellence? But of French use might still be made of the ancient tragedians, what is observed? What chorus? What would be the effect of should reign throughout a tragedy this? After the view which we have and why? Of the fifth act, what is retaken of the rise of tragedy, &c. for marked? What is the first rule conexamining what, is our way cleared? cerning it; and hence, what are faulty? Of these three, which is the most im- What is the next rule; and why? In portant? When was its nature explain- the last place, what is observed; and ed; and in what does it consist? Why how is this illustrated? Of what were is this unity of subject still more essen- the ancients fond? When are such tial to tragedy, than it is to epic poetry? discoveries extremely striking; and What, therefore, follows; and why? what instances are given? What is What may there be? With what ought not essential to the catastrophe of a they to be connected; and for what tragedy; and why? In proof of this reason? Where have we a clear ex- remark, what instances are given? ample of this defect? What is the sub- But in general, to what does the spirit ject of this tragedy; and what is said of English tragedy lean? What quesof Cato himself? But what are mere tion naturally occurs here; and why? episodes; why did the author intro-Of this question, what is observed ? duce them; and what follows? What is the most plain and satisfacto

Of what must we take care? What ry account of the matter? By what lo unity and simplicity respectively are we, in some measure, relieved; and import n dramatic composition? Of by what are we gratified? What rethe Greek tragedies, what is here ob-mark follows? At the same time, what served? How is this remark illustrated must be observed? Having spoken of from the Edipus and Philoctetes of the conduct of the subject throughout Sophocles? Yet of these simple sub-the acts, of what is it necessary also jects, what is observed? Among the take notice? What forms a new scene; moderns, what has been admitted into and of these scenes, what is observed? tragedy; and what has it become? For this purpose, what is the first rule What remark follows? Why is this va- to be observed? Of this, what is 1eriety an improvement in tragedy? But marked; and why? By whom is this

ANALYSIS.

Dramatic poetry.
1. Tragedy.

cule observed; and by whom is it not? these unities, yet what must we reHow does this appear? What is the member; and why? In particular, second rule; and why? This is mana- what must we remember? How is this ging the person dramatis in what illustrated; and what instances of an manner? Whereas, what does the per- adherence to this rule are mentioned? fection of dramatic writing require? When will the impression in general, All that has hitherto been said, relates be the more perfect? How is this reto what; and in order to render it mark fully illustrated? more complete, what have critics added? Of the strict observance of these, what is observed? What do they respectively require? What is the intention of both these rules? What must we observe? From what does this appear; and hence, for what was there no room left? What has been the effect of suspending the spectacle totally for some little time between the acts? While the acting of the play is interrupted, what can the spectator do; and therefore, what follows? On the ancient stage, what do we plainly see? As the scene could not be shifted, what was the consequence? To what did this lead? From what did the like improbabilities arise; and why? Though modern poets need not strictly to observe

A. The strain and spir favourable to
virtue.

B. Aristotle's account of it.
c. The subject.

D. The origin.
E. The chorus.
. Unity.

a. Unity of action.

(a.) Unity and simplicity contrast

ed.

(b.) Directions for the conduct of
the acts.

(c.) The close considered.
(d) Why tragic representations af-
fords gratification.

(e.) Directions for the scenes of the

acts.

6. Unity of time and place.

LECTURE XLVI.

TRAGEDY.-GREEK-FRENCH-ENGLISH TRAGEDY.

HAVING treated of the dramatic action in tragedy, I proceed next to treat of the characters most proper to be exhibited. It has been thought, by several critics, that the nature of tragedy requires the principal personages to be always of illustrious character, and of high, or princely rank; whose misfortunes and sufferings, it is said, take faster hold of the imagination, and impress the heart more forcibly, than similar events happening to persons in private life. But this is more specious than solid. It is refuted by facts. For the distresses of Desdemona, Monimia, and Belvidera, interest us as deeply as if they had been princesses or queens. The dignity of tragedy does, indeed, require that there should be nothing degrading or mean in the circumstances of the persons which it exhibits, but it requires nothing more. Their high rank may render the spectacle more splendid, and the subject seemingly of more importance, but conduces very little to its being interesting or pathetic; which depends entirely on the nature of the tale, on the art of the poet in conducting it, and on the sentiments to which it gives occasion. In every rank of life, the relations of father, husband, son, brother, lover, or friend, lay the foundation of those affecting situa. tions, which make man's heart feel for man.

The moral characters of the persons represented, are of muck greater consequence than the external circumstances in which the poet places them. Nothing, indeed, in the conduct of tragedy, demands a poet's attention more, than so to describe his personages, and so to order the incidents which relate to them, as shall leave upon the spectators impressions favourable to virtue, and to the administration of Providence. It is not necessary, for this end, that poetical justice, as it is called, should be observed in the catastrophe of the piece. This has been long exploded from tragedy; the end of which is, to affect us with pity for the virtuous in distress, and to afford a probable representation of the state of human life, where calamities often befall the best, and a mixed portion of good and evil is appointed for all. But, withal, the author must beware of shocking our minds with such representations of life as tend to raise horror, or to render virtue an object of aversion. Though innocent persons suffer, their sufferings ought to be attended with such circumstances, as shall make virtue appear amiable and venerable; and shall render their condition, on the whole, preferable to that of bad men, who have prevailed against them. The stings and the remorse of guilt, must ever be represented as productive of greater miseries, than any that the bad can bring upon the good.

Aristotle's observations on the characters proper for tragedy, are very judicious. He is of opinion, that perfect unmixed characters, either of good or ill men, are not the fittest to be introduced. The distresses of the one, being wholly unmerited, hurt and shock us; and the sufferings of the other, occasion no pity. Mixed characters, such as in fact we meet with in the world, afford the most proper field for displaying, without any bad effect on morals, the vicissitudes of life; and they interest us the more deeply, as they display the emotions and passions of which we have all been conscious. When such persons fall into distress through the vices of others, the subject may be very pathetic; but it is always more instructive when a person has been himself the cause of his misfortune, and when his misfortune is occasioned by the violence of passion, or by some weakness incident to human nature. Such subjects both dispose us to the deepest sympathy, and administer useful warnings to us for our own conduct.

Upon these principles, it surprises me that the story of Edipus should have been so much celebrated by all the critics, as one of the fittest subjects for tragedy, and so often brought upon the stage, not by Sophocles only, but by Corneille also, and Voltaire. An innocent person, one in the main, of a virtuous character, through no crime of his own, nay, not by the vices of others, but through mere fatality and blind chance, is involved in the greatest of all human miseries. In a casual rencounter he kills his father, without knowing him; he afterwards is married to his own mother; and, discover ing himself, in the end, to have committed both parricide and incest, he becomes frantic, and dies in the utmost misery. Such a subject excites horror rather than pity. As it is conducted by Sophocles, it is indeed extremely affecting; but it conveys no instruction, it awa

kens in the mind no tender sympathy; it leaves no impression favourable to virtue or humanity.

It must be acknowledged, that the subjects of the ancient Greek tragedies were too often founded on mere destiny and inevitable misfortunes. They were too much mixed with their tales about oracles, and the vengeance of the gods, which led to many an incident sufficiently melancholy and tragical; but rather purely tragical, than useful or moral. Hence, both the Edipuses of Sophocles, the Iphigenia in Aulis, the Hecuba of Euripides, and several of the like kind. In the course of the drama, many moral sentiments occurred. But the instruction which the fable of the play conveyed, seldom was any more than that reverence was owing to the gods, and submission due to the decrees of destiny. Modern tragedy has aimed at a higher object, by becoming more the theatre of passion; pointing out to men the consequences of their miscon duct; showing the direful effects which ambition, jealousy, love, resentment, and other such strong emotions, when misguided, or left unrestrained, produce upon human life. An Othello, hurried by jealousy to murder his innocent wife; a Jaffier, insnared by resentment and want, to engage in a conspiracy, and then stung with remorse, and involved in ruin; a Siffredi, through the deceit which he employs for public spirited ends, bringing destruction on all whom he loved; a Calista, seduced into a criminal intrigue, which overwhelms herself, her father, and all her fiends in misery; these, and such as these, are the examples which tragedy now displays to public view; and by means of which it inculcates on men the proper government of their passions.

Of all the passions which furnish matter to tragedy, that which has most occupied the modern stage, is love. To the ancient theatre, it was in a manner wholly unknown. In few of their tragedies is it ever mentioned; and I remember no more than one which turns upon it, the Hippolitus of Euripides. This was owing to the na tional manners of the Greeks, and to that greater separation of the two sexes from one another, than has taken place in modern times; aided too, perhaps, by this circumstance, that no female actress ever appeared on the ancient stage. But though no reason appears for the total exclusion of love from the theatre, yet with what justice or propriety it has usurped so much place, as to be in a manner the sole hinge of modern tragedy, may be much questioned. Voltaire, who is no less eminent as a critic than as a poet, declares loudly and strongly against this predominancy of love, as both degrading the majesty, and confining the natural limits of tragedy. And assuredly, the mixing of it perpetually with all the great and solemn revolutions of human fortune which belong to the tragic stage, tends to give ragedy too much the air of gallantry and juvenile entertainment. The Athalie of Racine, the Mérope of Voltaire, the Douglas of Mr. Home, are sufficient proofs, that without any assistance from love, the drama is capable of producing its highest effects upon the mind. This seems to be clear, that wherever love is introduced into tra gely. it ought to reign in it, and to give rise to the principal action.

It ought to be that sort of love which possesses all the force and majesty of passion; and which occasions great and important consequences. For nothing can have a worse effect, or be more debasing to tragedy, than, together with the manly and heroic passions, to mingle a trifling love intrigue, as a sort of seasoning to the play. The bad effects of this are sufficiently conspicuous both in the Cato of Mr. Addison, as I had occasion before to remark, and in the Iphigénie of Racine.

After a tragic poet has arranged his subject, and chosen his personages, the next thing he must attend to, is the propriety of sentiments; that they be perfectly suited to the characters of those persons to whom they are attributed, and to the situations in which they are placed. The necessity of observing this general rule is so obvious, that I need not insist upon it. It is principally in the pathetic parts, that both the difficulty and the importance of it are the greatest. Tragedy is the region of passion. We come to it expecting to be moved; and let the poet be ever so judicious in his conduct, moral in his intentions, and elegant in his style, yet if he fails in the pathetic, he has no tragic merit; we return cold and disappointed from the performance; and never desire to meet with it more.

To paint passion so truly and justly as to strike the hearts of the hearers with full sympathy, is a prerogative of genius given to few. It requires strong and ardent sensibility of mind. It requires the author to have the power of entering deeply into the characters which he draws; of becoming for a moment the very person whom he exhibits, and of assuming all his feelings. For, as I have often had occasion to observe, there is no possibility of speaking properly the language of any passion, without feeling it; and it is to the absence or deadness of real emotion, that we must ascribe the want of success in so many tragic writers, when they attempt being pathetic.

No man, for instance, when he is under the strong agitations of anger, or grief, or any such violent passion, ever thinks of describing to another what his feelings at that time are; or of telling them what he resembles. This never was, and never will be, the language of any person, when he is deeply moved. It is the lan

guage of one who describes coolly the condition of that person to another; or it is the language of the passionate person himself, after his emotion has subsided, relating what his situation was in the moments of passion. Yet this sort of secondary description, is what tragic poets too often give us, instead of the native and primary language of passion. Thus, in Mr. Addison's Cato, when Lucia confesses to Portius her love for him, but at the same time, swears with the greatest solemnity, that in the present situation of their country she will never marry him; Portius receives this unexpected sentence with the utmost astonishment and grief; at least the poet wants to make us believe that he so received it. How does he express these feelings?

Fix'd in astonishinent, I gaze upon thee,
Like one just blasted by a stroke from heav'n,
Who pants for breath, and stiffens yet alive
In dreadful looks; a monument of wrath,

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