Volume 2 — 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,

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,

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:

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

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 language7: 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 comedy8.

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.