Volume 2 — CHAP. I. ON THE PROVINCES OF TRAGEDY AND COMEDY.

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

1. If the proper end of TRAGEDY be to affect, it follows, “that actions, not characters, are the chief object of its representations.” For that which affects us most in the view of human life is the observation of those signal circumstances of felicity or distress, which occur in the fortunes of men. But felicity and distress, as the great critic takes notice, depend on action; κατὰ τὰς πράξεις, εὐδαίμονες, ἢ τουναντίον. They are then the calamitous events, or fortunate Issues in human action, which stir up the stronger affections, and agitate the heart with Passion. The manners are not, indeed, to be neglected. But they become an inferior consideration in the views of the tragic poet, and are exhibited only for the sake of making the action more proper to interest us. Thus our joy, on the happy catastrophe of the fable, depends, in a good degree, on the virtuous character of the agent; as on the other hand, we sympathize more strongly with him, on a distressful issue. The manners of the several persons in the drama must, also, be signified, that the action, which in many cases will be determined by them, may appear to be carried on with truth and probability. Hence every thing passing before us, as we are accustomed to see it in real life, we enter more warmly into their interests, as forgetting, that we are attentive to a fictitious scene. And, besides, from knowing the personal good, or ill, qualities of the agents, we learn to anticipate their future felicity or misery, which gives increase to the passion in either case. Our acquaintance with Iago’s close villainy makes us tremble for Othello and Desdemona beforehand: and Hamlet’s filial piety and intrepid daring occasion the audience secretly to exult in the expectation of some successful vengeance to be inflicted on the incestuous murderers.

2. For the same reason as tragedy takes for its object the actions of men, it, also, prefers, or rather confines itself to, such actions, as are most important. Which is only saying, that as it intends to interest, it, of course, chuses the representation of those events, which are most interesting.

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

3. On the same account, the persons, whose actions Tragedy would exhibit to us, must be of principal rank and dignity. For the actions of these are, both in themselves and in their consequences, most fitted to excite passion. The distresses of private and inferior persons will, no doubt, affect us greatly; and we may give the name of tragedies, if we please, to dramatic representations of them: as, in fact, we have several applauded pieces of this kind. Nay, it may seem, that the fortunes of private men, as more nearly resembling those of the generality, should be most affecting. But this circumstance, in no degree, makes amends for the loss of other and much greater advantages. For, whatever be the unhappy incidents in the story of private men, it is certain, they must take faster hold of the imagination, and, of course, impress the heart more forcibly, when related of the higher characters in life.

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

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

1. Comedy, by the very terms of the definition, is conversant about characters. And if we observe, that which creates the pleasure we find in contemplating the lives of men, considered as distinct from the interest we take in their fortunes, is the contemplation of their manners and humours. Their actions, when they are not of that sort, which seizes our admiration, or catches the affections, are not otherwise considered by us, than as they are sensible indications of the internal sentiment and disposition. Our intimate consciousness of the several turns and windings of our nature, makes us attend to these pictures of human life with an incredible curiosity. And herein the proper entertainment, which comic representation, as such, administers to the mind, consists. By turning the thought on event and action, this entertainment is proportionably lessened; that is, the end of comedy is less perfectly attained4.

But here, again, though action be not the main object of comedy, yet it is not to be neglected, any more than character in tragedy, but comes in as an useful accessary, or assistant to it. For the manners of men only shew themselves, or shew themselves most usually, in action. It is this, which fetches out the latent strokes of character, and renders the inward temper and disposition the object of sense. Probable circumstances are then imagined, and a certain train of action contrived, to evidence the internal qualities. There is no other, or no probable way, but this, of bringing us acquainted with them. Again; by engaging his characters in a course of action and the pursuit of some end, the comic poet leaves them to express themselves undisguisedly, and without design; in which the essence of humour consists.

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

These observations concerning the moderated use of action in comedy, instruct us what to think “of those intricate Spanish plots, which have been in use, and have taken both with us and some French writers for the stage. The truth is, they have hindered very much the main end of comedy. For when these unnatural plots are used, the mind is not only entirely drawn off from the characters by those surprizing turns and revolutions; but characters have no opportunity even of being called out and displaying themselves. For the actors of all characters succeed and are embarrassed alike, when the instruments for carrying on designs are only perplexed apartments, dark entries, disguised habits, and ladders of ropes. The comic plot is, and must, indeed, be carried on by deceipt. The Spanish scene does it by deceiving the man through his senses: Terence and Moliere, by deceiving him through his passions and affections. This is the right method: for the character is not called out under the first species of deceipt: under the second, the character does all.”

2. As character, not action, is the object of comedy; so the characters it paints must not be of singular and illustrious note, either for their virtues or vices. The reason is, that such characters take too fast hold of the affections, and so call off the mind from adverting to the truth of the manners; that is, from receiving the pleasure, which this poem intends. Our sense of imitation is that to which the comic poet addresses himself; but such pictures of eminent worth or villainy seize upon the moral sense; and by raising the strong correspondent passions of admiration and abhorrence, turn us aside from contemplating the imitation itself. And,

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

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

And now, taking the idea of the two dramas, as here opened, along with us, we shall be able to give an account of several attributes, common to both, or which further characterize each of them. And,

1. A plot will be required in both. For the end of tragedy being to excite the affections by action, and the end of comedy, to manifest the truth of character through it, an artful constitution of the Fable is required to do justice both to the one and the other. It serves to bring out the pathos, and to produce humour. And thus the general form or structure of the two dramas will be one and the same.

2. More particularly, an unity and even simplicity in the conduct of the fable5 is a perfection in each. For the course of the affections is diverted and weakened by the intervention of what we call a double plot; and even by a multiplicity of subordinate events, though tending to a common end; and, of persons, though all of them, some way, concerned in promoting it. The like consideration shews the observance of this rule to be essential to just comedy. For when the attention is split on so many interfering objects, we are not at leisure to observe, nor do we so fully enter into, the truth of representation in any of them; the sense of humour, as of the pathos, depending very much on the continued and undiverted operation of its object upon us.

3. The two dramas agree, also, in this circumstance; that the manners of the persons exhibited should be imperfect. An absolutely good, or an absolutely bad, character is foreign to the purpose of each. And the reason is, 1, That such a representation is improbable. And probability constitutes, as we have seen, the very essence of comedy; and is the medium, through which tragedy is enabled most powerfully to affect us. 2. Such characters are improper to comedy, because, as was hinted above, they turn the attention aside from contemplating the expression of them, which we call humour. And they are not less unsuited to tragedy, because though they make a forcible impression on the mind, yet, as Aristotle well observes, they do not produce the passions of pity and terror; that is, their impressions are not of the nature of that pathos, by which tragedy works its purpose. [κ. ίγ.]

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

1. Though a plot be necessary to produce humour, as well as the pathos, yet a good plot is not so essential to comedy, as tragedy. For the pathos is the result of the entire action; that is, of all the circumstances of the story taken together, and conspiring by a probable tendency, to a completion in the event. A failure in the just arrangement and disposition of the parts may, then, affect what is of the essence of this drama. On the contrary, humour, though brought out by action, is not the effect of the whole, but may be distinctly evidenced in a single scene; as may be eminently illustrated in the two comedies of Fletcher, called The Little French Lawyer, and The Spanish Curate. The nice contexture of the fable therefore, though it may give pleasure of another kind, is not so immediately required to the production of that pleasure, which the nature of comedy demands. Much less is there occasion for that labour and ingenuity of contrivance, which is seen in the intricacy of the Spanish fable. Yet this is the taste of our comedy. Our writers are all for plot and intrigue; and never appear so well satisfied with themselves as when, to speak in their own phrase, they contrive to have a great deal of business on their hands. Indeed they have reason. For it hides their inability to colour manners, which is the proper but much harder province of true comedy.

2. Tragedy succeeds best, when the subject is real; comedy, when it is feigned. What would this say, but that tragedy, turning our attention principally on the action represented, finds means to interest us more strongly on the persuasion of its being taken from actual life? While comedy, on the other hand, can neglect these scrupulous measures of probability, as intent only on exhibiting characters; for which purpose an invented story will serve much better. The reason is, real action does not ordinarily afford variety of incidents enough to shew the character fully: feigned action may.

And this difference, we may observe, explains the reason why tragedies are often formed on the most trite and vulgar subjects, whereas a new subject is generally demanded in comedy. The reality of the story being of so much consequence to interest the affections, the more known it is, the fitter for the poet’s purpose. But a feigned story having been found more convenient for the display of characters, it grew into a rule that the story should be always new. This disadvantage on the side of the comic poet is taken notice of in those verses of Antiphanes, or rather, as Casaubon conjectures, of Aristophanes, in a play of his intitled, Ποίησις. The reason of this difference now appears.

One sees, then, the reason why Tragedy prefers real subjects, and even old ones; and, on the contrary, why comedy delights in feigned subjects, and new.

The same genius in the two dramas is observable, in their draught of characters. Comedy makes all its Characters general; Tragedy, particular. The Avare of Moliere is not so properly the picture of a covetous man, as of covetousness itself. Racine’s Nero, on the other hand, is not a picture of cruelty, but of a cruel man.

Yet here it will be proper to guard against two mistakes, which the principles now delivered may be thought to countenance.

The first is with regard to tragic characters, which I say are particular. My meaning is, they are more particular than those of comedy. That is, the end of tragedy does not require or permit the poet to draw together so many of those characteristic circumstances which shew the manners, as Comedy. For, in the former of these dramas, no more of character is shewn, than what the course of the action necessarily calls forth. Whereas, all or most of the features, by which it is usually distinguished, are sought out and industriously displayed in the latter.

The case is much the same as in portrait painting; where, if a great master be required to draw a particular face, he gives the very lineaments he finds in it; yet so far resembling to what he observes of the same turn in other faces, as not to affect any minute circumstance of peculiarity. But if the same artist were to design a head in general, he would assemble together all the customary traits and features, any where observable through the species, which should best express the idea, whatever it was, he had conceived in his own mind and wanted to exhibit in the picture.

There is much the same difference between the two sorts of dramatic portraits. Whence it appears that in calling the tragic character particular, I suppose it only less representative of the kind than the comic; not that the draught of so much character as it is concerned to represent should not be general: the contrary of which I have asserted and explained at large elsewhere [Notes on the A. P. v. 317.]

Next, I have said, the characters of just comedy are general. And this I explain by the instance of the Avare of Moliere, which conforms more to the idea of avarice, than to that of the real avaricious man. But here again, the reader will not understand me, as saying this in the strict sense of the words. I even think Moliere faulty in the instance given; though, with some necessary explanation, it may well enough serve to express my meaning.

The view of the comic scene being to delineate characters, this end, I suppose, will be attained most perfectly, by making those characters as universal as possible. For thus the person shewn in the drama being the representative of all characters of the same kind, furnishes in the highest degree the entertainment of humour. But then this universality must be such as agrees not to our idea of the possible effects of the character as conceived in the abstract, but to the actual exertion of its powers; which experience justifies, and common life allows. Moliere, and before him Plautus, had offended in this; that for a picture of the avaricious man, they presented us with a fantastic unpleasing draught of the passion of avarice. I call this a fantastic draught, because it hath no archetype in nature. And it is, farther, an unpleasing one, for, being the delineation of a simple passion unmixed, it wanted all those

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 anger6. 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.