12.1.
mvp-aristotle-comment-34
12.4
THE PROLOGUE.
THE prologue of the ancient tragedy was a very different thing from that which goes under its name on the modern stage. It was, in fact, the opening of the piece. We have already mentioned how awkwardly this is often managed with us, and how inartificially by the Greeks [A]. Generally one of the characters, sometimes a god, and sometimes a ghost, as that of Polydore in Hecuba [B] relates to the audience (not to the fictitious dramatic audience, for the first entry of the chorus was usually with the parode, [c] but directly to the spectators) all the preceding circumstances necessary to let them into the story of the drama. [A] Note I, chapter VII. [B] This practice of the Greek tragedies is ridiculed with some humour, in a parody by Lloyd, on the opening of the Electra. I a gentleman did wed, › The lady I would never bed, • Great Agamemnon's royal daughter, • Who coming hither to draw water.' [c] Mr. Warton forgot this circumstance, when he blamed Milton for opening Comus by a foliloquy spoken in a forest. See Mr. Twining's note on the word parode. Difficult
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. Difficult as the task is to open a drama well, like other difficulties the greater glory attends its being overcome, as it has often been by our good dramatic writers. Milton has opened both his dramatic poems in the ancient manner, and among the subjects suited to the drama of which he has left short sketches, he proposes that the tragedy of Macbeth should be opened by Duncan's ghost. Milton did not prefer this mode from any deficiency, or, at least, any distrust in his powers, but from his ftrong partiality to the ancients. How he would have fucceeded, had he chosen the more natural, though difficult mode of the moderns it is impoffible to say; we can only observe, that the fame person has never yet excelled in the drama and the epopee, congenial as they appear to be [D]. It is certainly lucky for his poetical character that he did not enter the lifts with Shakespear in Macbeth, according to the method he has proposed. That Milton, great as his poetical merit is, could have ever fucceeded in competition with that prodigy of human genius in any thing except learning and correctness I can hardly believe; but I am fure the claffic ghost of Duncan would have started, like a guilty thing,' amid the gothic machinery of Shakespear. It is something curious to trace the progreffion of the fame attending this father of our drama. In his own time he appears to have been a univerfal favorite. Indeed he could not have been otherwise. His faults were all committed to comply with the taste of the age when he wrote, and his beauties are such as must delight every age, and every taste for whom the beauties of truth and nature, unadorned by meretricious ornament, have charms. Both his merits and his defects therefore were popular, though probably the last most. He did not however escape [D] See the concluding note of this work. Ee the
the envy of his rivals. Beaumont and Fletcher, whose excellencies are so far inferior, and whose farcical irregularities are so much more glaring, (for there is no incident in Shakespear so absurd as the arming [E] Demetrius. Poliorcetes with a pistol,) and whose indecencies are so disgusting, have more than once levelled a fatiric blow at his fame. And Jonson, the pedantic Jonson, has sometimes censured him obliquely, and sometimes praised him fuperciliously, not as a writer by any means equal to himself, or likely to become his rival in dramatic fame; but in the way a Cramer, or a Haydn, might be supposed to speak of a wonderful musical ruftic, who, without musical education, was able to bring some wild founds out of a violin. Something in the same manner he is spoken of by Milton. But there is a heavier charge against Him in regard to Shakespear. In his Eiconoclastes there is a passage • That fullies even his brightest lays, • And blasts the vernal bloom of half his bays.' Like all other cenfure of the fame kind it misses the intended mark, and recoils on the author; and we are not inclined to think the worse of the unfortunate and misguided Charles because, we are told that Mr. William Shakespear was the closet companion of his folitudes. As the age improved in false refinement, and the opinion of the French critics prevailed, Shakespear became more out of fashion with those who affected polite literature, and to be admirers of the ancients, till Rhymer, and the superficial and pedantic Shaftsbury, at last boldly stept forth and [B] In the humourous Lieutenant.. See note 1, chap. xxiv. condemned
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. condemned him and his works to oblivion. Still, however, this doctrine was too refined for the people, it was caviar to the million, and Shakespear was yet popular. The theatre, to please both the learned and the unlearned, got the plays of Shakespear cut down as much as poffible to the Grecian, or rather the modern fashion, and the stage was glutted with alterations of the plays of Shakespear. At length English criticism grew too strong for French support, and ventured to walk alone. From that moment Shakespear has boasted an encreasing fame; and at this time, when the classics are more universally studied and really understood here, than in any other age or nation, when they are criticised without prejudice, and admired without pedantry, his works are as much idolized by his countrymen, as the poems of Homer were in the time of Aristotle. At present, however, the dramas of Shakespear are more known in the closet than on the theatre. (F) Our dramatic taste seems to have [F] Perhaps this may be accounted for, in great measure, from our want of capital actors, I mean in tragedy; we have many excellent comedians. The power of representing the characters of Shakespear fell with Garrick. From the same source we may derive the prevalence of the musical drama; we have fingers though we have not actors. But that we are not insensible to the excellence of acting when we meet with it, is obvious from the reception of Mrs. Siddons. Strong as the tafte for the musical drama is at present, no finger that ever yet came from Italy could support herself on the stage, through successive seasons, as that unrivalled tragic actress has done, even with better afsistance than those who have acted with her. She alone acted, for several winters, against the opera, and what is still more, against the fashionable hours of the metropolis, and always to crouded houses. 'The degree in which she singly interested the public in the tragic scene, is a circumstance creditable to the English taste. But the dramas of Shakespear cannot be supported by an actress however excellent. Women's characters written for boys to act, can never afford fufficient exercise for the foul-subduing powers of Mrs. Siddons. Ee 2 funk
funk with Garrick. The musical drama has ufurped the province both of Thalia and Melpomene; and we have lately seen one of his most entertaining plays exhibited on the stage as an opera. What would the haughty Jonson have thought of the prophet who had told him that in an age of learning, the works of Shakespear would be in universal estimation, while his own were hardly talked of, and never read. I cannot think even that Milton could eafily have imagined that among a people well versed in polite and classic literature, the [G] stuff of Mr. William Shakespear would be preferred to Comus and the Sampfon Agonistes. The genius of Garrick seems to have been particularly calculated to introduce Shakespear on the stage. He knew how to alter him so as to fit him for the audience of the present day without divesting him of any of his excellencies, and the few additions he has ventured are in the spirit of the original. These plays so altered are likely to keep poffeffion of the theatre, while every other attempt at change and improvement are forgotten, except Cibber's Richard III. and Tate's Lear, which, with fome correction of Mr. Garrick, are still acted, though the alteration of the last is directly in oppofition to the precepts of the Stagirite and Mr. Addison [H]. Cibber, though versed in the province of the drama, (which is, perhaps essential to make a good dramatic writer, fince the knowledge of stage effect is of great confequence,) poffefssed a genius not above [G] 'Other stuff of this fort may be read throughout the tragedy.' (Richard the Third.) [H] See note VII, chap. XIII. EICONOCLASTES. medi-
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. mediocrity; and Tate was a very indifferent poet. Yet there is a line in Cibber's Richard, written by himself so characteristic of the manner of his archetype that I have often heard it cited as one of Shakespear's beauties. I mean the exclamation of Richard on Buckingham' sbeing taken, • Off with his head! So much for Buckingham.' And I heard Lord Chatham (then Mr. Pitt) quote the following verse of Tate in the House of Commons; undoubtedly taking it for Shakespear's, • Where the gor'd battle bleeds in every vein.' To return from this long digression to the immediate object of the note. The modern prologue seems to derive its origin immediately from the Roman Comedy. The prologues of Terence are very much like those of the present day, alluding to such temporary subjects as relate to the drama, and containing a kind of apology for the new piece. We are not certain whether this practice of the Romans was copied from the comic theatre of Athens, as we have only fragments of their middle and new comedy, but from the known resemblance of Terence to Menander we have reason to suppose it was.
12.2.
mvp-aristotle-comment-35
12.5
THE EPISODE, OR ACT.
THIS part of the drama comprehends every thing contained between the odes of the chorus. That is in fact all the piece except the prologue, which precedes the first ode; and the exode, which succeeds、 the last. The intervals of the representation, and confequently the number
number of acts, depend on the number of these odes, which is different in different tragedies, and varies from three to seven. It is impoffible to read a Greek tragedy, without seeing the abfurdity of those critics who have tried to reduce all those dramas to five acts in obedience to the EX POST FACTO law of Horace. • Neve minor, neu fit quinto productior actu 'Fabula.'
• Let not your play have fewer acts than five, Nor more.' COLMAN. Metastafio observes on this subject that ' in Horace's time the • Romans were accustomed to five acts, and to four rests or intervals. • And Horace very reasonably supposed that a poet would hazard the • success of his drama, however perfect, if he tried to bring the audience ، ، to a custom different from that which prevailed in the public theatres at the time when he wrote. If Horace had written his Art of Poetry forty years before, he would probably have recommended the divi- • fion of the drama into three acts, for the fame reason that forty years • after he advised it to be made in five. For in an epistle of Cicero to his brother Quintus it appears evident that the public dramas were ⚫ then commonly divided into three, and not five acts. [1] " Before I con- [1] Illud te ad extremum et oro et hortor ut tanquam poetæ boni et actores industrii < folent, fic tu in extremâ parte et conclusione muneris ac negotii tui, diligentiffimus fis; ut ' hic tertius annus imperii tui, tanquam tertius actus, perfectissimus & ornatiffimus videatur.' CIC. EP. AD QUINT. FRUT. L. I. EP. I. IN FINE. Perhaps, however it may not be difficult to reconcile this passage of Tully with the rule of Horace if we look to the Latin tragedies. Those of Seneca have each four choral odes, dividing the piece into five acts. And yet, according to the pofition of Aristotle, as those only
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. " I conclude, I beg and exhort you, that after the example of good " poets, and industrious actors, you would be particularly diligent in the " latter part and conclufion of your office and employment, that this " third year of your command, like the third act of a drama, may ap- " pear most perfect and splendid." ESTRATTO DELLA POETICA, page 245. The fame would be the reason why an English, and an Italian critic would give different advice on this head. And the propriety of fuch a distinction has been justified by experience in both instances. Metastasio tells us, an attempt was made to introduce the five act drama on the Italian stage, which was obliged to be dropped from the cold reception it met with on account of its novelty; and some years ago a trial was made of the drama of three acts on our stage with no better success. Hecuba and the Desart Island barely stood their nine nights. The Way to Keep Him still remains, (and very deservedly,) a popular comedy, but with the addition of two acts. That this proceeds from a dislike to innovation, and not from any intrinfic merit in the rule of Horace, appears from our having no objection to it in the comic opera, where it is authorised by custom. I must confefs the space of three acts seems quite sufficient for the single circumstance of an action which is the proper object of dramatic only are efteemed acts, or episodes, that are included between the fongs of the chorus, the second, third, and fourth, could only have properly that appellation, the first being the prologue, and the last the exode. Horace, therefore, speaks according to the mode of the Roman theatre, while Tully adopts the division of the Greeks. imitation.
imitation. The obligation laid on the poet to protract his piece to five acts occafioned our earlier poets to have recourse to the double plot; and the modern tragedy which confines itself to one action, from its length partakes something of the (K) watery quality which Aristotle tells us would attend a fimple dramatic fable, if drawn to the length of the epopee. Besides, the division of the fable into three parts, a middle, a beginning, and an end, which Aristotle [L] has defined to be necessary to constitute an entire action, naturally suggests such a division of the drama which is to imitate an entire action. To use the words of an ingenious writer, • The first act, or beginning will fix the spectator's ' attention by opening the plot, and raifing his attention. The fecond, or middle will further continue his perplexity till he is utterly at a • loss to conceive how the piece will terminate. And the third, or end • will relieve him from his embarrafssment and agreeable anxiety after it is carried to the utmost, by an unexpected, yet natural cataftrophe [M].' We are not only indebted to the Latin crítics for the division of the drama into acts, but for the fubdivision of those acts into scenes. As the act was determined by the ode of the chorus in tragedy, and the vacancy of the stage in comedy [N], so the end of the scene was marked by [κ] ὑδαρῆ. Poetic, Chap. xxvI. [L] Poetic, Chap. VII. [M] Letters of Literature, Letter xxI. [N] The division of scenes in Shakespear is marked by their actual change. When the pedantry of the self-named scholars of Ariftotle first took poffeffion of our stage, one of the rules
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. by the entrance, or exit of a character; and this they expressed by naming all the characters at the beginning of the first scene of the first act who were then on the stage; and when a person either entered or went out repeating the names with the addition or omiffion of that person [o]. All this the modern theatre obviates, by fimply marking the entrance and departure of the characters. Till very lately, new plays were always on their first publication printed in the Latin mode. At length however good sense prevailed over pedantry, and we have restored that form of stage direction which is most convenient, reviving the custom of our older writers, except as to the language, most of their directions being in Latin, as Exit cum fuis, Exeunt omnes, Manet. We only retain Exit, and Exeunt. rules was, never to change the scene, or leave the stage vacant, in the middle of an act. This Metastasio breaks through, (see his Operas paffim.) It never prevailed on our theatre. I own I am utterly unable to see what possible advantage can be derived from the observance, or disadvantage from the breach of it. [o] For instance: they would have written the first scene of the fifth act of Henry Iv. Part 1. thus: Аст v. SCENE I. King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, Sir John Falstaff. SCENE II. King Henry, Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmorland, Sir Walter Blunt, Sir John Falstaff, Worcester, Vernon. SCENE III. King Henry, &c. reciting all the names again, except Worcester and Vernon. Ff The
" 218- The Abbé D'Aubignac was for following the example of the ancients, and laying afide all fstage directions whatever, merely because they never used them. From the same principle, why not propose the disuse of capital letters, stops, and division of words, in writing and printing? It is not very foreign to this subject to remark what was called 'the • dumb show,' in our old plays. This appears to have been a kind of pantomimical exhibition of the principal circumftances of the piece previous to its commencement. There is a remarkable one in Hamlet. Before the opening of the supposed play to be exhibited to the king and queen, the following stage direction appears. • Trumpets found, dumb shew ، follows, which is accurately described, and appears to contain every circumstance of the murder of Hamlet's father. Now there is no apparent reason why the ufurper should not be as much affected by this mute representation of his crime, as he is afterwards when the fame. action is accompanied by words.. I once conceived this might have been a kind of direction to the players which was from mistake inferted in the editions; but the fubsequent conversation between Hamlet and Ophelia, entirely destroys fuch a notion. This observation leads me to another. The use of soliloquies; either. when the character is quite alone, or when he speaks to himself in company, which last is generally diftinguished by the word ' aside,' in the margin. Though in real life this custom of thinking aloud hardly ever happens, yet we are so accustomed to it on the stage, and it is often so useful in developing a character that I think it may fairly be permitted. But no incident, even the most trifling, should ever arise from
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. { from overhearing a foliloquy. The conversation of Mungo to his hamper in the Padlock, which is overheard by Don Diego, does not fall under this fault, as such a real conversation is perfectly confiftent with the character of the grumbling negro. To return to the word episode. It seems inconsistent, to a reader unacquainted with the origin of the Greek tragedy, that the principal part of it comprehending the body of the fable should be distinguished by a name which usually implies a digreffion, or some tale that is not immediately connected with the leading epic, or dramatic action, and in which sense it is frequently employed in the treatise before us. To explain this, it will be necessary to take a short view of the rife and progress of the ancient drama. Tragedy owed its birth to a kind of ode in honor of Bacchus which was performed at the festival of that deity by rival poets, and the prize given to the successful candidate was a goat, from whence it received its name [P]. It occurred first to Thespis, one of these contending bards, to enliven the dulness of his periodic song by some tale or fable to be recited between the intervals by one of the perfons employed to fing in the ode. To this person Æschylus added a second actor, as Sophocles afterwards did a third, forming a dramatic dialogue in which the ori- [P] Τραγωδία, literally means the fong of the goat. So Horace, * Carmine qui tragico vilem certavit ob hircum.' ART. POET. 220. He who the prize, a filthy goat, to gain, • At first contended in the tragic strain.' Ff2 COLMAN. :: ginal
ginal reciter of the fable, taken from the musical performers of the ode, had only a fubordinate part. For a confiderable time however, the musical part continued to be confidered as the chief; and the dramatic part as a kind of deviation from the regular form of tragedy [Q], which was sanctioned by religion, and supported and regulated by the magiftrates, and from that circumftance received the appellation of episode, which it ever afterwards retained. From this it is obvious, that the chorus was not the choice of the poet, but a necessary appendage to the theatre which neither law nor custom would permit him to dispense with. This particular circumftance of the Greek tragedy, which occafioned them to smuggle as it were the dramatic fable on the public between the pauses of a musical composition, cannot fail of reminding us of the mode adopted by the provincial theatres to avoid the rigor of the law before the late act in their favor, by receiving money for a concert of mufic, and announcing a play to be acted gratis during the intervals [R]. NOTE [Q] From this custom of deviating from the original design of praising Bacchus in these odes, arofe the Greek proverb Ουδὲν πρὸς Διονυσιὰν. 'It has nothing to do with Bacchus," which was applied generally to any thing introduced foreign to the subject in question. ، Good- [R] By such a fubterfuge was the illustrious Garrick first ushered to the public notice. The curious reader will not be difpleased to fee a copy of the bill that announced him. • man's Fields, October 19, 1741. At the late theatre in Goodman's Fields, this day will • be performed, a concert of vocal and instrumental music, divided into two parts. Tickets at three, two, and one shilling. Places for the boxes to be taken at the Fleece Tavern, ' near the theatre. N. B. Between the two parts of the concert will be prefented an hifto- ( rical play, called The Life and Death of King Richard the Third: containing the distresses • of King Henry VI. the artful acquisition of the crown by King Richard, the murder of • young King Edward the Fifth and his brother in the Tower; the landing of the Earl of ‹ Richmond, and the death of King Richard, in the memorable battle of Bofworth Field, ' being
12.3.
mvp-aristotle-comment-36
12.6
THE EXODE.
THE exode does not mean the catastrophe of the fable, but the conclusion of the piece, though the catastrophe was often comprehended in it; it was in effect the last act. The Greek tragedies, like ours, generally end with some moral fentence drawn from the events of the fable. All those of Sophocles do. Euripides makes the same sentence serve for several plays. These are usually spoken by the chorus, not fung, for the distinction of the exode is its following the last ode of the chorus. ' being the last that was fought between the houses of York and Lancaster; with many ' other true historical passages. The part of King Richard, BY A GENTLEMAN, (WHO ، NEVER APPEARED ON ANY STAGE.) King Henry, by Mr. Giffard; Richmond, by Mr. Marshall; Prince Edward, by Miss Hippisley; Duke of York, Miss Naylor; Duke • of Buckingham, Mr. Peterson; Duke of Norfolk, Mr. Blakes; Lord Stanley, Mr. Pagett; Oxford, Mr. Vaughan; Tressel, Mr. William Giffard; Catesby, Mr. Marr; Ratcliff, Mr. Crofts; Blunt, Mr. Naylor; Tyrrel, Mr. Puttenham; Lord Mayor, Mr. Dunstall; ' the Queen, Mrs. Steele; Dutchess of York, Mrs. Gates; and the part of Lady Anne, by Mrs. Giffard. With entertainments of dancing, by Monf. Fromet, Madam Duval, and ' the two Masters and Miss Granier. To which will be added, a Ballad Opera of one • act, called the Virgin Unmasked. The part of Lucy, by Miss Hippisley. Both of which • will be performed gratis by persons for their diversion. The concert will begin exactly at ' fix o'clock.' This curiosity was communicated to me by Mr. William Giffard, one of the performers, now (1791) living at Southampton, a gentleman in character and manners truly respectable. It
DITE. It was the custom of the Roman comic theatre for one of the characters to address the audience, and folicit their favor by saying PLAU- This was partly followed by our elder comic writers who would frequently bring one of the characters forward to address the audience, in what was then called an epilogue. As for example in the epilogues to All's Well that Ends Well, and As You Like It. From this arose the modern epilogue which is now considered as an essential appendage to every new drama. This is sometimes spoken in the character that has been performed, as in the celebrated epilogue to the Distressed Mother which is still always called for whenever the play is acted. Sometimes in the person of the particular actor that speaks it, as in the epilogue to Dryden's Tyrannic Love spoken by Nell Gwin which begins, ، Hold, are you mad, you damn'd confounded dog! • I am to rife and speak the epilogue [s].' And fometimes, indeed most commonly, as an indifferent perfon. Many of our epilogues abound with wit and humour. That to the Clandestine Marriage is a kind of after-piece [r]. Much has been faid both for and against these kind of ludicrous epilogues to tragedy. Thomson passes a severe sentence on them in the [s] It is now universally the practice for the curtain to drop and the player to go out, and return again, even if the epilogue is spoken in character. Such a conduct as this of Dryden's is a direct avowal of the theatrical deception. [T] For an instance of an epilogue supplemental to the tragedy, see Note II. Chap. XIII. epilogue
2.23 POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. epilogue to his Tancred and Sigismunda. The Spectator, No. 338, criticises the epilogue to the Distressed Mother, to which there is a very pert and superficial answer by the author of the epilogue himself, (Budgel), as appears by the fignature in the Spectator, No. 341. Our philosophical critic would certainly have condemned this custom, as every one must who confiders it as the object of tragedy to make any serious impreffion on the mind, and not be confidered merely as the amusement of the moment. A humorous after-piece has something of the same effect, but not in the fame degree, as the epilogue in question is a ludicrous censure on the [u] incidents of the piece. Budgel justifies his prologue from the French custom of clofing their tragic entertainments with a ridiculous PETITE PIECE, a custom but lately introduced here during the first nine nights of a new play; and if we credit a French writer in preference to Mr. Budgel, the practice was the fame On the French stage at the time his defence was written, (1712). “The - custom of giving a small piece after the larger has only been efta- ← blished fince the year 1722. The larger pieces at first acting were. conftantly performed by themselves, and a smaller piece was never • added till after the eighth or tenth representation, and which was always confidered then as a symptom that the play was likely not to • be well received. To obviate this opinion, sometimes ill founded, • but always prejudicial, M. de la Mothe caused a petite piece to be • played the first night of the representation of his tragedy of Romulus, • and the practice has been continued ever since.' DICTIONNAIRE D'ANECDOTES, ART. COMEDIE FRANÇOISE. Under the same article is a ridiculous anecdote relative to the tragedy, from which the Distressed Mother is nearly a tranflation. A grave magistrate who had never. ، [v.] See conclusion of Note 11. Chap. VI. • been
• been at a play, was perfuaded to go by some of his friends from the ' afsurance they gave him that he would receive much entertainment ' from the tragedy of Andromache. He was very attentive to the play ' which was followed by a farce called the Pleaders. On coming out • he met the author, and meaning to pay him a compliment, said to ' him, " I am vastly pleased with your Andromache. It is really a capital piece; but yet I own I am a little surprised you make it end "so merrily. I was once very near crying, but when those comical "little dogs appeared I could not help laughing." It is with regret I observe, that the modern drama is again adopting the custom of the actors addressing the audience at the conclufion of the piece. Besides the absurdity of this practice (w), which tends to destroy the effect of the scene, it is attended with the grossest and most [w] Every allufsion to the drama, in a drama, is out of place, and absurd. Lessing, Vol. 1. p. 204, censures this passage in the Merope of Massei, both from this reason, and on account of the anachronism in mentioning the scene before the existence of the drama. • Con cosi strani auvenimenti forsè ' Non vide mai favoleggiar le scene.' • Ne'er has the scene such strange events display'd.' Dryden has been guilty of both these errors in the speech he puts into the mouth of Edipus, which begins, O that as oft at Athens I have seen 'The stage arise, and the big clouds descend.'.
and of one of them in Love Triumphant, where Veramond compares the catastrophe to the "winding up of fome defign, • Well form'd upon the crouded theatre.' Our great poet of nature is but too much addicted to this practice. servile
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. fervile flattery. The infolent tranquillity with which an audience will receive the highest strains of adulation under the specious appellation of THE PUBLIC is no bad specimen of the respect a [x] democratic affembly has for the rights and equality of mankind. I have blushed for my countrymen when I have seen them in a body receive almost adoration from a lovely and accomplished actress which any individual of them would have been proud to offer. I am forry to add, that this disgraceful practice is not confined to the musical drama. To the best of my recollection, it was first revived in a regular and excellent comedy, The Clandestine Marriage. The tragic. muse has, I believe, hitherto kept herself clear of this degradation. [x] Lest I should be thought, in this sentence to be libelling the House of Commons, I beg leave to observe, that neither that assembly, nor any representative body whatever, can be called democratical. All representatives are, to use the words of Colonel Mitford, persons • elected by the people to legislative authority, for merit real or supposed.' SEE HISTORY OF GREECE, Chap. v. Sect. 1. Our House of Commons has besides distinction of rank, which evidently must arise from the qualification of property required. To quote the words of our Critic where he is defining the different forms of government, ὅπου ἡ πολιτεία βλέπει ἐις τε πλοῦτον, καὶ ἀρετὴν, καὶ δῆμον, ὁῖον ἐν Καρχηδόνι, αύτη ἀριςοκρατική ἔςι. ARIST. POLIT. L. IV. C. VIII. • When the form of the commonwealth looks up to riches, ' to virtue, and to the opinion of the people, as in Carthage it is aristocratical.' I wish to know how the qualifications of a member of parliament could be more exactly expressed, a certain quantity of property, merit real or supposed, and popularity. Gg NOTE
12.4.
mvp-aristotle-comment-37
12.10
THE CHORUS.
[Y] WE have already traced the origin of this appendage to the ancient tragedy; and shewn that it was not at least invented for the purpose of heightening either the probability of dramatic representation, or affifting its moral tendency. That it has these effects, as well as fome other collateral advantages has been the opinion of fome of the most judicious critics both of the French and English school. I shall therefore examine how far this opinion appears to be founded on truth; dividing my enquiry into three heads. The effect of the chorus, on dramatic probability. On the moral influence of the drama. And on the conduct of the fable, by preventing unmeaning conversation between confidents, officers, &c. for the fake of unfolding events to the audience which they could not otherwise learn. For on these three points all the arguments in favor of the chorus seem to reft. A And first as to the probability. The bishop of Worcester in his notes on the Epistle to the Pifos makes the following observation. ' chorus interpofing, and bearing a part in the progress of the action gives the representation that probability, and striking resemblance of • real life which (z] EVERY MAN OF SENSE perceives, or feels the [Y] See Note II. this chapter. [z] With all my respect for this elegant critic, I think he has gone a little too far in branding all who differ in opinion with him on, at least a disputed hypothefis, with folly. It favors a little of the concluding decree in Bramston's' Man of Taste.' This is true taste, and whoso likes it not, Is blockhead, coxcomb, puppy, fool, and fot.' want
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. ' want of, upon our stage; a want which nothing but such an expedi- ⚫ent as the chorus can possibly supply.' In this passage probability of action is evidently confounded with probability of representation. If the fable is well formed, the situations affecting, the language adapted to the paffion, and these assisted by the natural expression and powers of the actor [A], without doubt the allufion is compleat. We are hurried away by our feelings, and we yield to the impression of the scene. But in this case we never enquire where we are, or how it is poffible fuch a scene should pass before fuch a number of spectators as furround us; at such a question the whole delusion vanishes, and instead of being in. the castle of Macbeth, or the tent of King John, we instantly find ourselves in the Theatre Royal. It is impossible for any notion to be more unfounded on truth than that which supposes that no dramatic action can have the requifite probability for public representation that may not be supposed to pass before spectators, and that consequently a dramatic audience before whom the real action is supposed to pass is necessary both to encrease the probability of the scene, and confine the poet to such events as may naturally happen in public. It is proved beyond a doubt that when we reflect for an instant, a momentary suspension of the delirium in which we [A] It may tend to some elucidation of this subject to enquire how the force of dramatic illusion is effected by the being acquainted with the voice and person of the actors, or by being in habits of intimacy with them. I think there is no doubt that the different effects of the itinerant preacher, and the regular clergyman on the lower part of the congregation, arifes in great measure, though not entirely, from this. But then in this case the difference arises from the opinion entertained as to their being really in earnest, and the little opportunity there is of feeing in one how his doctrine may be contradicted by his life; while an actor, however strange to us, is always known to be an actor. Gg 2 are
are involved by the combined arts of poet and the player, convinces us where we really are. The ornaments of the theatre, however well adapted to the play, (and, when well adapted, they certainly encrease the delusion while it lasts, and flatter our love of propriety when it ceafes,) no more deceive us than if the performance were in an indifferent room. The moment therefore we come to confider that there are other spectators befides ourselves, this disenchantment is effected. [B] In fact, the border of the stage may be confidered as the frame of a picture, dividing the real from the imaginary scene; and there is no more impropriety in imagining an action, or converfation of the most private nature, to pass before a crouded theatre, than for a picture of Diana bathing to be shewn in a full exhibition room at the Royal Academy. That real delufion may have taken place in weak or in deranged minds I will not deny. A countryman who had never seen a play might mistake the reprefentation for the reality; and if they are not founded on truth, at the least there is no improbability in the stories of the [c] clown, who got up to go out on the entrance of the players [B] Since the above was written I have had the pleasure to fee the fame remark made and illustrated in Mr. Saunders's Treatise on Theatres. • A division is necessary between the ⚫ theatre and the stage, and should be so characterised as to assist the idea of their being two • diftinct places.' - Were a painted frame to be proposed for a picture, how would the • connoiffeurs exclaim! The scene is the picture, the frontispiece is the frame, or in other ◄ words, the frame should contrast the picture, and thereby add to the delusion.' P. 36, 84. [c] I once was present at the representation of The Recruiting Officer by a strolling company, when a country fellow rather weak in his intellects went upon the stage to enlist as Serjeant Kite was distributing the king's picture. It appeared he was ferious in his intent, from his enlisting with the first recruiting party that came into the town afterwards. as
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. as imagining them difcoursing on private business; and the failor who, provoked to fee the death of Effex likely to happen from the countess of Nottingham concealing the ring when Elizabeth asked her, • What, said he nothing of a private import? • No circumstance-no pledge-no ring?' on Nottingham's answering 'none!' roared out from the gallery, 'It is ، a d-'d lie, for I saw him give it her myself.' The behaviour therefore of Partridge, at the representation of Hamlet in Tom Jones is not unnatural, any more than that of Don Quixote among the puppets, since the fame man who mistook a windmill for a giant, might easily suppose a puppet-shew to be a reality. All the consequences then of this boasted additional probability which tragedy would derive from the use of a chorus seem to be these. First, it must oblige the poet to confine the time of action within the precife time of the representation. For when this time is exceeded on the Grecian stage, of which there are many instances, the natural and probable unity of time is violated from the continual prefence of the chorus, notwithstanding the latitude allowed by Aristotle [D]. And secondly, without any reason founded on the truth of representation, it deprives him of situations in every respect the most interesting, and most fitted to the purpose of tragedy that his imagination can conceive. Indeed the stilts, the monstrous masks, and the unnatural recitation of the ancient theatre, made the chorus not so great an encumbrance there as it would be on ours. The effect of the Grecian drama was almost universally derived from great and striking events, and seldom from the [D] See Note III. Chap. v. dialogue,
dialogue which is so great a source both of terror and distress on our stage. The most affecting scenes on the modern theatre, and which give the most ample scope to the genius of the poet, and the exertions of the player, are those where one character is working on the feelings of another; scenes, of which if there are any, there are only faint traces to be discovered in the Grecian tragedy, and which indeed are utterly incompatible with the constant prefence of a chorus. Surely the most sanguine admirer of antiquity cannot hesitate a moment in condemning an hypothesis which, if received, must immediately banish from the stage the scenes between Lady Macbeth and her husband, Iago and Othello, and King John and Hubert. Before I quit the probability of the chorus, I must beg to cite a passage from M. Brumoy in favor of it. • I know,' he says, it has < some inconveniencies, and it has sometimes thrown the ancients • into errors against probability, but its advantages infinitely more than ⚫ balance its inconveniencies. (E) Sophocles knew how to get rid of • the chorus for a few moments when he had occafion to do it; as in • his Ajax. It is the poet therefore, and not the chorus that ought to ⚫ be blamed when he is put to inconvenience by it.' I perfectly agree with M. Brumoy in this position, that the poet is solely to blame who admits the chorus where he can get rid of it (as every modern poet can) in every place where it cannot be admitted with propriety, and this I think comprehends every part of the action. Between the acts it might be admitted with strict propriety, but it is perhaps impracticable from a reason already mentioned (F). M. Brumoy then proceeds to state the conveniencies of the chorus, which are those [E] See Note III. Chap. XI. [F] See Note II. Chap. VI.. already
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. already mentioned, and concludes with a description of the [G] dance which accompanied the choral ode, I suppose, as a decisive proof of the PROBABILITY it gave to dramatic representation. We next come to the moral effect of the chorus, or the advantage the drama derives in this respect from the remarks made on the conduct and sentiments of the characters during the course of the action. This has afforded the critics an ample field for panegyric, and the opinion has been supported by some names highly eminent both for genius and learning. Mr. Mason in his Letters on Elfrida, (Letter 1v. near the end), after having mentioned Pierre as a character much 'calculated to leave false • and immoral impreffions on the spectator,' adds, that he knows of none more capable of doing service in a moral view, when justly ani- • madverted on by a chorus;' and says further, that bad characters become on this plan as harmless in the hands of the poet as the historian.' The case of the historian and the poet here, however, are widely different. The historian must recite facts as they are, or at least as he is informed they are, and therefore if they are so arranged as to be liable to make wrong impressions, as he cannot alter the arrangement, he must step forward in his own person, and make the necessary comment on [G] The chorus was arranged in three ranks, of five each when consisting of fifteen performers, and four when of twelve, who imitated in their evolutions the supposed motion of the heavenly bodies. Turning from right to left in imitation of the daily movement of the firmament from east to west while the first stanza was performing, which received from thence the name of STROPHE; and from left to right in imitation of the occafional movement of the planets from west to east during the second stanza or ANTISTROPHE; and remaining fixed during the third stanza or EPODE to mark the stability of the earth. Ben Jonson, in the first regular imitation we have of the Grecian ode, calls these stanzas by the names of turn, counterturn, and stand. the
the action. But it is the poet's fault if his action requires any fuch comment at all, as it is in his option to arrange his incidents as he chuses. If the poet really draws his fable, or forms his characters in fuch a manner as to have an immoral tendency, it is in vain for a chorus to come forward and try to explain it away or efface by words an impreffion that has been made by incident. And if the fable and characters have on the whole a moral tendency, whatever partial and temporary passages may have a contrary appearance in the course of the representation, any tranfient impression of that fort must be removed in the end without having recourse to so inartificial an expedient as the introduction of a chorus. If the manners either of a vicious or a ridiculous character are well marked either in tragedy or comedy, his words can have no dangerous effect on the audience even at the moment; because the spectator will never regulate his own conduct, and sentiments, by those • of a person, who from the opening of the piece is proposed to him as * an example of error and misfortune.'-TERRASSON.. This interference of the chorus is like the moral usually added to fables written for children, and the inutility of these is fairly demonstrated by Rousseau, in his Emilius [H], when he is speaking of the impropriety of putting the fables of La Fontaine into their hands. In short, if the poet has drawn vice amiable, and virtue contemptible or repelling, it is in vain for him to endeavour to alter the impression by a chorus. Indeed, we never want a chorus to define right from wrong. Do we want a chorus to tell us that Lovelace is an accomplished villain, and Grandifon a pattern of confummate virtue? and yet there is something fo repelling in the virtue of the one, and so amiable [H] Vol.I. Part 1. in
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. in the manners of the other, that we can neither hate Lovelace nor like Grandison; therefore to use, with some alteration, the decision of M. Brumoy above quoted, ' It is the poet therefore and not the ab- • fence of the chorus that is to be blamed, when he is put to inconve- ⚫ nience by the want of it.' How cold, how unaffecting, how fuperfluous, would the animadversion of a chorus be on the fufferings of a Lear, or the crimes of a Macbeth, compared with the utterance of their own feelings and the effect of them on the other persons of the drama. It is THEIR expreffion of pity and terror! It is the horror shewn by the physician and attendant during Lady Macbeth's walking dream, and the indignation of Falconbridge at Hubert, as the supposed murderer of Arthur, that resemble the two horses in Le Brun's picture, 'who start back, with their hair standing an end left they should trample on the bleeding infants;' [1] and not the dull unimpaffioned reflections of a chorus. (K) A most elegant and judicious dramatic critic observes, 'that though it is the office • of the chorus, on the Grecian stage, to moralize, and to point out on every occafion the advantages of virtue over vice, yet how much less affecting are their animadverfions than the teftimony of the perfon • concerned! Whatever belongs to the chorus has hardly the effect of • dramatic imitation. The chorus is, in a manner, without personal character or interest, and no way an agent in the drama. We cannot fympathize with the cool reflections of these idle spectators as we do • with the sentiments of the perfons in whose circumstances and fituation we are interested.' [1] See quotation from the Abbe Vatry, cited by Mr. Mason in Letter Iv, on Elfrida. [K] See Mrs. Montague's Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare. Hh Should
Should the dramatic writer however find himself at a loss for want of a chorus, and not be contented or able to deduce the proper effect from the incidents and active characters of the piece, he must create one for the purpose of making moral reflections, which is always in his power, fince, as Brumoy observes, 'the chorus, properly speaking was the • honest man of the piece.' Therefore the poet may as well give this office to a Menenius, or an Ænobarbus, as to twelve or fifteen citizens or captives. It seems even the chorus did not always execute their office to the fatisfaction of the people of Athens. We are told by Ælian, that Efchylus was condemned by the senate for the impiety of one of his plays,. and faved only by the interceffion of his brother, who moved the compaffion of the assembly by shewing his arm without the hand, which he had loft at the battle of Salamis. And Seneca relates a fimilar story of Euripides, from which the Bishop of Worcester infers the neceffity of a chorus, though some people perhaps may think it rather shews its inefficacy: and that if the tendency of the action appears immoral to the spectators, a by-ftander will never be able to perfuade them it is moral. It now remains to notice the fuppofed advantage of the chorus, in obviating the neceffity of introducing useless confidents merely to say yes or no, while the principal characters are difclofing their secrets through them to the audience. But in fact, the difference of the ancient and modern theatre amounts only to this; an injudicious modern poet, who has no better mode of unfolding his fable to the spectator, invents a useless character; whereas an ancient poet, in the fame predicament avails. himself of one that the custom of the theatre supplies. But the impropriety
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. propriety is exactly the fame, except that in one case the confident is alone, and in the other accompanied by attendants. Mr. Mafon, in his third letter on the tragedy of Elfrida, which he was advised to adapt to the modern stage, allows that, ' undoubtedly, • most part of the dialogue of the chorus might be put into the mouth ' of an Emma, or Matilda, who with fome little shew of sisterly concernment, might easily be made to claim kindred with Earl Athelwood.' I would not wish that the beautiful poems of Elfrida and Caractacus were in any respect different from what they are. They are above all criticism and all commendation; and we may furely allow Mr. Mason to be partial to a species of drama in which he has, in every eye not blinded by partiality to the ancients, at least equalled the noblest models of antiquity. But in regard to the subject we are confidering, dramatic propriety, the confidante he mentions would be at least as proper as the Coryphaea of his chorus, who appears to be only Elfrida's principal female servant; fince Orgar, speaking to the chorus, says, • Your garbs bespeak you for the fair attendants • Of fome illustrious dame, the wife or fifter • Of this dread Earl.' - and the answer allows the suggestion. ، ' well we know Fidelity's a virtue that ennobles • Even servitude itself.'- They should not therefore in the dramatis perfonæ, be styled chorus • of British virgins,' but ' of Elfrida's attendants.' Hh 2 It
It is besides much more improbable for a character to impart a fecret to twelve or fifteen persons than one. Of this the ancient tragic poets were aware, and often make their characters answer boldly for the fidelity of their numerous confidential friends. In the Electra of Sophocles, Orestes is cautious of speaking out before the chorus, confifting of Argive young women: but Electra encourages him. [L] OREST. 'I would tell you, if these women are friends." ELECT. But they are friends, therefore you will speak before those • who may be trusted.' In the Cœphori of Æschylus, Orestes is obliged to exhort the chorus, who are also women, in rather harsher terms than was confiftent with their independance [M]. • I would advise you to govern your ، tongues properly; to be filent when it is necessary, and speak only • what is convenient.' And in the Electra of Euripides, Orestes shews the fame caution as in the tragedy of Sophocles, and receives the fame affurance from his fister. [N] OREST. Are these, who hear our conversation friends? ELECTRA. So much so, as carefully to keep all we say secret. [1] Εγὼ φράσαιμ᾽ ἂν, ἐι τὸ τῶνδ᾽ ἐύνεν παρα. Αλλ᾽ ἔσιν ἔυναν ὥσε πρὸς πισὰς ἐρεις. [Μ] Ὑμῖν δ᾽ ἐπαινῶ γλῶσσαν ἐύφημον φερεῖν. Σιγᾶν θ᾽ ὅπε δεῖ, καὶ λέγειν τὰ καίρια. [Ν] ῾Αιδ᾽ ἐν φίλαι σοι τῆς δ᾽ ἀκούσιν λόγους; Ωσε σέγειν γε τὰ μὰ, καὶ σ᾽ ἐπη κάλως. The
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. The inconvenience of a chorus to the poet, when he chuses a subject unfit for their continued presence, though in every other respect proper for the drama, is no where shewn more clearly than in the Hippolytus of Euripides. Indeed, it offends both against probability and morality. Nothing can be more improbable than for a woman to trust an incestuous paffion to her confidante before several other indifferent women: and nothing more immoral than for these women to promife to keep it secret, and to fulfil that promise though it occafioned the death of an innocent person. Those who have a mind to fee how a perfon can defend an hypothefis he favors, in defiance of his own reason and conviction, will be entertained with Brumoy's remarks on this tragedy; where, after all his arguments, he is obliged to allow their sophistry, and the real and radical defects of the chorus. • If these excuses, (he says) though • drawn from Euripides himself, appear too far-fetched, and are not fatisfactory to those who criticise the ancient theatre; these critics will agree, at least, that by these means the poet has diminished with a great deal of art the defect almost inseparable from the chorus, whose eternal prefence produces a spectacle always fine, often necessary, but sometimes embarraffing to the principal actors. We fee, plainly, that Euripides wished to avoid this defect, and yet retain the chorus: for if - this many-headed perfonage had been ignorant of Phædra's paffion, it - must have been mute and inactive. It would have become useless, • and would have deprived the scene of one of its most brilliant ornaments.' [o]. . ، ، [o] Le Pere Brumoy has made a false criticism on the Hippolytus of Seneca; he blames the poet for suffering Hippolytus to leave his sword in the hands of Phædra, a thing (he says) contrary to the manners of the Greeks, who were never armed but on a journey or in war." believe the critic forgot that Hippolytus was just returned from the chace. I. shall
I shall conclude this long note with Mr. Twining's summary, though comprehenfive view of the progress and decline of the chorus. At • first it was all; then relieved by the intermixture of dialogue, but still principal; then fubordinate; then digressive, and ill-connected with ' the piece; then borrowed from other pieces at pleasure; and so on to * the fiddles, and act tunes, at which Dacier is so angry.' CHAP.