5.3.
mvp-aristotle-comment-13
5.8
TRAGEDY ENDEAVOURS AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE TO CONFINE ITSELF TO ONE REVOLUTION OF THE SUN, OR ONLY TO EXCEED IT A LITTLE.
FROM this plain direction, the critics of the French school, and especially Dacier, have deduced that the action should not exceed the exact time of reprefentation, and have found out that one [o] period or revolution of the fun comprises twelve hours, which would be, at least, four times that length. That people urged by superstition, or worfe motives, should wish to give the most absurd and contradictory sense to plain and obvious passages in writings of sacred authority, to support their own systems, when we consider the force of enthusiafm and ambition, is more to be lamented than wondered at. But such a strange perverfion of common sense, to justify a dramatic prejudice, is at once an object of furprize and ridicule. If the practice of the Greek tragedy had been always in strict conformity with this rule of the French critics, there would have been some shadow of reason for their trying to accommodate. this precept of Aristotle to the custom of the ancient stage; but on the contrary, the [P] Greek tragedians often afsume a greater latitude than [ο] Μίαν περίοδον ἠλίς.. See note II, chap. vii. for some further observations on Ariftotle's definition of the unity of time.. [P] For examples of the violation of the unities of time and place, (Ariftotle says nothing of the laft) by the Greek dramatic poets, the curious reader is referred to METASTASIO'S ES- TRATTO DELLA POETICA D'ARISTOTLE. See also ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM, Chap. xxiii.. paffim. the
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. ! the rule laid down by Aristotle, or even the nature of the thing itself will justify.
The words of Dacier, on the supposed invariable adherence of the ancients to this strict unity of time, are these. They have made it fo • indispensible a law, that to avoid violating it they have fometimes done violence to the incidents.' Which Mr. Twining observes is in fact saying, that they have so scrupulously adhered to the rule, that ' sometimes, for the fake of observing it, they have been obliged to • break it.' But they have done much more, there is a unity of time marked by nature, the breach of which destroys the probability of every fictitious tale whatever, either narrative or dramatic. I may conceive days, and months, and years, to have passed during an interval in a representation, which I know to be a representation, and not a reality; but every shadow of probability vanishes, and we are instantly disgusted, either, when without any interruption of the action during a dialogue of fix minutes, fix hours are supposed to have elapsed, or, (which is nearly the fame thing,) when the space of time occupied by the drama is exactly defined, and then incidents are crouded into it which could not poflibly have happened in that space [Q]. [Q] This absurdity is well described by M. Lessing. < Do not you admire the conduct of • the piece? it is in general fo complicated that it would be a miracle if so many things had • happened in so short a time. The ruin or preservation of an empire, the marriage of a prin- * cess, the deftruction of a prince, all this is executed in the twinkling of an eye. The affair ⚫ is opened in the first act, it is connected and strengthened in the second, every measure is ▲ taken, every obstacle removed, and the conspirators arranged in the third, then follows a re- ⚫ volt, a fight, perhaps a pitched battle, and this you call conduct, intereft, fire, and probability.' DRAMATURGIE, Vol. i. p. 139. S2 In
In the ancient drama, where the action was never interrupted, and the stage continually occupied by the chorus, I must think that probability is really in fome measure violated when the supposed time of action is at all extended beyond the actual time of representation. Of this the suppliants of Euripides afford us a striking instance. Theseus marches from Athens to Thebes, gains a complete victory, and a messenger returns to give an account of the battle, during a short lyric dialogue between his mother Æthra and the Chorus. I appeal to any unprejudiced judge if the conduct of Shakespear, who most likely would have transported us to Thebes, and made us spectators of the battle, has any thing so really contrary to probability as this, or if any thing can be more unreasonable than the rules of those critics, who, because Aristotle allowed the period of twenty-four hours, or a little longer, to a drama without intervals, would, on that very authority, confine a drama with intervals to three hours [s]. [s] Le Pere Brumoy, though a staunch advocate for the doctrine of the French school as to the rigid observance of the unity of time, has this mitigating sentence, ' As the resemblance be-- • tween the drama and nature cannot be always so exact as not to admit fome difference in favor of the beauties of art, even art, to avail itself of these beauties, may deceive the spectator, ⚫ and reprefent an action whose duration comprehends eight or ten hours, although the drama • employs only two or three.' Now though the Pere Brumoy mentions particular periods of time in which the dramatic fable, on certain great occafions, may exceed the dramatic representation, as we cannot suppose he mentions eight or ten hours in contradistinction to nine and eleven, his meaning must be, that this rule may be broken when the observation of it ceases to be necessary, and that truth and general probability are the only proper judges of this law, fince, as Horace allows, • Utor permiffo, caudæque pilos ut equinæ • Paulatim vello, et demo unum, demo etiam unum. But
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. But though the modern drama, from the breaks in the representation, by the division of acts and change of scene, has not its duration marked out by the nature of its composition, yet if the period of time is defined by any circumstance whatever, and events are supposed to happen in that period, which it is either physically or morally impoffible could have happened, the error is against truth and nature, and not only against the arbitrary or the reasonable laws of the drama; and, it must be confefsed, we sometimes find our own inimitable dramatic Bard erring in this respect. The tragedy of King Lear will furnish an inftance of this kind of error. In the second act, Lear comes in, with all his train, to Regan at Glocester's castle, having been recently affronted by Goneril. From the circumstance of the storm continuing, it is obvious that the interval between the second and third act, does not comprehend a period of time, much exceeding that which really passes, and the eyes of Glocefter are put out on the fame night, just as he had relieved the old king on the heath; yet in this time we hear, there is part of a power already footed ، ، to revenge the injuries the king now bears;' and Cornwall says, 'the army of France is now landed.' This rule of natural unity is equally essential to the drama, the epopee, the fable, and the tale; it has nothing to do with the most striking flights of improbability. If a writer puts his hero on a magic courser that can Put a girdle round about the earth • In forty minutes,' it is no offence against this rule; but it would be a great one to make an army march from London to Edinburgh in one night. I have fomewhere met with an observation, that the time of the representation and the fable, in the tragedy of Cato, might have been made exactly
exactly equal, and the strictest rule of dramatic unity observed, had not Addison chofen, wantonly, to violate it by opening the play with a description of the morning; and making Juba say of Cæfar's army, in the last act, • The setting fun Plays on their shining arms and burnish'd helmets.' Addison certainly was not obliged to mark the time in this manner; but whether he had or not, it must have been impoffible to conceive the business of the play could have been transacted in a shorter time, than between sun-rife and fun-set, in the longest day, at Utica. Of the unity of place, it has already been observed, Aristotle says nothing. However, it is strongly connected with the unity of time, and depends on it: 'I mean the natural unities; not that artificial rule of never altering the supposed spot of representation [T), because the Greek theatre never changed its scenes, which is about as reasonable as it would be not to wear shirts because the ancients had no linen. During the continuance of the action, or when the exact time is otherwise defined, no greater change of place can be supposed, than what might probably happen in fuch a period [u]. But it may possibly be asked, though the Muse of Shakespear has ventured to pass the bounds of time and space,' and therefore a change of scene is neceffary for the reprefentation of his dramas; yet as no [T] See note r, chap. xvii. [U] For a further illustration of this, see the application of the unities to the epopee, note 11, chap. xxiv. See also Philological Enquiries, page 218. modern
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. modern poet ventures to extend his length of time beyond the period prescribed by Ariftotle, why may not the strict unity of place be observed on the English stage, as well as on the French stage? Perhaps it might be a fufficient anfwer to this, to say, the [v] taste of the English demands this change of scenes, but I will not rest my defence of the practice of our stage on this, or on the fuperiority of the theatrical decoration from a variety of well painted [w] scenes, but from the fuperior probability of the play, and the removal of one great and unfurmountable, or, at least, as yet unfurmounted difficulty attending the strict observance of the unity of place, the bringing in and sending out the characters with propriety. And I chuse to do this, in the words of a writer, who cannot be influenced by national prejudices, in favour of either the French or English theatre [x]. • To confefs the truth, the English, [v] Of the taste of the English in this refpect, the following anecdote is a ftriking proof. • In the play of Phædra and Hippolytus, the author has observed the unity of place so well, ⚫ that all the scenes are exhibited in one spot, in an outer court of the palace. Mr. Garrick • faw this; he had a good scene prepared, and it stood the whole time of the play. The ma- ، nager was right; critics will say, the author was right, but the audience were disgufted." HILL'S Actor, page 255. However much the manager might think himself in the right, he found it prudent, on a subsequent occafion, to change his conduct. Mr. Whitehead, in his SCHOOL FOR LOVERS, observed the strict unity of place, and the whole action passes in a garden; but Mr. Garrick introduced a change of fcene in the representation, and he concludes his prologue to the comedy, after some humorous obfervations on the taste of the audience and the perfeverance of the poet, with these lines: • Still he persists-and let him-ENTRE NOUS • I know your tastes, and will indulge them too. • Change you shall have; so set your hearts at ease; WRITE AS HE will, we'll ACT it as you please.. [w] See note v, chap. vi. [x] Schlegel, a German dramatic poet, cited by M. Lessing in his Dramaturgie, vol. i. p. 215. who
• who do not pride themselves in observing the unity of place, obferve • it for the most part better than the French, who boast so much of • their strict adherence to the rules of Aristotle. It little imports, that • the decoration of the scene does not change, but it is of confequence ⚫ that the reason should be obvious why the perfons who enter should • find themselves exactly in that given spot, instead of remaining where they were. When a character behaves as the inhabitant and master • of an apartment, where, just before, another has been affuming the • fame appearance of authority, and talking with the greatest confiden- • tial freedom to his friend, without its being brought about by any ، probable means; in short, when the characters come into the room, or the garden, merely to appear on the stage, the author of the tragedy would do better, instead of writing, "the scene is in the chamber " of Climene," to say, "the scene is in the theatre." Or, to ، speak serioufly, it certainly would be more reasonable, if the author, according to the English custom, had changed the scene from one • house to another, and conducted the spectator to the hero, instead of obliging the hero to appear in a place where he has nothing at all to • do, for the purpose of amufing the spectator.' The false reasoning of the French critics, and their followers in this country, has arifen from the mistaken notion that dramatic imitation ever was, or ever could be a real deception. We are affected by the general probability of the incidents arranged by the poet, in such a manner as to render the impression of those he intends should work on the paffions, most forcible, by foftening, or fuppreffing, every circumstance which might at all interfere with the passions he wishes to excite; and this, when accompanied by the recitation and action of a good player, must have the strongest effect on the spectator; but as to real deception,
POETIC OF ARISTOTLE. deception, in the most empassioned scene of Lear, acted by Garrick, it never for an instant existed. The means of imitation were always apparent, or, to speak in the language of a late commentator, • It is false ' that any representation is mistaken for reality; that any dramatic fable, ⚫ in its materiality, was ever credible, or, for a fingle moment, was ever ' credited [B].' [B] Dr. Johnson's preface to Shakespear. T CHAP.
