He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Conloch, to try his love, clothed her white side with his armor, and strode from the cave of Ronan. Thinking her his foe, his heart beat high, and his color changed. He drew the bow: the arrow flew: Galvina fell in blood. He ran to the cave with hasty steps, and called the daughter of Conloch. Where art thou, my love? but no answer. -He marked, at length, her heaving heart beating against the mortal arrow. O Conloch's daughter, is it thou? he sunk upon her breast. The hunters found the hapless pair. Many and silent were his steps round the dark dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came; he fought, and the strangers fell: he searched for death over the field; but who could kill the mighty Comal? Throwing away his shield, an arrow found his manly breast. He sleeps with his Galvina: their green tombs are seen by the mariner, when he bounds on the waves of the north. Next, upon the peculiarities of a dramatic poem. And the first I shall mention is a double plot; one of which must resemble an episode in an epic poem; for it would distract the spectator, instead of entertaining him, if he were forced to attend, at the same time, to two capital plots equally interesting. And even supposing it an under-plot like an episode, it seldom hath a good effect in tragedy, of which simplicity is a chief property; for an interesting subject that engages our affections, occupies our whole attention, and leaves no room for any separate concern. Variety is more tolerable in comedy, which pretends only to amuse, without totally occupying the mind. But even there, to make a double plot agreeable, is no slight effort of art: the under-plot ought not to vary greatly in its tone from the principal; for discordant emotions are unpleasant when jumbled together; which, by the way, is an insuperable objection to tragi-comedy. Upon that account, the Provoked Husband deserves censure; all the scenes that bring the family of the Wrongheads into action, being ludicrous and farcical, are in a very different tone from the principal scenes, displaying severe and bitter expostulations between Lord Townley and his lady. The same objection touches not the double plot of the Careless Husband; the different subjects being sweetly connected, and having only so much variety as to resemble shades of colors harmoniously mixed. But this is not all. The under-plot ought to be connected with that which is principal, so much at least as to employ the same persons: the under-plot ought to occupy the intervals or pauses of the principal action; and both ought to be concluded together. This is the case of the Merry Wives of Windsor. Violent action ought never to be represented on the stage. While the dialogue goes on, a thousand particulars concur to delude us into an impression of reality; genuine sentiments, passionate language, and persuasive gesture: the spectator, once engaged, is willing to be deceived, loses sight of himself, and without scruple enjoys the spectacle as a reality. From this absent state, he is roused by violent action: he awakes as from a pleasing dream, and, gathering his senses about him, finds all to be a fiction. The French critics join with Horace in excluding blood from the stage; but, overlooking the most substantial objection, they urge only, that it is barbarous, and shocking to a polite audience. The Greeks had no notion of such delicacy, or rather effeminacy: witness the murder of Clytemnestra by her son Orestes, passing behind the scene as represented by Sophocles: her voice is heard calling out for mercy, bitter expostulations on his part, loud shrieks upon her being stabbed, and then a deep silence. I appeal to every person of feeling, whether this scene be not more horrible than if the deed had been committed in sight of the spectators upon a sudden gust of passion. If Corneille, in representing the affair between Horatius and his sister, upon which murder ensues behind the scene, had no other view but to remove from the spectators a shocking action, he was guilty of a capital mistake; for murder in cold blood, which in some measure was the case as represented, is more shocking to a polite audience, even where the conclusive stab is not seen, than the same act performed in their presence by violent and unpremeditated passion, as suddenly repented of as committed. I heartily agree with Addison,* that no part of this incident ought to have been represented, but reserved for a narrative, with every alleviating circumstance in favor of the hero. A few words upon the dialogue; which ought to be so conducted as to be a true representation of nature. I talk not here of the sentiments, nor of the language; for these come under different heads: I talk of what properly belongs to dialogue-writing; where every single speech, short or long, ought to arise from what is said by the former speaker, and furnish matter for what comes after, till the end of the scene. In this view, all the speeches, from first to last, represent so many links of one continued chain. No author, ancient or modern, possesses the art of dialogue equal to Shakspeare. Dryden, in that particular, may justly be placed as his opposite: he frequently introduces three or four persons speaking upon the same subject, each throwing out his own notions separately, without regarding what is said by the rest: take for an example the first scene of Aurenzebe. Sometimes he makes a number club in relating an event, not to a stranger, supposed ignorant of it, but to one another, for the sake merely of speaking: of which notable sort of dialogue we have a specimen, in the first scene of the first part of the Conquest of Granada. In the second part of the same tragedy, scene second, the King, Abenamar, and Zulema, make their separate observations, like so many soliloquies, upon the fluctuating temper of the mob. A dialogue so uncouth, puts one in mind of two shepherds in a pastoral, excited by a prize to pronounce verses alternately, each in praise of his own mistress. This manner of dialogue-writing, beside an unnatural air, has another bad effect: it stays the course of the action, because it is not productive of any consequence. In Congreve's comedies, the action is often * Spectator, No. 44. suspended to make way for a play of wit. But of this more particularly in the chapter immediately following. No fault is more common among writers, than to prolong a speech, after the impatience of the person to whom it is addressed ought to prompt him or her to break in. Consider only how the impatient actor is to behave in the mean time. To express his impatience in violent action, without interrupting, would be unnatural; and yet to dissemble his impatience, by appearing cool where he ought to be highly inflamed, would be no less so. Rhyme being unnatural and disgustful in dialogue, is happily banished from our theatre: the only wonder is that it ever found admittance, especially among a people accustomed to the more manly freedom of Shakspeare's dialogue. By banishing rhyme, we have gained so much, as never once to dream of any further improvement. And yet, however suitable blank verse may be to elevated characters and warm passions, it must appear improper and affected in the mouths of the lower sort. Every scene in tragedy need not be in blank verse. Shakspeare, with great judgment, intermixes prose with verse, and only employs the latter where it is required by the importance or dignity of the subject. Familiar thoughts and ordinary facts are expressed in plain language: to hear a footman deliver a simple message in blank verse, must appear ridiculous to every one who is not biassed by custom. In short, that variety of characters, and of situations, which is the life of a play, requires not only a suitable variety in the sentiments, but also in the diction. REVIEW. In what do tragedy and epic poetry resemble each other? What is the difference in their effects? Why does dramatic composition make a deeper impression? Who understood the advantage of this method? To what sort of poems is the term pathetic applied? To what is the term moral applied? Give an example of a poem inculcating moral truth by narrative. What is the effect of a pathetic composition? Are subjects always equally fitted for epic or for dramatic composition? For which is dialogue better qualified? For which is narrative? What is peculiarly the province of tragedy?-what of epic poetry? What is the subject best fitted for tragedy?-why? Why does not an accidental misfortune greatly move our pity? What is the happiest of all subjects for raising pity? What passion does a pathetic tragedy raise?—a moral tragedy? What is the effect of purely accidental misfortunes happening to an innocent person? Give an example. What is the effect of misfortunes not accidental? Give an example. How does fable operate on our passions? What rule results hence? What caution is necessary, in handling historical subjects? What is to be observed in dividing an epic poem or tragedy? What is the rule with respect to action and sentiment?" What sort of beings should be excluded from the stage? What error is noticed in Jerusalem Delivered? What remark is made by Voltaire? Did Voltaire observe his own rule? What is the effect of too frequent introduction of the gods? What author successfully ridicules the modern use of the heathen mythology? What is the effect of allegory? What caution should be observed in using it? Give examples of the improper use of allegory. Give examples. What is the effect of an episode? When should it be used?-under what circumstances? What is required in a double plot? How is the requisition answered in the Provoked Husband? How in the Careless Husband? How in the Merry Wives of Windsor? Why is violent action not admissible on the stage? Do the French allow it?-did the Greeks? How should the dialogue be conducted? Who excels in this? What is a common fault? Is rhyme suitable for the drama? In what does Shakspeare show great judgment? |