CHAP. I.
Being instead of a Preface to the whole Work, wherein is treated of the necessity of Publick Spectacles, of the Esteem the Ancients had them in, and in what state they are now amongst us.

ALL those Incomparable and Famous Ge­nius's which, from time to time, Hea­ven Designs for the Government of Mankind, do not only indeavour to make the Nations subject to their Con­duct, Triumph with victorious Arms over their Enemies, and thereby become Formidable [Page 2] to the World; but also having enriched them with all the wonders of Nature and Art, by the means of Com­merce with Foreign Nations, they do strive to soften and sweeten their Dispositions, by all the Noble Sci­ences that Mankind is capable of; and considering that Nature its self in its Noblest Productions, after having adorned them with all Qualities necessary to their Per­fection, gives them a certain Contentment and Rejoy­cing in them, which is the greatest of its Favours; these great Politicians, in imitation of her, do use to Crown all their Endeavours for the publick safety, with publick Pleasures and Entertainments, making their own glorious Labours either the means or the pretexts of all general Diversions. Their Victories are noted by days of Rejoycing and publick Games; and all the Spoils and Riches of Foreign Nations, are brought from the extremity of the Earth, only to compose the Pomp and Decoration of their Spectacles, as well as the most curious Sciences are Cultivated to produce men capable of inventing new Entertainments.

And to say Truth, what greater marks can there be of a flourishing Greatness in any State, than to see ma­ny of these Diversions? Thereby in Peace appears the Superfluity of its Riches, the Abundance of its Peo­ple, who without being a Charge to the Publick, can spare many days to their Pleasure, from those Employ­ments which are necessary to the subsistance of the great Body of the People; and besides, the Number of rare Wits busied in the publick Diversion, with all sorts of Inventions, and the greater number of excellent Ar­tificers, employed to execute the ingenious thoughts of the first, cannot but be a great Ornament to a Nation.

All the Common-wealths of Greece, had each their publick Games, where their Neighbours were as it [Page 3] were obliged to assist, that they might all appear equal in Magnificency, as well as in Power and Authority: And if the Common-wealths of Italy were forced to come short of the Grandeur of Rome in that point, yet by their particular Cirk's and Theatres they have shew­ed the World that they yielded only to the Mistress of it, and not to one another.

But whenever in the midst of War all these Diversi­ons are continued in a state, 'tis giving an evident de­monstration, that the Riches of it are without measure, and the People inexhaustible, when the dangers and la­bours of a Campaigne passed in the toyls of War, and the prospect of one to come, does neither change the Hu­mour nor the Courage of those that compose the Ar­mies, nor of those that stay at home; that they un­dertake with Joy in Summer those glorious actions, of which they see an Image upon the Stage in Winter, with so much Pleasure; and that the Advantages their Enemies reap from the War, are so inconsiderable as not to disquiet, or interrupt the publick Joy.

Thus the Athenians, having received in the very Theatre the news of an entire defeat of their Army be­fore Syracusa, would not so much as interrupt the pub­lick Games, but went on with those Spectacles as they had begun; and Foreign Embassadours, who themselves were by, and Spectators of this undaunted Generosity, admired it more than their real Power, as thinking it harder to subdue. And to come nearer our times, if we consider what has passed at Vienna and Paris, the Heads of two Rival Empires, under the Ministry of the great Cardinal Richelieu; we must confess that these two Capitols seem'd by the Magnificencies of their Plays, Bal­lets, and other publick Entertainments, to try to perswade the World, that the Event of the War, which so warm­ly [Page 4] they carried on against each other, was indifferent to them, both as to their good or evil Fortune.

We are not nevertheless to imagine that these pub­lick Spectacles afford nothing but a vain Splendour, without any real Utility; for they are a secret Instru­struction to the People of many things, which it would be very hard to insinuate into them any other way. As for Example, Those publick Diversions where there is any image of War, do insensibly make them acquaint­ed with Arms, and make those Instruments of Death familiar to them, inspiring them at the same time with Courage and Intrepedity against all dangers; besides, Vanity often prevails more with us than Reason; and that Jealous humour, of which our Nature can hardly ever well divest it self, does continually foment within us a certain desire of Conpuering, which often carries us to overcome all our natural Weaknesses, and go be­yond our selves in great Attempts: Thus the Glory which one receives in publick for some handsom action; and the recital or representation of the Heroick Virtues of those who are not even in being, at the time we hear them, does nevertheless raise in us a presumptuous be­lief that we are able to perform the like; and this pre­sumption becoming a nobler sort of Envy, called Emula­tion, produces in us an insatiable desire of Honour, and elevates our Courage to undertake any thing that may effect that Glorious Design.

As for those Spectacles which consist as much in Dis­course as Action, such as formerly were the Disputes upon the Stage between the Epick and Drammatick Po­ets: They are not only useful but absolutely necessary to instruct the People, and give them some tincture of Moral Virtues.

The minds of those who are of the meanest Rank [Page 5] and Condition in a State, are generally so little acquain­ted with any notions of Morality, that the most general Maximes of it are hardly known to them; 'tis in vain therefore to make fine Discourses, full of convincing Rea­sons, and strengthened with Examples to them, they can neither understand the first, nor have any defe­rence for the latter. All the elevated Truths of Phi­losophy are lights too strong for their weak Eyes: Tell them of these Maximes, that Happiness consists less in the possession of worLdly things, than in the despising of them; that Virtue ought to seek its recompence in its self; that there is no Interest in the World considera­ble enough to oblige a man of Honour to do a base thing; all these, I say, are Paradoxes to them, which makes them suspect Philosophy it self, and turn it into Ridicule; they must therefore be instructed by a more sensible way, which may fall more under their senses; and such are the Representations of the Stage, which may therefore properly be called the Peoples School.

One of the chiefest, and indeed the most indispensible Rule of Drammatick Poems, is, that in them Virtues al­ways ought to be rewarded, or at least commended, in spight of all the Injuries of Fortune; and that likewise Vices be always punished, or at least detested with Hor­rour, though they triumph upon the Stage for that time. The Stage being thus regulated, what can Philosophy teach that won't become much more sensibly touching by Representation; 'tis there that the meanest Capacities may visibly see, that favours of Fortune are not real En­joyments, when they see the ruin of the Royal Family of Priamus; all that they hear from the Mouth of Hecu­ba seems very probable, having before their Eyes the sad Example of her Calamities; 'tis there that they are convinced that Heaven punishes the horrid Crimes of [Page 6] the Guilty with the remorse of them; when they see Orestes tormented by his own Conscience, and driven about by Furies within his own Breast; 'tis there that Ambition seems to them a very dangerous Passion, when they see a man engaged in Crimes, to attain his Ends, and after having violated the Laws of Heaven and Earth, fall into Misfortunes as great as those he had overwhelmed others in, and more tormented by him­self than by his Enemies: 'Tis there again that Cove­tousness appears a Disease of the Soul, when they see a Covetous man persecuted with continual Restlesness, and fears of want in the midst of all his Riches. And lastly, 'tis there that a Man, by Representation, makes them penetrate into the most hidden secrets of Humane Nature, while they seem to touch and feel in this liv­ing Picture, those Truths which else they would scarce be capable of: But that which is most remarkable, is, That they never go from the Theatre without carrying along with them the Idea of the Persons represented; the knowledge of those Virtues and Vices, of which they have seen the Examples; their memory repeating continually to them those Lessons which have been de­rived to them, from sensible and present Objects.

Besides, in all Governments there is a number of idle People, Comoedias & Tragoedias o­tiosis damus: nemo enim in Theatrum venit qui non libens velit id tempo­ris amittere. either because they hate taking pains, or be­cause they need not do it to live; this idleness car­ries them generally to many Debaucheries, where they consume in a very little time, what might suffice for the keeping of their Families many Months, and are then forced upon ill actions for a supply to their present wants. Scalig. l. 3. c. 121. poët. Now, I think nothing worthier the care of a Great Prince, than to prevent, if possible, his Subjects from taking these extravagant Courses; and as it would be too severe to enjoyn them perpetual labour, [Page 7] so I think that publick Spectacles and Entertainments would most innocently amuse those who have no other employment; their own pleasure would carry them thi­ther without constraint, their hours would slide away without regret, and their very idleness being busie, they would there lose all the thoughts of doing ill.

Thus whether out of the consideration of procuring that Joy and Content to Mankind, which makes their greatest Felicity, and without which they can relish no other Happiness; or whether to shew the greatness of a State, either in Peace or War; to inspire the People with Courage, or to instruct them in the knowledge and practice of Virtue; or lastly, to prevent Idleness, (one of the greatest mischiefs of a State) Princes can never do any thing more advantageous for their own Glory, nor for their Peoples Happiness, than to found, settle, and maintain at their own Charges, publick Specta­cles, Games, and other Diversions, in the greatest Or­der, and the noblest Magnificence that their Crown will afford.

And without doubt they have always been thought very important to the very Political part of the Govern­ment, since the Philosophy of the Greeks, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally concern their Magistrates, in making them Venerable, Noble, and Magnificent. They made them Venerable, by Con­secrating them always to some of their Gods, and by putting them under the direction of their Chief Magi­strates; and they were beyond measure Magnificent, because the Expence was allowed out of the publick Treasure; and the liberal Contributions of their great­est Men in employment, who endeavoured to surpass each other in Magnificence, that they might make the time of their Administration more memorable. Very [Page 8] often the Chief of the Nobility were at the whole Ex­pence, only to gain the Peoples Favour; and they ob­liged all the Eminent Artificers in all kinds, to shew their Excellency in them: they did use to send to the remotest Nations for Men, Beasts, or any Rarity that could increase the Pleasure of their Spectacles; and last of all, they had Crowns for the Conquerors in all Exercises, and Statues for those, who with any ex­traordinary Magnificence had been at the charge of them.

It had been nevertheless little for these two Noble Nations to enjoy these Pleasures alone, if they had not propagated them to all the others of their Knowledge. The Greeks filled Asia with them, and the Romans car­ried them all over Africa and Europe, and after they had Conquered the best part of the known World, to shew that their Domination was Gentle, and not Tyranni­cal; they received the Gods, and the Religions of all Nations into Rome, and sent them the Games, Specta­cles, and Diversions of that famous Capitol, to let them see that they had not made War upon them to oppress them, but to increase their Happiness, by sharing their Felicity with them. The Theatre of Sardis in Asia, that of Carthage in Africa, and those of Douay, Nismes, and Autun in France, are convincing Testimonies of this, though ruinous ones; and when Constantine car­ried the Siege of the Empire to the City of his Name, he made there such publick Buildings for Spectacles, as shewed he would make it the Seat of his Pleasures, as well as of his Power.

But the Ancients did not only aim at obliging the pre­sent Age with their Noble Structures, but endeavoured to endear Posterity to them, by making of them, as much as in them lay, immortal: Thus their Cirques, their [Page 9] Theatres, and Amphitheatres, were built with the most polish'd and lasting Marble, and with so much Art, that if any thing they might resist the sup­pression of Time; but alas! as if man imprinted the Character of his own Mortality upon all his Works, these Glorious Monuments of their great­ness have yielded to the same destiny; the Torrent of Time which overwhelms and destroys all things, has scarce left us the Image of them in some old ru­ines, half demolish'd. And Reason and Custom seem to have join'd with Time in abolishing many of the Ancient Spectacles. Those Bloody Combats of Gladiators against each other, and of Men against Beasts, till certain Death followed, have not been deriv'd to us, because they are contrary to that Hu­manity which the Law of the Gospel recommends, as the Foundation of Christian Charity. Something of that consideration made their Naumachia's or Na­val Battels in which sometimes, there were fifteen or sixteen thousand men engag'd, be left of; but indeed the Expence of that was such, as nothing but the Roman Empire could ever furnish. The Courses of their Chariots, and the Races of their Horses, with the other Games of the Cirque, have been neg­lected as useless. And the running at the Ring in Tur­naments, and fighting on Foot at the Barriere, which succeeded them in our Ancestors Days, have been like­wise laid aside; Lances being as little in use with us in War, as Chariots: For as to the Courses of Bulls and Horses, which yet remain in Italy, they are rather to be numbred among the ridiculous Sights of our Age, than compared to the Spectacles of the Anci­ents.

The Javelin is of little use neither; and therefore▪ [Page 10] we have neglected the Art of throwing it with slight in War.

The Discus or Coite is onely a diversion of the meaner sort of People. Agonot. Fabr. l. c. 6. Boxing or fighting with Cudgels or Clubs, becomes the roughness of none but Savages, and it would in my Opinion be a very scurvy Diversion in the Gallantry of the French Court.

Tennis, or Playing at Balls, which the Ancients cal­led Sphaeromachia, has nothing of its first man­ner and glory, but is so chang'd as hardly to be known, and there being no Crowns nor Rewards for the Actors, Petr. Fabr. in Agon. passim. Sueton. in Do­mit. c. 4. & pugnas faemina­rum dedit, &c. Mart. l. 1. Stat. Sylv. & Juvenal. Sa­tyr. it is only become a voluntary Diver­sion.

As for Wrastlers, they are in some of our Provin­ces, but very few: First, because it is against the Rules of Modesty to see not only Men, but Women naked, try their Strength and Skill against one ano­ther, (for so both Sexes did formerly) but now the Women are banish'd from that Immodest Exercise: And besides there was a necessity of being Dieted, and living up to the strictness of certain Rules of Health, which has made it be forsaken; and having nothing Noble left in it, is onely become the Diversion of the meaner sort.

The same thing has befallen the Amphitheatres, Nostri saeculi ludiera nihil cum antiquis simile, quum incondite, ine­ptè nulla in consciendi [...] arte, sed tu­multuariè, & sine ullo figu­rae artificio fiant &c. O [...]. in Lud. Circ. l. 2. c. 18. where from all Parts of the Earth were brought wild Beasts to fight against one another: For to see, as we do sometimes, a Fellow lead a Lyon about to be Worried by a Dog of his Acquaintance, is a ridicu­lous sight; and so are those other Combats of Beasts, which are yet in Italy, unworthy the greatness or care of a State.

Bonfires and Fireworks have had a better desti­ny; [Page 11] for if ours do not observe that Order and Art which the Ancients did in theirs, they are not at all In­feriour to them in Magnificence. I may say the same of our Balls and Balets, of which we have happily maintained the Splendour, though our way of Dan­cing has nothing in it like that of the Greeks and Romans: But still those which we have seen at Pa­ris, and which have deserved the Admiration and Applause of the two greatest Kings in Europe, and of their Courts; these Balets, I say, in which twice the whole Machine of this World, the Heavens, the Sea, the Earth, and Hell the bottom of it, were repre­sented, surpass in my Opinion any thing that we can by reading observe of that kind among the Anci­ents.

As for the Theatre, or Stage, it has not been much happier than the Cirque. For not to speak of those other Diversions which were given the People in it, the Art of composing Drammatick Poems, and re­presenting of them, seems to have had the same De­stiny with those Famous Structures where they were Acted. It has lain long buried with the Ru­ines of Athens and Rome: And when at last it was restor'd in some small measure amongst us, it still ap­pear'd like a Carcass taken out of the Grave, with­out any Shape or Vigour. All the first Pieces of the Stage were without either Art or Learning, or any other Ornament than that of Novelty; the Compo­sition was without Skill, and the Verses without any Politeness; the Actours no waies understood their bu­siness, and the whole Representation was defective all over; insomuch that they had not a painted Cloth to hide those who were to go off the Stage; but they were reputed absent who did not present themselves to speak.

[Page 12] 'Tis true, Nunc in Gallia ita agunt fabu­las, ut omnia in conspectu sint, u­niversus [...] dispositus sub­limibus sedibus personaeipsa nun­quam discedunt, qui silent, p [...]o absentib. habent Scalig. lib. 1. c. 21. Poet. that in our Age our Poets having recove­red the Way to Parnassus, upon the Footsteps of Eurpides and Terence, and there happening to be Actours amongst us, who might in Rome it self have match'd with Aesopus the famous Tragedian, and Roscius the no less Renown'd Comedian. the Stage has got a new Face, and the Wrinckles that were upon that Old one have begun to grow smooth, and altogether to look with less deformity. Happy in this, that the greatest Genius of our Time, the great Cardinal Richelieu, smil'd upon her. It was by his Liberality that she first receiv'd new Strength, and began to challenge her Old Rights, her Beauty, No­bility and Splendour; and it was by his care that most of what was either Ingenious, Learned, or Magnificent among the Ancients, was seen by degrees upon our Theatre: And yet after all, we must own that the Stage was fallen from so high a degree of Glory, into so much contempt and abjectness, that it was impossi­ble to heal entirely those Wounds which it had received in its fall, nor to restore it, but after much Labour and Time. But since the same hand, which begun the Cure, has not been able to finish it, 'tis to be feared that the Drammatick Art will never ar­rive to its perfection, and I doubt will hardly main­tain it self in the state it is, any long time. And if so, its relapse will be so much the more dangerous, because it is not every Age that produces Genius's both understanding and Liberal, and accomplish'd with all the Qualities necessary to so great a Design. The Life of this great man has form'd an Age of great and new things: but all those which did not arrive to perfection, according to their Nature, in his time, will hardly meet with an Opportunity to [Page 13] do it after his Death. And indeed it belong'd to no body more to adorn the Kingdom with all de­lightful Spectacles, than to him; who every day en­creas'd our Victories, and Crown'd us with new Lawrels. 'Twas but reasonable that he, who was in War so like Caesar and Pompey, should imitate them likewise in the restoring of Theatres, and other Prince­ly Diversions; and in a Word, the magnificence of Publick Spectacles could not be better deriv'd than from him, who was himself the most glorious and noble Spectacle in the World.

It was to please him that I Compil'd this Practice of the Stage, which he most passionately had wish'd for; in hopes it would ease our Poets of the great labour, they must else have undergone, if with great Expence of Time they would have collected these Observations, which I have made ready for them, out of the different Authors, and from nice and ac­curate Remarks on the Stage it self. It was likewise by his Order, that I made a Project of restoring the French Theatre to the Splendour of that of the Ancients, and what Remedies were to be used against all our Impediments. He had conceiv'd such hopes of succeeding in this design, that he made me treat to the whole extent of the matter, upon that which I had first but summarily touch'd, and was resolv'd to employ all his Power and Liberality in compassing this Noble Enterprise. The Death of that great man made those two Works miscarry, but here is the first, which as it is I give to the publick, upon the sollicitation of my Friends. As for the second, I shall only Communicate to the World the Project of it, it not being proper to Expose any more of it, [Page 14] since there were not above five or seven Chapters of it Writ, which are imperfect too, and out of Or­der.

CHAP. II.
The Design of the whole Work.

THE Glory to which the French Theatre is arriv'd, may perhaps make some think that this Discourse is useless, since our Poets, having given to the World so many compleat Poems, with a ge­neral Approbation, may be thought to be above those Instructions, which seem to be the Remedy for Faults to which they are no longer subject; I will not therefore be guilty of so great a Vanity, as to say that the Scope of this Work is to inform them of things which we see they Practice every day with success, but it is to let the World know the Excel­lency of their Art, and to give People subject to ad­mire them so much the more, in shewing what Learn­ing, Invention, Abilities, and Care there are re­quir'd to finish those Poems▪ which make one of the greatest of our Pleasures, while they only give the Players the Trouble of reciting them. And in this I shall not onely raise the Fame of our Poets, but contribute considerably to encrease the Pleasure we take in seeing and reading their Works: For it is na­tural to every body to relish any agreeable object so [Page 15] Much the more, by how much they are capable of discovering the Reasons that render it agree­able; and as we have more Value for Precious Stones, when besides their noble natural Qualities, we consider to what dangers they expose themselves, who bring them from the remotest Parts of the Earth; so I think we shall feel so much the more admiration and joy in the Representation of Thea­tral Diversions, if by the knowledge of the Rules of the Art we are able to penetrate all the Beauties of them, and to consider what Meditations, Pains, and Study they have cost to be brought to that Per­fection. So noble and so vast a design requir'd, I confess, a Genius much superior to mine, and a Bo­dy more capable of supporting the Fatigue of study and application. But I think that this being rather a Summary, than a compleat Treatise, and as it were rather a Collection of my own Observations, than a profound Dissertation, full of knotty Disputes and Contestations with our modern Authors, whose O­pinions are it may be more reasonable than mine, I may be the easilier Excused. All that will be seen here is but the Compendium of those Matters which I had once resolv'd to treat at large, if many Considerations had not taken from me both the desire and power of performing it: If by chance it be observ'd, that some Places are touch'd with more Strength, and better Finish'd than o­thers, it is because I deliver'd these Memories to my Friends as they were, unequal and unpolish'd, according to those Heats and Colds which accom­pany all Writers, who following the first ardour of their Projects, do not review with Care the whole Product of their Endeavours.

[Page 16] If any thing appear reasonable and pleasing, that will be enough to hinder me from repenting the reprieve I have given my Book from those Flames to which I had once resolutely Condemn'd it; and at least, though my matter and Order be not approv'd, yet some one more laborious, finding the way open, and having the Assistance of some Illustrious Protectour, will pursue to the utmost Perfection that which I have but hinted, and as it were slightly imagin'd.

CHAP. III.
What is to be understood by the Art of the Stage.

IT may seem very rash, or at least superfluous, to treat of Poetry, after that so many Authors both Ancient and modern have given us Books upon that Subject, full of Learning; and more particu­larly have taken Pains to make Observations upon Drammatick Poetry, as being the most agreeable, and yet the hardest to succeed in. But if we may believe, with Seneca, that all Truths have not been yet spoken, we may assure it in the Subject which I un­dertake; for all I have seen yet that concerns the Stage, contains only the general Maximes of Dram­matick Poetry, which is properly the Theory of the Art; but as for the Practice and Application of those Instructions, I never met with any thing of that kind hitherto; all the Discourses that are upon that Sub­ject, being only Paraphrases and Commentaries upon Aristotle, with great obscurity and little Novelty.

I do not pretend here to trouble my self about satisfying the Criticisms of Grammarians, or the Scruples of Logicians, who it may be will nor freely admit of this distinction in an Art, whose Rules seem all to tend to practice: I am sure all the rational and [Page 18] polite Learning will not oppose me in it, since 'tis natural in all Arts to distinguish the knowledge of the Maxims, and the Use of them; besides that in the Execution of all general Rules, there are observations to be made, of which there is no mention, when one teaches only the Theory, and which neverthe­less are of great importance. Thus Architecture teach­eth the beauty and symmetry of Buildings, their noble Proportions, and all the rest of their magnificent Ap­pearance, but does not descend to express a thou­sand necessary Contrivances, of which the Master of the House is to take care, when he puts his hand to the Work. If the Art of playing upon the Lute were reduc'd into Rules, it could teach onely gene­al things, as the number of the strings and touches, the manner of making the Accords, the measures, passages, quavers, &c. but still one would be forc'd to have recourse to the Master himself, to learn, in the Execution of all this▪ the nicest way of touching the strings, the changing of the measures, the most graceful way how to give a good motion to ones playing, and many more particulars, which could not well be committed to writing, and so must either be negelcted or learned of the Masters themselves.

The same thing has happened to the Stage. There has been ample Treatises of Drammatick Poems, the original of them, their progress, definition, spe­cies, the unity of action, measure of time, the beauty of their contrivance, the thoughts, manners, language, which is fittest for them, and many other such mat­ters, but only in general; and that I call the Theory of the Stage; but for the Observations to be made upon those general Rules, as how to prepare the In­cidents, to unite times and places; the continuity of [Page 19] the Theatral Action, the Connexion of the Scenes, the intervals of the Acts, and a thousand other par­ticulars, of which there is nothing left in Antiquity, of which all the Moderns have said so little, that it is next to nothing; all this, I say, is that which I call the Art or Practice of the Stage. As for the Ancients, if they have writ nothing about it, as to the practical part, it is because that perhaps in their time it was so common, that they could not believe any body capable of not knowing it; and indeed if one look into their works, and make but the least re­flection upon the Art they use, one may perceive it almost every where.

But for the Moderns; they for the most part have been entirely ignorant of it, because they have neg­lected the reading the Poems of those great Masters; or if they have read them, it was without taking no­tice of the nicest beauties with which they are a­dorn'd; therefore it must be set down for a Maxime out of contest, that 'tis impossible to understand Drammatick Poetry without the help of the Anci­ents, and a thorough meditation upon their Works.

CHAP. IV.
Of the Rules of the Ancients.

I was, I must confess, extremely surpriz'd some years ago, to see some Plays in great esteem both in Paris, and at Court, in which there was scarce a Scene, that did not in some measure offend the Rules of Decency and Probability; but I was much more astonish'd, when going about to say something of those Rules, and to Explain the ways how to observe them, I was taken for an Hypochondriack, who had strange singular fancies of his own, of things that never were, nor could be. All the Rules of the Ancients, by which I pretended Poets were to be guided in the conduct of their Plays, were look'd upon as dangerous innovations, like those in Go­vernment, or in Religion. There was no asking, what time the action represented took up, and in what place the things expos'd to our view were sup­pos'd to be perform'd, nor how many Acts a Play had? I was answer'd presently, that the Play had lasted three hours, that the Action had been all up­on the Stage, and that the Fiddles had mark'd the Intervals of the Acts; in a word, 'twas enough to please, to have the name of Commedy given to a [Page 21] great many Verses put together, and recited upon the Stage. But at last having grown acquainted with some of the learned men of our Age, I found amongst them many very well acquainted with the Art of the Stage, particularly in the Theory and the Maxims of Aristotle, and some too, who did apply themselves to the consideration of the Practical part. All these were of my opinion, and condemning the voluntary blindness of our times, did extremly help me to confound the stubbornness of those, who refus'd to yield to Reason.

Thus by little and little the face of the Theatre has been entirely changed, and is at last come to that perfection, that one of our most celebrated Authors has publickly confess'd, and that often, that in look­ing over some of his own Plays, which had been acted with great approbation of the Town, about ten or twelve years ago, that he was much asham'd of himself, and did extremly, pity those who had ap­plauded him. I have nevertheless had the misfor­tune to incur the disgrace of some little Authors, who having neither Genius, nor Learning enough, to come up to these Rules in the excellency which they propounded, sided with part of the Players, to run me down. As for these latter, their design being only to gain by their Profession, and not to excel in it, they thought that the strictness and severity of these Rules would frighten all the young Authors, and deter them from writing; by which means they thought themselves in danger of being forc'd to leave the Stage, to seek for some other Employment, for want of new Plays: but the Event has confounded this piece of Ignorance, for there were never seen more Drammatick Poems, nor more agreeable ones, [Page 22] than since; although we have not for Actours such as Valeran, Veautray, and Mondory were.

But yet since some persons of Judgment, for want of being well vers'd in Antiquity, have en­deavour'd with some appearance of Reason to main­tain the errours of our Age, I think my self oblig'd to answer their scruples, and to satisfie a great num­ber, who yet seem unwilling to be undeceiv'd. Therefore here are five Objections which have been ordinarily made to me, against the Rules of the Ancients.

First, That we are not to make Laws to our selves from Custom and Example, but from Reason; which ought to prevail over any Authority.

Secondly, That the Ancients themselves have of­ten violated their own Rules.

Thirdly, That divers Poems of the Ancients had been translated, and acted upon our Stage with very ill success.

Fourthly, That divers of our modern Plays, though quite contrary to these Rules, had been act­ed with great applause.

And last of all, That if these rigorous Maxims should be followed, we should very often lose the greatest beauty of all true Stories. Their Incidents having most commonly happened at different times, and in different places

As to the first Objection; I answer, That the Rules of the State are not founded upon Authority, but up­on Reason; they are not so much settled by Exam­ple, as by the natural judgment of Mankind; and if we call them the Rules and the Art of the Ancients, 'tis only because They have practis'd them with great regularity, and much to their Glory; having [Page 23] first made many Observations upon the Nature of Mo­ral Actions, and upon the probability of Humane Ac­cidents in this life, and thereby drawing the Pictures after the truth of the Original, and observing all due circumstances, they reduc'd to an Art this kind of Poem, whose Progress was very slow, though it were much in use among them, and much admir'd all the world over. But however I am very sparing of citing their Poems, and when I do it, it is only to shew with what agreeable Artifice they kept to these Rules, and not to buoy up my opinion by their Authority.

As for the second Objection, it seems not conside­rable; Non omnia ad Homerum refe­renda tanquam ad normam cen­seo, sed & ip­sum ad normam. for Reason, being alike all the world over, does equally require every bodies submission to it; and if our modern Authors, cannot without offence be dispens'd from the Rules of the Stage, no more could the Ancients; and where they have fail'd, I do not pretend to excuse them. Scalig. l. 1. c. 5. My Observations up­on Plautus, shew very well that I do propose the An­cients for Models, only in such things as they shall appear to have followed Reason in; and their Ex­ample will alwaies be an ill pretext for faults, for there is no excuse against Reason. In things which are founded only in Custom, as in Grammar, or in the Art of making a Verse with long or short sylla­bles, the Learned may often use a license against the receiv'd practice, and be imitated in it by others, be­cause Custom may often have countenanc'd a thing not well of it self. But in all that depends upon common sence and reason, such as are the Rules of the Stage, there to take a license, is a crime; because it offends not Custom, but Natural light, which ought never to suffer an Eclipse.

[Page 24] I must not omit, for the Glory of the Ancients, that if they have sometimes violated the Art of Drammatick Poems, they have done it for some more powerful and inducing Reason, than all the Interest of the Play could amount to. As for Ex­ample, Euripides, in the Suppliants, has preferr'd the glory of his Country to that of his Art, of which I have spoken elsewhere.

The third Objection has no force, but in the Ig­norance of those that alledge it. For if some Po­ems of the Ancients, and even those which were most in Esteem with them, have not succeeded upon our Stage, the Subject, and not the want of Art, has been the cause of it; And sometimes likewise the Changes made by the Translators, which de­stroyed all the Graces of the Original: They have added improbable Scenes between Princes, and have shew'd out of time that which the Ancients had carefully conceal'd with Art; and very often chan­ged a fine Relation, into an impertinent ridicu­lous Spectacle. But That which is more worthy our consideration, is, that there were certain Sto­ries, fitted for the Stage of Athens with great Or­naments, which would be in abomination upon Ours: For Example, the Story of Thy [...]stes; so that we may say, that either the Moderns have cor­rupted the Ancients, by changing their whole Oe­conomy, or the Imperfection of the Matter sti­fled the excellency of the Art.

To destroy the 4th Objection, we need only to remember, that those Plays of ours, which took with the people, and with the Court, were not lik'd in all their parts; but only in those things which were reasonable, and in which they were [Page 25] conformable to the Rules: When there were any passionate Scenes, they were prais'd; and when there was any great Appearance or noble Spe­ctacle, it was esteem'd; and if some notable Event was well manag'd, there was great satisfacti­on shewn; but if in the rest of the Play, or even in these beauties of it, any irregularities were dis­cover'd, or any fault against Probability and Decency, either in the persons, time, or place, or as to the state of the things represented, they were condem­ned as Faults. And all the favour that was shewed the Poet, was, that out of the desire of preserving what was fine, the Spectatours were somewhat more indulgent to what was amiss.

Therefore that success so much bragg'd on, is so far from contradicting the Rules of the Stage, that quite contrary it establishes their Authority. For these Rules being nothing but an Art to cause the finest Incidents to please with decency and proba­bility, it sufficiently appears how necessary they are, since by common consent, all that comes up to them is approved of, and all that varies from them is in some measure condemn'd. Examples would ex­tremely illustrate this truth, if I were not afraid to anger some of our Poets, by instructing the others at their cost.

The 5th Objection is absolutely ridiculous. For the Rules of the Stage do not at all reject the most notable Incidents of any Story, but they furnish us with Inventions, how so to adjust the Circumstances of the Action, Time, and Place, as not to go against [Page 26] all probable appearance, and yet not to represent them always as they are in Story, but such as they ought to be, to have nothing but what's agreeable in them. 'Tis That then that we are to seek, and of which in the following Discourse I shall communicate my Thoughts.

CHAP. V.
How they ought to Instruct themselves, who intend to write a Drammatick Poem.

IN the Universities, the Drammatick Poets, as well as others, are given to young Scholars to read and study, and they affording great variety by moral Sentences, of which they are full, and by the Dialogues of different persons contesting with passion, as also by the imagination of those Ma­chines, which one must necessarily suppose to have been employed in the representation of them; to which may be added the sudden Turns and Events of the Stage, they cannot but procure an Extrem de­light to these young Students, and make a strong impression in their minds; and though the whole, it may be, is both ill explain'd by those that Instruct them, and as ill understood by Them; yet they have infinite satisfaction in the thing.

It may be after this, they see some Play compos'd by their Master, and acted in the same Schools; and though that be done by very ill Actors, and carry with it in all its circumstances the true Character of [Page 28] pedantry, nevertheless this is perform'd with so much noise, bustle, and preparation, that they conceive a mighty Idea of it, having seen nothing better, and being incapable of finding out the faults of the piece.

If then there happens to be amongst these Youths a fiery Lad with Fancy, and some Inclination to Poetry, finding himself at leisure to employ his parts his own way, he fixes upon Drammatick Po­etry; and out comes a piece of his. To make which he generally follows this method; he pitches up­on some story that pleases him, without conside­ring, whether it be fit for the Scene or no, or ever reflecting what is to be avoided in it, or what Ornaments may be added; he is resolv'd to hide under the Curtain any thing that shall incommode him, to put France at one corner of the Stage, Turkey at the other, and Spain in the middle, his Actours shall be sometimes in the Louvre, then in a Wood, or High-way, and then in a Garden full of Flowers, and no body knows how they came there; and if any body is to pass by Sea from Denmark to France, 'tis done with the drawing of a Scene. Having thus fill'd every thing with ridiculous Imaginations, and things op­posite to all probability, he makes his first Scene; which he was no sooner done, but finding himself at a stand, he repairs to some of the Theatres, to see if he can steal any Invention from them, that shall please him. Then he gets into the com­pany of some celebrated Poet or Critick, and from them he is supplyed with some new thought, or passionate incident, or some slight of the Art, which he immediatly employes quite contrary, [Page 29] and out of all time; and having thus with the help of some Songs and Elegies, made formerly for Cloris, muster'd up three or four hundred Verses, he resolves to call it an Act. Thus going on in the same method, he gets to the death or marriage of some Prince, and then 'tis privately whisper'd among his Friends, that he has made a very pretty Play: The Ladies desire to see it, and 'tis by the Author red to them in secret, they are charmed with some Florid Expressions, or smart Repartees, and call in the Gentlemen of their ac­quaintance to hear it. Every body applauds and flatters the Author, reserving to themselves the privilege of laughing at him, as soon as his back's turn'd; and in short, he acquires thus the honou­rable title of a Poet.

Without doubt, Extat illius Comaedia, q [...]a nihil aversum magis a comita­te; adeo enim insulsa est, ut mi­sericordiam [...]o­tius quàm risum excitet. Scal. l. 6. c. 3. not only one must have pro­digious good fortune, but more than that, an in­fus'd science, like Adam's, to make at first and by such methods a piece (not comparable, I say, to those whom twenty Ages have reverenced) but to make a thing like that of the Poet Rhodophilus, of whom Scaliger says, that his Comedie rather ex­cited pity than mirth. To say truth, the Complai­sance or Ignorance of the Spectatours is extreme, when they condemn others, as too severe, who can­not applaud such stuff, as this is. There is no Me­chanick trade in the World that does not oblige to a long Apprentiship under a Master, and when the Artists set up for themselves, they are examin'd by the Company, to whom they must produce some Master-piece of their own making. And shall we then think, Diu non nisi [...]imus quisque, & qui creden­tem sibi minime fallat, legendus est; sed dili­genter aut pene ad scribendi so­licitudinem, nec per partes modo scrutanda om­nia; sed per­lectus liber uti­que ex integro resumendus. that to succeed in the greatest Art that is, in which the mind has all the share, [Page 30] and which is not only the hardest, but the least understood Art that we have, there needs no­thing, but to have the Impudence to undertake it; no certainly, there goes a great deal more to it, and therefore I will now counsel, as well as I can, any body that undertakes to be a Poet, and tell him, what he is to do.

In the first place, let our Poet suppress all those impetuous desires of glory and applause, Quintil. l. 10. cap. 1. and leave thinking, that to make a good Play, 'tis enough to have a vein for Poetry. He must begin with applying himself to the reading of Aristotle's Poe­ticks, and those of Horace, and he must read them attentively, and meditate upon them; then he must turn over those that have made Commentaries up­on them, as Castelvetro in Italian, who in his Jargon says very fine things, Hieronymus Vida, Heinsius, Vossius, la Menardiere, and a great many more; and let him remember, that Scaliger alone says more than all the rest; but he must not lose a word in him, for all his words are of weight and impor­tance. As for the book of Boulenger, he must va­lue him only for his Collection of Passages out of other Authors, and not mind the Consequences he draws from them; for I believe for my part that the things he has writ, came into his head just as he was writing them, and without any precedent Meditation.

I add to these Authors Plutarch, Horat. de art. poet. vers. 268. Vos exemplaria Graeca Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ. Athenaeus, and Lili­us Giraldus, who all in many places have touch'd the chief Maxims of the Stage; in a word, he must not let slip any thing of the Ancients, without examining every period of them; for very often [Page 31] a word thrown out by the by, and out of the sub­ject of the Stage, contains in their books some important secret, and the resolution of some great difficulty.

Having thus studied the Theory, he must read all the Greek and Latin Drammatick Poems, which by good fortune have been preserv'd to our times, as likewise their old Scholiasts or Commentators, but still take the liberty to examin them impartially, for they are subject to a great many Errours, and delight in false and vain subtleties of no use at all; and all along one must be sure to make constant re­flexions, and examine why a Poet has rather done one thing than another, and he may observe that often a word ingeniously cast out by an Actour, to prepare some Incident, or to explain the Circumstan­ces of place or time, is not a thing slightly to be pass'd over; and if after all, I durst be so vain, as to make one amongst his Masters, I could wish he would join the Precepts of this practical part of the Art, to what he may discover in the Ancient or Modern Poets; for though I cannot brag of giving him con­siderable and important succours in his Design, yet I am sure I shall not be useless or incommodious to him, and though it should appear that I am mistaken, yet I am sure he will thank me for the very means I afford him of instructing himself better.

Our Poet having thus acquir'd a perfect Notion of the Art of the Stage, may much more certainly, and with greater success undertake some noble design.

[Page 32] As for me, without repeating here what may be learnt in Aristotle, and his Interpreters, both Anci­ent and Modern, I will only endeavour to treat of new matters, or at least to give new Instructions upon those things, which have been treated of by others.

CHAP. VI.
Of the Spectators, and how they are to be considered by the Poet.

MY Intention is not here to teach the Spectators of a Play, the attention that they ought to have, nor the silence that they ought to keep, no more than the caution they ought to observe in judg­ing of the Play; nor what they should do to avoid those Errours which Complaisance, or a Prejudice against the Author, often runs them into; though all this might be usefully enough, and to good pur­pose, treated of here.

But I onely mention the Spectators in reference to the Poet, that is, how he ought to consider them when he is making a Play.

I borrow here the Comparison of a Picture, of which I shall often make use in this Treatise; and I say that my Picture may be considered two ways.

First, as a Picture; that is, as the work of the Ar­tist; where there are Colours, and not real things; shadows, and not substances; artificial lights, false elevations, prospective distances, or lontananzas, de­ceiving shortnings; and in a word, appearances of things that really are not in the Picture.

[Page 34] Secondly, It may be consider'd as containing a Story painted, whether a true one, or suppos'd to be so; whereof the Place is certain, the Qualities na­tural, the Actions undoubtedly true, and all the Circumstances of them observ'd according to order and reason.

This may be all applyed to Drammatick Poems: One may at first consider the Shew and Representati­on of things, where Art gives you Images of them which really are not. There are Princes in appea­rance; Palaces upon painted cloth, dead men in shew; and 'tis for this that the Actors carry all the Marks of those whom they represent. The De­coration of the Stage, is the Image of those places where the thing is suppos'd to be transacted. There are Spectators, and the persons that appear upon the Stage talk in the Mother Tongue of the Audi­ence, all things being to be made sensible and plain to them. 'Tis to arrive to this Representation of the thing, that the Poet causes sometimes one, some­times another Actor to appear, and discourse upon the Stage: making recitals of things that ought to be known, and yet ought not to appear; and Em­ploying Machines, and other Contrivances, for the appearance of those things which are to be shew'd to the Audience.

Thus Eschylus makes the Palace of Clytemnestra open, that the bodyof Agamenon may be seen up­on the Step of the inward door, where a dead man lies along upon the Threshold. In Ajax, Tecmessa opens his Tent to shew his madness, by the number of the dead sheep which lye round about him. In Euripides, Hecuba swouns away upon the Stage, to express the greatness of her Misery: And in Plautus, [Page 35] the Captives express their condition of slavery, by being bound, and having an appearance of Guards about them; and after this the discourses made by the Actors, upon these different Appearances, perfect the Representation.

Or else we may consider in these Dramatick Poems, the true History, or that which is suppo­sed true, and of which all the Adventures have re­ally come to pass, in that order, time, and place, and according to those Intrigues which appear to us. The persons are there consider'd according to their different Characters, of their Condition, Age and Sex; and the things they say, as having been really pronounced by them, as well as perform'd in their actions; and in a word, all things as we see them upon the Stage.

I know very well that the Poet is the Master, and that he disposes the order of his Poem as he thinks fit; taking the time, which he lengthens or shortens as he pleases; chusing likewise what place he will in the whole world; and for the Plot he Invents it according to the strength and fineness of his own fancy; and in a word, he gives what form he pleases to the matter he has in hand; but still 'tis certain, that all these things must be so adjusted, as to seem to have naturally both the rise, progress, and end which he gives them; so that though he be the Author, yet he must write the whole with such Art, that it may not so much as appear that it was by him Invented. So in Eschylus's Trage­die of Agamemnon, all things appear as if really Agamemnon had been murder'd; and in Sophocles, as if Ajax were really furious; and so of all the other Pieces of the Ancients. And likewise when [Page 36] we judge of any Play on our Stage, we suppose the thing either true, or that ought to be so, and might be so; and upon that supposition we ap­prove of all the Words or Actions that are done or said by those who speak or act; and of all those E­vents which might probably follow the first Ap­pearances; because that in this case we believe that things might really happen as they seem, nay that they have happened, and ought to happen so. And on the contrary, we condemn all that ought not to be done, or said, according to the qualities of the persons, the place, the time, and the first appearances of the Play.

Now to understand how the Poet is to govern himself, with regard to the Spectators, and when they are to be considerable to him, or not so, we need but reflect upon what we have said of a Pi­cture; for looking upon it only as the Work of the Artist, the Painter does what he can to make it Excellent, because it will be seen, and that he ex­pects to be known and admir'd by it; but if he consider it as a Story painted, he keeps as close as he can to the Nature of the thing he represents, and does nothing but what will seem probable in all its Circumstances, because it is all to be consi­der'd as true, and suppos'd so. For example, if he will draw Mary Magdelen in her penitent retire­ment, he will not omit any of the most important parts of her Story, because if he should do other­wise, they that should see it would hardly know it. He must place her in a decent posture, else she will be a disagreeable Object. He will not draw her prostrate and groveling with her face upon the ground, because that would hide the finest part of [Page 37] her, but rather he must set her upon her knees. He ought not to cover her all over with a Cilice, or haircloth, but leave her half naked, that the Charm of her beauty may appear the more. He must not place her in the bottom of a deep Cavern, for then she cannot be suppos'd to be seen, but at the en­trance of it, with so much light as is just necessary; and this he must do, because he considers his work as a Picture which ought to fall under the Senses, and please at the same time.

But when he considers this Picture the other way, that is, keeping to the truth of the Story, he must give her a Complexion pale and wan, because it is not credible it could be otherwise in the midst of so much austerity; she shall not have a Crown be­fore her, but a Cross; she must not be plac'd upon a rich embroider'd Bed, but upon the ground; there shall not be a Palace near her, but a horrid Wilderness; he must not environ her with Pages, and Women Attendants, but rather with wild Beasts, but they must be in a quiet posture, that she may be suppos'd to live among them; the Cave shall be cover'd with Moss, not gilded and finely set out. The very trees are not to be made full of Flow­ers and Fruits, but rather half-dryed, and wither'd; and all the Country about them barren and wild. And in a word, he shall adorn his work with all those things which probably might become the state of penitence, according to the person, place, and other dependencies of the Story, because here he considers the truth of what he is to represent.

In the same maner, the Poet considering in his Play the Representation or Spectacle of it, does all that he can to make it agreeable to the Specta­tors; [Page 38] for his business is to please them. And therefore he shall preserve all the noblest Incidents of his Story, he shall make all his Actors ap­pear with the best Characters he can, he shall em­ploy the finest Figures of Rhetorick, and the Moving'st Passions, observing to hide nothing that ought to be known and please, and to shew no­thing that ought to be hid, and may offend; and in fine, he shall try all means to gain the esteem and admiration of the Audience.

But when he considers in his Play the true Story of it, or that which is suppos'd to be so, he must particularly have a care to observe the Rules of probability in every thing, and to make all the Intrigues, Actions, Words, as if they had in reality come to pass; he must give fit thoughts and de­signs, according to the persons that are employed, he must unite the Times with Places, and the Be­ginning with the Consequences; and in a word, he follows the Nature of things so, as not to con­tradict neither the State, nor the Order, nor the Effects, nor the Property of them; and indeed has no other Guide but Probability and Decency, and rejects all that has not that Character upon it. He must contrive every thing as if there were no Spectators; that is, all the Persons in the Play are to act and speak as if they were truly (for example) a King, and not Mondoroy or Bellerose; as if they really were in the Palace of Horatius in Rome, Two famous Players. and not at Paris in the Hostel de Bourgogne; and as if no body saw them, or heard them, but those who are acting with them upon the Stage. And by this Rule it is that they often say that they are alone, that no body sees them, nor hears them, [Page 39] that they need not fear being interrupted, or di­sturb'd in their Solitude, no more than hindred in their designs; though all this is spoken in the pre­sence of it may be two thousand persons; because in this the Nature of the Action is followed according to truth, for then the Spectators were not by; and this ought to be strictly observ'd, for all that is affected in favour of the Spectators is false and faulty.

I know very well that the Poet does not work up­on the Action as true, but only so far as it is fit for Representation, and therefore it may seem that there may be some mixture of these two Considera­tions, therefore I shall propound the way how he shall distinguish them. He examines first all that he designs to make known to the Audience, either by their Eyes or their Ears, and accordingly resolves either to let them see it, or to instruct them by some recital of the thing which they ought to know. But he does not make these Recitals or Spectacles onely because the Spectators ought to know or see. How then? Why he must find in the Action, which is consider'd as true, some motive, colour, or apparent Reason, for which it may appear that these Shews or Recitals did probably happen, and ought to come to pass; and I may say that the greatest Art of the Stage consists in finding out these Motives or Colours. An Actor must come upon the Stage, because the Spectator must know his Designs and Passions. There must be a Narration made of things past, because else the Spectator being ignorant of them, would not understand what's present, and un­der representation. There must be a Shew or Spe­ctacle, to move the Audience with pity or admi­ration; [Page 40] and that is working upon the action as repre­sented; and it is his duty as well as his chief design; but he must hide this under some colour drawn from the truth of the Action it self; insomuch, that the person who is to instruct the Audience, must come upon the Stage upon the pretext of looking for some body there; or to meet one who had gi­ven him an Assignation. So the person who is to make a Narration of things past, must do it so as it may seem necessary, and done to advise about some­thing in agitation at present, for which there is some help wanting. If there be a Spectacle, it must be to some end, as to excite some body to be reveng'd, or so; and this call'd working upon the truth of the Action, without minding the Spectators; be­cause 'tis probable, that, taking things only in them­selves, all this might fall out so.

Let us come to the Examples alledg'd before. Aes­chylus causes Agamemnon to be murder'd in his Pa­lace; but the Audience must know this, and how does he inform them of it? He makes that Unfor­tunate Prince cry out like a man that expires under the violence of those who murder him. Sophocles observes the same thing in the murder of Clitem­nestra by the hand of Orestes. And I cannot but ad­mire at some who tax both those Poets of having defil'd the Stage with blood, when 'tis apparent that they are kill'd in the Houses represented upon the Stage, and out of the sight of the Spectators, who only hear their cries and lamentations, and see the body afterwards when 'tis dead.

In the same Sophocles, Ajax is outragiously furious, and yet there is a necessity of his appearing upon the Stage with Vlysses, without hurting him, and [Page 41] to that end Minerva brings him out of his Tent, and suspends for a while his fit of madness.

In Euripides the Spectators must know that Poly­dorus is dead, that Hecuba may receive a new height­ning to her afflictions; and to do it with appea­rance of reason, one of her Women goes to fetch wa­ter at the Sea side, to wash and purifie the dead body of her Daughter Polyxena, whose Funeral she was to perform, where she finds, as it were by chance, the body of the unhappy young Prince, which she brings to his more unhappy Mother, and so discovers very handsomely the series of all that sad Adventure. (And by the by it appears, how much they are mi­staken, who think that the Poet sends Hecuba her self to the Sea side, and that there she had found the Body of her Son). But we should be bound to too tedious an enumeration, if we would by Examples shew the conduct of the Ancients in this point.

For upon their Stage there is not a Recital, a Passion, nor an Intrigue, that has not its colour; if you take the Story as true, though it be a Fable in­vented by the Poet only for Representation. In a word, the Spectators are not considerable to the Po­et in the Truth of the Action, but only in the Repre­sentation; and upon this Maxim, if we examine the best part of our Modern Poets, we may easily perceive, that they go against all probability, even in those things which have been esteem'd the most; Be­cause the Authors, when they expos'd them to the people, did it without any colour that might make us suppose them reasonable. Thus in the truth of the Action it happens that a man makes a necessary Narration, that's well, for the Spectators ought not [Page 42] to be ignorant of it; but this man could not know the very thing he tells, then 'tis against probability for him to make this recital. A Lover appears up­on the Stage in a violent passion to please the Specta­tours; but he could not naturally make these com­plaints in the place represented by the Stage; there must then some colour be found out for his be­ing there extraordinarily, or else you go against pro­bability: As much may be said of a thousand other Adventures which appear upon our Stages, where e­very day we have Images of things that never were, never can be, and by consequent ought not to be.

CHAP. VII.
Of the Mixture of Representation with the Truth of the Theatral Action.

I Believe the Title of this Chapter will be at first sight severely censur'd, because it may be it will not be understood; but when I shall have explain'd my meaning, I hope all the judici­ous will be reconcil'd to the Terms, as well as to my Sentiments about the thing.

I call Truth of the Theatral Action, the whole Story of the Play, so far as it is consider'd as a true one, and that all the Adventures in it are look'd upon as being come to pass. But I call Representation, the Collection of all those things which may serve to represent a Drammatick Poem, consider'd in themselves and in their own Nature, as the Play­ers, the Scenes, the Musick, the Spectators, and a great many other things. As for Example, in the Play of Cinna, made by Monsieur Corneille; that that Cinna, who appears upon the Stage, speaks like a Roman, that he loves Aemilia, counsels Augustus Caesar to keep the Empire, conspires against him, and is pardon'd by him; all this I say, is the truth of the Theatral Action. That the same Aemilia hates [Page 44] Augustus, and loves Cinna, that she desires to be reveng'd, and yet apprehends the Event of so great an Undertaking; all this too is of the truth of the Action. That Augustus proposes his thoughts of leaving the Empire to two perfidious Friends, and that one advises him to keep it, and the other to leave it, is likewise of the truth of the Action. In a word, all that in the Play either is consider'd as a part, or has a necessary dependence upon the Story, ought to be of the truth of the Action; and 'tis by this Rule that one ought to Examine the probability of all that's done in the Play; as the fitness and decency of the Expressions, the con­nexion of the Intrigue, the patness of the Events, &c. And one naturally approves of all that ought to have been don according to the truth, though it be a suppos'd Story, and one condemns all that one thinks contrary to truth, or not becoming the actions of life.

But that Floridor or Beauchasteau act the part of Cinna, that they are good or ill Actors, well or ill dress'd, that they are separated from the people by a Stage, which is adorn'd with painted cloth, representing Palaces and Gardens, that the Intervals of the Acts are mark'd by ill Fidlers, or excellent Musick; that an Actor goes behind the Stage, when he says he goes into the Kings Closet, and speaks to his Wife, instead of speaking to a Queen, that there are Spectatours, and those either from the Court, or the City; that they are silent or make a noise, that there are quarrels in the Pit, or none, all these things are, and do depend on the Representation.

Therefore Floridor and Beauchasteau are to be [Page 45] look'd upon as representing, and that Cinna or Horatius, whom they represent, are to be con­sider'd as real and true persons, acting and speaking as Cinna, and Horatius, and not as those who re­present them, and Floridor and Beauchasteau must be look'd upon as transform'd into those men, whose names and concerns they take upon them, so that part of the Hostel de Bourgogne which is rais'd and adorn'd for a Stage, is the place repre­senting, and the Image of another place which is represented at that time, whether the Palace of Augustus or Horatius; and it must in the Play be look'd upon as the true place where all things pass, so the time which is employed in the Representa­tion, being a part of our natural currant year, is but a representing time, but the day represented, and in which one supposes the action of the Stage to come to pass, ought to be taken for a real true time in regard to the Action.

I say then that one ought never to mingle to­gether what concerns the Representation of a Play, with the true Action of the Story represented.

It would not be well lik'd off, that Floridor, while he is representing Cinna, should talk of his own do­mestick affairs, or of the loss and gains of the Play house; or that while he is repeating the Speech made by Cinna to the Conspirators at Rome, he should address himself to the People of Paris, and make some Reflections upon them; or that while he is examining the hatred and haughtiness of Aemi­lia, he should go about to talk of the sweetness and good breeding of our Ladies; In a word, he would not be endur'd to confound Rome and Paris, nor actions pass'd so many years ago, with present Ad­ventures; [Page 46] because that is not only offending against all the Rules of decency, but those of common sense.

I know very well that our Modern Poets have not hitherto been very guilty of this fault, but because the Ancients, whom I generally propose for Exam­ples, have been so indulgent to the Peoples pleasure, as not to take care to avoid this Errour, I thought it would not be amiss to say something of it, lest our Poets should follow their Example, af­ter the rate of that scurvy Orator, whom Cicero speaks of in Brutus, for never imitating the great men in any thing, but such things where they were faulty. Aristotle says that ill Poets fall into Errors, because they are ignorant of the means of doing bet­ter, and that good ones do the same thing out of Complaisance to the Players, and for the Diversion of the Audience; but I think that a true Poet ought not to seek any other way of being profitable to the first, nor of pleasing the last, but by the excellence of his Play.

Comedy in its rise, and when it first begun to be acted, as Tragedy was, by set Actors, was no­thing but a Satyrical Poem, which by little and lit­le, under pretext of instructing the People, by in­veighing at their Vices, came at last to be so bitter and scandalous, as not onely to expose the most Eminent Citizens, but not to spare the Magistrates themselves, nor the most Illustrious Persons of the State, whose Names, Faces, and actions were brought upon the Stage; and this was that the Authors call Old Comedy.

Not but that at first even this was much more in­nocent than afterwards; for under Epicharmus, and [Page 47] first Comicks who succeeded him, Comedy was mer­ry and laughing, but not injurious and affronting; it had Salt and Railleries, but not Gall and Vinegar; but at last that liberty degenerated into so much libertinisme, that Aristophanes's Plays did not a lit­tle contribute to the death of the famous Socrates by exciting the People against him. The Representa­tion in those days was so confounded with the Truth of Action, that they were almost the same thing; and that which was said against the Socrates upon the Stage, was often applicable to the Socrates who was in the Pit. 'Tis but reading Aristophanes's first Plays, and you shall see that all along he confounds the in­terest of the Actors with those of the Spectators, and even the History represented with the Publick Affairs of the State, upon which he founds his Jests and Railleries; In a word, his Plays are down-right Libels, containing the Names, Qualities, Actions, and visible Portraicts of those whom the Poet under­took to expose; and that without any other con­duct or rule, but that of his Satyrical wit and passi­on; so far were they from being ingenious rational Poems, regulated by Art; and the Magistrates fore­seeing the dangerous Effects of such license, forbid them any more naming particular persons in their Plays.

But as one is always Ingenious in mischief, the Poets found means, though they left out the Name, to represent the Person so livelily, that every bo­dy knew presently, who they meant; and this was since call'd Middle Comedy; and such were the last Plays of Aristophanes.

But this way of Satyr, though somewhat mil­der than the other, was still thought to be of as [Page 48] ill Consequence, and by the Magistrates according­ly prohibited. This put the Poets to some stand, and forc'd them at last to invent not only the Names, but likewise the Adventures of their Stage, and then Comedy, being an ingenious Product of wit and Art, was regulated upon the model of Tragedy, and became (to define it rightly) the true Picture and Imitation of the Common Actions of life. Then the Representation was no longer con­founded with the Truth of the Action, and all that was done upon the Stage was consider'd as a true Story, in which neither the State, nor the Spectators, were suppos'd to have any part. The Adventures were generally taken from some re­mote Country, with which the place where they were represented had little communication, and the Actors seem'd to act only by the consideration of those things, which were represented. Thus that which came to be call'd New Comedy was made, of which Terence was one of the first that gave us a Model, and that so good a one, that it is ne­ver seen that he ever confounds the Representati­on with the Truth of the Theatral Action. Parùm seriò res agividetur, si Actores ipsi populum com­pellent. Plau­tus who went before him, and was nearer the time of Middle Comedy, is not so regular, but does so often fall into that inconvenience, Voss. lib. 2. c. 26. sect. 15. Poet. that the reading him becomes tedious, and not seldom his Plays are confus'd and obscure by it.

In his Amphytrion, Act. 3. Sc. 1. Jupiter is suppos'd to be at Thebes in the time that Hercules is born, Nunc hûc hono­ris vestri ve­nio gratiâ, ne hanc incboa­tam transigam Comoediam, si­mul Alcumenae quam vir &c. and when he appears under the form of Amphytrion, he tells the Spectators, I am Jupiter, and I am chang'd to Amphytrion when I please, which I do, (says he to the Spectators) to oblige you by Continuing this Play, [Page 49] and for the love of Alcmena that she may appear Inno­cent. Where we see he mingles the concerns of the Actors with the Interest of the Spectators, and makes an Interfering of Romans who were present, with those who were suppos'd to act in Greece, which cer­tainly cannot be but very ridiculous, and must con­found the understanding of the Spectators, by for­cing them to imagine a man double, and to distin­guish in him both words and sentiments very diffe­rent, without any necessity or reason for it. Cer­tainly when a man appears before us with the Clothes, Countenance, Words, and Gesture of a person, whom he represents, he is not to be consi­der'd otherwise than according to that Image, which from our Eyes we imprint in our mind; and there­fore all that unmasks him, to shew him, as he really is, such a Player, whose Name is so or so, confounds the Attention of the Audience, who expect nothing from that Actor, but things proper to the person whose Appearance he takes.

In his Aulularia, Euclio is at Athens, where he has been rob'd, and while he is seeking the man that ran away with his Treasure, he says such things to ex­press his despair, that the Audience falls a laughing; upon which Euclio turning to them, says, why do you laugh, I know you all well enough, and know that amongst you there are Thieves enough. Now Euclio is suppos'd to be at Athens, where no Romans could be for Spectators, much less could they be suspected to conceal among them the man that had stoln his Money. He is so full of these faults, that there is scarce a Play of his without them; but in two places the raillery is so ingenious, and so plac'd [Page 50] at the end of the Play, without being interwo­ven in the Story, that it may very well be ex­cused.

The first is at the end of Pseudolus, where his witty Slave having invited Ballio to drink with him, Bal. Te sequor, quin vocas Spec­tatores simul? he answers, Why don't you likewise invite these Gentlemen? Ps. Hercle me isti haud solent vocare, neque ergo ego istos; verùm si voltis appl [...]udere at­que approbare hunc gregem & fabulam, in cra­stinum vos vo­cabo. Pseudol. pointing to the Specta­tors; to which Pseudolus replies, I don't use to invite them, nor they me; but Gentlemen, if you will say that our House and Play pleases you, I in­vite you again to morrow.

The other is at the end of his Rudens, where Daemones having invited Labrax to Supper, tells the Spectators, Act. 5. Sc. 2. I would invite you too, Gentlemen, but I have little to give him; and besides I hope you are all engaged; but if you please to give your approbation to this Play, I will Invite you all to sup with me this day sixteen year. Spectatores vos quoque ad coe­nam vocem, ni daturus nihil sim, neque sit quicquam pol­lucti domi, néue adeò vocates credam vos esse ad caenam fo­ras. Verùm si Vole [...]sum fab [...]ola­rum dare, Co­missalum omnes venitote ad me ad annos sexde­cim.

In these cases, the Action of the Stage being over, the Railleries that are made can no longer con­found the Ideas of the Spectators.

As for Tragedies, as their subject is more noble and serious, they are seldom infected with this cor­rupt way; except in Euripides's Prologues, where often the chief Actor, or a God in some Machine, makes a Narration of things happened before the the opening of the Stage. Which I must confess I cannot approve of, because often these things are clear enough in the thread of the Story; and when Poets do not explain their Subject, by the [Page 51] Mouth and Actions of their Actors, 'tis a fault without excuse, and Prologues are but ill shifts to repair such a neglect. Sophocles never does it, and I cannot but advise all Poets to follow him in this.

CHAP. VIII.
How the Poet must make his Deco­rations, and other Necessary Acti­ons in the Play, known to the Au­dience.

THE most remarkable and indeed an essential difference between Epick and Dramatick Poems, is, that in the first, the Poet speaks alone, the persons that he produces all uttering themselves by his mouth; 'tis he that says, that such and such people made such and such discourses, and not they that come and make them themselves. But in the Dramatick Poem, the Poet is silent, and none but the persons introduc'd by him, do speak; and during all the Theatral Action, he appears no more than if the persons were really those whom they represent.

Therefore in the Epick Poem, the Poet makes all the descriptions that may grace his work, when and where he pleases. If he has a mind to shew a Temple or a Palace, he frames the Architecture of it according to his own fancy. If there be a ship­wrack, he expresses as he pleases the horror of the [Page 53] Tempest, the fear of the Seamen, the cryes of those who are cast away, and the constancy of his Hero, and for all this he chuses that place in his Poem, which he thinks fittest for these or other Descrip­tions. But in a Dramatick Poem, the Poet must speak by the mouth of his Actors, he cannot em­ploy any other means, and what they omit, can no ways be supplyed by any industry of his; if there be a Shipwrack, the Actors must explain it, and speak of the misfortune of those who have been cast away; and so for any Ornament or Action extra­ordinary: They must all be explain'd by those whom he brings upon his Stage. The Ancient Poets have been very exact and judicious in this particular, but our Modern Authors have com­mitted such faults in it, as have much disfigur'd their Plays.

A Play may be regarded two ways; it is made to be acted by persons, who are to do every thing, as if they were the true persons represented; and likewise Plays are made to be read by people, who without seeing them acted, can by their imagina­tion, and the strength of the impressions the Poet gives, make those persons as it were present to their Idea. Now whether a Play be acted or read, it must be understood by the Spectators, and by the Reader; it cannot be known to the Spectators, but just as the Actors shall make it so; and the Rea­der can understand no more of it, than the Verses or Expressions do inform him, so that either way all the Decorations, Clothes, or necessary Motions, for the understanding the Play, must be had in the Verses, or other expressions in Prose, which are by the Actors recited.

[Page 54] To this may be said, that our Poets use to be by at the Rehearsals, and so tell the Players every par­ticular that they are to do; but besides the negli­gence of the Players in the execution of this, how shall any body do, that would act the Play without the Poet? how shall they know where the Scene lies? what Decorations belong to it, and what Clothes the Actors have, and so in any other Cir­cumstances necessary to the understanding and Or­nament of the Play? Eschylus his Tragedies have been often acted at Athens, after he was dead.

The same thing was done by Plautus's Comedies at Rome; and is done every day at Paris by our old Plays; all which could not well have been per­form'd, if the Poet had not been careful to explain all things by the Actors. I know indeed that to help the dulness of some Readers, many of our Po­ets have made Marginal Notes in their printed works, which express that which is not said in the Play; As here appears a Temple open, here a Palace adorn'd with divers Columns of noble Architecture, here the King whispers his Favourite, and the like. But in all these Notes 'tis the Poet that speaks, which he is not allowed to do in this sort of Poems, and it cannot be done without interrupting the Reader in the midst of passions, and dividing his application, and so dissipating some of those Ideas which he had receiv'd already for the understanding and relishing the Play.

But I say more than all this, a Play ought to be made with so much Art, and the Actors are to speak so, that it shall not be necessary to marke the di­stinction of the Acts, nor Scenes, nor so much as to put the Names of those that speak, and to [Page 55] prove what I say, we need only to consider, that when an Actor comes upon the Stage, the Poet does not come to tell his name, it must be known by himself, or some other of the Actors; and the failing in this has made, that in some Plays, that I have seen, three Acts were over, before the Audience knew the Name of the chief Actor, and that without any apparent necessity of hiding either That or his Qualitie; for sometimes it is necessary he should be Incognito, but then 'tis as necessary that it should be known he is so.

In this particular the Ancients have been so accurate, that I dare boldly say, that let one have a Tragedy, either of Sophocles, or Euripides, or a Comedy of Terence, or Plautus without Title, Di­stinction, Names of the Actors, or any Character particular, to make either Them, or the separati­on of the Acts and Scenes known, I would pre­sently discover both the Name, Quality, Equipage, Clothes, Gesture, and Interests of all those who speak; the place of the Scene, its decorations, and in a word, all that can make any part of the Thea­tral Action; and all Plays, which cannot in the same manner make all things known to the Rea­der, are certainly defective. But to do this well, there are many Ingenious Artifices to put such words in the mouth of an Actor, as may be a reasonable pretext for him to explain what is necessary for the understanding of the Subject; and these fol­lowing Contrivances may serve for an Example.

Sometimes the surprize of an Actor is a very agreeable way of doing it; so in Plautus's Curculio, Palinurus, is surprized to see Phaedromus come out of his House before day with Flambeaux and [Page 56] Servants loaden with Bottles of Wine.

Sometimes one employs the compassion which he ought to have of the miserable state of some other Actor, as Electra in Euripides does, to make it known that her Brother was before the Gates of his Palace, laid all along wrap'd up in his Cloke, and tormenting himself with his own disquiets.

It may be done likewise by way of raillery; as in the Trinummus of Plautus, where Charmides, to describe the great broad brimm'd Hat of a Cheat, disguiz'd like a Souldier, says, I believe this fellow is of the race of the Toadstools, for he is all head.

Or else it may be contriv'd, that two Actors shall shew one another some thing extraordinary; as in the first Act of the Rudens of Plautus, where by that Artifice one is inform'd, that there has been a Shipwrack, that there are some persons yet alive swimming to the shore, that two wo­men are alone in a small Bark, and are by the Waves carried upon the Sands, where they fall into the Sea, and then getting up again with much ado gain the shore.

Sometimes by the Actions themselves the Actors are sufficiently known, as in Euripides, Polyphemus and the Satyrs drinking and growing drunk.

Very often an Actor by a cholerick word or action makes known what another Actor is do­ing; as in the Casina, Cleostrata seeming angry, makes it appear that her Husband is chucking of her with his hand, to bring her into good humor again. These may serve for Examples, many such being obvious to an ingenious Fancy.

Not that a Poet need be very particular nei­ther, [Page 57] he is not bound to make an Exact descrip­tion of all the Columns, Portico's, or other Or­naments of Architecture in a Temple or Palace; 'tis enough that he mention in general terms, the Decoration of his Theatre: And yet when any Circumstance is to have an Effect in the Play, then not only he may, but he must stay upon it a little; as in the Io of Euripides, where it not being permitted to the Women to go into the Temple of Apollo, they stay without and talk of the painting, which made the Ornament of it on the outside; and in the Mostellaria of Plautus, where Tranio desirous to perswade his Master Theuropides, that he had purchas'd the House of one of his Neighbours, onely to get some Money upon that pretext out of the old Man, he shews him the Avenue of it, and makes him observe it's Vestibule, Pillars, and other Singularities, which must be suppos'd necessary in the decoration of the Stage, when the Play was acted.

There is no necessity neither that many parti­culars should be explain'd, which are sufficient­ly understood by natural Consequence; as when a Poet shall make Horatius a Roman speak, he need not tell us what dress he is in, nor endea­vour to make us admire the Generosity of his Sentiments; for 'tis of Necessity, that he should be dress'd and speak like a Roman.

Two things, which must never be forgot for the understanding of the Play, are the Time, which the Poet gives to the Theatral Action, and the Place where the Scene is laid. The Ancients have Practis'd this with so much Art, that often they that read their Plays hardly take Notice of it at [Page 58] first; Plautus opens the Stage in his Amphytrio, at the end of that long night which Jupiter had made on purpose to come and visit Alcmena in, before she was brought to bed; which appears clearly by the discourse of Sosias, who complains in the very first Scene of the length of the night, and says, that he believes Aurora has a Cup too much, and cannot wake soon enough; and the Play ends before Dinner, as it appears again by the Order which Jupiter, under the shape of Amphytrio, gives to Sosias, to go and invite Blepharo to Dinner, as soon as he shall have finish'd his Sacrifice; for after this Order given, all the Events are so quick, that 'tis plain that all the Intrigues which perplex'd Amphytrio are first solv'd and made open.

The same Author has been as carefull to express the place of his Scene, as has been already shew'd in his Rudens and Curculio; and the same is observ'd in the Frogs of Aristophanes, and the Ajax of Sophocles.

Very often it happens, that things are not ex­plain'd just as they are done, but a good while after; as the Poet thinks most convenient, and where he can do it with the least Affectation. I shall give no other example, but that of Corneille in his Androme­da, where when the winds carry her away, Phine­as is thrown to the ground by a Thunder-clap, of which at that time no further notice is taken, but 'tis made known in the second Act, where Phineas complaining of the violence of the Gods against the endeavours he made to save Andromeda, says, That they were forc'd to strike him to the ground, to take that occasion to cary her away.

And since I am faln upon this Play, which is a­dorn'd [Page 59] with so many Machines, I cannot but observe, that all the Decorations and extraordinary Actions which are in the third and fifth Act, are very dexte­rously explain'd, and with an Art worthy of a Grecian Theatre; but for that great Palace, which makes the Decoration of the first Act, and that Magnificent Temple, which does the same in the 4th, I think there is not one word said by which it may appear that they are there; and I was forc'd, when I read the Play, to have re­course in those places, to the explanation which is before each Act, or else I had never known what the Decoration had been; and to say truth, one may put the Temple in the first Act, and the Pa­lace in the 4th, and it will do altogether as well, without being oblig'd to any change in the Verses, or order of the Subject; by which it appears, how re­quisite it is to explain the Decorations in the Play it self, to joyn judiciously the Subject with the Place, and Actions with Things, and so make a Total full of symmetry and ornament in all its parts▪

CHAP. I.
Of the Subject of Dramatick Poems.

SUpposing here what the Poet ought to know of that part of a Drama, which the Ancients call'd the Fable; we, the Story or Romance; and I in this place, the Subject: I will onely say that for Subjects meerly inven­ted, and of which one may as well make a Trage­dy as a Comedy; if they do not take, 'tis perfectly [Page 62] the Poets fault, and a fault without excuse or pre­text, which he can never clear himself of; for being Master as well of the Matter as of the Form, the miscarriage of the Play can be attributed to nothing, but to his want of Conduct in the thing, and to the Errors of his own Imagination. But as for Sub­jects drawn from Story, or from the Fables of the Ancients, he is more exc [...]s [...]ble if he misses of success in the Representation of them, for he may be many ways constrain'd; as if a great man command him to preserve certain Circum­stances, not so fit for the Stage, or that he does it himself out of some consideratio [...] more im­portant to him than the Glory of being a good Poet would be. But if he be free in his choice, he may be sure that he shall be blam'd if his Play does not take, it being certain, that Art out of an ill Story may make an excellent Drama; as for Example, if there be no Plot, the Poet must make one; if it be too intricate, he must make it looser and easier; if too open and weak, he must strengthen it by In­vention, and so for the rest. On the other side, there is no Story so rich in it self, but an ill Poet may so spoil the beauty of it, that it will hardly be known to be the same Story.

Besides, one is not to think, that all fine Stories are fit to appear with success upon the Stage; for very often the beautifullest part of them depends upon some Circumstance, which the Theatre can­not suffer; and it was for this, that I advis'd one who had a mind to undertake the Loves of Antio­chus and Stratoniea, to let it alone; for the most considerable incident in it, being the cunning of the Physician in discovering the Prince's Passion, by [Page 63] causing all the Ladies in the Court to pass one by one before the Princes Bed, that so by the emotion of his Pulse, he might judge which of them it was, that caused his Disease; I thought it would be very odd, to make a Play where the Hero of it should al­ways be a bed, and that it would be hard to change the Circumstance so, as to preserve the Beauty of it; and that besides, the Time and Place of the Scene would be difficult to bring together; for if An­tiochus be suppos'd sick a bed in the morning, 'twould be improbable to lay much action upon him all the rest of that day; and to place the Scene in a sick mans Chamber, or at his door, would be as unlikely.

'Twas for the same Reason, that the Theodora of Corneille had not all the approbation it deserv'd: 'Tis in it self a most ingenious Play; the Plot being well carried, and full of variety; where all the hints of the true Story are made use of to advantage, the Changes and Turns very judicious, and the Passi­ons and Verse worthy the Name of so great a man. But because the whole business turns upon the Prosti­tution of Theodora to the Publick Stews, it could never please; not but that the Poet, in that too, has taken care to expose things with great modesty and nicety; but still one is forc'd to have the Idea of that ugly Adventure so often in ones Imagination, particularly in the Narrations of the 4th Act, that the Spectators cannot but have some disgust at it.

There are a hundred Stories like these, and har­der yet to manage for the Stage; and likewise on the contrary there are lucky ones, which seem to [Page 64] have happened on purpose; as that of Sophonisba, who is a Widow, and married again, loses her kingdom, and recovers it all in a day.

The way therefore of chusing a Subject, is to con­sider whether it be founded upon one of these three things; either upon Noble Passions, as Mariamne and the Cid; or upon an intricate and pleasing Plot, as Cleomedon, or the Disguis'd Prince; or upon some extraordinary Spectacle and Show, as Cyminda, or the Two Victims; and if the Story will bear more Cir­cumstances of this nature, or that the Poets imagi­nation can fitly supply the Play with them, it will be still the better; provided, he observe a just mode­ration, for though a Poem ought not to be without a Plot, nor without Passions, or noble Spectacles, yet to load a Subject with any of them, is a thing to be avoided. Violent Passions, too often repeated, do as it were numm the Soul, and its Sympathy; the multitude of Incidents and Intrigues distract the Mind, and confound the Memory; and much Show takes up more time than can be allowed it, and is hard to bring on well. 'Tis for this reason, that some of our Poets who had contriv'd in every Act a memorable Incident, and a moving Passion, did not find that the success answer'd their Expecta­tion.

If I am ask'd, what is the measure of employ­ing those things? I shall answer, 'tis every ones natural judgment; and it may happen that a Drama may be so luckily contriv'd, that the preparation of the Incidents, and the variety of the Passions, shall correct the defect of the abundance of them; and that the Art of the Machines shall be so well understood, that they may easily be made use of in [Page 65] every Act, as I formerly propounded to Cardinal Richelieu, but hitherto they are little in use in our ordinary Theatres.

'Tis besides most commonly ask'd here, how far the Poet may venture in the alterations of a true Story, Arist. c. 15. in order to the fitting of it for the Stage. Upon which we find different Opinions among both the Ancient and Modern Criticks; Quis nescit om­nibus Epicis Po­ëtis historiam esse pro argumen­to? quam illi aut adumbra­tam, aut illu­stratam, certè alia facie quum ostendunt, ex historia confici­unt Poëma. Nam quid aliud Ho­merus? quid tragicis ipsis fa­ciemus? Scal. l. 1. c. 2. but my Opinion is, that he may do it not only in the Circumstances, but in the Principal Action it self; provided he make a very good Play of it: For as the Dramatick Poet does not much mind the time, because he is no Chronologist; no more does he, nor the Epick Poet, much mind the true Story, because they are no Historians; they take out of Story so much as serves their turn, and change the rest; not expecting that any body should be so ridiculous as to come to the Theatres to be instructed in the truth of History.

The Stage therefore does not present things as they have been, but as they ought to be; for the Poet must in the Subject he takes reform every thing that is not accommodated to the Rules of his Art; as a Painter does when he works up on an imperfect Model.

'Twas for this Reason that the death of Camilla by the hands of her Brother Horatius was never lik'd of upon the Stage, though it be a true Adventure; and I for my part gave my Opinion, that to save in some measure the truth of the Story, and yet not to offend against the decency of the Stage, it would have been better that that Unfortunate Maid, see­ing her Brother come towards her with his Sword drawn, had run upon it of her self; for by that [Page 66] means she would still have dyed by the hand of Ho­ratius, and yet he might have deserved some com­passion, as unfortunate but innocent, and so the Story and the Stage would have been agreed.

In a word, The Historian ought to recite matter of Fact, and if he judges of it, he does more than he ought to do; the Epick Poet is to magnifie all Events by great Fictions, where truth is as it were sunk and lost; and the Dramatick Poet ought to shew all things in a state of decency, probability, and pleasingness. 'Tis true, that if Story is capa­ble of all the Ornaments of Dramatick Poetry, the Poet ought to preserve all the true Events; but if not, he is well grounded to make any part of it yield to the Rules of his Art, and to the Design he has to please.

Many against this do alledge the Authority of Horace, Hinc Horatius cum dixisset, Fa­mam sequere, quod pertinent ad [...]. Voss. lib 1. c. 5. who sayes, that he ought in Story to follow the common receiv'd Opinion, or at least to invent things that may be as conformable to it as possible. But I answer, that Horace in that place does not treat of the Subject of the Play, but of the Customs and Morals that ought to be given the Actors; who ought not to be represented different from what they were believed; as it would be to make Caesar a Coward, or Messalina chaste; and this Vossius has well observ'd in his Poetick Art, and I wonder that people should be abus'd by Citations applyed quite contrary to the Sense of the Author; and yet I am not of opinion that a known Story, yet fresh in the minds of the People, can suffer to be considerably chang'd, without great caution; but in such a case I should advise the Poet rather to a­bandon such a subject, than to make an ill Play of [Page 67] it, out of a humour of following truth; or at least to manage it so, as to check directly the re­ceiv'd Opinion among the Vulgar. If we examine well the Sense of Aristotle, I believe he will be found to be of this Opinion; and as for the Ancient Poets they have always taken that Liberty, the same Story having hardly ever been treated the same way by different Poets. As for example, The Adventures of Polydorus are very different in Euripides and Virgil. Sophocles kills Emon and Antigone, but Euripides, who has made the same Story in two Plays, marrys them together in one, contrary to what he himself had done before in the other call'd, The Phaenician Ladies. The same Sopho­cles in Oedipus makes Jocasta strangle her self, and Euripides makes her live 'till the combat of her Sons Eteocles and Polynices, and then kill her self upon their dead bodies. Orestes and Electra are ve­ry different in many Circumstances, though both Works of the same Poet. In a word, the four Tragick Poets of the Greeks, whose Works we have, are all different in the disposition of the same Stories, and I believe that they were the cause of that grand disorder and confusion there is in Story and Chronology in those old times, because that they having chang'd both the Times and Events for their own ends, they have influenc'd some Historians, who thought to pick out of them the truth of Story, and so made all things uncer­tain; any body that will read the Electra of Eu­ripides, that of Sophocles, and the Caephores of Aeschi­lus, will easily see that they made no difficulty of contradicting one another, and themselves.

As for the different kinds of Subjects, letting [Page 68] alone those ordinary divisions of Aristotle, and his Commentators, I here propose three sorts of Subjects.

The first consists of Incidents, Intrigues, and new Events, when almost from Act to Act there is some sudden change upon the Stage, which alters all the Face of Affairs; when almost all the Actors have different Designs; and the means they take to make them succeed come to cross one another, and produce new and unforeseen Accidents, all which gives a marvellous satisfaction to the Spectators, it being a continual diversion, accompanied with an agreeable Expectation of what the Event will be.

The second sort of Subjects are of those rais'd out of Passions; when out of a small Fund the Poet does ingeniously draw great Sentiments and noble Passions, to entertain the Auditory; and when out of Incidents that seem natural to his Subject, he takes occasion to transport his Actors into extraor­dinary and violent Sentiments, by which the Specta­tors are ravish'd, and their Soul continually mov'd with some new Impression.

The last sort of Subjects are the mixt or com­pound of Incidents and Passions, when by unex­pected Events, but Noble ones, the Actors break out into different Passions; and that infinitely de­lights the Auditory, to see at the same time surpri­zing Accidents, and noble and moving Senti­ments, to which they cannot but yield with pleasure.

Now 'tis certain, that in all these three sorts of Subjects the Poet may succeed, provided the dispo­sition of his Play be ingenious; but yet I have [Page 69] observ'd some difference, according to which they take more or less.

Subjects full of Plot and Intrigue are extreme agreeable at first, but being once known, they do not the second time please us so well, because they want the graces of Novelty, which made them charm us at first, all our delight consisting in being surpriz'd, which we cannot be twice.

The Subjects full of Passions last longer, and affect us more, because the Soul which receives the impres­sion of them, does not keep them so long, nor so strongly, as our Memory does the Events of things; nay, often it happens, that they please us more at second seeing, because that the first time we are em­ployed about the Event and Disposition of the Play, and by consequent do less enter into the Sentiments of the Actors; but having once no need of apply­ing our thoughts to the Story, we busie them about the things that are said, and so receive more Im­pressions of grief of fear.

But it is out of doubt, that the mix'd or com­pound are the most excellent sort, for in them the Incidents grow more pleasing by the Passions which do as it were uphold them, and the Passions seem to be renew'd, and spring afresh, by the variety of the unthought of Incidents; so that they are both lasting, and require a great time to make them lose their Graces.

We are not to forget here (and I think it one of the best Observations that I have made upon this Subject) that if the Subject is not conformable to the Customs and Manners, as well as Opinions of the Spectators, it will never take, what pains soe­ver the Poet himself take, and whatsoever Orna­ments [Page 70] he employs to set his Play off. For all Dra­matick Poems must be different, according to the People before whom they are represented; and from thence often proceeds that the success is diffe­rent, though the Play be still the same. Thus the Athenians delighted to see upon their Theatre the Cruelties of Kings, and the Misfortunes befalling them, the Calamities of Illustrious and Noble Fami­lies, and the Rebellion of the whole Nation for an ill Action of the Prince, because the State in which they liv'd being Popular, they lov'd to be perswa­ded that Monarchy was always Tyrannical, hoping thereby to discourage the Noble Men of their own Commonwealth from the attempt of seizing the Soveraignty, out of fear of being expos'd to the the fury of a Commonalty, who would think it just to murther them. Whereas quite contrary a­mong us, the respect and love which we have for our Princes, cannot endure that we should enter­tain the Publick with such Spectacles of horrour; we are not willing to believe that Kings are wicked, nor that their Subjects, though with some appearance of ill usage, ought to Rebel against their Power; or touch their Persons, no not in Effigie; and I do not believe that upon our Stage a Poet could cause a Ty­rant to be murder'd with any applause, except he had very cautiously laid the thing: As for Example, that the Tyrant were an Usurper, and the right Heir should appear, and be own'd by the People, who should take that occasion to revenge the injuries they had suffer'd from the Tyrant; but Usurpation a­lone, against the will of the People, would not ju­stifie without horrour the death of the Soveraign by the hands of his rebellious Subjects: We have [Page 71] seen the tryal of it in a Play call'd Timoleon, whom no consideration of State or common Good, no love nor generosity towards his Country, could hinder from being considered as the Murderer of his Brother and his Prince; and for my part I esteem that Author who avoided to have Tarquin kill'd upon the Stage, after the violence he had offer'd to Lucretia. The cruelty of Alboin inspir'd horrour into the whole French Court, though o­therwise it were a Tagedy full of noble Incidents and lofty Language.

We have had upon our Stage the Esther of Mr. Du Ryer, adorn'd with great Events, forti­fied with strong Passions, and compos'd in the whole with great Art; but the success was much unluckier at Paris, than at Roüen; and when the Players at their teturn to Paris told us the good fortune they had had at Roüen, every body won­dred at it, without being able to guess the cause of it; but for my part I think that Roüen, being a Town of great Trade, is full of a great Num­ber of Jews, some known, and some conceal'd, and that by that reason they making up a good part of the Audience, took more delight in a piece which seem'd entirely Jewish, by the Conformity it had to their Manners and Customs.

We may say the same thing of Comedies; for the Greeks and Romans, with whom the Debauches of young People with Curtizans was but a laughing matter, took pleasure to see their Intrigues repre­sented, and to hear the discourses of those pub­lick Women, with the tricks of those Ministers of their Pleasures countenanc'd by the Laws. They were also delighted to see old covetous men [Page 72] over-reach'd, and cheated of their money, by the circumvention of their Slaves, in favonr of their young Masters; they were sensible to all these things, because they were subject to them one time or another; but amongst us all this would be ill received; for as Christian Modesty does not permit persons of Quality to approve of those Examples of Vice, so neither do the Rules by which we govern our Families allow of those slights of our Servants, nor do we need to defend our selves against them. 'Tis for the same Reason that wee see in the French Court, Tragedies take a great deal better than Comedies; and that on the contrary, the People are more affected with the latter, and particularly with the Farces and Buf­fooneries of the Stage; for in this Kingdom the persons of good Quality, and Education, have ge­nerous thoughts and designs, to which they are carried either by the Motives of Vertue or Am­bition, so that their life has a great Conformity with the Characters of Tragedy; but the people, meanly born and durtily bred, have low Senti­ments, and are thereby dispos'd to approve of the meaness and filthiness represented in Farces, as be­ing the Image of those things which they both use to say and do; and this ought to be taken notice of, not only in the principal part of the Poem, but in all its parts, and particularly in the Passions, as we shall say more amply in a Chapter about them; for if there be any Act or Scene that has not that conformity of manners to the Spectators, you will suddenly see the applause cease, and in it's place a discontent succeed, though they themselves do not know the cause of it. For [Page 73] the Stage and Eloquence are alike in this, that their Perfections and Faults are equally per­ceiv'd by the Ignorant and by the Learned, though the cause is not equally known to them.

CHAP. II.
Of Probability and Decency.

HEre is the bottom and ground work of all Dramatick Poems; The French word is vray­semblance, for which we have not an English word Expressive of all its Sense. many talk of it, but few understand it; but this is the general touchstone, by which all that comes to pass in a Play is to be tryed and examin'd, and it is the very Essence of the Poem, without which nothing rational can be done or said upon the Stage.

'Tis a general Maxim, that Truth alone is not the Subject of our Theatres, Synes in Caluit. encom. p. 72. e­dit. Paris. an. 1612. because there are many Truths which ought not to be seen, and many that cannot be represented publickly; therefore Synesius has said very well, that Poetry and other Arts, foun­ded in Imitation, follow not Truth but the com­mon Opinion of men. It is very true, that Nero caus'd his Mother to be murder'd, and then had her cut up to see the place, where he had lain nine Months before he was born; but this Barbarity, though pleasant to him that executed it, would yet be not only horrible to those, to whom it should be shew'd, but incredible because such a thing ought not to have come to pass: I believe that amongst the great number of Stories, from which the Poet may take [Page 75] Subjects, there is hardly any one which in all its true Circumstances is fitted for the Stage, so as to be represented without altering something of the E­vent, the Time, the Persons, and many other par­ticulars.

That which is simply possible is left a Subject for Plays, for many things may come to pass by the recounter of Natural Causes (or the adventures of humane Life) which yet would be ridiculous, and almost incredible, to be represented. 'Tis possible that a Man may dye suddenly, and that happens often; but That Poet would be strangely laugh'd at, who to rid the Stage of a troublesome Rival, should make him dye of an Apoplexy, as of a common Disease; and it would need exceeding ingenious and artful preparations.

There is nothing therefore but Probability, Res esse oport in ipsis etia▪ Comoedijs adm [...] dum verisimiles ut tametsi ficta representari magis quam fingi videantur Scal. lib. 6. cap 3. that can truly found a Dramatick Poem, as well as adorn and finish it; not that True and Possible things are banish'd off the Stage, but they are received upon it, only so far as they are Probable; and therefore all the Circumstances, that want this Character, are to be alter'd so as to attain it, if they hop'd to appear in publick.

I shall not here expatiate upon ordinary and ex­traordinary Probability, the Masters of the Art have made ample Treatises about it; and no body is igno­rant, that things naturally impossible become possi­ble, and even probable, by the Power of God Al­mighty, or That of the Devil; and that the Proba­bility of the Stage does not oblige to represent only those things which happen according to the com­mon course of Humane Life, but likewise gives leave to launch into the wonderful Accidents of it, [Page 76] which makes the Events so much the more surpri­sing, if they are still probable; but that which I have observ'd in this matter, is, That few have under­stood, how far this Probability ought to reach; eve­ry body indeed believing that it ought to be ob­serv'd in the principal Action of the Poem, and like­wise in the most sensible Incidents of it, but they went no further. Now is it most certain, that the least Actions, brought upon the Stage, ought to be probable, or else they are entirely faulty, and should not appear there. There is no Action of Humane Life so perfectly single, as not to be accompanied by many little Circumstances, which do make it up; as are the Time, the Place, the Person, the Digni­ty, the Designs, the Means, and the Reasons of the Action; and since the Stage ought ot be a perfect Image of Action, it ought to represent it entire, and that Probability and Decency be observ'd in all its parts. When a King speaks upon the Stage, he must speak like a King, and that is the Circumstance of his Dignity, against which nothing ought to be done with Decency; except there be some other rea­son to dispense with this last, as that he were in dis­guise. Besides, without doubt a King speaking ac­cording to his Dignity must be suppos'd to be somewhere, and therefore the Stage must carry the Image of the place where he then was, for there are things which in Probability ought not to be done or said, but in certain places. It ought also to appear, in what time he spoke, for one ought to speak dif­ferently in different times, as a Prince before he gives Battel, will speak otherwise than after he has won it, or lost it.

[Page 77] Therefore to preserve this Probability in the Cir­cumstances of the Treatral Action, the Poet must be Master of the Rules of the Stage, and Practise them, for they teach nothing else, to make all the parts of an Action appear with Probability and Decency, and to represent a whole and entire Image of them.

To this some have said, That Reason and Com­mon Sense are sufficient of themselves to Judge of all these things. I grant it, but it must be Reason and common Sense, instructed in the affairs of the Stage, and in what is design'd to be represented: For suppose, that a Man of good Sense should have never seen nor heard of a Play, and be brought to see one, without being told what it is he is carried to; 'tis certain that he will hardly know, whether the Players be true Kings and Princes, or only the Images of them; and when he does know, that all that is but a Fiction, yet will he scarce be able to judge of the Faults or Perfections of the Play, with­out making many Reflections to consider, whether what is represented be profitable or no? For to judg perfectly of a Dramatick Poem, our Natural Rea­son must be instructed and inured to that kind of Images, which are made use of by men to represent any Action, and know precisely, how Probability is to be preserved in all the strokes of this animated Picture; and that cannot be attained to, but by a great number of Observations made by length of time and different Persons. The Art of the Stage was by these Observations framed by the Ancients, and had so slow a Progress, that from Thespis, who first added an Actor to the Chorus, who before that acted Tragedies alone, to the time of Aristotle, who reduced these Rules into an Art, there passed two [Page 78] hundred years: He therefore that, on a sudden with­out study or reflection, will pronounce his Judg­ment of a Play, will often find himself mistaken; because 'tis very hard he should have before his Eyes on a sudden all those Considerations, which are requi­site to examine the Probability of what has been represented; and it has often happened, that Peo­ple of very good understanding have at first com­mended some Actions of the Stage for well invented things, which upon being better informed, they have found contrary to all Probability and Ridi­culous.

But it is a much stranger thing, and yet very true, that I have seen People, who had for many years compos'd Plays themselves, read a Play of an­others, and that over and over again, and yet ne­ver find out the length of time, nor the place of the Scene, nor many of the Circumstances of the most important Actions, so as to judge whether they were probable or not. Heinsius himself, though very Learned, Plautus no­vem menses uno Dramate com­plexus est, ut vix maior am­pliorque Home­ricae Iliados quam Amphi­tryonis sit peri­odus: Alcume­na autem conci­pit & parit; quod si fieret, iam nullo episo­dio opus esset, i­deoque nec ars esset comoediam scribere. and who has published the Art of composing Tragedies, is so far mistaken in the Am­phitryon of Plautus, as to think it contains nine Months, though it do not really contain above eight hours, and at least is comprehended between Mid­night and Noon the day following. Vossius, one of the most Learned of our time, and very understand­ing in the Art of Poetry, writes as He does, that Plautus in his Amphytrion makes Hercules be con­ceived and born in one Night, though 'tis certain he supposes him Conceived seven Months before; and Mercury says it twice expresly in the Play; there­fore I think my self bound to give my Readers warn­ing, Heins. in Ho­rat. that of all that that excellent man has made, Voss. lib. 2. c. 3. [Page 79] there is nothing to be so carefully avoided, Ridicule se dat Plautus, cum in Amphi­try [...]ne fingat ea­dem die Alcu­menam & conci­pere & parere. as his Third Chapter of his First Book, where he treats of the Errors of Poets, and pretends to Correct the An­cients▪ for he himself falls into much greater. Sca­liger has said in two places, that in Aeschylus, Pro­metheus is kill'd by a Thunder-Bolt, Hodie illa pariet filios ge­minos duos, alter decumo post mense nascetur puer quam semi­natus est; alter mense septumo. Amphitry. and yet 'tis cer­tain that he is only carried away in the storm, and that appears by the words of Prometheus, and those of Mercury, who both say it clearly enough. There are those who have read Aeschylus over and over, and yet have been so negligent in observing of him, that they believe (and amongst them, Act. 1. sc. 2. the Author of the Argument of his Agamemnon is one) that he makes Agamemnon be murdered upon the Stage, Lib. 7. c. 4. Poet. & lib. 3. c. 97. though it be said by the Chorus, that they hear the Cries and Lamentations he makes in his Palace, and are ready to break in, to see whats the matter; from which Resolution they are diverted by the Arrival of Clytemnestra, [...]. who comes and tells, how she had with her own hand committed that Cruel action. Many Learned Men have said, That the Third Co­medy of Terence contained two days; Scaliger, Muretus, Arg. Agam. Aeschyl. Vossius, F. Membrun, and others have been of that Opinion; but it does not contain above ten hours, as I have made it appear, in my Disser­tation of Terence Justified. And Monsieur Menage, who writ upon this Subject, only to contradict Truth out of Malignity, has not dar'd to allow it a­bove 14 or 15 hours, and to compass that, he has been fain, to pervert the Order of the Athenian Months, that he might shorten the day, and length­en the night, and so overthrow the Oeconomy of Nature, to find some Fault with the Disposition of the Play.

[Page 80] I have seen some others, whom I had much diffi­culty to perswade, that in the Phoenicians of Euri­pides, the Electra of Sophocles, and the Clouds of Aristophanes, the Unity of place was observed; so much do old Errors sometimes blind us: And so true it is, that in this Art, as well as in all others, our natural Reason needs the knowledge of the Rules of the Art, to judge well of the Perfection or Faults of the product of the Art, and I dare boldly say, that whoever shall read this Treatise, shall condemn ma­ny things which they formerly thought very Ratio­nal.

CHAP. III.
Of the Unity of Action.

'TIS one of Aristotle's Rules, and without doub [...] a very Rational one, that a Dramatick Po­em ought to comprehend but one Action; and he does very pertinently condemn those, who make a Play of the whole Story, or Life of a Hero. For though we speak but of one principal Part, on which all the other Events, bad and good, do de­pend; yet there are divers subordinate Actions. But to explain this more particularly, I will here give the Reason of this Rule, as I apprehend it; and how likewise one may comprehend upon the Stage di­vers Incidents in one Action.

'Tis certain, that the Stage is but a Picture or I­mage of Humane Life; and as a Picture cannot shew us at the same time two Originals, and be an accomplished Picture: It is likewise impossible that two Actions, I mean principal ones, should be re­presented reasonably by one Play. Let us consider what the Painter does, who is to make a Picture of some Story; he has no other design, but to give the Image of some Action, and that Action is so limit­ted, that it cannot represent two parts of a Story to­gether, and less all the Story upon which he has fix'd; because it would be necessary that the same Person should be Painted, and appear in different [Page 82] places, which would make a strange Confusion in the whole Picture, and it would be hard to di­stinguish any Order amongst so many different Acti­ons; and by consequent, the Story would be very ob­scure and confused: Therefore instead of that, the Painter would chuse, amongst All the Actions which made up the Story, the most important One, and the fittest for the Excellency of his Art, and which in some measure should contain all the others; so that with one look one might have a sufficient know­ledge of all that he designed to express; and if he desired to express two parts of the same Story, he would make in some corner of the Picture a Lonta­nanza, where he would paint that other Action, which he had a mind to represent, that he might make it be understood, that he design'd the painting of two different Actions, and that it was two Pi­ctures, and not one.

As for Example, Suppose he designed to draw the Story of Iphigenia, it would be hard for him to comprehend in one Picture, all the Adventures of that Princess; therefore he would chuse that of the Sacrifice, which the Greeks were going to make of her to Diana, to appease her Anger, and the storms of the Sea; for in this Action her whole Story would in some measure be comprehended. The storms of the Sea, which kept the Fleet in the Port of Aulide, would be considered as the Cause; the Grief of her Father, and the Compassion of the o­ther Grecian Princes, would be the Circumstances; and her being carried away by that Goddess her self, as an extraordinary Favour, by which she was to be sav'd; and then if he had a mind to express that Diana carried her to Tauris, where she was upon [Page 83] the point of Sacrificing her Brother Orestes, he would put her in one of the Corners of his Picture, in the particular dress of Diana's Priestess, with some other marks of this second Adventure, and so make two Pictures of two different Actions of the same Story.

The Dramatick Poet must imitate the Painter, and when he undertakes the Composition of a Play, he must reckon that he undertakes to make a living speaking Picture, and that therefore he cannot com­prehend in it a whole History, or the Life of an Hero, because he would be necessitated to represent an in­finite number of Events, and employ a vast num­ber of Actors, and mingle so many things, that he would make up a work of perfect Confusion, and would be forc'd in most places to offend against Probability and Decency, and to go beyond the time and extent, ordinarily allowed to Drama­tick Poems; or if he would keep within the limits of the Rules of his Art, he would be forced to ha­sten all the Incidents, and as it were heap them one upon another, without either Graces or Distinction, and so be obliged to stifle and suppress all the Passio­nate strokes; and in a word, shew such a Monstrous Extravagant Image, as They have done, who have represented in the First Act of a Tragedy, the Mar­riage of a Princess; in the Second, the Birth of her Son; in the Third, the Amours of that young Prince; in the Fourth, his Victories; and in the Fifth, his Death; in all which there was matter e­nough for above twenty Plays. Our Poet therefore, amidst this vast extent, shall pitch upon some one remarkable Action; and as one may say, a point of Story, notable by the Happiness or Misfortune of [Page 84] some Illustrious Person, in which point he may com­prehend, as Circumstances, all the rest of the Story, and by representing one chief part make the whole known by some sleight to the Spectators, with­out multiplying the principal Action, and without retrenching any of the necessary Beauties to the per­fection of his Work; and if by chance he should meet in the same Story with two or more Actions, so considerable, that they each of them deserved a Play, and so independent or opposite to each other, as not to be reconciled; he ought to make Two or More plays of them, or chuse the most Important, and particularly, the most Pathetick for his Sub­ject.

Thus the Suppliants of Euripides do not contain the whole War of Thebes, but only the Burial of the two Princes of Argos. Hecuba contains not the tak­ing of Troy, but the last misfortunes of that Queen in her Captivity. The Ajax of Sophocles, shews not all the Exploits of War of that Hero, nor his Disputes with Ulysses for the Arms of Achilles, but only represents his madness, which was the cause of his Death; and so we may say of most of the an­cient Plays. But in all these the Poets have shewed so much Art, as to instruct the Spectators, either by Narrations, Discourses, Complaints, or other sleights of the Art, in all the Circumstances of those Stories which they treated.

As likewise, when the Subjects, that fell into their Hands, were of too great an Extent to be com­prehended in one Play, and having in them many Actions of equal importance, they have made dif­ferent Pictures of that, which could not be compre­hended under one Image.

[Page 85] Euripides has not confounded the Sacrifice of Iphigenia in Aulis, with the Adventures of the same Princess in Scythia. Aeschylus in one Play causes Agamemnon to be murdered by Clytemnestra; and in another brings her to punishment for it; and from thence it comes amongst the Ancients, many Plays have the same Name, and often many Events of the same Story are represented in different Plays, which indeed was some ways necessary in Athens; for as their Poets were to work for the Solemnity of the four great Feasts or Holy-days, and to have four Plays for each of them; of which there were three to be Serious, and the fourth Satyrical or Comical, which made up the Tetralogy. I am of Opinion, they took all their Subjects from the same Story, as I have shewed more at length in my Terence Justi­fied.

Now, as to the manner of bringing many diffe­rent Incidents into one Action, and to make a Po­em of them, which shall naturally contain many Acts, and different Scenes; to explain this well, I return to the comparison of Painting, which I have so often us'd already.

We have said that a Picture can represent but one Action, but it ought to be understood one principal Action, for the Painter may very well place in the same Picture many Actions, which depend upon that chief Action, which he pretends principally to re­present. And indeed there is no one action of Life so single, but it was preceeded, accompanied, and followed by many others, all which do compose it, and give it its Being: Therefore the Painter must, whether he will or no, draw these subordinate Acti­ons, or else his principal one is imperfect. If he [Page 86] paints the Sacrifice of Iphigenia, he cannot place her all alone at the foot of Diana's Altar, or without any body, but Chalchas who is to sacrifice her; but rather, following the Example of the Painter Ti­m [...]ntes, he will place there all the Grecian Princes with sad Countenances; Menelaus her Uncle shall be extreamly afflicted; Clytemnestra, her Mother, sh [...]ll be expressed all in Tears and despair; and A­gamemnon, her Father, with a Vail upon his Face, to hide the weakness of his Nature to the chief of the Greeks, and yet allow something by this slight to the excess of his Grief; he will not forget to make Diana appear in the Sky, ready to stop the Arm and Sword of Chalchas, because all these Acti­ons do as it were wait upon, and make up this dole­ful Religious Action, which else would be weak and naked of all its Ornaments, without all these ingenious Circumstances.

'Tis in the same manner, that a Dramatick Po­em ought not to contain above one Action, but it must be brought upon the Stage entire, with all its Dependencies, and nothing must be forgot of those Circumstances, which naturally are appropriated to it: And of this I think I need not propose any Ex­ample; but it will not be amiss to give our Poet one Advertisement, which is, That if the principal Action be in the Story loaded with too many Incidents, he must reject the least impor­tant, and least pathetick ones; and on the con­trary, if the Story want those Incidents, he must supply that want by his own Fancy, which he may do two ways.

First, either by inventing some Intrigues, which naturally might make a part of the princi­pal [Page 87] Action: Thus the Author of the Tragedy of the Horatius's has very well invented the Marriage of Sabina, Sister to the Curiatius's, with the Eldest of their Enemies, that so he might introduce the Passions of a Wife, to min­gle with those of Camilla, who was a Maid, and in love with one of the Curiatius's.

Secondly, He may seek out in Story, things that have happened before or after the Action, which makes the Subject of his Play, and with Art joyn them to his Plot, saving still the diffe­rences of times and places, according as we shall shew in the following Chapters. This has been observed by the Author of Cleopatra, who makes Octavia, Antony's Wife, come privately to Alex­andria, and so has the pleasure of shewing so great a Lady with all her generous Sentiments.

But we are to observe here, that the Poet, as near as he can, ought to take his Action as sin­gle as possible; because he will still be so much the more Master of the Passions, and other Orna­ments of his Play, which by that means he can shew to the best advantage; whereas, if he meets with them in Story, they will still be clogg'd with some Circumstances, which will constrain the whole Design, and give him a great deal of trou­ble; and in short, little and single Subjects in the hands of an ingenious Poet, who knows how to work them, Argumentum brevissimum su­mendum, idque▪ maxime varium multiplexque faciendum. l. 3. c. 97. Scal. cannot miscarry. 'Tis Scaliger's ad­vice, and we have seen the proof of it in Alcionea, a Play of Mr. Du Ryers, which though it had no fund in Story, nevertheless ravished the Audience, by the force of the Passions, and richness of the Style. And on the contrary, all those, who in the same [Page 88] Poem, have brought in divers illustrious impor­tant Actions, have stifled the Beauty of them all, in not giving room enough to the Passions, as we have experienced in some Plays, where all the Acti­ons, though in some measure depending on a prin­cipal one, yet were so strong in themselves, that they hindred each other, and were every one of them capable of being the subject of a Play.

CHAP. IV.
Of the Continuity of the Action.

AFter the Poet has chosen the Subject or Story, which he thinks capable of the Ornaments of Dramatick Poetry, [...]. and that he has fix'd upon the point, Arist. Poet. cap. 11. in which he will make the Unity of his Thea­tral Action consist; Gouean. in Te­rent. Heaut. he must remember, that his Action ought to be not only one, but continued, that is, Scalig. lib. 6. cap. 3. Poet. That from the opening of the Stage, to the very closing of the Catastrophe, from the first Actor, that appears upon the Scene, to the last that goes off; the principal Persons of the Play must be always in Action; and the Theatre must carry continually, and without any interruption the face of some Designes, Expectations, Passions, Troubles, Disquiets, and other such like Agitations, which may keep the Spectators in a belief, that the Action of the Theatre is not ceased, but still going on. This is one of the Precepts of Aristotle, as well as of Reason; and his Interpreters have always ob­served the Cessation of Action for one of the greatest Faults of the Drama; 'tis of this fault, that some People, but impertinently, do accuse Terence in his Third Comedy, call'd Heautontimoreumenos; [Page 90] but I have sufficiently justified him else-where. The Ancient Tragedians could hardly fail in the obser­vation of this Rule, because they had Choruses, and the business of those Choruses being to represent those who were present upon the Scene at the time of the Action, 'tis probable they would have gone off as soon as they should have seen the Acti­on cease, as having no pretext to stay there any longer. 'Tis besides certain, that if upon our Stages the Action should cease in the middle of the Play, or about the Second or Third Act, all the Intrigues be­ing finished, nor no preparation for any new Inci­dent or Passion to come, the Spectators would be in the right to rise and be gone, since they would have reason to believe the Play done, and if they stayed a­ny longer, knowing there were two or three Acts to come, it would be only by the knowledge they had of what the Poet ought to do, and not by any hint of his, to prepare them for it; as if a man hapned to be there, who had never seen a Play, 'tis certain he would be lieve it at an end, as soon as he had nothing new to expect; and in this case, I have seen sometimes La­dies ask, if the Play were done, though they had of­ten been at Plays, and knew they were generally of greater length; so much does the Cessation of the Action upon the Stage surprize the Spectators, and perswades them that there is nothing more to come. If we seek the reason of it, it is because the Action would not be one, if it were not continued; for Moral Actions, such as are those of the Theatre, come to be divided and multiplied, whenever they break off; and are interrupted for then, if they be­gin again, they are two Theatral Actions, both of them Imperfect. 'Tis for this that the best Drama­tick [Page 91] Poets always use to make their Actors say, where they are going, and what is their Design, when they go off of the Stage, that one may know, that they are not idle while they are absent, but are acting something of their part, though one sees them not.

But when we say, that the chief Persons in the Play are always to be in Action, we do not mean by that, the Hero or Heroine of the Play, for they often Act the least, and yet suffer the most in the whole Business; for in regard to the Continuity of the Action, the Principal Actors are those who car­ry on the Intrigue or business of the Play, it may be a Slave, a waiting Woman, a Cheat, or some such Person; and for the Continuity, 'tis enough if the least Actor is but doing, provided it be necessa­rily, and that the Spectator from his working may naturally expect some important change or adven­ture in the Subject.

'Tis worth observing too, that often in appearance the Action of the Stage ceases, though it be not really so; which happens when the Poet prepares an Incident, which is to appear afterwards, and of which one of the Actors speaks slightly, and en pas­sant, which is an Artifice of the Poets.

The Example is very ingenious in the Ajax of So­phocles, where the Action seems entirely to cease in the beginning of the Third Act, but is continued by a Messenger, who comes and tells of Teucers Arrival in the Camp, and of all that had been done there since his coming, concerning his Brothers Fury, and the Cure of it, by which means the Action is not only well renewed, but continued; because in the prece­dent Acts, Ajax often speaks, and complains of the length of his Brothers absence, which makes all [Page 92] the Spectators wish his return, as a means to save Ajax himself, so that when the news of his Arrival is brought, it appears that the Action had not ceased at all, for Teucer was acting in the Camp for his Bro­ther according to the expectation of the Audience; of all which nevertheless there comes nothing to pass of what they hop'd, and 'tis in that that consists the Poets chief Art, to promise that which never comes to pass, and to bring that to pass which he does not promise.

'Tis necessary to observe here besides, that the Theatral Action does not always cease, though all the Actors be in Repose, and as it were without Action; because that sometimes 'tis a necessary Acti­on of the Play, that they all should be so; and the Spectator expects some Event from the Actors doing of nothing. This we shall make clear by Examples, and particularly by the Plutus of Aristophanes, where we see that after the Second Act, the Actors carry Plutus to the Temple of Aesculapius, to cure him of his Blindness, where they go to Bed to sleep, and re­main without Action; for this Sleep and Repose was the Natural state, in which they were to be, to receive from that God, the favour of being cured, and is by consequent a necessary Action to the Stage. By which it appears, Resp. au dis­cours sur l'Heautont. p. 7. ed. 2. p. 102. how much Monsieur Menage has been mistaken, to believe that the Action of the Stage ceased as to those who were asleep, and was only continued in the Person of Carion who was awake; for 'tis quite contrary, he that is awake is a Slave who eats and steals the remainder of the Sacrifice without any regard to the Subject of the Play; and they who sleep do that which Custom prescribed to those, who were to expect a Cure from Aesculapius, and as Plutus and [Page 93] his Companions did: One might say, perhaps, that the Action of Aesculapius, who cures Plutus and what Carion saw, as he tells it afterwards, are enough to continue the Action; but still there would be a breach and some time lost in it, from that in which the Actors lye down to the time of Aesculapius's com­ing, if it were not true, that their very lying down and going to sleep, continues the Action of the Co­medy.

This Chapter may receive some more light by the Treatise I have made upon the third Comedy of Terence, where I have touch'd this matter, and by what I have done upon that Author, it will be easie to find, how to examine the Ancients, if one would discover the Artifices, which they use to observe in this Continuity of the Action of the Theatre.

CHAP. V.
Of the Subjects with two Walks, whereof one is by Modern Au­thors called Episode.

OUR Modern Authors do now by an Episode mean a Second Story, which comes as it were cross the principal Subject of the Play, and some for this Reason call it a Play with two Walks; but the Ancient Poets have not known, or at least have not practis'd this Multiplicity of Subjects: Aristo­tle makes no mention of it, and I know no Example of it, except some will say that the O­restes of Euripides is of this kind, because there are two Marriages concluded in the Ca­tastrophe; but there is not in the Body Body of the Play any mixture of Intrigues, to carry on those two Amours, and bring them to this Conclusion.

Comedy has been otherwise managed, for ha­ving received many more Changes than Tragedy, from what they Both were at first; it has ad­mitted of this mixture of two Stories in the same Play: And we have yet some in Plautus, and a [Page 95] great many in Terence, who may afford an In­struction how to compose with Art and Grace that sort of Plays better than Plautus.

But however, not standing here upon the word Episode, which amongst the Ancients signified quite another thing. I am content the significa­tion of the Word should be according to our Modern Authors; and do allow that Tragedy may have some Episodes, as well as the Epick Poems, and not unlike them; but in Tragedy there are two things to be observed. First, That these Episodes, or Second Stories be so incorpo­rated into the chief Subject, that they cannot be separated from it, without spoiling the whole Play; for else the Episode would be looked upon as a superfluous and troublesome part, which would but hinder the Union of the chief Ad­ventures, and slacken the motion of the Inci­dents, which tend to a Conclusion; as indeed in the Play, of our time the most applauded, the Episode of the Princesses love has been condem­ned by all, The Cid. because it was absolutely useless. Therefore to avoid that Inconvenience, 'tis ne­cessary that the Person ingaged in the Episode, be not only concern'd in the Success of the Af­fairs of the Stage; but besides, the Adventures of the Hero or Heroine ought to be of that con­cern to the Persons of the Episode, as that the Audience may rationally apprehend some mischief, or hope some good out of those Persons for the whole concern of the Stage; and for the interest of those who seem strangers, and are not then unuse­fully so.

The other Observation to be made about these E­pisodes, [Page 96] is, That the second Story must not be equal in its Subject, nor in its Necessity, to that which is the foundation of the Play, but it must be subordi­nate to it, and so depend upon it, that the Events of the principal Subject cause the Passions of the Episode; and that the Catastrophe of the first produce naturally and of its self the Catastrophe of the second, or else the principal Action would be no longer so. These are the two Reflections, which I have made upon the E­pisodes of our Modern Poets, which may give hints to better understandings than mine, to make some more considerable ones.

CHAP. VI.
Of the Unity of Place.

AFter the Poet has order'd his Subject according to the Rules we have given, or it may be Bet­ter, which his own Industry and Study may fur­nish him with; he must reflect, that the best part of it must be represented by Actors, which must be upon a Stage fix'd and determinated; for to make his Actors appear in different places, would render his Play ridiculous, by the want of Probability, which is to be the foundation of it.

This Rule of Unity of Place begins now to be look'd upon as certain; but yet the ignorant, and some others of weak judgment, do still imagine that it cannot but be repugnant to the Beauty of the Incidents of a Play; because that they, happen­ing often in great distance of place, cannot but lose by this constraint; and therefore whatsoever Reason you oppose against their imaginations, they fancy a false impossibility in the Execution, and reject stubbornly all that's said to convince them; on the other side, those that are but half read in Antiquity, do well perceive the strength of what it alledg'd for this Rule, but yet they make Objections so unbecom­ing [Page 98] a literate thinking man, that they have of­ten mov'd pity in me, though I had more mind to laugh at them. 'Tis the property of little Genius's not to be able to comprehend many things at the same time, so as to reduce them to a point; their judgment not being able to assemble so many ima­ges as they must have present all at once; and there­fore they make so many difficulties, that 'tis easie to see, they would be glad that there were Reasons wan­ting to convince them.

As for the truely Learned, they are thoroughly convinc'd of the necessity of this Rule, because they see clearly that Probability can no ways be preserv'd without it; but I may boldly say, that hi­therto no one of them has explain'd this Rule, and made it intelligible, either because we do not take the Pains of making all the necessary reflexions up­on the Works of the Ancients, to discover the Art which is most commonly hid in them, and which always ought to be so, without an apparent necessity of the Subject or the Interest of the Actors; or else because no body strives to go beyond the first great Masters, and what They have neglected is gi­ven over most commonly by their Followers.

Aristotle has said nothing of it, and I believe he omitted it, because that this Rule was in his time too well known; the Chorus's, which ordinarily remain'd upon the Stage from one end of the Play to the other, marking the unity of the Scene too visibly to need a Rule for it; and indeed, would it not have been ridiculous, that in the Play call'd the Seven before Thebes, the young Women who make the Chorus, should have found themselves some­times before the Palace of the King, and some­times [Page 99] in the Camp of the Enemies, without ever stirring from the same place; and the Three famous Tragedians of the Greeks, whose Works we have, are so punctual in the Observation of this Rule, and do so often make their Actors say, where they are, and whence they come; that Aristotle must have suppos'd too much Ignorance in his Age, and in those who should read these Poets, if he had gone about to Explain so settled a Rule. But since the Ignorance and Barbarity of some past Ages have brought such disorder upon the Stage, to make people in the Play appear in different parts of the World on the same Stage, it will not be amiss to give here at length the Reason of this Rule, so well practis'd by the Ancients, and that in honour of some of our Modern Poets, who have very handsom­ly imitated them.

To understand it then, we must have recourse to our ordinary Principle, which is, that the Stage is but a Representation of things; and yet we are not to imagine, that there is any thing of what we really see, but we must think the things themselves are there of which the Images are before us. Loci ficti vera Loca imitan­tur. Scal. l. 1. cap. 13. So Floridor is much less Floridor, than the Horatius of whom he acts the Part, for his dress is Roman, he speaks, acts, and thinks as that Roman did at that time; but as that Roman could not but be in some place acting and speaking, the place where Floridor appears does represent that where Horatius was, or else the Representation would be imperfect in that Circumstance.

This Truth, well understood, makes us to know that the place cannot change in the rest of the Play, since it cannot change in the Representation, for one [Page 100] and the same Image remaining in the same state, cannot represent two different things; now it is highly improbable, that the same space, and the same floor, which receive no change at all, should repre­sent two different places; as for Example, France and Denmark; or within Paris it self, the Tueilleries and the Exchange; at least to do it with some sort of colour, one should have of that sort of Theatres which turn quite round and entire, that so the Place might change as well as the Persons acting; and to do this, the Subject of the Play ought to fur­nish some Reason for this change, and as that cannot well happen, but by the Power of God Almighty, who changes as he pleases the Face of Nature, I doubt it would be hard to make a reasonable Play without a dozen Miracles at least.

Let it then be allowed for a certain truth, that the Place, where the first Actor, who opens the Play, is suppos'd to be, ought to be the same place to the end of the Play; and that, it not being in the ordi­nary course of Nature, that the place can receive any change, there can be none likewise in the Re­presentation; and by consequent, that all your o­ther Actors cannot rationally appear in any other place.

But we must remember, that this Place, which can­not be suppos'd to change, is the Area or floor of the Stage, upon which the Actors walk, and which the Ancients call'd by the name of Proscenium; for as that represents that spot of ground, upon which the persons represented did actually walk and discourse, which could not turn about or change on a sudden, or with­out a Miracle, so when you have once chosen the place [Page 101] where you intend your Action to be begun, you must suppose it immovable in all the rest of the Play, as it was in effect and really.

'Tis not the same with the sides and end of the Theatre, for as they do but represent those things which did actually environ the Persons acting, and which might receive some change, they may like­wise receive some in the Representation, and 'tis in that that consists the changing of Scenes, and other Ornaments of Decoration, which always ravish the People, and please the best Judges, when they are well done; so we have seen upon our Stage a Tem­ple adorn'd with a Noble Front of Architecture, which coming to be set open shew'd the inside of it, where in Perspective were descryed Pillars and an Altar, and all the other Ornaments of a Church extremly well done; so that the place did not change, and yet had a fine Decoration.

We are not nevertheless to imagine, that the Po­ets Capricio is to rule these Decorations; for he must find some colour and appearance for it in his Subject.

So for Example, he might feign a Palace upon the Sea side, forsaken, and left to be inhabited by poor Fishermen; a Prince landing, or being cast a­way there, might adorn it with all the rich Furni­ture fit for it; after this by some Accident it might be set on fire; and then behind it the Sea might appear, upon which one might represent a Sea Fight; so that in all the five changes of the Stage, the unity of Place would still be ingeniously pre­serv'd; not but that the very floor or Proscenium may change too, provided it be superficially, as if some River should overflow it, as the Tyber did in [Page 102] the time of Augustus; or if Flames came out of the Earth and cover'd the face of it, in all these cases the unity of place would not be broke. But as I have said already, the Subject of the Play must fur­nish probable Reasons for these changes, which I re­peat the oftner, because I am still afraid, that it will not make Impression enough in the Reader.

'Tis not enough neither to say, that the Floor or Stage should represent a place immoveable; it must besides be a place suppos'd open in the reality, as it appears in the Representation; for since the Actors are suppos'd to go and come from one end of it to the other, there cannot be any solid body between, to hinder either their sight or motion; therefore the Ancients did use to chuse for the place of their Scene in Tragedies some publick place, as that before the gate of a Palace; and in their Comedies some part of a Town, where different Streets met, and where the Houses of the principal Actors were sup­pos'd to be; because these places were most fitly represented by the empty Stage, adorn'd with the Figures of those Houses. Not that they always fol­lowed this, for in the Suppliants, and in the Ion of Euripides, the Scene is before a Temple; and in the Ajax of Sophocles, the Scene is before his Tent, pitch'd in the Corner of a Forrest; in the Rudens of Plautus, it is before the Temple, and some scatter'd Houses, from whence one sees the Sea. And indeed all this depends upon the Poets Invention, who ac­cording to his Subject chuses the place, the most con­venient for all that he has a mind to represent, and adorns it with some agreeable Appearance.

One may judge from all this, how ridiculous was the Wall in the Thisbe of Poet Theophile, it being [Page 103] plac'd upon the Stage; and Pyramus and She whispe­ring through it, and when they went out, the Wall sunk, that the other Actors might see one another: For besides that the two places on each side of the Wall represented the two Chambers of Pyramus and Thisbe; and that it was contrary to all appea­rance of Reason, that in the same place the King should come and talk with his Confidents, and much less that a Lion should come and fright Thisbe there; I would fain know, by what sup­pos'd means in the action it self, this Wall could become visible and invisible? and by what enchant­ment it was sometimes in being, and then ceas'd quite to be again? The fault is not less in those, who sup­pose things done upon the Stage, which have not been seen by the Spectators, it not being probable they could have been done without being seen, or else things must be suppos'd to have been invisible in the reality of the action; upon which I think one of our Modern Poets fell into a great Errour of this kind, having plac'd a Bastion upon the Stage, and having afterwards caus'd the Town to be taken by that Bastion, which was never seen to be either attack'd or defended.

As for the Extent which the Poet may allow to the Scene he chuses, when it is not in a House but open, I believe it may be as far as a man can see another Walk, and yet not know perfectly that 'tis he; for to take a larger space would be ridiculous, it being improbable that two people being each of them at one end of the Stage, without any Object between, should look at one another, and yet not see one another; whereas this distance, which we al­low often, contributes to the working of the Play [Page 104] by the mistakes and doubts which a man may make by seeing another at a distance; to which the Thea­tres of the Ancients do very well agree; for being, as they were, threescore yards in front among the Romans, and little less among the Graecians, it was pretty near the proportion we allow them.

I desire the Reader besides to consider, that if the Poet did represent by his Stage all the Places and Rooms of a Palace, or all the Streets of a Town, he should make the Spectators see not onely all that happened in his Story, but all that was done be­sides in that Palace, or in the Town; for there is no Reason to hinder the Spectators from seeing all that, nor why they should see one thing sooner than another, particularly considering, that since they can see at the same time into the Garden of the Palace, and into the Kings Cabinet, according to the Subject of the Play, they must likewise hear and see all that is done there, besides the Theatral Action; except there were an Enchantment to shew onely that which the Poet had a mind to, and to hide all that was not of his Subject; besides the Stage would never be empty of any of the Actors, ex­cept they went out of the Palace or Town, for since the place represents the Palace with its Garden, Court, and other Appartments, one cannot forbear seeing any one who should go from any of those Appartments into the Court or Garden; and by consequent, as long as any of the Actors were in the Extent represented by the Stage, they cannot avoid being seen: To which it cannot be answer'd, that to mark the different Appartments, there may be Curtains to shut and draw; for these Curtains [Page 105] are fit for nothing, but to toss their Inventors in them, like Dogs in a Blanket.

I have spoken so clearly of this in my Terence Justified, that I have nothing more to say against this gross Piece of Ignorance.

If it be said besides, that the Poet has the liberty of shewing and hiding what he pleases; I grant it, provided there be a probability that one thing be seen, and another not; but there would need a sin­gular Invention to contrive, that ever and anon the same Persons, acting and speaking in a Palace, should be seen, and not be seen; for that would be making of the Walls to sink and rise, go backwards and forwards every moment. This may be enough to shew the error of those, who upon the same Scene represent Spain and France, making their Stage, not onely almost as big as the Earth, but likewise cau­sing the same Floor to represent at the same time things so far distant from one another, and that without any apparent cause of so prodigious a change.

We may likewise observe, how they are mistaken, that suppose in one side of the Stage one part of the Town, as for example, the Louvre, and on the other side another part, as the Place Royal; thinking by this fine Invention to preserve the unity of Place. Indeed if two Parts or Quarters of a Town, thus suppos'd, were not far from one another, and the space between were really empty of Houses, such a thing were not improper; but if between the two places, there are many Houses and solid bodies, I would then ask, how it comes to pass that those Houses do not fill up the empty place of the Stage; and how, if they do, an Actor can see another [Page 106] Place at the other end of the Stage, beyond all these Houses; Perparvam par­tem postulat Plautus loci de­vostris magnis atque amoenis moenibus, Athe­nas quo sine Ar­chitectis confe­rat. Prolog Tru­cul. and in a word, how this Stage, which is but an Image, represents a thing of which it has no resemblance?

Let it then be setled for a constant Maxim, That the Proscenium, or floor of the Stage, can represent nothing but some open place of an ordinary extent, where those, that are represented by the Actors, might naturally be in the truth of the Action; Ibi Samuel Petit. and when we see it written, The Scene is at Aulis, Eleusis, or Argos, Non totas Athe­nas sed Athe­narum regionem illam deforma­bat haec Plau­ti scena, in qua res istae quae hoc Drama­te repraesenta­ce bantur gestae dicebantur, &c. 'tis not that the place, where the Actors ap­pear, is all that Town or Province, but onely that all the Intrigues of the Play, as well what passes out of the sight of the Spectators, as what they see, are treated in that Town, of which the Stage takes up but the least part.

Thus in the Prologue of the last Comedy of Plautus, the Poet, explaining the Place of the Scene, says, Et en suite id est Plotheen­sium regionem, eamque non to­tam, sed ex­tremam illius partem in qua habitare fingi­tur Phronesion meretrix. that he begs of the Romans a little space in the middle of their noble Buildings to transport thither the Town of Athens, without the help of Architects; upon which Samuel Petit observes, that we ought not to imagine that Plautus pretends to place all the City of Athens in that of Rome, but onely a small part of it, where the things represented in the Play did come to pass, to wit, the Quarter of the Plotaeans, and of all that Quarter only the place, where Phronesion liv'd, Athenas arcto, ita ut hoc est proscenium tan­tisper dum tran­sigimus hanc Comediam, hic habitat mulier nomine quae est Phronesion &c. Prolog. Truc. and he confirms this by the mending of two Greek words, of which he pretends one Latin one was made by a mistake, and by a Verse, which he mends by some Manuscripts which he had seen, making the Prologue then speak thus, I abridge here the Town of Athens, upon this Stage, during this Play, and in this House lives Phronesion.

[Page 107] These are the only Authorities of any either An­cient or Modern Authors, that I have found concern­ing the place of the Scene. Castelvetro indeed says, that Tragedy requires but a small space; but since he has not explain'd himself better, we are not bound to guess in his favour.

These things then once setled for the Doctrine or Theory; I have thought of what follows for the Practical part. The Poet does not desire to repre­sent to his Spectators all the particulars of his sto­ry, but the principal and most moving circumstances, and thus he is oblig'd to some part out of the sight of the Spectators; and indeed he ought not to do it, Paralipsis est, cùm res omitti­tur, quae adeò necessaria est, ut etiam non relata intelligatur: & per annos decem quot partes quot arma mente re­stituenda sint: sic non semper legimus quoties cibum capiant aliáque naturae necessaria expe­diant. Id quod sanè sigura est, nam plebeia o­ratio, nihil o­mittere. Scal. lib. 3. c. 77. there being many things fitter to be hid then shewed, he must then first of all consider exactly, what persons he most wants and cannot well be without, then let him chuse a place where they may probably meet; for as there are places which certain persons cannot leave without extraordinary motives; so there are others, where they cannot be without great Reason. A Nun cannot leave the place of her retreat but upon some pressing mo­tive, and a woman of Honour cannot accompany Messalina to the place of her infamous debauches.

Besides, he must observe, whether or no in his Subject there be not some Circumstances or nota­ble Incident, which it will be necessary to preserve for the beauty of his Play, and which cannot hap­pen but in a certain place, for then he must accom­modate to that the rest of his parts; so he that would shew Celadon half dead upon the Shore and found there by Galatea, must of necessity place his Scene upon the bank of a River, and accommodate to it the rest of the Theatral Action. Plautus fol­lowed [Page 108] this method in his Rudens, where he desir'd to shew the relicks of a Shipwrack, and therefore was forc'd to place his Scene on the Sea side, where all the rest of his Adventures are very dexterously brought to pass.

The Poet, having chosen the place, must examine next, what things are fittest to be shewed with de­light to the Spectators, and be sure to represent them; as for the others not so fit to be seen, they must be told some way, that they may be suppos'd done, and that in places so near the Stage, that the Actor who tells them, may be suppos'd to have been there and back again, from the time he has been absent from the Stage, or else he must be suppos'd gone before the Play began, for then he may come as far off as you will. All which Terence hath ob­serv'd in his third Comedy, where the two Slaves, Sy­rus, and Dromo, had been sent a great while before for Clitophon's Mistress; and by consequent, all that Syrus tells of their Negotiation is very credible, what time so ever there needed for the dressing of the Lady, and the doing of all the rest.

And if the things or places to be spoke of in the Play, have been done too far from the Scene, or are in themselves too remote, Nunc adest ubi opus est Poetae: & vide hanc causam fuisse cur non ad vil­lam diverter it, omnes villas co­micas suburba­nas esse, commo­ditatem ipsam nunc explicat & ostendit. Do­nat. in Euunch. Terent. one must bring them nearer in the Representation; which may be done two ways; either by supposing that they happened in other places nearer, when 'tis all one to the Story, as Dona­tus observes, that in Plays, Country Houses are al­wayes suppos'd to be in the Suburbs: Or else by sup­posing the places nearer than they really are, when 'tis impossible to change them, but in this last, one must observe not to bring known places so near, that the Spectator cannot follow the Poet in his [Page 109] belief: As for example, if a man should bring the Alps, or Pyrenoean Mountains in the place of Mount Valerian, that so he might bring an Incident to Play, which else he could not; the Scene being at Paris; truly the rigour of the Rule would be followed, as to the Unity of the Scene and its Decencies, but the Beauty of the Art, which is to please and per­swade, would be lost: 'Tis therefore that I cannot approve of this force upon Nature, as to the distance of places, which we see done in the Suppliants, and the Andromache of Euripides, in the Captives of Plau­tus and some other pieces of Antiquity. I speak not here of our Modern Poets, for all the World knows, there never was any thing so monstrous in this point, as the Plays we have seen in Italy, Spain, and France, and indeed except the Horatius of Corneille, I doubt whether we have one Play, where the unity of the Scene is rigorously observ'd, at least, I am sure I have not seen any.

It is necessary to give one advertisement more to the Poet in this place, which is, that none of his Actors ought to come upon the Scene without some apparent Reason, since else it is not probable they should be there; and he must avoid to follow the Ex­ample of a Poet, who made a Princess come a purpose out of her Tent upon the Stage which was before it, to say some passionate complaints of a secret Misfor­tune of hers, for it was much more probable that she should make them in her Tent: Therefore he ought to have feign'd either that the Company of some peo­ple in the Tent, was importunate and troublesome to her, and that to avoid them she came out, or else he ought to have given her some sudden impatience to look out, and then, as naturally upon reflexions of our Misfortunes we are carried to expressions of [Page 110] them, he might have put in her mouth what words he had thought necessary for his Subject. Thus when the passion of some person upon the Scene is to be shew'd by some Narration, which the Specta­tor has had already, and which cannot be repeated without disgust, one must suppose the thing to have been told that Person in some place near the Scene, and make him come in near towards the end of it with words in his mouth, expressing the knowledg of the thing, and causing the passion he is to shew afterwards upon the Stage. The Examples of this are frequent among the Ancients, and the imitation of them cannot but succeed well.

CHAP. VII.
The Extent of the Theatral Action, or of the time fit to be allowed a Dra­matick Poem.

THERE is no question more debated than This, which I am now treating. The Poets make it their discourse, and the Players scarce talk of any thing else, as well as those who frequent the Theatres; nay, the Ladies in their Ruelles under­take to decide it, and all this while the thing is so little understood, that I have a great deal of Reason to endeavour to explain it carefully. To talk with some knowledge then of this Matter, one must con­sider that a Dramatick Poem has two sorts of Time, each of which has a different and proper lasting.

The first is the true Time of the Representation; for though this sort of Poem be but an Image, and so ought to be consider'd as having a representative Being; nevertheless one ought to consider, that there is a reality in the very Representation, for rea­ly the Actors are seen and heard, the Verses are really pronounc'd, and one suffers really either plea­sure or pain in assisting at these Representations, and there is a real time spent in amusing the Au­dience, [Page 112] that is from the opening of the Stage to the end of the Play: This time is call'd the lasting of the Representation.

Of this time the measure can be no other, but so much time as will reasonably spend the patience of the Audience, for this sort of Poem being made for pleasure, it ought not to weary and fatigate the mind; and it must not likewise be so short, as that the Spectators go away with an opinion of not hav­ing been well nor enough diverted. In all this, Ex­perience is the faithfullest Guide, and tells us most commonly, that a Play cannot last above three hours without wearying of us, nor less without coming short of pleasing us. I have seen a very learned Gentleman, who was present at the Representation of the Pastor Fido in Italy, who told me, that never was any thing so tedious, it having lasted too long, and that this Play, which ravishes the Reader, because he can lay it by when he will, had most horridly dis­gusted the Spectators.

There is another observation to be made here, which is, that the time, which we allow the Repre­sentation, may be spent many other wayes.

The Ancients had in their Tragedies many diffe­rent mixtures, as Mimes, Pantomimes, and other Buf­foons. These Diversions pleas'd the people, and yet I do not believe they made the Representations longer than those of our time; for besides that these Interludes were short, their Tragedies themselves were not of above a thousand Verses, and those Verses much shorter than our Heroick ones. There­fore the Poet must take great care, that if his Play be of the ordinary length, his Interludes be not too long, for let them be never so pleasing they will [Page 113] disquiet the Spectator in the Impatience, which he will naturally have to know the Event and Success of the Story.

The other Time of the Dramatick Poem, is that of the Action represented, so [...]ar as it is considered as a true Action, and containing all that space which is necessary to the performing of those things, which are to be expos'd to the knowledge of the Spectators, from the first to the last Act of the Play.

Now this Time is the chief Time, not only be­cause 'tis natural to the Poem, but because also it all depends on the Poets Invention, and is made known by the Mouth of his Actors, according as his Ingenuity can suggest him the means of do­ing it, and this is the Time so much talk'd of in our days. The three Greek Tragicks, Aeschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles allow but a few houres to the lasting of the Theatral Action in their Po­ems; but their Example was not followed by the Poets who succeeded them; for Aristotle blames those of his time, for giving too long an Extent to the lasting of their Plays, which makes him set down the Rule, or rather renew it from the Model of the Ancients, saying, That Trage­dy ought to be comprehended in the Revolution of one Sun. I do not know, whether this Rule was observ'd by those that came after him, as by the Authors of those Tragedies which carry the Name of Seneca, which are regular enough in this Circumstance: But for all those that I have seen, which were made at the re-establish­ment of Learning in Spain and France, they are not only irregular in this point, but in all the o­ther [Page 114] most sensible Rules, insomuch that one would admire, that Men of Learning should be the Au­thors of them: When I first had the Honour to be near Cardinal Richelieu, I found the Stage in great esteem, but loaded with all these Errors, and par­ticularly with that, of exceeding the Time, fit to be allowed in Tragedy; I spoke of it in those Plays which were acted at Court; but I was generally oppos'd, and most commonly turned into Ridicule both by the Poets, the Actors, and the Spectators; and when I, to defend my self, began to alledge the Ancients, I was paid with this Answer, That what they had done was well for their time, but now a days they would be laugh'd at, if they were here: As if the general Reason of Mankind could grow old with time; and accordingly we see, that at last it has prevailed over Prejudice and Ignorance, to make all the World confess, that the Time of a Tragedy ought to be short and limited: But because, even in this, there are different Interpretations given to Aristotle, and that some Poets do believe, to cir­cumscribe too narrowly the lasting of the Thea­tral Action would be to spoil most of the Incidents; I will here give the true Explanation of the Rule, and ways of practising it with Success. Aristotle has said, that one of the principal differences, which is between an Epick Poem and a Tragedy, is, That the First is not limited in any time, and that the Second is comprehended in the Revolution of one Sun. Now, though Aristotle does express himself in few words, yet I cannot understand, how there was ground for so much Dispute: For since he says, the Revolution of one Sun, it cannot be meant, the Annual Revolution, for that is the time generally allowed [Page 115] to an Epick Poem, and there is none of the most Indulgent, that have offer'd to extend the Rule to that excess in Tragedy. It remains then to say, he means the Diurnal Revolution; but as the day is considered two ways, the one with regard to the Primum mobile, which is call'd the Natural day, and is of twenty four Hours, and the other by the Suns presence upon the Horizon, between his rising and setting, which is call'd the Artificial Day. It is ne­cessary to observe, that Aristotle means only the Ar­tificial Day, in the extent of which, he makes the Theatral Action to be comprehended. Castelvetro and Picolomini, upon Aristotles Poetick, are of this Opinion against Seigni, who extends the Rule to the Natural day of 24 hours.

The Reason of this is certain, and founded upon the Nature of Dramatick Poems; for this sort of Poem ought to carry a sensible Image of the Actions of Humane Life; now we do not see, that regu­larly men are busie before day▪ nor much after night, and accordingly, in all well governed places, there are Magistrates to watch those, who employ the night naturally design'd for rest, in the Actions of the day.

Besides, we have said, and it cannot be called in question; that the Theatral Action ought to be one, and not comprehend any other Actions, which are not necessary to the Intrigue of the Stage. Now how can that be observed in a Play of 24 hours? would it not be a necessity, that the Persons Acting should sleep, and eat, and busie themselves in many things, which would not be of the Subject of the Play, and though the Poet should say nothing of it, yet the Spectators must needs conceive it so.

[Page 116] But besides, the Action of the Stage is to be con­tinued, and not interrupted or broken. Now that could not be in a Play of twenty four hours; Na­ture could not, without some rest, endure so long an Action; since all that Men can commonly do, is to be in Action for the day time.

Moreover, we cannot omit a Reason of the An­cients, which originally is Essential to Tragedy, which is, that the Choruses, which they used, did not regularly use to stir off the Stage for the whole Play, or at least from the time they first came on; and I do not know with what appearance of Probability, the Spectators could have been per­swaded, that People, who were never out of their sight, should have staid twenty four hours in that place; nor how in the truth of the Action, they could imagine, that those, whom they represented, had pass'd all that time without satisfying some necessities of Nature.

After all, we can never better understand Ari­stotle, than by those three Excellent Tragick Po­ets, whom he always proposes for Examples, who have regularly observ'd, not to give above 12 hours to their Plays: And I do not think, that there are any of their Works which do compre­hend the whole space between the rising and see­ting of the Sun.

It being most certain, that their Stage gene­rally opens after Sun-rise, and is shut up before Sun-set, as one may observe in the Comedies of Plautus and Terence. Scen cum nego­tium totum sex [...]ctove horis pe­ragitur l. 3. c. 97. Poet. 'Tis therefore that Rossi, an Italian, allows but eight or ten hours. And Scaliger, more rigorously but more reasonably, would have the whole Action performed in six [Page 117] hours. It were even to be wish'd, that the Action of the Poem did not take up more time, than that of the Representation, but that being hard, and al­most impossible, in certain occasions the Poet has the Liberty to suppose a longer time by some hours, in which the Musick that marks the Inter­vals of the Acts, and the Relations of the Actors upon the Stage, while the others are busie off of it, with the natural desire of the Spectators to see the Event, do all contribute very much, and help to deceive the Audience, so as to make them think, there has passed time enough for the performance of the things represented.

What we have said hitherto of Aristotle's Rule might suffer some difficulty in those Plays, which represent Actions that happened in the Night, if we did not own, [...]. that he has foreseen the Objection, when he says, That Tragedy endeavours to compre­hend its Action in the Revolution of one Sun, Poet. c. 5. aut parum variare. Vict p. 52. or in changing that time a little; for by that means he lets us know, that the Poet is not always bound to place his Action between Sun-rising and Sun-setting, Aut paulisper variare. Ricco­boni in Poët Arist. but may take a like time out of 24 hours, and place his Action in the night, as in the Rhesus of Euri­pides, and some other Plays of the Ancients, of which we have nothing but Fragments in Athenaeus. Nay, he may take some of his time in the day, and the rest in the night, as Euripides has done in his Ele­ctra, and Plautus in his Amphitryon; they that, up­on this of Aristotle, have said, that he gave leave to exceed the Revolution of a Sun, and go some hours beyond, did not well understand him, having taken the word Changing for Exceeding.

[Page 118] But without standing upon this scrupulous nice­ness, I must tell the Poet, that he need not fear to spoil his Play, by straitning his Incidents in so small a compass of time; for quite contrary, 'tis that, which shall make his Play agreeable and wonderful; 'tis that, which will afford him the means of intro­ducing extraordinary surprizes and passions, which he may carry, as far as he will; let him consider well Horatius, Cinna, Polyeuct, and Nicomedes, the lat­ter works of Mounsieur Corneille, and I believe, he cannot but agree to it.

Now to contribute for my share to the necessary means of practising this Rule, I here deliver my thoughts.

First, Let the Poet be very careful in chusing the day, in which he will comprehend all the Intrigues of his Play, and that choice ought generally to be made from the most Noble Incident of the whole Story, that is, from that Incident, which is to make the Catastro­phe, and to which all others do tend, like Lines to their Center; and if he be free to take what day he will, his best will be to pitch upon that, which will most easily bear the Assemblage and Concurrence of all the Incidents of the Stage. So Corneille, being to represent the Death of Pompey, took the last day of his Life, because he could not do otherwise; but when he was to make his Cinna, he chose what day he pleas'd for to facilitate the bringing in of the Con­spiration of Cinna, with the deliberation of Augu­stus, whether he should forsake the Empire or no.

The choice being thus made, the next slight is, to open your Stage, as near, as tis possible, to the Ca­tastrophe, that you may employ less time in the ne­gotiation part, and have more Liberty in extending the Passions and Discourses which may please; but [Page 119] to Execute this luckily, the Incidents must be pre­par'd by ingenious Contrivances, and that must ap­pear upon occasion in the whole Conduct of the Action.

This we may observe in the Jo [...] of Euripides, the Amphytrion of Plautus, and the Andria of Te­rence. Corneille practises it likewise well in Hora­tius and Cinna. The Stage in Horatius is opened but a moment before the Combat of the three Hora­tius's against the three Curiatius's, who are told of their being chosen to fight against each other, as soon as they come upon the Stage. And Cinna had already made his Conspiracy, before the opening of the Stage, which opens just before the Sacrifice, which was to be the pretext of the Execution of it.

Things being thus dispos'd, the Poet must next stu­dy to bring together the Incidents all in one day, so Artfully, that there appear no Force nor Constraint in the effecting of it: And to succeed in this, he must rectify the time of those things, that happened before the opening of the Stage; and suppose, some of them to come to pass that day, though they really happened before; but he must joyn them with so much Art, as they may seem to be naturally con­nexed, and not put together by the Poets Invention.

Thus Sophocles makes, that Creon, who was sent to Delphos to consult the Oracle, comes back just at the same time that the news comes to Thebes, of the Death of Polybius King of Corinth, though these two things did not happen on the same day. So Plautus makes Amphitryon return victorious that very night that Alcmena is brought to Bed of Hercules. But that which one must particularly have a care of, is, not to conjoyn the time of the Incidents with so much [...] ­cipitation, [Page 120] that Probability be destroyed by it, as in the Suppliants of Euripides, the Captiv's of Plautus and some other pieces of the Ancients, which I can­not approve of, though for some other Considerati­ons they are not unexcusable. They are indeed ac­cording to the Rule of time, but without any of the Graces of the Art. In a word, we must still remem­ber, that Aristotle in giving his Rule of the confining Tragedy to the Revolution of one Sun, means, that the Poet ought so to press his imagination, as to order all the Events of his Theatre in that time, but so, as not to offend Probability, which is always the principal Rule, and without which all the others become no Rules at all.

CHAP. VIII.
Of the Preparation of the Incidents.

IT may be some may Imagine, that the Instructi­on we are going to give the Poet in this Discourse, will be injurious to him, and, contrary to our pro­mise, destroy all the Graces of the Stage: for say they, if the Incidents must be prepar'd some time before they happen, without doubt they will like­wise be prevented, and so be no longer surprizing, in which consists all their beauty, and without which the Spectator has no pleasure, nor can the Poet pretend to any glory in his Art.

To this I answer, That there is a great deal of difference between preparing an Incident, and pre­venting it, for an Incident is then prevented, when it is foreseen, but it ought not to be foreseen though it be prepar'd.

To explain our selves better upon this matter, we are to understand that there are some things in the Composition of a Theatral Action, which do carry the minds of the Spectators naturally and al­most necessarily, to the knowledge of some others; so that as soon as the first are either said or done, one may conclude easily those that depend upon [Page 122] them, and that is call'd an Incident prevented; and we do allow all these Preventions to be faulty in a Dramatick Poem, because they spoil the Events, and make them of no effect in the Imagination of the Spectators, who most commonly expect things contrary to what they see, and seem to be promis'd.

But there are another sort of things, which are to be laid as a foundation to build others upon, Arist. c. x. poet. accor­ding to the Rules of Probability, In multis oe­conomia Co­micormn Poeta­rum ita se habet, ut casu putet Spectator venis­se quod consilio Scriptorum fa­ctum sit. Donat. in Terent. Andr. & in Eunuch. Idem aliis ver­bis. and yet neverthe­less do not at all discover these second ones, which they are to produce; not only because there is no necessity they should come to pass in consequence of the first; but also because the first are shew'd with colours and pretexts so probable, according to the state of the Affairs of the Stage, that the Minds of the Spectators pass them over, not thinking that from thence there can spring any new Incident, so that the preparation of an Incident, is not to tell or do any thing that can discover it, but rather that may give occasion to it without discovering it; and all the Art of the Poet consists in finding Colorus and Pretexts to settle these Preparations, Vbique verò aliquid jacit se­minum ad fu­turam messem, ut auditorem quasi praegusta­tione alliciat ad epulas. Similis praeparatio in prime, cum enim recipiendus esset Aeneas proponit hoc intelligen­dum ex pictura, in ea namque ip­se quoque pictus erat. lib. 4. c. 26. so, that the Spectator may be convinc'd, that that is not thrown into the Body of the Play for any other design, than what appears to him. Scaliger has own'd this to be necessary, even in the Epick Poems, and calls it, The, Seeds of a future Harvest; as if he would say, that just as the Grain or Seed contains in it self the force and virtue of producing in its time Flowers and Fruit; and yet Nature has so fram'd it, as that one cannot discover any likelihood of such a Production, by the sight of the Seed; so must the Discourses and other considerations to [Page 123] prepare an Incident, enclose it so secretly, and hide it so well, as nothing can be guess'd of the Event from them. This Excellent Man brings divers Ex­amples of this, and particularly, that taken from the Aeneid of Virgil: For he observes, that to make way for the kind reception, which Dido gives to Aeneas and his Trojans, Virgil tells us, how Queen Dido had caus'd the Story of the War of Troy to be painted in a Temple, where Aeneas himself was re­presented, fighting in the midst of the Greeks; for then this painting seems only an Object for the ad­miration of Aeneas, to see that the Trojans misfor­tunes were already known all the World over; but the secret is, that it serves to give a foundation in the Mind of Dido to the kind welcome she makes to those, to whose ill fortune in all probability she had already given some compassion.

As for the Dramatick Poem, Reprehensus est Poeta, quia semina nulla hu­jus fabulae exi­tus antea iacta erant, nec quic­quam ipsum ad­iuuant superi [...] ­res partes Tra­goediae. Victor. in Arist. Poet. p. 149. I have not met with any Examples in all the Authors that I have seen, except in one Victorius in his Commentaries upon Aristotles Poetick; and neither there does he do it by way of Instruction, but simply by way of Re­mark upon the Tragedy of Medea, made by Euri­pides, of which he says, that the Catastrophe is defective, because the Poet unfolds the Plot by the flight of Medea in an Enchanted Chariot, of which before hand he had not given the least hint or preparation, the preceding Events contri­buting no ways to this last. These two passages of Scaliger and Victorius came not to my knowledge, till after I had made all the necessary Observations upon this Subject; but as I never affected to be thought the Inventor of any thing, so am I never better pleas'd, than when having by my Meditations [Page 124] attain'd to a certain knowledge, I discover that o­thers more able, and of greater reputation, had said the same things before I thought them; and for that very reason I have not dissembled these two passages which make to our Subject, and if the esteem due to these Excellent Authors deprives me of the honour of having said the first thing, of which I thought I was the only Inventor, I shall draw that advantage at least from them, that they give Authority to my thoughts; and the Poet can­not refuse the Counsel I give him, of preparing in­geniously his Incidents, when Scaliger esteems Vir­gil for having done it with prudence, and Victorius condemns Euripides for having fail'd in it. I shall give two Examples of both these out of Monsieur Corneille, the first is in Rhodogune, and the other in his Theodora.

In the first Example, he kills Cleopatra by the violence of a Poyson, so strong, that Rhodogune dis­covers the effect of it, before Antiochus has pro­nounc'd ten Verses. Indeed, that Cleopatra was wicked and enrag'd enough to poison her self, that she might poison her Son and Rhodogune, That is very well prepar'd in all the precedent Acts, where her hatred, ambition, and fury appear to the height, having kill'd her husband with her own hand, and destroyed one of her Sons to preserve her self upon the Throne; but that the effect of the poyson should be so sudden, as to be discover'd in so small a space of time, That is not prepar'd enough, because, the thing being rare in it self, Cleopatra should have said, when she hopes by it to destroy Antiochus and Rhodogune, how strong a Poyson she had pre­par'd, and how sudden its Effect would be, and [Page 125] should have express'd joy at it; by which means, she would have prepar'd the Incident, without pre­venting it. The Event, I say, would have been pre­par'd; for so sudden a Poison, as she had mention'd, would have been expected to work that Effect it did upon her self; but withall it would not have been prevented, because the Audience would have thought, that she had said it as designing it for the de­struction of the Innocent, and so there would not have been any means of foreseeing, that she should have suffer'd by it her self.

The other Example is in all the Exactness that a Dramatick Poem can wish, which must needs make us confess, that when Monsieur Corneille has well meditated upon the conduct of an Incident, there is no Author, either among the Ancient or Modern Poets, that executes it better.

In his Theodora, there are five notable Incidents, to wit the death of Flavia; the deliverance of Theo­dora from that infamous place, to which she had been condemn'd; the death of Didymus and Theodora by the hands of Marcella; the death of Marcella by her own hand; and the wound of Placidus endea­vouring to kill himself; all these Incidents are so well prepar'd, that there is not one, which might not probably come to pass in consequence of those things which preceded it.

That Flavia should dye that day, is not strange; since 'tis often said that she is desperately ill; but when that is said, 'tis onely to give a pretext to the fury of Marcella, and to those violent means she uses of being reveng'd of Theodora, without giving an Impression that her Daughter should really dye so soon,

[Page 126] That Didymus should expose himself to save Theo­dora, in giving her his Clothes; that might well be, since he appears very passionately in love with her, and that Theodora did not reject his love but only out of Religion; but when this passion is talk'd of upon the Stage, it seems in appearance to be, to foment the Jealousie of Placidius, with­out any likely-hood of foreseeing so Extraordina­ry an Action.

That Marcella should with her own hands kill Didymus and Theodora, that is probable, she knew the love of Placidius, and the resolution he had taken to save the two Lovers, she saw him arm'd, and followed by a great number of his Friends, all these are preparations enough to make that Wo­man revenge the death of her Daughter, and all the injuries she had receiv'd by one furious tran­sport in an occasion so precipitated; and never­theless, though one could not from all these things expect this Event, yet they have all their ne­cessary Colours, when they appear upon the Stage.

The same happens in the death of Marcella; she had persecuted Placidius, and injur'd him in the person he most tenderly lov'd; she sees him with his Sword drawn, and being animated with no­thing but furious Sentiments, she was resolv'd not to fall under the power of her Enemy, from these Circumstances it follows, that probably she might kill her self, and that she was press'd to make that desperate end.

As for Placidius, who endeavours to kill himself, after having seen his Mistress murder'd by the hand of his Enemy, 'tis an Incident well pre­par'd, because of the Excessive love he bore her, [Page 127] and by the disposition he appears to be in, to for­sake all the Grandeur of the World to possess her, who was his Soveraign felicity; and never­theless, of all these Considerations one could pre­sume naturally nothing more, than that he would do all he could to save her. Thus so many dif­ferent Events arise from one another, and with­out any precipitation in the Body of the Story. I know not how Mr. Corneille may value this Play, but I say that in my mind it is his Master­piece, for though in the Subject, the punishment, to which Theodora is condemn'd, does something ossend the modesty of the Spectators; yet all the rest is in so much regularity, and there is so much Art and Conduct shewed by the Poet, that if the choice of the Subject had answer'd the skill of the Author, I believe we might propose this Play as a most perfect Model.

He that would cite here all the Plays of the Ancients, where the Incidents are well prepar'd, would be oblig'd to copy whole Poems, for they have always done it with great Art and Judgment. See the Curculion of Plautus, there is a Ring, which serves to find out Planasion, to be a freeborn Wo­man and the Sister of Terapontigonus, when 'twas no ways possible to foresee this Event; but it is so well prepar'd in all the Play, where this Ring is employed in a great many other Intrigues, that it is not at all forc'd, though much against the Expectation of the Spectators: And when this Ring is stol'n from the Souldier, and that from thence it runs through a great many hands, 'tis for some present action, which has no regard to the Catastrophe, the event of which could not thence be foreseen.

[Page 128] And when in the 4th Act, Cappadore says, that he had paid but ten Mines of Silver for that Maid, 'tis probably, onely to explain the profit the makes by selling her for thirty; but 'tis in effect to pre­pare the Narration which Planesion makes her self of her own Adventure.

So in his Trinummus, Carmides arrives at a nick of time, from a long Voyage, for a very diverting Inci­dent, meeting with a Cheat which was suppos'd to come from him, but That is very well prepar'd by the discourse of Calicles in the first Act, and by that of his Slave in the second. And nevertheless when Calicles speaks of the absence of his Friend, 'tis one­ly to make known the fidelity he owes him; and that which the Slave says of his return, is onely to make his Son Telesbonicus be afraid of his Fathers just severity.

In a word, I deliver here all that I can say of this matter, which is, that the Events are always preci­pitated, when there has been nothing said before, from whence they might probably proceed, as when a man appears expresly in the end of the Play, of whom there has not been one word said all along, and yet this man comes to make the winding up of the Plot. Or when towards the end, there is some important Action done, which has no coherence with all that pass'd before; for though the Spectators love to be surpriz'd, yet 'tis still with probability; and they are not bound to suppose any thing, but what follows naturally these things which the Poet shews. The Theatre is a world by it self, where all is comprehended in the notions and extent of the Action represented, and has no communication with the great World, onely so far as the Poet him­self [Page 129] extends it, by the knowledge which with Art he dispenses abroad. But the main thing to be remembred, is, that all that is said or done as a Preparative or Seed for things to come, must have so apparent a Reason, and so powerful a Colour to be said and done in that place, that it may seem to have been introduc'd only for that, and that it never give a hint to prevent those Incidents, which it is to prepare.

CHAP. IX.
Of the Catastrophe or Issue of the Dramatick Poem.

I Do not think it necessary here to trouble my self much about the explication of this word Catastrophe. 'Tis taken ordinarily, I know, for some sad calamitous disaster, which terminates some great design, for my part I understand by this word a sud­den change of the first Dispositions of the Stage, Catastrophe conversio negotij exagitati in tranquillitatem non expectatam. Scal. l. 1. c. 9. and the return of Events, which change all the Ap­pearances of the former Intrigues, quite contrary to the expectation of the Audience. Comedies have generally happy Catastrophes, or at least they end in some buffoonry or fooling, as the Stichus of Plautus; but as for serious Tragedies, they alwayes end either by the Misfortune of the Principal Actors, or by a Prosperity such as they could wish for; we have Examples of both in the Poems of the Ancients, though that latter way, of terminat­ing their Tragedies, was not so common with them, as it has been in our time. But now, I come to the Observations, which may be useful in all sorts of Poems, as they are common to all sorts of Catastro­phes.

[Page 132] The principal Observation has a dependance on what has been said in the last Chapter, which was, that Incidents, not prepar'd, offended against Probabili­ty, by being too much hastned at last: For this fault appears no where so much as in the Catastophe. First, the Catastrophe is the term of all the Af­fairs of the Stage, by consequent they must be dis­pos'd by times, that they may arrive there easily. Secondly, 'tis the Center of the Poem, therefore all the other parts, like lines, cannot be drawn straight to any other point. Thirdly, 'tis the last expecta­tion of the Audience therefore all things ought to be so well order'd, that when they fall out, it may not be ask'd, by which way they came to pass, and therefore there needs for it, as for the most conside­rable Event, the greatest and most judicious Prepa­rations. Aristotle, and all his Followers, would have the Catastrophe drawn from the very middle of all the business of the Stage, and that the very knots, which seem to embarrass the whole Subject, should at last serve for the opening of it, as if they were laid for that purpose. Therefore they always valued this way of ending a Tragedy, much more than That which was founded upon the presence or favour of some God; and when they did make use of Gods in Ma­chines, they always desir'd, that in the Body of the Play, there should be reasonable Dispositions for it, either by the particular care that That God took of that Hero, or by the interest the God might take in the Theatral Action, or by a natural and rational ex­pectation of the assistance of some God, or some such Inventions.

Yet this first Rule may seem useless in those Plays, where the Catastrophe is known either by the Sto­ry [Page 133] or Title, as the Death of Caesar, and such like, Therefore in this Case, without omitting any of the necessary preparations we have mention'd, one may do thus.

The Poet must so manage all the Affairs of the Stage, that the Spectators may be inwardly per­swaded, that That person, whose life and fortune are threatned, ought not to die: For by this Art he keeps them in sentiments of pity and commi­seration, which encrease and become very tender at the last point of his Misfortune, and the more one finds motives to believe, he should not die, the more one is concern'd, when one knows he must, the injustice of his Enemies raises a stronger aversi­on in us for them, and his disgrace is pitied even with tears. We have seen the Examples of this in Mariamne, and the Earl of Essex, though, in ma­ny other things, they were very defective Plays.

But if the Catastrophe be not known, and that the Poet designs, that, for the greater Ornament of his Play, it should unfold all the Intrigues of it by a suprizing Novelty; he must be very careful not to discover it too soon, and particularly order it so that none of his preparations do prevent it, for not only then it would become useless and disagreeable, but as soon as ever it should be known, the Theatre would grow dull, and be without Charms for the Au­dience: And we are not in this Circumstance to go­vern our selves by what happens in a Play, that we have seen, or of which the Catastrophe is known; for they do still please, because the Spectators in that case consider things only as they pass, and give them no greater extent, than the Poet would have them. They confine all their understanding to [Page 134] the pretexts and colours, which he advances, with­out going any further, and being all along satisfied of the Motives of the chief Actions, they do not prevent those, which are not made known to them, so that, their imagination being deceiv'd by the art of the Poet, their pleasure lasts still. Whereas in the other Case, when the Catastrophe is prevented by the want of Art in the Poet, the Spectators are dis­gusted, not so much that they know the thing, as be­cause they are perswaded, that they ought not to know it, and their discontent in these occasions proceeds less from their knowledge, though certain, than from the imprudence and ill conduct of the Poet.

The last Rule is, that the Catastrophe do entire­ly finish the Dramatick Poem, that is, that there be nothing left of what the Spectators ought to know, for if they have reason to ask, What became of such a one concern'd in the Intrigues of the Stage? or if they have just Subject to enquire, What are the Sen­timents of one of the chief Actors, after the last event which makes the Catastrophe? Then, I say, the Play is not well finish'd, and wanted yet a stroke or two, and if the Spectators are not yet fully satisfied, the Poet certainly has not done his duty. 'Twas a con­siderable fault in Panthea, who by her death leaves a reasonable desire to the Spectators, to know what became of Araspes, who was so passionately in love with her: Whereas on the contrary, in the Earl of Essex, Queen Elizabeth speaks as she ought, after the death of the Earl, and so finishes the Catastrophe perfectly.

But to avoid this inconvenience, the Poet must not fall into another, that is, to add to the Catastro­phe superfluous Discourses and Actions, of no use as [Page 135] to the concluding the Play, which the Spectators neither look for, nor are willing to hear; such is the Complaint of the Wife of Alexander, Son of He­rod, after the death of her Husband, of which I shall speak in the Chapter of Pathetick Discourses; and such is likewise the Explication of the Oracle in Hora­tius, for that having had nothing to do with the Plot, the Spectators never think on't, nor care to have it interpreted.

I might lengthen this Discourse with many more Remarks, as well upon the Tragedies as the Come­dies of the Ancients; but since all Catastrophes turn upon these Principles, which I have laid down, it will be easie in reading their Works to see which are well or ill finish'd. The Tragick Poets have gene­rally taken more care than the Comick, and amongst the Comick, Terence is the most exact; for Aristo­phanes and Plautus have left the best part of theirs unfinish'd. I leave our Modern Authors to them­selves, they generally are willing to be believ'd infal­lible, and when any body shews them that they might have done better, they are so much the more angry, as they find themselves convinc'd, and not a­ble to oppose the strength of reason.

Chapter the First.
Of the Actors or Persons to be brought upon the Stage, and what the Poet is to observe about them.

I Do not design here to instruct the Players, but the Poet, who will find in this Chapter some Observations for the better disposing of the Drammatick Poem, as to the persons that are to appear upon the Stage.

But before we begin them, it will not be amiss to [Page 2] observe to the Reader a thing which will make us make a wish in favour of our Stage, when we reflect upon the Magnificency of the Representations of the Antients, which is, that in many places of their Poems, where we see but one Actor nam'd, he did not ap­pear alone upon the Stage; but on the contrary, when it was a Prince, or Princess, or some Person of Eminent Quality, he was followed by a very great Retinue, suitable to his Dignity; sometimes of Cour­tiers, sometimes of Souldiers, and always of Persons proper to the Subject of the Play: Nay, a rich Ci­tizen appear'd with a great many Servants, and a publick Curtizan, if she were of free condition, and Mistress of her own actions, had always a great many Maids and Servants about her; and in short, Persons of Quality were always well accompanied, except some particular reason requir'd they should be alone, which may be easily perceiv'd by the Verses, or the Nature of the Action. So Ajax in Sophocles is alone when he kills himself; and this the Antients did for two Reasons; first to fill their Stage, which was much bigger than ours, and the other to make their Representation more magnificent; whereas now five or six People fill our Stage, and besides, the Players cannot be at the charge of more for pure Ornament sake.

The truth of this appears in most of the Antients Plays, but particularly in the seven before Thebes, where Eteocles, who opens the Scene, seems to be alone, because there is no body speaks but he, but it is clear that he was followed by a very great num­ber of Persons, to whom he addresses himself, and gives them different Orders for the Defence of the Town.

[Page 3] Orestes seems to be alone in the Electra of Euri­pides, and yet one may see that he speaks to a great many Servants who followed him, whom he com­mands to enter his Sisters house, who did not know him, and is angry with her Husband for letting so many People of Quality come into his house. I can­not omit here the mistake that some Authors have made in interpreting Euripides; for having not ob­serv'd that Hyppolitus is followed by a company of Hunters, with whom he comes back singing a Hymn in the honour of Diana, they have taken him to be alone, and that they who sung were the Chorus of the Tragedy; whereas the Chorus in that Play is compos'd of Women, followers of Phoedra, who only come upon the Stage after Hyppolitus and his Company have sung their Hymn, and one of them Entertains him some time about the respect due to Venus; after which Dialogue Hyppolitus commands his People to go and prepare his Dinner at his own house, out of which they follow him again, when by his Fathers command he is forc'd to withdraw.

But Plutarch affords us a proof of the state with which the chief Actors us'd to appear upon the Stage, in a pleasant Story he tells in the life of Phocion; for a Player being to represent a Queen and his Attendance, which was to be numerous, not being ready, he refu­sed to come upon the Stage, whereupon Melanthius Choragus, whose Office it was to see all things well in order, thrust him by force upon the Stage, with these words, Doest not thou see that Phocion 's Wife, whose Husband governs us all, is seen every day in the Street attended but with one Maid: At which all the People fell a laughing, and by that Railery he excus'd the defect of the Representation; which by the by [Page 4] may serve our Poets for an Advertisement, to Read carefully the Works of the Antients, and not trust to the Printed Glosses or Interpreters; but now let us come to our other more necessary Observations.

And to begin, it has been often ask'd how many Actors may be brought on at once, speaking and acting upon the Stage, in the same Scene. Some have confin'd us to Three, taking their Rule from Ho­race's Art of Poetry; but Experience is the best Judg in these Cases; and Horace, I believe, is not so well understood as he should be. 'Tis true, that the Stage having attain'd to have Three Actors in the time of Sophocles, who brought Drammatick Poetry to its perfection; the Greeks seldom bring any more than Three Actors at a time upon the Stage, if there be a Fourth, he generally is silent; and in­deed a Scene is not ill fill'd when Three chief Actors are discoursing at once upon the Scene. But the An­swer to this Question depends not so much upon the number of Persons, as upon the order or confu­sion that would follow if too many were speaking in the same Scene; and therefore I am of Opinion, that the Poet may bring on as many as he pleases, provided neither their number, nor their discourses do confound the Spectators Attention; and there will be no confusion if the Actors Names, and their Concerns be so known as to give a true understand­ing of what is in Action: Three Actors indeed sel­dom bring any confusion, because there is no Spe­ctator so simple, but he can easily distinguish their words and designs; but still the Poet must consider what necessity he lies under; for if his Subject re­quires that Four or Five should appear and discourse in the same Scene, if he performs it with distinction, [Page 5] and without obscurity, I don't believe any body will say he goes against the Rules, there being nothing there against probability. The Examples of this are frequent in the Comick Poets, both Greek and La­tine; and as for Horace, Ne quarta la­boret. his Advice is only that the Poet do not bring a Fourth Person upon the Stage so as to embarass or confound the business in hand, or perplex the Discourse of the other Three.

Our second Observation is, that the Poet must bring no Actor upon the Stage that is not known to the Spectators as soon as he appears, and that not only as to his Name and Person, but also as to the Sentiments he brings upon the Stage, else the Specta­tor will be puzzled, and the Poets fine Discourses will be lost, because the Audience will not know how to apply them; and I have seen often 20 or 30 noble Verses thrown away because the Spectator knew not him that spoke them, nor how to apply them. The An­tients never fail'd in this, to which the Choruses were a great help to them; for they never leaving the Stage, generally as soon as a new Actor came on, they nam'd him with some expressions of fear, asto­nishment or joy, according as the Subject requir'd; but if he were a stranger, and unknown to the Cho­rus, then he nam'd himself, giving some account of his good or bad Fortune, or some confident of his, declar'd it without affectation, either by pitying him, or seeming to be concern'd for the doubtful success of his Enterprize.

As for us who have no Choruses, we must, instead of them, make some of those Actors speak who are already upon the Stage, and known; and if we open an Act with Persons unknown, they must themselves declare their condition, or some of their Followers [Page 6] must by the by, and without affectation insinuate it: But if it be necessary that an Actor should be incog­nito both as to his Name and Quality, in order to his being known with more pleasure towards the end of the Play, then the Spectators must at least know that he is incognito; and in a word all confusion must be avoided, and it will be well if the Spectators conceive something in general concerning the Inte­terests of this new Actor; not indeed so far as to discover or prevent an Incident, but so much as is necessary to facilitate their easier comprehending all that is to be said afterwards.

The Third Observation is, That the Actors do always come on, and go off of the Scene with some probable reason, which makes it more proper for them to do so than otherwise, and yet that must not be done grosly, but by nice and natural pre­texts. For any Art that discovers it self too much, loses its grace; and yet it is not necessary that the reason which makes the Actors go on and off should always take effect; quite contrary, the less things suc­ceed according to their first appearance, the more pleasing and surprising they are. 'Tis one of the beauties of the Stage, that things cross one another, and so produce unforeseen Events; and when an Actor is upon the Stage, his good or bad Fortune is in the Poets hands, though the reason that brought him on be not at all conformable to what he meets with there.

As for the Practice of this Rule, I must desire our Poets to have recourse to the Antients, and to ob­serve with what Art they govern themselves; for the Reading of one Poem of theirs, particularly of Sophocles, will give them more light in this matter, [Page 7] than all the Allegations with which I might swell this Treatise.

The Fourth Observation is about a Dispute which I have often been witness to, which is, Whether or no in the same Act the same Actor may appear more than once? First, To answer this Question right, it is necessary to distinguish the Plays; for in a Comedy, the Subject whereof is taken from the meaner sort of People, it would not be amiss that the Persons concern'd should appear more than once in an Act, because they are People whose business is not weighty, their actions quick, and the manner of their life unquiet, and their Intrigues, most of them happening in the Neighbourhood, so that they need but a little time to go and come; but in a Tragedy, where they are most commonly Kings and Princes, where their manner of living is very different, their actions all full of gravity and weight, it does not ap­pear easie nor reasonable to make them appear more than once in an Act; for their Intrigues are general­ly with Persons remote, their Designs great, and which are not to be brought to pass but by slow means, and with great circumspection, so that more time is regularly requir'd to move all the Springs of their Affairs.

Secondly, In both these sorts of Poems, one must consider the condition of the Persons; for in a Slave or Servant it would be nothing to see him often in an Act, but it would be something strange in a Man or Woman of Quality, if some very extraordinary rea­son did not oblige them to precipitate their Actions.

Thirdly, We are to consider how far an Actor went, and if the thing he went about requir'd much time; or if he had some reason to return so soon; [Page 8] for the place he went to being near, and having but a short business, and being obliged to return imme­diately, all these are circumstances which may bring an Actor upon the Stage twice in an Act, without offending against the Rules. Plautus does it very ingeniously in many of his Comedys, but I know no Example of it in any Tragedys of the Antients. Monsieur Corneille indeed in his Horatius brings his Hero twice on in the same Act, because he went but from the Hall of his Pallace to his Fathers Chamber, to take his leave of him before he engaged in the Combate between the Six Brothers. But for my part, I should counsel the Poet to do it as little as possible, and with great circumspection; for, me­thinks, it is a little undecent to see a Person of Qua­lity go and come so suddenly, and Act with so much appearance of precipitation.

The Fifth Observation is about a thing which the Antients never fail'd in, and the Modern Writers often have, which is, to bring their Principal Actors on, upon the opening of the Stage, and indeed with a great deal of reason, because their Persons being considered as the Principal Subject of all the Ad­ventures of the Play, and as the Center to which all the other Lines are to be drawn, the Spectators desire to see them at first, and all that is said or done before their Arrival gives them more impatience than pleasure, and is often reckoned for nothing: And besides, they often take the first Actor of Qua­lity for the Hero of the Play, and when they are undeceiv'd, find themselves in confusion and per­plexed; therefore those Authors who bring not on their Chief Actor till the Third or Fourth Act, are much to blame, for that causes in the Audience so [Page 9] much impatience and uncertainty, that it is after­wards very hard to satisfie them; not but that in some occasions one may luckily defer the bringing on a chief Actor for a while, but then that must give some extraordinary grace to the Play, and be or­der'd so, as not to confound the Spectators Appli­cation.

The Sixth Observation is, That the chief Actors ought to appear as often, ans stay as long as pos­sible upon the Stage; First, because they are always the best Actors, and so satisfie most; then they are the best cloth'd, and so please the Spectators, who are taken with their Dress: And lastly, because they have the finest things to say, and the noblest passions to shew; in which, to say truth, consists the greatest charm of the Stage; and besides, the whole Event being to turn upon them, the Spectator rejoyces and grieves with them, fears and hopes as they do, and always has some inward concern according to the present state of their Affairs. This makes me not approve of Seneca, who in a Play where Aga­memnon is the chief Hero, and is kill'd, makes him say not above two and twenty Verses in all. The best Advice I can give the Poet in this matter, is not to have any thing told by way of Narrative, which may be any ways decently perform'd by the chief Actors themselves; but if the Subject cannot suffer that the chief Actors should appear every Act, he must endeavour that that Act where they do not appear, be fill'd with some great circumstance of the Story, and that the second Parts may repair the want of the first by some noble and majestick Ad­venture, else it is certain the Play will pall and lan­guish.

[Page 10] The Seventh and last Observation of this Chapter is particular enough, and it may be at first will not be rellished by all our Poets; but I desire them to examine it in the practice, before they judg of it here upon the Paper. To explain my self rightly, we must observe, that where an Actor appears first up­on the Stage, he may come on in one of these Three Dispositions, either in a moderate, calm temper, or in a violent passion, or in a disposition something moved, but not rais'd to the high pitch of Transport; and that may be call'd a half-passion. Now in the first case an Actor may easily acquit himself, for it comes so near our natural temper, that few fail to personate it well. In the second case likewise of violent Transport, good Actors seldom fail to re­present it well, because Experience has taught them how far their Voice and Action is to be strain'd in such a case; but as it is much easier to go from one Extremity to another, than to stop with discretion in the middle; so the Actors, though they can easily represent these two Sentiments directly opposite, they do not always succeed when they are to come upon the Stage with the Sentiment of a half-passion, which passes a little our natural Tranquillity, and yet rises not to the extremest violence; and the reason is, that not being stirr'd of themselves, and yet not daring to rise to the highest pitch of violence, 'tis hard for them to find that just temper to enter into this half passion; from hence it comes, that they of­ten provoke the laughter of the Audience, by deli­vering with an ill grace, and unconcernedly, that which requires some Emotion, or appearing over­allarm'd at that which does not in its nature so high­ly affect the Spectators. Therefore my Observa­tion [Page 11] to the Poet is, that he first put some more mo­derate words in his Actors mouth, before he raises him to that half-passion, that he may grow warm by little and little, and that his Voice may rise by degrees, and all his gestures acquire more and more motion with his Discourse; and as for the Actor, I will tell him what in this case I have seen Mondory, the best Actor of our days do, which was, that in these occasions having taken a turn or two upon the Stage, and with some posture suitable to his Part, as lifting up his Hands and Eyes, or the like; having begun to move himself, he brought himself to the true point of a half-passion, and so came sensibly out of the natural state of Indifferency in which he came on upon the Stage; withal, retaining his motions so as they should not go too far. All this will be bet­ter understood by both Poets and Actors, if they please to make some Reflections at Reheasals, and have the Comedians own Opinions who are best Judges, having often experienced this, and other Methods of performing a half-passion.

Chapter the Second.
Of Discourses in general.

IF we consider Tragedy in its own nature, it im­plies so much Action, that it seems not to have any room left for Discourse: 'Tis called a Dramma, which signifies an Action, and the Persons concern'd are called Actors, as those that are present are nam'd Spectators, or Lookers on, not Hearers. And indeed [Page 12] all the Discourses of Tragedy ought to be as the Actions of those that appear upon the Stage; for there to speak, is to act, there being not there any Speeches invented by the Poet to shew his Elo­quence. So we see that the Narration of the Death of Hyppolitus in Seneca, is rather the action of a Man frightned at the Monster that he saw come out of the Sea, and at the sad Adventure which befel Hyppolitus. In a word, all Discourses upon the Stage are but the Accessaries of Action, though the whole Play in its Representation consists in Discourses. 'Tis they that are the chief work of the Poet, and in which he Employs all the strength of his wit; all that he invents, is in order to have it well deliver'd upon the Stage, and he supposes many actions that they may serve for Subject of those Discourses. Thus he seeks all ways to make love, joy, hatred, grief, and the rest of our passions speak upon the Stage; and yet if we examine rightly this Poem, the best part of the actions are but in the imagination of the Spectator, to whom the Poet by his Art makes them as it were visible, though there be nothing sensible but the Discourses. And we may observe in two of the Greek Poets, that though Euripides's Tragedys are fill'd with more Incidents and Actions than those of Sophocles, yet they had not so good success upon the Stage of Athens; neither are they now so plea­sant to read; the reason whereof is, that the Dis­courses of Sophocles are more Eloquent, and more Judicious than those of Euripides. Nay, those Dramma's which carry the name of Seneca, howso­ever irregular and defective they are in other things, do nevertheless pass very well, by reason of the sense and force of some Discourses that are in [Page 13] them. And we have still a greater proof of this in the Works of our Corneille; for that which has so clearly set him above all the Poets of his time has not been the Plot, or Regularity of his Plays, but the Discourses, and the noble ways of Expressing those violent passions which he introduces, even so far, that we see very irregular actions in them so accompa­panied with ingenious and pathetick Expressions, that the fault could not be perceiv'd but by the Learned Observers, the beauty of the Thoughts and Lan­guage dazling the understanding of all the rest of the Audience, and taking away from them the li­berty of judging of any thing else. For Example, it was not very probable that Rodrigues, all bloody with the Murder of his Mistress's Father, should go and make her a Visit, nor that she should receive it, and yet their conversation is so pleasing and full of such noble Sentiments, that few have observ'd that Indecency, and they that did were willing to suffer it. Again, when Don Sanche brings his Sword to Chimene, he ought not to let her run on in those mistaken Complaints, since with one word he could undeceive her; but that which she says is so agree­able, that the Spectator cannot wish Don Sanche had been more prudent.

All the Learned men in the Drammatick Art tell us, that those Plays which they call Polymythes, that is, loaded with many Incidents, either are bad, or at least none of the best; but they have not given the reason, which in my judgment is, because they are all taken up in action, and so leaving no room for Discourses, the Subject is as it were stifled for want of Air; and on the contrary, a Play which has but few Incidents, and a small Intrigue, but fill'd with [Page 14] Excellent Language, and thought, can seldom fail of pleasing.

We must nevertheless observe some difference in this Point between Comedy and Tragedy; for Comedy, whose business lies among the common sort of People, not so capable of gravity and thought, as the Tragick Actors, is much more in action than in Discourses; there is required there little Eloquence, and much Intrigue. Terence is pleasanter to read than Plautus, because he is more Elegant, but Plau­tus took better with the Romans, because he is fuller of action. Terence has many serious Moral sayings, which is not the proper work of Comedy, where the Spectators design is to laugh. Plautus is full of In­trigues, from which many Jests, and ingenious Rai­leries are created, and that's the thing we wish for in Comedy.

I could wish therefore that our Poets would excel in the Art of Rhetorick, and study Oratory and Elo­quence to the bottom; for we are not to imagine, that it consists in some puns and quibbles, to make the Citizens and Country Gentlemen laugh, nor in some Antitheses, or other Figures often ill employ'd; no, the Poet ought to know all the passions, the springs, that bring them on, and the way of expressing them with Order, Energy, and Judgment.

He may see many Examples of this amongst the Antient Poets, who best can shew him the way of pleasing, and acquiring Reputation. I, for my part, pretend to nothing here, but to give him my parti­cular Observations, which at least may serve him to make better of his own. But to do this with order, I consider there are generally in a Play Four sorts of Discourses, Narrations, Deliberations, Didactick [Page 15] Discourses or Instructions, and Pathetick Discourses, or the motions of passions. This is the Method which I establish to explain my self, to which any body may add what they think necessary, and take away all that they shall judg superfluous; and in a word, change all that shall not please them, and have my free consent to do it.

Chapter the Third.
Of Narrations.

THese Narrations which happen in a Dramma­tick Poem, do generally regard two sorts of things; either those which have happened before the opening of the Stage, wheresoever they came to pass; nay, though it be long before; or else they regard those things which happen off of the Scene in the Contexture of the Theatral action, after once the Stage is open, and within the Extent of time that it requires. As to the first sort which are brought into the body of the Poem, for the better under­standing of things which happened before the open­ing of the Stage, they may regularly be us'd in the beginning of the Play, that they may give a Foun­dation to the whole Action, and prepare the Inci­dents, and by that means facilitate to the Spectator the understanding of all the rest; or else they may be made use of toward the end of the Poem, and serve to the Catastrophe, or the untying and opening of all the Plot.

Not but that they may be made in other parts of [Page 16] the Play, as we see it done in a Play call'd Virginia, where the chiefest Narration is in the Fourth Act, and is perform'd with great grace▪ and equal success; but in that part of the Play 'tis very dangerous to use them; for they run a hazard of either discovering the Catastrophe, which is near at hand, or else they leave the Stage in some obscurity, and the Specta­tors ill inform'd of many circumstances, for having too long delay'd the opening of them; so that to avoid both these Inconveniences, the Poet must have a very steddy hand, since he must order it so as his Narration do not in the least prevent the beauty of the Catastrophe; nor his first acts be less intelligible for having kept back his Narration.

As for those things which happen in the course of the Action, the recital of them is to be made as they happen; or if it be thought necessary, or more pleasing to delay them, there must be us'd some Art to feed the Spectators desire of knowing them with­out impatience; or else you must quite stifle his Ex­pectation, that he may be the better surpriz'd when they come to pass. But we must remember besides, that these Recitals or Narrations are introduced only to instruct the Spectator about what passes off of the Scene; for to relate either those things that have been seen, or might have been seen, as being suppos'd to have been done upon the Stage, would certainly be very ridiculous; and besides, those things that give ground to these Incident Narrations, ought to be very considerable, or else they are to be avoid­ed, and the thing to be insinuated into the Audience by some words scattered here and there either before or after.

Now all these Narrations do enter into the Com­position [Page 17] of the Drammatick Poem, for two ends, either to make it clear and intelligible, or to adorn and set it out; but against both these ends the Poet often falls into Errours, which destroy his first In­tention.

The first is, when his Narration is obscure, and loaded with circumstances hard for the Audience to retain distinctly; such are Genealogical ones (which Scaliger blames in Homer; or a great number of Names, with a Chain of actions embroylu'd one in in another; for the Spectator will not give himself the trouble to observe and retain all these different Idaea's, he coming to the Stage only for his pleasure, and in the mean time for want of remembring all this, he remains in the dark as to the rest of the Play, and is disgusted for all the time he stays. Such a Story might be that of the three Brothers, and three Sisters, which is describ'd in Astraea, and that of the two Children born of two Women, who had each of them married one anothers Sons; if any body should upon such Stories found the whole Intrigue of a Play, he might be sure no body would understand it, and by consequent it would have few Spectators.

The Second fault of Narrations is when they are taedious, and they are always taedious when they do not contain things necessary or agreeable; as also when they are made with weak and faint Expressions, such as do not captivate the Spectators favour or at­tention, which by consequent must pall, and make him give over minding the Play; and this happens likewise when they are too long; for variety being the life of the Stage, and that being wanting, the best things grow dull, and weigh upon the Specta­tor, who takes it ill to be fix'd to one Subject with­out [Page 18] diversity for so long a time; and though it may be the capacity of some would carry them thorow to comprehend it all, yet being come for diversion, they will not take the pains to do it, which joyn'd with the incapacity of others to hearken to so long a Story, causes at last a general disgust in the whole Audience.

We may moreover make this distinction upon the length of Narrations, for they may be so either for the matter, when they are fill'd with too great a number of Incidents, and Persons, of Names and Pla­ces; or they may be so out of the form for the many words they contain, as when the circumstan­ces of an Action are too much exaggerated and parti­culariz'd in minute and insignificant things; and when the Expressions are too full of Epithets, Adverbs▪ or other unnecessary terms, with Repetitions of the same thing, though in a different way.

And indeed, to examine the difference of these two sorts of lengths in Narrations, we may say, that the first is vicious in any place of the Play whereso­ever it is plac'd: For first, at the opening of the Stage, the Spectator, who thinks all that Recital necessary for the understanding of the Play, endea­vours to retain it all in his memory; but finding his Imagination confounded, and his Memory di­stracted with so many things, he is first vex'd with himself, and then with the Poet, and at last gives out, without minding any more of the whole Poem.

These long Narrations are not better plac'd in the course of the Action, for those things which come to pass after the opening of the Stage, because it will never be thought probable that so many things should have come to pass in so little a time; (as for [Page 19] Example, the Interval of an Act seems to be) not but that it is ordinary to suppose in that time a Battle, a Conspiracy, or some such other Event; but to do it with probability, the Poet deceives the Spe­ctator, and busies him with something else that is agreeable, that so he may be insensibly persuaded that there has been time enough for all the rest; but that which is particularly to be heeded in that place is, that at that time the Stage is in all the hurry of Action, and in the turns of Incidents, which these long Narrations do cool and pall, whereas a true Narration ought to quicken the Stage, and lay the foundation of some new passion, which to obtain, it must be short, pithy, and full of life and warmth. The contrary of this appears in that Narration, which the Rich in Imagination makes in the Play call'd the Visionaires.

When these long Narrations happen towards the Catastrophe, they are then absolutely insupportable; for the Spectator, who is impatient to see which way the Intrigue turns, has all his pleasure spoil'd just in the time when he ought to receive the most, which is so much the more dangerous for the suc­cess of the Play, because the Audience is already tir'd and dispos'd to give out.

In a word, I think it may be a kind of General Rule, that Narrations may be longer at the opening of the Stage than any where else, because the Spe­ctator is fresh, and willing to give attention, and his memory receives agreeably all those new Idaa's, in hopes they are to contribute to the pleasure which is prepar'd for him; and also that they are as much to be avoided at the Catastrophe, where they do so chock the Audience, who is then impatient to know [Page 20] the Event, that no Figures of Rhetorick can make him amends. See, amongst others, how dexterous Plautus is in the Narration of the knowing of Pla­nesia, at the end of the Curculio; 'tis one of the most regular Narrations that he has.

Besides these Cautions, it will not be amiss to ob­serve, that these Narrations may be made in two manners; either all of a piece, where a Story is told that is to give a foundation to all the Plot of the Play; (though they that among the Poets do it best, have some Pathetick or other ingenious Inter­ruptions) as the Orestes of Euripides, and in the Comical kind, the Hecyra of Terence, and the Pseu­dolus of Plautus in the first Acts do sufficiently il­lustrate: Or else, these Narrations are made by piece-meals, according as the Poet thinks fit to hide or discover any part of his Subject, to frame the dif­ferent Acts with more Ornament, as one may see in the Sphigenia of Euripides, and in the Oedypus Ty­rannus of Sophocles, where the Story is told by dif­ferent Persons, and at different times; which may be perform'd, when he that makes part of a Narra­tion knows not all the Story, or when for some other necessary reason which must appear so to the Audi­ence, he will not tell all he knows; or when he is interrupted by some body else (which must be done with great Art, and not by bringing on a purpose a man who has nothing else to do in the rest of the Play, but to interrupt that Actor;) Or lastly, when those things that are necessary to be known, are not yet come to pass, as Corneille has most ingeniously practised in his Horatius; for by opening his Stage after the Truce concluded, he has found a way to bring ( uriatius to Rome, and there has reserv'd to [Page 21] himself to make different Narrations of the Com­bate of the three Brothers in such places of his Play as he thinks the fittest to change the state of Affairs upon his Stage.

I may assure our Poets, that a Narration thus in­geniously divided, requires great Art and Meditatution to consider how far one may carry each part of it, and to give all the necessary grounds and co­lours to the Audience, for leaving off in such a place, and beginning again in such another; and indeed such a Narration well managed, produces an admi­rable Effect; for leaving the Spectator always in the expectation of some Novelty, it warms his desire, and entertains his impatience; and then the new discoveries that are made in the rest of the Narra­tion furnish the Stage with Subjects to vary all the Motions and Passions of the Actors.

Narrations may besides be considered as simply and plainly telling the Tale, or as exaggerating pa­thetically the circumstances of the Adventure. In the first case they ought to be short, because they are without motion or ornament, and yet they are of­ten necessary, as when some important Advice is to be given to obviate some pressing mischief.

Pathetick Narrations are always the finest, and the only indeed fit to come upon the Stage, when they are contain'd within the bounds of a reasonable Ex­aggeration; then the mixture of fear, astonishment, imprecations, and the like, according to the circum­stances of the Story is fit, and produces a good Ef­fect. But particularly, these passions ought to be mingled in the Narration, when the person to whom it is made is not at all ignorant of the whole Story, and yet there is a necessity of informing the Audience [Page 22] by him; and I believe that I first found out this sleight, to avoid absurdity in doing of it; for in this case it would be ridiculous to make to him a plain Story which he knows already; therefore to avoid that one must bring in natural passions growing from the Story it self, and the present state of the Affairs of the Stage, either by Complaints, or Sentiments of joy, or fear; for by this means the Story is told▪ and yet no affected cold Narration brought on against all the Rules of probability. Such is the Narration of the Death of Clitemnestra in the Electra of Euri­pides, and such is the discourse of Tecmessa in Sopho­cles in his Ajax, where the Poet makes her make an ingenious Narration of all that the Spectators were ignorant of under pretext of complaining of her own misfortunes, and the Narration of Sosias. In Am­phytrio is one of the most ingenious ones, where the Poet, that he may instruct the Audience about Am­phytrio's Voyage, and the War, makes that Slave me­ditate to himself what News he shall tell his Mistress, for by that means, though the Narration be made to himself, and very pleasant things in it, fit for a Slaves wit to say, yet at the same time the Spectator is in­formed of every thing, without any apparent affe­ctation. But in these Narrations the Poet must be very careful to keep up the humour, so as nothing of a studied Recital do appear, for then 'tis faulty, as done on purpose for the Spectators. Therefore I can never advise him to use a certain way, common enough now adays, which is when an Actor knows some part of the Story, though the Spectators are not informed of any part of it; in this case I say Poets do often make another Repeat that which the Actor knows already, saying only, You know such a thing, [Page 23] and then adding, ☞ p. 393. the middle. Now here is the rest which you do not know. To say truth, this appears to me very gross, and it were better to let that which the Actor knows already, be expressed to the Audience by some motions of passion, and then find some ingenious pretext to tell the rest in an ordinary Narration.

That which remains now to be done upon this Subject, is to explain some Rules, from which, with­out absurdity the Poet cannot depart.

The first is, that he who makes the Narration be rationally suppos'd to know perfectly the thing he tells, or else he cannot be thought to tell it with any probability.

Secondly, That on his side, there be some appa­rent and powerful reason for him to tell it, either by the necessity of giving notice to some other person, or by some well-grounded curiosity, or by the Au­thority he has over the person that speaks with him, or some such considerations.

Thirdly, He that hears him must have some just Subject to be inform'd of the thing that is told him, and I for my part cannot bear that a Varlet should out of simple curiosity be entertain'd with the Adven­tures of a great Prince, as the Poet has done in Rho­dogune; for Narrations are always flat that are not made to a person concern'd for want of passions to animate both the Audience, and the Man that makes the Recital.

Besides, a Narration ought to be made in a fit place, where probably both he that hears, and he that speaks, might be suppos'd to meet; wherefore I cannot approve that in the Hall of a Pallace, where probably People go and come continually, there should be a long Narration made of secret Adven­tures [Page 24] which ought not to be discover'd without great precaution for the danger that attends their being re­vealed; and therefore I never could conceive how Mr. Corneille▪ can bring to pass with decency that. In the same place Cinna tells Aemilia all the circum­stances of a great Conspiracy against Augustus, and yet in that very place Augustus holds a secret counsel of his two intimate Favourites; for if it be a publick place, as it seems to be, since Augustus sends away all his Courtiers and Attendance to talk alone with his friends, what probability is there that Cinna should there visit Aemilia, with a Discourse of about 130 Verses, and a discovery of the most dangerous Af­fairs in the World, which might be over-heard by some body going or coming; and if the place be pri­vate, and suppos'd the Emperor's Closet, who dis­misses those he would not have participant of his secret, how is it possible that Cinna should come there to talk all that to Aemilia? And how is it pro­bable that Aemilia should break out into outragious Complaints and Invectives against Augustus? This is my Objection, to which Monsieur Corneille may be pleas'd to give an Answer when he thinks fit.

'Tis not less necessary to chuse a fit time to make a Narration probable; for there are some times which will not bear a long Discourse: ☞ p. 398. 'Tis a fault which Scaliger does not scruple to charge Homer himself with, when he makes his Hero's make long Narrations in the middle of a Battel or Engagement. A Poet of ours has committed the same fault in the Scipio, while in the midst of the storming of a Town, a victorious Army is abandoned to all Licence, and the People in the disorder of a place taken by assault. A young Maid disguis'd, makes a long [Page 25] Narration to discover her self, whereas in such a time she ought not at most to have spoke above four Verses.

But I do not take heed that insensibly I am disco­vering the faults of our Modern Writers, who, it may be, will not allow them to be so, or at least will not be pleas'd with the discovery; let the Poet then seek out of himself Examples of ill Narrations, and not expect from me that I should discredit the best part of our Plays, many of which have been so favou­rably receiv'd either by the too much complaisance, or the ignorance of those who did not understand their faults.

Chapter the Fourth.
Of Deliberations.

MY design is not here to teach that part of Rhetorick which they call the genus delibe­rativum, by which is shew'd the Art of saying ones Opinion floridly in all matters, in which counsel is askt. Our Poet ought not to stay till he be upon the Stage to be instructed in those Principles which are all comprehended under the name of the Theory of the Stage.

Drammatick Poetry is a kind of Quintessence of all the Precepts of Eloquence that are found in Au­thors, because they must be us'd in it, but with so much Judgment and Art, and so nicely, that it must often seem that one has quite laid them aside, the genius of the Stage being such, that a thing that does [Page 26] not appear, contains in it very often the greatest Ar­tifice, and a Sentiment that shall imperceptibly have been conveyed into the mind of the Audience, an imperfect Narration, an Adventure, begun in ap­pearance without design, are capable alone of making a Play take, by giving a foundation secretly to the strongest passions, and by that means preparing a noble Catastrophe; and without doubt there is much skill requir'd for any body to perform this, without which one cannot pretend to true glory in the Art.

I begin therefore with this Advertisement, which I think very considerable in matter of Deliberations, which is, that they in their own nature are not fit for the Stage, because the Theatre being a place of Action, all things ought to be in agitation, either by Events which cross one another, or by Passions born out of those Incidents, as Lightning and Thunder from the Clouds. In a word, 'tis a place where eve­ry body is disquieted and in disorder; and as soon as ever the calm and quiet succeed, the Play is at an end, or grows very dull all the while that the Action is suspended; how is it possible then that De­liberations should have any part in the business? They are sedate and quiet things where Moderation and Temper ought chiefly to appear. He that asks counsel does it with tranquillity, at least in appea­rance, and they that are called to counsel ought less to be troubled either with Passion or Interest, they must speak with all the clearness of Reason, and argue upon the discovery, and not in the Clouds, and dark­ness of Passion; and if they grow but warm, they are presently suspected of some secret Interest; so that without very great Art, it will be hard to reconcile them to the Scene, without making the Stage lose its grace, and grow dull.

[Page 27] It may be answered, that the Stage abounds in Deliberations, and that the Antients have them in most Acts of their Plays; and for the Moderns, Monsieur Corneille excels in them, and has scarce any thing in his Poems so moving, and so much admir'd, witness his Stanzas in the mouth of Rodrigues in the Cid. Aemilia in Cinna deliberates pleasingly be­tween the danger she exposes Cinna to, and the re­venge she covets. Cinna deliberates between the Ob­ligations he has to Augustus, and the love he bears his Mistress; and Augustus deliberates what to do in this last Conjuration, in which his Favourite was the chief man to murder him.

To all this I answer, That these are not the true sort of Deliberations which I am treating of, though they do shew Irresolution, and a dispute between op­posite Considerations; they are rather to be plac'd in the rank of Pathetick Discourses, which make the best Actions of the Stage. You see minds agitated by different Passions, and still carryed into extremes, of which the Spectator cannot foresee the Event; all their Discourses have the true Theatral Character, they are impetuous and figurative, and shew you rather the Image of a Soul tormented in the midst of his Executioners, than one consulting in the midst of his Friends.

'Tis not therefore this sort of Deliberations that I exclude; on the contrary, I exhort all our Poets to bring them upon the Stage, as much as the Subject will afford, and to examine carefully with what va­riety and Art they are managed by the Antients, and in the Works of Monsieur Corneille, for if he be well consider'd, 'twill be found that 'tis in that principal­ly that consists that which in him is called Admi­rable, [Page 28] and the thing which has made him so fa­mous.

I only speak then of those Deliberations which are made designedly, and are Representations of the like Consults made in Courts upon some important Affair. We have two Examples remarkable in Cor­neille, that in the Play called Cinna, where Augustus deliberates whether he shall leave the Empire or no; and the other in a Play called The Death of Pompey, where King Ptolomeus deliberates what he shall do with so great a Man, newly arrived in his Country; and these two Deliberations have succeeded likewise very differently, for that of Augustus pleas'd the Audience to a wonder, and the other of Ptolomaeus passes for a very common, ordinary Discourse; and that very difference of the success of these two Deli­berations, confirms me in my Opinion, that they are dangerous upon the Stage, and have afforded me likewise the occasion of making some Reflections which may contribute to make them please.

The first is, That the Subject of the Deliberation ought to be great, noble, and extraordinary, and not of such things as fall every day in debate in Princes Councils, and 'tis in this for one, that the Delibera­tion of Augustus carrys it from that of Ptolomaeus, for it is not ordinary that a Monarch should have the thought of laying down the Soveraignty, and bring so important a Point to be debated by two Friends. There was but one Example of such a thing before Augustus's time, and we have had but three since, of which the Queen of Sweden makes still an Illustrious Remembrance. But it was not a thing so rare to see Ptolomaeus deliberate about the Life and Liberty of Pompey; 'twas an important Affair, but no extraor­dinary [Page 29] one, which made the difference in the success of the thing. Ptolomy might deliberate upon such a Subject, but the Spectators receive no pleasure from the thing, being done in their hearing▪ because it contributes nothing to their Intrigues, nor the untying of the knot of the Play.

Secondly, The Motive of a Deliberation that is brought upon the Stage, ought to be necessary and urgent, not only in the Person of him that deliberates, but in relation also to all the Persons concerned in the Action. The Deliberation of Augustus in Cinna may serve here for an Example: For it seems neces­sary that it should be brought upon the Stage, that the Audience might see the goodness of the Emperor, and the passionate transports of Fury that Cinna was guilty of, and all that happens afterwards between Cinna, Aemilia, and Maximus, has its force and beauty from what Cinna himself had given in counsel to Augustus.

Thirdly, In these Deliberations the Discourses must be noble and proportionable to the greatness of the Subject, that is, that they come from a profound me­ditation, and be expressed with great strength of thought, for not being capable of any great figures, they must be upheld by strong sense and reasoning. This likewise is observ'd in the Deliberation of Au­gustus, where Maximus and Cinna do say very sur­prising things.

Fourthly, One must observe never to stay till the Stage is in the heat of Action, and the depth of In­trigues, to bring on these Deliberations, because they cool the Stage, and so defeat the Expectations of the Audience, and yet I would not place them in the beginning neither, as that of Ptolomy is in Corneille, [Page 30] because then there has not been any passion agitated which might produce such a Deliberation; but I would place them in the beginning of the second or third Act, that they may have some foundation upon what is already done, and some influence upon what re­mains to do.

They ought likewise not to be made all of a breath, without interruption from some of the Counsellors, for that gives at least a little warmth to the coolness of the Stage. But above all, I think they ought to be as short as possible, for they cannot be long with­out being tedious in prolix reasonings void of figures, which nevertheless I would have the Poet strive to bring in as Apostrophes, Prosopopoeas, Hypotyposes, and such like; in which much Art must be used, be­cause regularly these figures do not enter into Deli­berations.

But that which above all things I think necessary is, that the Persons advis'd with, be concern'd in the thing propos'd, because then 'tis not a plain Advice, but it has something of the Theatral Action; then the Spectator too is much more concern'd, as appears very well in the case of Augustus, who being made to advise about the most important thing of his Life, with two treacherous Friends, and the Audience be­ing already inform'd of the hatred of Aemilia, and the love of Cinna, they are all attentive to what they say, every Spectator having a curiosity to know how they will come off, so that all that they say is hearkened to, and not a word of it lost; and when after all the Emperour is yet kind to both these Traitors, the Spectators begin to think they will re­lent of their Treason, and particularly when they see Maximus and Cinna afterwards a little in suspense, [Page 31] and then when at last they see them persevere in their design, they cannot imagine how the thing will turn, nor what will be the Event; so that this Deli­beration is upheld by the Interest of those who advise, and does it self influence all the other Affairs of the Stage.

I have nothing more upon this Subject, but one general Observation, which is, That few People that go to Plays do approve of the Examining and Con­demning of Criminals upon the Stage, which never­theless we see frequently represented there, and the reason is, because that when it comes to that forma­lity, 'tis generally perform'd by the worst Actors, who being seated and out of action, and having a few scurvy Verses (which in such an occasion can hardly be made better) to recite. The Audience can hardly forbear laughing, so far are they from being concern'd. I know no remedy for this but to endea­vour to order the Story so, as it shall not require such a dull piece of Pageantry, so little capable of deserving any applause from the Audience.

Chapter the Fifth.
Of Didactick Discourses or Instructions.

THis is a new Subject in our Drammatick Art, I not having found any thing in those Authors who have compos'd great Volumes about it; and I am the first that have made observations upon it, such as I may boldly say ought not to be despised by our Poets.

[Page 32] I understand then by Didactick Discourses those Maxims and general Propositions which contain known Truths, and are only apply'd in the Play, according as the Subject will allow, tending more to instruct the Audience in the Rules of Morality, than to explain any part of the Intrigue a foot. An Example may illustrate the thing better. Suppose then the Poet had a mind to treat this Proposition.

Or this; ‘A general Instinct cannot be suspected of Errour.’

Or this; ‘A Subject that Rebels against his Prince is Criminal.’

I say, That a Poet often endeavours to set out some of these Maxims by a great number of Verses, upon which he demurs a great while, leaving all that time his Subject, and the Intrigue of the Stage, and keeping himself still upon general Notions.

Now as to these Didactick Discourses, I distinguish them into two sorts, some I call Physical, and the others Moral ones.

I call those Physical or Natural, which make a de­duction or description of the Nature, Qualities, or Effects of any thing without distinction, whether it be in the rank of natural or supernatural things; or of the number of Artificial Compounds.

Under the notion of Moral Discourses, I compre­hend all those Instructions which contain any Maxim of Religion, or Politicks, or Oeconomicks, or that any ways regard humane Life

To come after this to my Observations, we must [Page 33] lay it down as a Maxim, That all these Didactick Discourses are of their own nature unfit for the Stage, because they are cold, and without motion, being general things which only tend to Instruct the mind, but not to move the heart, so that the action of the Stage, which ought to warm our affections, becomes by them dull and indifferent. Young People who come to read Euripides and Sophocles, admire the first much more than the latter, and yet Sophocles almost always carry'd the prize from Euripides upon the Stage, and that by the Judgment of all the Athe­nians. This mistake of the young Reader proceeds from this, that they being themselves not through­ly instructed in those Maxims, and finding a great many of them in Euripides, as well about Religion, as Politicks and Moral ones, they are charm'd to see such Truths so nobly expressed, and the things them­selves being new to them, please them beyond mea­sure. 'Tis for this that Quintilian in his Precepts of Rhetorick advises young People to the Lecture of Euripides before Sophocles. In all which they do not observe that Sophocles makes the groundwork of his Plays, of those very Truths, as well as Euripides; but he does it with so much Art, that he utters them in a Pathetick manner, as well as in a Didactick one, whereby the People of Athens departed almost al­ways pleased and charm'd by the high passions which Sophocles fills his Stage with, but were more us'd to Euripides's Maxims, which he so of­ten beats over to them, and by that means did not consider them as any thing rare and extraordinary: And from thence it proceeds, that in our Modern Plays, those very places in which the Poets have la­bour'd by noble Verses, and high words to express, [Page 34] some great Maxim, have least succeeded, because that falling into the Didactick way, they forsake the business of the Stage, and let the action cool. From thence it comes likewise that all Actors that appear with the Pedantick Character of teaching, such as are the Governour of a young Prince, a Doctor, a Go­verness, or the like, are still ill receiv'd by the Au­dience; the very presence of them displeases and imprints the Character of Ridicule upon the most se­rious Piece. I am confident that if the Linco in Pastor sido appear'd upon our Stage, he would be hiss'd off of it, notwithstanding all the good counsel he gives Sylvio; and that which makes me believe it the sooner, is that one of our best Modern Plays lost half its due applause, by there being a Governour to a young Prince, who was giving him Advice in the midst of most violent passions, with which he was tormented, that being neither the Time, nor the Stage the Place for such Instructions.

We do not see neither that either Astrologers, Conjurers, High Priests, or any of that Character, do much take, for the very reason that they can hardly speak without pretending to teach, or else talk in generals of the power of the Gods, the won­derful Effects of Nature, and such things which can­not fail of being tedious, when they are prolixely expressed. Scaliger will not allow them in the very Epick Poems, much less can they be receiv'd in the Drammatick, but ought to be quite banish'd the Stage.

We must observe besides, that Physical Instructi­ons about Nature, and its Effects, are yet less welcom than Moral ones, because that 'tis hard an Actor should speak so long as to explain the nature of a [Page 35] thing, without disgusting the Audience, which soon grows weary of being ill taught the thing the Poet would have him learn; which, together with the little concern the no passion of the Stage raises in him, makes the whole very disagreeable. We have a notable Example of this in Mariamne, where a long Discourse is made of the Nature of Dreams, the thing is very fine, and the nature of them well explain'd; but it interrupts an agitation of the Stage, begun by Herode's trouble at his waking; the Audience would fain know the cause of his disturbance, and the parti­culars of his Dream: But instead of that, there is a long Discourse of the Nature of Dreams in general, to which the Spectator gives but little attention, as being thereby disappointed of his chief expectation.

To all this it may be objected, That the Stage is a place of publick Instruction, and that the Dram­matick Poet is to instruct, as well as please; and therefore that Didactick Discourses may be proper enough, or at least ought not to be condemned.

I confess that the Stage is a place of Instruction▪ but we must well understand how that is meant. The Poet ought to bring his whole Action before the Spectator, which ought to be so represented with all its circumstances, that the Audience be fully Instruct­ed; for as Drammatick Poetry does but imitate hu­mane actions, it does it only to instruct us by them, and that it does directly, and properly: But for Moral Maxims, which may incite us either to the love of Virtue, or stir us up to hate Vice; it does it indirectly, and by the Entermise of the Actions them­selves; ☞ p. 418. of which Sentiment Scaliger is so much, as I dare quote him for my Warrantee in this Opinion. Now this may be done two ways; the first, when [Page 36] the Action of the Stage is so judiciously managed, that it shews the force of Vertue triumphing in the midst of Persecutions, after which it is often happily rewarded; but if it is totally overwhelmed by them, it remains glorious even in its death. By this all the deformities of Vice are discovered; it is often punish'd, but when even it triumphs and overcomes, it is in abomination with the Audience, who there­upon are apt to conclude with themselves, That 'tis better to embrace Vertue through the hazard of Perse­cution, than to follow Vice even with hopes of Im­punity▪

'Tis thus principally that the Stage ought to be Instructive to the Publick by the knowledg of things represented; and I have always observ'd, that it is not agreeable to the Audience, that a Man who swerves from the way of Vertue, should be set right, and repent, by the strength of Precepts and Senten­ces: We rather desire it should be by some Adven­ture that presses him, and forces him to take up rea­sonable and vertuous Sentiments. We should hardly endure that Herode should recal his Sentence against Mariamne, upon a Remonstrance of one of the seven Wise Men of Greece; but we are pleas'd to see, that after the Death of the Queen, his Love becomes his Tormentor; and having opened his Eyes, drives him into so sincere a Repentance, that he is ready to sa­crifice his Life to the regret he has for his Crime.

As for the other way of Teaching Morality, it de­pends much on the ingeniousness of the Poet, when he strengthens his Theatral Action with divers pithy and bold Truths, which being imperceptibly work'd into his Play, are as it were the nerves and strength of it. For, in a word, that which I condemn in [Page 37] common Didacticks, is their stile and manner of ex­pression, not the things themselves, since those great Truths which are as it were the foundation of the conduct of humane actions, I am so far from banish­ing them off the Stage, that quite contrary, I think them very necessary and ornamental, which to attain, I give these following Observations.

First, These general Maxims must be so fastened to the Subject, and link'd by many circumstances with the Persons acting, that the Actor may seem to think more of that concern of his, he is about, than of say­ing fine things, that is, to speak in terms of Rhetorick, he must reduce the Thesis to the Hypothesis, and of universal Propositions, make particular Applications; for by this means the Poet avoids the suspicion of aiming to Instruct pedantickly, since his Actors do not leave their business which they are about. For Example, I would not have an Actor spend many words to prove that,

Vertue is always persecuted; but he may say to the Party concern'd,

Do you think to have better measure than Vertue has always had? and can you expect to be priviledg'd from Persecution more than Socrates or Cato?

And so continue a little speaking still to the Party present, and upon the Subject in hand, by which means these Discourses seem a little to keep off from being too general Precepts, and so disgust the less.

Secondly, In all these occasions the Poet must use figurative Speech, either by Interrogation, Irony, or others that his fancy shall suggest; for these Figures, by not circumstancing minutely the general Propo­sitions, make them more florid, and so by ornaments free them from the Didactick Character. As for Ex­ample, [Page 38] if there be a design of advising a young Wo­man to obey her Parents; instead of Preaching down­right obedience to her, I think an Irony would do better▪ As thus;

That's a fine way indeed, for a vertuous young Lady to attain the reputation of a good Daughter, to be car­ryed away by her own passions, and neglect not only the censure of the best sort of People, but break through all the fences of duty and honour.

My third Observation is, That when any of these great Maxims are to be propos'd bluntly and in plain words, it be done in as few as may be; by that means they do not cool the Stage, but add something to the variety of it; but there must be care taken that this do not happen in the midst of a violent passion; for besides that in those cases men do not naturally speak sentences, the Actour cannot then appear with that moderation which those reflections require. Seneca is very guilty of this fault in all his tragedies where most commonly in the heat of passion all his fine Common places are bestowed up­on the Audience.

We have nevertheless some Examples of Didactick, Propositions made in direct terms, and at length not without some success in Corneille, which to attain as well as he, requires the same Ingenuity and Art▪ The Expressions must be strong, and seem to have been said only for that particular Subject to which they are applyed, and that requires a particular genius, and much study to accomplish.

I have observ'd besides, that common Truths, though in a Didactick stile, yet do very well upon the Stage in the mouth of a Rogue or a Cheat▪ when his Character is known; for the Spectator is de­lighted [Page 39] to see him cunningly use all the Maxims and Discourses of a good man to intents and purposes quite contrary, so that by that means 'tis all figu­rative, and moves the Attention of the Audience.

One may likewise successfully enough burlesk all these common Truths, but that can be perform'd no where but in Comedy, where by that means they forsake their natural state, and are disguiz'd under a new appearance, which causes both variety and or­nament. But Tragedy in its own nature is too grave to admit of any thing so low and buffoon as this would be; neither do I remember to have met with any thing of that kind in any serious Tragedy; I say serious Tragedy, because that in Satyrical Tra­gedy there was admitted a mixture of Heroick Actions, and low Buffooneries; and therefore this disguizing of serious Precepts might have room a­mong the rest in them.

Chapter the Sixth.
Of Pathetick Discourses; or of the Passions and Motions of the Mind.

I Do not undertake in this Chapter to teach the Nature of Passions, nor their different Spe­cies, nor their extraordinary Effects; all Moral Authors do that sufficiently. I do not think neither that it is necessary to shew here the Art of using them in order to persuade, after all that Aristotle has said upon that Subject in his second Book of Rhetorick; so that I will avoid all Repetitions of that nature, [Page 40] and not so much as touch upon any thing that is con­tain'd in his Poeticks, or his Interpreters Commen­taries, where may be seen which are the Passions fittest for the Stage, and how they are to be manag'd. Monsieur de la Menardiere had made two Chapters in his Poeticks on this Subject, so learned and so pro­per, that they alone would silence me, if I offer'd at this matter, they being able to satisfie the most cu­rious in that Subject.

I consider therefore here the Passions, as they are plac'd in Discourse, and thereupon I bring my Ob­servations towards employing of them with conduct upon the Stage. In a word, I only intend to shew with what Art a Pathetick or Moving Discourse ought to be regulated so as to make it agreeable to the Spectators, by the impression it is to make on them.

First then, The Cause which is to produce a Mo­tion in the Actors themselves, and then in the Au­dience, ought to be something true, or believ'd to be so, not only by the Actor who speaks (who would be ridiculous to make a great Discourse of Grief or Joy for a thing he should know to be false) but also by the Spectators, who probably would not be con­cern'd if they knew that the Subject he had to com­plain or rejoyce were fictitious; and if it so fall out, that by the rest of the Story, the Spectator must know a thing contrary to the belief of the Actor: As for Example, that a Princess is alive, though a Lover believe her dead: I say, if in that case one would have the Passion take with the Audience, there must not be a long Complaint mingled with Sentiments of kindness and grief; but the Actor must be present­ly transported into Rage, that the Spectators may [Page 41] be touched by his violent despair, and feel a great deal of compassion, if in that Errour he happens to kill himself, as we see it falls out in Pyramus and Thisbe in both kinds; for the long Discourse he makes upon the suspicion he is in, that a Lion has kill'd his Mistress, does not much affect the Audi­ence; but when he draws his Sword to sacrifice his Life to the Manes of his dead Mistress, and so expiate his negligence in his own blood, there is hardly one of the Audience that does not shake with horrour; and upon this occasion I remember I saw a young Lady, who had never been at a Play before, cry out to her Mother, that Pyramus ought to be told that his Mistress was not dead, which made me make this Judgment, that the Poet ought not to have de­ferr'd so long bringing his Actor to the moving part; three or four Lines had been enough to have ex­plain'd his belief of her death, and then all the rest ought to have been pronounc'd, his Sword drawn, and in the nearest disposition to death, which would certainly have produc'd immediate horrour and compassion in the Audience.

Not but that it happens often that the Actor may lament or rejoyce at something he thinks true, while the Audience nevertheless must know that it is false. As for Example, if the Story requires that in the Per­son of that Actor there be feigned a Passion, of which the Cause is false, with a design to have it believ'd true by another, and by that means discover some secret; 'tis good that the Spectators should be in­form'd that he who feigns the Passion has no true Subject for it, because then they have the pleasure of the Contrivance, to see the Disguise well acted; but he that is deceiv'd, ought not to make any long [Page 42] Pathetick Discourses, because that would not move the Spectators. It will suffice that in few words he shew the impression the fiction has made upon him, and what Event may be from thence expected. In a word, in all such cases the Poet is to examine which of the two will best please the Audience to see a cir­cumventing design well Executed, or to be concern'd for the Complaint made by an innocent, unwary per­son; for if they are pleas'd in the Cheat, they must be inform'd of it, if in the Complaint, the falseness of the Grief must be conceal'd from him, that they may believe as well as the Party grieved, that he has reason to be afflicted.

Secondly, 'Tis not enough that the Cause of some extraordinary Motion of the Mind be true, but it must also (to be agreeably represented upon the Stage) be reasonable and probable, according to the receiv'd Opinions of Mankind; for if any Actor should fly into a passion of Anger, without reason, he would be look'd upon as a Mad-man, instead of being pitied; not but that there are some passions whose Subject is false, which nevertheless are very agreeable, though they are not reasonable in their grounds, for Example Jealousie; but the nature of this passion is to be without any foundation in truth or reason, for else it would not be Jealousie, but a just Indignation which would inspire the Spectators with hatred against the Woman, and compassion for the Husband; whereas quite contrary, we have naturally aversion for a jea­lous Man, and compassion for a poor Woman inno­cently persecuted by him. The same may be said of Covetousness, which will still be so much the more diverting, if the cares and fears in keeping of a Trea­sure, with distrust of all sorts of People, be without [Page 23] grounds; or rather, we may say that the Discourses which are made to express these passions, do not so much please the Spectator, by making him concern'd for those that speak, as they do it by giving him a sort of compassion mingled with Sentiments of scorn and derision for the misery and folly of those that are tyranniz'd over by them; at least those are the thoughts which I had in reading the second Co­medy of Plautus, called Aulularia.

Thirdly, To make a Complaint that shall touch and concern the Audience, the cause of it must be just, for else no body will enter into the Sentiments of the grieved Person. For Example, if an Actor should express great affliction for not having been able to Execute a Conspiracy against a good Prince, or some great piece of Treachery against his Country, he would be look'd upon as a wicked, and not an unhappy Person, and all that he could say would but encrease the Peoples aversion to him.

Besides all these Considerations, if the Pathetick Discourse be not necessary, that is to say, expected and desired by the Spectators, it will be very nauseous to them, let the Poets Art be what it will. That a Husband should be griev'd for the loss of his Wife, is so natural, that we need not be brought to the Stage to see Examples of it; but that Herode should first condemn his Wife in a transport of Rage, in spight of all the tender thoughts inspir'd by his love; it excites our curiosity to know what his thoughts are after such an Action. That Masinissa, forced by the Romans, should send his Wife Poison, though pas­sionately in love with her, and she die of it, one can­not but desire to know what that unfortunate Prince can say or do after so desperate an Adventure. But [Page 44] that for Example. The Wife of Alexander, Son to Mariamne, should come and make great lamenta­tions upon the Body of her Husband, whom Herode had put to death without any other motive, that be­cause she was his Wife, that was very superfluous, and did not prove very agreeable to the Audience, who knew well enough that she had reason to grieve, but not upon the Stage, the Spectators knowing al­ready all that she could say upon that Subject; and from thence we must likewise infer, that all Con­fidents and Attendants of Princes, though they are very necessary Persons upon the Stage, for the union of all the Intrigues, yet they cannot be suppos'd to carry their lamentations and reflections on their Masters misfortunes very far, because every body knows that they are things of course in true Friends, and faithful Servants, and so not extraordinary enough for the Stage.

The same thing may be said of the chief Actors, when their Interests are not grounded upon sensible Motives. For Example; If a Rival having sought his Mistress only for her Fortune, and not out of any Inclination from his heart, should complain of ha­ving lost her, it would produce no Effect in the Minds of the Audience, his lamentations having no ground in nature or reason.

But one of the chiefest Observations of all is this, That all passions that are not founded upon Opi­nions and Customs conformable to those of the Spectators, are sure to be cold, and of no effect, be­cause they being already possessed with an Opinion contrary to the Action of the Player, cannot approve of any thing he says or does in another sense. For Example; The grief of one who had undertaken to kill [Page 45] a Tyrant, and fail'd in his design, would not move us in France, so much as it would have done the People at Athens, because we living in a Monarchy, look upon the Persons of Kings as Sacred, be they never so unjust; whereas the Athenians, bred up in a popular State, hated all Monarchs, and could not endure the name of them.

Thus, for the same reason, those Pathetick Dis­courses, which we read in the Greek and Latine Comedys, will never take with us, as they did upon the Stages of the Antients, because we have but little Conformity to the Rules of their Lives, in many things more abominably licentious than ours; and in others, their Customs were so various; as that which was a Jest and a Concern to them, can be none to us, who have not so much as the same things, to wit, the Cheats of their Slaves, nor the Hunger of their Parasites; which made Rotron, one of our Poets, miscarry in a Play of Plautus's, where his Parasite talks of nothing but eating, and is so horrible a Glutton, that we could not bear him, having no such People amongst us; all our De­bauche lying rather in drinking than eating; and in that too we mingle Songs and Catches.

'Tis for this reason too I imagine that Tragedys taken out of the Stories of Scripture, are not so agreeable, for all the Pathetick Motions are founded upon Vertues that have not much Conformity with the Rules of our Life, to which may be added, that be­ing scarce pious enough to suffer Devotion in the Chur­ches themselves, it cannot be expected we should love it upon the Stage; and none do but those who are touch'd with a true Christian Piety, and they are in­finitely pleas'd at such Representations.

[Page 46] Having thus observ'd what concerns the Cause and Motive of Theatral Passions, I have likewise made some Reflections upon the manner of managing of them in a Pathetick Discourse.

The first Observation is, That it is not enough to raise a passion upon a good Incident, and to begin with strong Lines, but it must be carry'd to the point of its fulness. 'Tis not enough to have shaken the Minds of the Audience, you must ravish them; and to do it, you must seek matter, either in the greatness of your Subject, or in the different Mo­tives and Colours which environ it; but particularly in the strength and richness of your own Imagination, which ought to be warm'd, and elevated, and as it were, be in labour to bring forth something worthy of admiration. In this particularly Monsieur Cor­neille does excel, for he has a most discerning Judg­ment to distinguish between rich passions, and the common ones, and then he drives them to their just period, with the greatest felicity imaginable, but which cannot be but the Effect of strong and lasting Meditations. The difficulty here lies in the exactness of measure; for as you are not to starve your Hearers appetite, so you must have as great a care not to cloy him; you must give him the height of satisfaction, without over-powering him with satiety. He that in this case will do more than he can, does often less than he should.

This is a fault observ'd not only in Lucan's Phar­salia, but in most of Seneca's Tragedys, and particu­larly in his Hercules Oeteus, where the Author has given up himself to the fecundity of his own wit, not considering that the excess of it might sometimes be insupportable; and yet I could wish our Poets rather [Page 47] guilty of this noble fault, than of that mean one of sterility: For we have seen often upon our Stages, passions begun and forsaken half way, or at least pursued with so little Art and warmth, that they had been less defectuous if they had stop'd in the be­ginning of their career. To give this measure ex­actly, is impossible; the Poet must examine what his Subject, the force of his Discourse, and the beau­ty of the Passion will afford; let him consult his Friends, and use all his Judgment in so nice a point.

But he must be very careful not to spend all the strength of a passion at first; he must reserve some thoughts for the continuation of it; for the same passion continued and held up by divers Incidents, with a change of appearances, must certainly be much more agreeable than a new passion in every Scene; and 'tis in that Monsieur Corneille is admirable in the Cid, for being to shew the state of a generous Mind distracted by the Sentiments of Honour, and the tendernesses of a violent Love, he produces the Monuments of these passions by degrees, keeping still, till the end many of his noblest Thoughts and Expressions, which if he had not been very judicious, he might have us'd at first; he has done the same thing in Horatius, and most of his Plays. 'Tis true, that to imitate him requires a great deal of felicity and conduct; but whosoever shall carefully study the Antient Drammaticks, and apply himself to a diligent understanding of the Morals of Life, will always be rich enough to answer these Intellectual Expences.

Secondly, To guide these Pathetick Motions to the point of their true Extent, it must be done with order, and by following the Motions of Nature, with a regard to the quality of the things that are said. [Page 48] The order of Nature is very different, for sometimes the Mind breaks out into violent Transports, which not being able to hold, it returns to some Modera­tion, or rather some Relaxation of its own Excess, the passion remaining still very sensible at other times, the Soul moves slowly, and agitating it self by degrees, arrives to the highest Transport, even to sounding away. Now to regulate a Pathetick Dis­course upon these different orders, there is no Ad­vice can be given, the Poets prudence must guide him according to the Characters of the persons, and the present state of the Stage.

Yet he must always remember that Pathetick Discourses are not to end just as they begin; but af­ter the greatest violence he may bring the passion to some moderation, so far as to doubt and debate; and as those who understand suiting of Colours, never place two Extremes together, because that would be too harsh. One must not likewise in the passions of the Stage fall from one extremity to another; nor of a sudden calm into some great agitation, without some precedent reason to arrive at that Tranquillity. Yet it may happen that even in those Extremes some very ornamental passage may be plac'd, but great circumspection is requisite. As to the order of the nature of the things that are to be said, the Mind is not to be hurried from one Motion to another, without connexion or dependance upon what has been said; nor is it to leap from one consideration to ano­ther, and then back again to the first; the Subject of which the Actor is to speak, ought to be care­fully considered; the place, time, and other particu­lars, which may contribute to the passion, and then of all that make up the most judicious and moving [Page 49] discourse that may be: For Example, if an Actour is to make imprecations against any one, he ought to observe the order in which they naturally may happen, for it would be absurd to see him wish to his Enemy at last a curse which would be but the consequent of his first imprecation.

To order must be added Figures, I mean those great Figures which express the things themselves, not those little boyish ones which play in words, such as Antitheses, which always spoil a pathetick discourse because they seem affected and Scholar like, shew­ing rather a quiet then a troubled mind.

The Figures too ought to be very various, and not staid too long upon, because a mind that is in agitation cannot talk long the same way; the Figures of ten­derness and grief ought to be mingled with those of fury and rage: a man is to complain and sigh, and not to roar or scold, and he is seldom to break out into the highest violence, but when there is enough to make him rave, for that agitation of the mind has no limits and goes much further, then the motions of grief, anger or despair.

To all this may be objected, that a pathetick dis­course thus managed and governed by rules cannot fail of appearing affected, and shew the very art it is made by not representing naturally by consequent the state of the humane mind, which acts according to its Idea's and motives without any rule but confusion and disorder. To Answer this we must say, that this dis­order in the words of a man is a fault which weak­ens even the impression which else his passion would make, and therefore ought to be reform'd upon the Stage, which suffers nothing imperfect; but in doing of it there ought to be a mixture of the greatest [Page 50] figures, that still the Image of the Motions of a troubled Mind may remain. Thus by an orderly Method one reforms the defect of Nature in her Transports, and by a sensible variety of figures, one keeps some resemblance of the disorder of Nature. This is all that I can say, that is any ways singular upon so common a Subject.

Chapter the Seventh.
Of the Figures.

ALL those ingenious Varieties of Speech which the Learned have invented, whereby to ex­press their thoughts in a nobler way than the vulgar, and which are call'd Figures of Rhetorick, are with­out doubt the most notable ornaments of Discourse; for by them every thing appears to a greater advan­tage: 'Tis they that give the grace to Narrations, probability to all other reasonings, and strength to the passions, and without them all our Discourses are low, mean, and popular, disagreeable, and without effect. Therefore the best Advice one can give to a Poet, is, that he should be perfect in the knowledg of the Figures, by studying carefully what the Profes­sors of Rhetorick have writ on that Subject, and which we shall not here repeat: Yet let him remem­ber, that 'tis not enough to read and know their names and distinctions, but let him diligently exa­mine their Energy, and what Effect they are like to produce upon the Stage: Neither ought that to suf­fice without knowing, and that particularly, how to [Page 51] apply them, and vary them, to produce the Effect we have observ'd in the precedent Chapter; he must know when to use the impetuous ones, and when to employ the milder, such as Ironies, according to the diversity of his Subject, and the Effect he desires they should produce. For Example; If it be necessary that an Actor should leave the Stage in a great rage, then he must be mov'd by degrees, beginning by the softer Figures, and at last be raised to the highest Transports a Soul is capable of; but if on the con­trary an Actor is to grow calm before he goes off, then 'tis best beginning with violent Figures, and such as most express the impetuosity of a disturb'd Mind, till by little and little he becomes more moderate, and gives room to use gentler Expressions. To make our Poet expert in this, he ought, besides reading of the Antients, to frequent the Stage much; for there, much better than in Books, he may observe good or ill Figures, and when they are well or ill plac'd, and to help him a little, I will communicate those Ob­servations I my self have made.

First, He will discover that which I have said elsewhere, which is, that nothing is to be expressed without Figures upon the Stage: And if the simplest Shepherds are clothed in Silk, and wear Silver Sheep­hooks, every thing they say ought likewise to be adorn'd, and have its grace, even so much, that those very things which seem least capable of that Imbel­lishment, must be order'd with so much imperceptible Art, that no Figures appear, and yet be there secretly and nicely applyed; for if Poetry is the Kingdom of Figures, the Stage is its Throne, from whence it con­veys by appearances well managed by him that speaks, Sentiments into the Soul of the hearers, which are not really in his.

[Page 52] But let him observe likewise, that as there is great difference between Tragedy and Comedy, they have also their different Figures. Tragedy, as it is always serious and great, employs none but noble Figures, which draw their force from the Sentiments of the Stage, and when we mingle Allusions, or Antitheses, or Equivocal, Proverbial ways of speaking, it degene­rates immediately, and loses all its Majesty. 'Tis quite otherwise with Comedy, which having none but vulgar Sentiments, it rejects not Proverbs, nor any thing that may contribute to make a Jest, that being its Character, and the best part of its Ornaments; nay, 'tis hard Comedy should rise without a fall, for no sooner does it aim at solid Discourses, or Figures fit for Tragedy, but we laugh it out of doors, as we would do a Chambermaid that should talk nothing but Romance; therefore 'tis hard that the Figures for one of these Poems should be aptly used in the other without great wariness, and that Plautus has done in some of his Plays with success.

Besides, among those Figures which are great and serious, the Poet may observe some to be fitter for the Stage than others. For Example, Apostrophes, which I have always observ'd to do very well; for they suppose either a true person who is absent to be present, or some feigned person which is but in the Idaea of Fiction, such as Vertue, ones Country; and thereupon the Actor talks to them as present, which is extremely Theatral, because it makes two persons where there is but one; and though the deceit is vi­sible enough, yet being an effect of the passion of the Actor, it carrys along with it the Imagination of the Audience, and that particularly when he that speaks is alone; for then there can be no mistake in [Page 53] the Mind of the Spectators; for 'tis plain, that the person to whom the Actor speaks, is a Fiction of his own brain, his Discourse not being applicable to any other. Monsieur Corneille uses this Figure frequently, and Stiblinus esteems extremely the complaints of Hecuba in the Troades of Euripides, by reason of this Figure, which is there frequently and beautifully made use of. But in the practice of this there are two faults to be avoided; the first is not to have it too often, for then, besides the want of variety, which argues want of Invention to please; it grows like­wise troublesom, by making too many imaginary persons, and in this kind one of our Authors was faulty, who in the same Play, and that a piece of no great length made an Actor speak at least a dozen times to Heaven. The other fault to be avoided is, that an Actor speaking to a King, a Father, a Judge, or some person to whom respect is due, ought not to fall into a long Apostrophe to an Imaginary person, be­cause it is against the Rules of decency, that a man should leave addressing to a person of Authority, to talk to a thing absent, or a Chymera of his own brain; not but that if it were extreme short, and the Dis­course presently continued to the person present, it might very well pass; as in this Example.

O Nature! who knowest how true I have always been to thy Sentiments, speak here in my defence.

And then continuing and addressing to his Father, say,

'Tis she, O my Father, that must justifie what I have done, &c.

By this slight the Figure brings force and variety to the Discourse, and yet does nothing against the Laws of Respect, so small a Transport being very [Page 54] allowable to a man passionate and innocent, and the quick return brings all things in order again.

Prosopopaea's quite contrary are very unlucky upon the Stage; for though, as well as Apostrophes, that Figure supposes persons that are not, and makes dumb things speak, yet it generally creates confusion, be­cause the Actor already represents a person that is not, and this person represented makes another feign'd person speak by his mouth, which makes a double Fiction, and much obscurity; for very few of the Audience are either able, or attentive enough to ob­serve the Actors passing from his own Discourse, to that of the suppos'd person in this Figure, the least noise, or other diversion at that time being enough to make them lose the Chain, and so confound the Dis­courses attributed to the feign'd person by Prosopopaea, with those that the Actor makes in his own person.

I dare affirm besides, that to the people the beauty of this Figure is not sensible upon the Stage, but ra­ther troublesom, because of their want of skill and application to distinguish things. For Example; They see an Actor who acts the King, and are possest that all that he says is the Discourse of the King he repre­sents; so that if he comes to make a Prosopopaea, by supposing that either Vertue, or Love, or such like things speak to him, they are mightily puzzled; for, though they have sense enough to know that this speech of Love or Vertue does not properly belong to the King, yet they penetrate not the Mystery of that double Fiction of a King represented, and speak­ing by the mouth of an Actor, and of Vertue likewise speaking by the mouth of the same King; therefore this Figure is to be avoided, and cannot well be brought upon the Stage, or if it is sometimes, it must [Page 55] be in Narrations, and then it must be very short, or in Soliloques, otherwise called Monologues, where the Poet must use much Industry to shew what the thing is he feigns, and makes speak in the Prosopopaea, that so there may be no obscurity nor room for mistake, neither is he to judge of the use of this Figure by its being employed in Epick Poems and Orations; for they being generally design'd to be read at leisure, it is easie upon any obscurity to look back and disco­ver where the difficulty lyes; but in the Stage where the best part of the Audience is made up of the un­learned, and where the thing passes in Discourse of a sudden without repeal, there is no remedy for those who are once fallen into obscurity, but to remain in it; and in Orations, the obscurity cannot be so great, because there the person that speaks makes no double Fiction, and so is easily understood.

Irony is a Drammatick Figure, and of its own na­ture very Theatral; for by saying in jest or scorn the contrary of that which it really means, it carrys a kind of disguise, and makes an agreeable Effect.

Exclamations are extreme proper for the Stage, as being the marks of a Mind much mov'd with passion.

Hyperbole is of the same rank, because the words there carrying ones Imagination further than their natural sense, it is fittest for the Stage where all things are to be magnified, as if it were continual In­chantment and Illusion.

Interrogation, which Scaliger says is only a Figure by use, and not of its own nature, is likewise the mark of an agitated Mind, and by consequent Thea­tral.

And amongst them all, certainly Imprecation will be judg'd Theatral, as being the Effect of a violent [Page 56] Transport, and its Discourse ought to be impetuous, with bold expressions, and words full of Extremes.

This I think may suffice for our Poet, without making an unnecessary repetition of what the Rheto­ricians may have taught him, and which he may read with great profit in Scaliger's Poeticks.

Chapter the Eighth.
Of Monologues, or Discourses made by a single Person.

THough I have not met with the word Mono­logue amongst Antient Authors, who have treated of the Stage; and that Scaliger himself, who has not forgot any curiosity upon this Subject, has nothing of it; I shall not nevertheless forbear to say something of it according to the meaning of our Mo­dern Poets.

To being therefore by a necessary Observation we must not confound the Monodia of the Antients with that which we call now Monologue; for though the first is some piece of Poetry, sung or recited by one man alone, yet custom has fixt its signification to those Funeral Songs which were sung by one of the Quire, in honour of the Dead; and 'tis thought that the Musician Olympus was the first that us'd it, in memory and favour of Python, as Aristoxenes af­firms; which makes me wonder at one of our Mo­dern Authors, who says, that the Monodia was a Poem compos'd under the name of one person, such as the Cassandra of Lycophron.

Besides, there are among the Learned some who [Page 57] will not receive the Greek word for a Discourse made by one man by himself, but say it means a Discourse in every thing one and like its self without variety.

For my part I believe that in our time we have call'd Monologues that which the Antients call'd the Discourse of a single person Monoprosωpon, as many Eclogues both Greek and Latine, and many Discour­ses of the Chorus's in Plays, which Stiblinus calls Monodias, as the Discourse of Electra alone in Euri­pides, and another of the same in Sophocles, though she speaks in the presence of the Quire.

I confess that it is sometimes very pleasant to see a man upon the Stage lay open his heart, and speak boldly of his most secret thoughts, explain his de­signs, and give a vent to all that his passion suggests; but without doubt it is very hard to make an Actor do it with probability.

The Antients could not bring in these Monologues, because of the Chorus, which never, or very seldom left the Stage; and except that Monologue which Ajax in Sophocles makes at the corner of a Wood up­on the point of killing himself while the Chorus was gone out to look for him; I do not believe there is any other in the Five and thirty Greek Tragedies which are left. I know very well that in many Scenes there is but one Actor nam'd; but if we observe nar­rowly, we shall always find that he is not alone up­on the Stage, and that his Discourse is directed to some that follow him, though they are not set down at the beginning of the Scenes.

As for Prologues, they are indeed made by one single Actor, but not in the nature of Monologues; 'tis a thing by it self, which indeed among the Antients was one part of the Drammatick Poem, but not of [Page 58] the Theatral Action; 'tis a Discourse made to the Spectators, to instruct them of the Story which be­gun amongst the Antients as soon as the Chorus came on.

The two Latine Comick Poets have many Mono­logues in all their Plays, some of them are brought in properly and according to reason, others not. I shall not here make any Criticism upon them, but give my Opinion what Rules are to be observ'd to make a Monologue with probability.

First of all, an Actor must never make a Monologue, while he addresses himself to the Audience, with a design to inform them of something they are to know; but there must be found out something in the Truth of the Action that may be colourable to make him speak in that manner. Else 'Tis a fault in the Re­presentation, of which both Plautus and Terence are guilty.

Secondly, When he that thinks he speaks alone is over heard by chance, by some other he must then be reputed to speak softly, because it is not probable that a man by himself should speak so loud as Players must do to be heard by the Audience. I confess in­deed with Scaliger, that this is one of the faults of the Stage, which must be excus'd only by the neces­sity of Representation, it being impossible to repre­sent the thoughts of a man otherwise than by his words; but that which makes this fault the more ap­parent, is, when another Actor hears all that that man says, who speaks alone; and though it may hap­pen that a man may speak aloud of that which he ought only to think, and which he intends only to say to himself, yet that being a gross Imprudence, ought not to be represented upon the Stage.

[Page 59] Therefore in these Cases one must either find out a probable reason to make the Actor speak aloud, which is very hard to do, or else the Poet ought to use such Art in the Composition of the Monologue, as that the Actor should sometimes raise his voice in saying certain words only, and speak with a low voice in others, that so the Actor who is within hear­ing might be suppos'd to hear some spoke with pas­sion, and not the others, as being spoke softly, and in the mean time the other Actor upon what he does hear might make some Exclamations, and seem con­cern'd that he could not hear the rest. Nay, when the Actor, who should speak the Monologue, should speak softly, then the other Actor should observe all his Actions, as of a man much taken up with his own thoughts, and in a deep study; and it may be this way the probability of the Stage might be preserv'd with some addition of ornament to the Scene in hand; but to execute this well, one must not meet with proud, impertinent Players, who taking no Advice but from their own Ignorance and presumption, think they perform all things admirably well; for a Scene of this nature would hardly succeed, except as docile Actors as those of the new Company of the Marest were wont to be, undertook it.

The third Observation about Monologues, is to make them so, as not to chock the probability of the circumstances of time & place: For Example; It would be absurd to put a Monologue in the mouth of a Ge­neral of an Army, who should be in the middle of a Town just storm'd by his Army. There would be likewise little probability if a Lover should hear of some great danger his Mistress were in, and instead of running to her relief, should stand still and make [Page 60] a long complaint against the Stars, he would be as little forgiven in the Representation, as in the Reality; so that in a word, all that can be done, is still to keep to the Rules of probability and decency as the only Guide of the Stage.

Chapter the Ninth.
Of a Partes, or Discourses made to ones self in the presence of others.

IT often happens upon the Stage, that one Party speaks in the presence of another who hears and sees him, and that nevertheless his words represent some thought known to no body but himself.

There are very few of those to be met with in the Greek Poets, and except a Verse or two that the Chorus speaks after some long Discourse of an Actor; or when a new Actor comes upon the Stage, I do not know of any other Example, and this may serve to give us a hint how cautious we are to be in observing the probability of the Stage, since in a matter of for­ty Poems they have so rarely taken the liberty of re­presenting a man's secret thoughts by words spoke aloud.

The Romans have taken much more licence in this kind; Terence not quite so much as Plautus, who makes a partes very frequently, and often intollerably ab­surd. Seneca the Tragedian is not more regular in this, than in any other of the Rules of the Stage; for in his Agamemnon, Clytemnestra makes an a parte of seventeen Verses. Our Moderns, who have imita­ted [Page 61] the Antients much more in their faults, than in their Excellencies, make likewise such absurd a par­tes, that the most gross among the common people can hardly bear them.

I know that those a partes do sometimes make very good sport upon the Stage, and 'tis often neces­sary to introduce them to make known to the Spe­ctators some secret thought of some Actor, without which they would be in the dark: As for Example; When an Actor dissembles, but at the same time it seems a little hard to conceive (though Scaliger by a great Indulgence for the Stage allows it) that an Actor shall speak loud enough to be heard by the Audience, and yet not be over-heard by another Actor who stands by him; and that which is worse is, that to feign he does not hear him, he is forc'd to make twenty ridiculous Grimaces. Let us see therefore if by Art we can any ways render these a partes, if not entirely probable, at least supportable to the Stage.

In order to this I divide them into three sorts; the first, when two Actors, each of them at one corner of the Stage speak as it were to themselves of their own concerns, making as if they did neither see nor hear one another.

The second sort is, when one Actor speaks, sup­posing the other Actor whom he sees and hears, not to see nor hear him.

The third sort is, when both Actors hearing and seeing one another, one of them for some sudden consideration, speaks as if he were not heard by the other.

Now, to order it so in all these occasions, that the Spectators Judgment shall not be chock'd by any im­probability, [Page 62] I have bethought my self what might be done.

First then, an a parte ought to be very short, and contain very few words; particularly, when in all the rest of the Action both Actors see and hear one another; and indeed about half a score, or a dozen words, or one Verse, are the measure of a just a parte; the best of all is an a parte of one word, be­cause even in the nature of things, one word may slip from us, and not be over-heard by him that speaks to us: But long a partes, such as Plautus makes, are unexcusable, because they put the other Actor quite out of countenance, and make him, that he knows not at last what posture to be in, to make the Audi­ence believe he does not hear the other, who speaks aloud so long, and so near him.

Besides, one must take ones time very well to make an a parte. An Actor who is serious in talk­ing, not being lightly to be interrupted by another, without some probable colour for his stopping in the middle of a Discourse, which must give the other who is to make the a parte, an opportunity to make it handsomly; and if he that is speaking does as it were interrupt himself, by saying something soft­ly, which ought not to be over-heard, he that hearkens must wonder at his ceasing to speak, and either know or think he ghesses the true reason of it, for else it would be unnatural that a man should speak and be silent by fits, and they that stand by, neither be surpriz'd at it, nor ghess at the cause. The Poet therefore must take either the time of an Ex­clamation, or some such other Figure, whereby an Actor may be suppos'd to be in a condition not to speak for some moments, nor to hearken to what [Page 63] another says, and at that time a few words, or half a Verse may be put in another Actors mouth, to make a reasonable a parte. If it happens so that the time in which one Actor makes his a parte, is sen­sible to the other, he must say some word that marks his astonishment of the others distractfulness, either feigning that he did not hear him well, or mistook him, or so. We have an Example of this in Plautus's Mostellaria, where Tranion having made an a parte, Theuropides asks him what it is he mumbles to himself, which shews the Slave to have spoke softly. The same Poet does the like in his Au­lularia, ☞ p. 337. where Staphila having said aside, that she had rather be hang'd than serve any longer such a co­vetous, mad Fellow as Euclio: Euclio answers, See how this Jade murmurs something to her self.

When two Actors see not one another, and each of them make an a parte, one of them must still be suppos'd to be sometimes silent. For Example; If a Lover be to make a complaint in some solitary place, where another Lady comes to look something she has lost, I think the Lover ought to be in some great Extacy of grief to give the Lady time to speak, and then the Lady ought to be employ'd in looking what she came for, to give the Lover time to continue his complaint, and then these a partes may be longer than the ordinary ones.

There are some occasions where they may be yet longer; as if one of the Actors does not see the other, and is doing something which requires some time, he that sees him, without being seen, may make a Discourse that shall last as long as his Action. For Example; If a covetous man tell his money, the Thief that sees him may make an a parte, that shall [Page 64] last all that time; nay it is necessary there should be one then, there being no greater fault upon the Stage than to have it silent; and whatsoever is doing, some body or other must speak, and there is to be no cessation of that, but in the Intervals of the Acts; nay, if something falls out in the Play, that may seem naturally to strike them all dumb, yet one Actor ought to be kept on purpose to say something of their silence, lest the Action should cease in the middle of an Act or Scene.

From these general Observations, the Poet may easily govern himself so as to make a judicious a par­te; but if he desires more light upon this Subject, let him read Monsieur de la Menardiere, in his sixth Chapter of his Poeticks, where he makes many ju­dicious Remarks; only I cannot agree to two Ob­servations he makes; the first is, when he says that Poets might make more reasonable a partes, if it were written on one side of the Stage. For Example; This is the Louvre, and on the other side, This is the Palace Royal; for the Stage cannot comprehend two places so far distant from one another. I thought at my first reading him, that it was a raillery he made up­on our Modern Poets absurdities, but having after­wards observ'd that in the eighth Chapter he makes his Stage contain a whole City, I saw he was in ear­nest. The other thing in which we disagree is, that he cites Scaliger in the one and twentieth Book of his Poeticks, to shew that he condemns all a partes upon the Stage; for Scaliger in that place does not say one word of it; he describes in that Chapter the Theatre of the Antients, and having spoke of the Scene, which represented the Actors Houses, and of the Proscenion, or Forescene, where they appear'd; [Page 65] and of the Orchestra design'd for the Musick and Dancers, he reproaches the French Nation with so gross an Ignorance in his time, that they had not so much as a Painted Cloth or Hanging to hide those Things and Actors which were not to be seen: Nunc in Galliâ it a agunt fabu­las, ut omnia▪ in conspectu sint, universus appa­ratus dispositis sublimibus sedi­bus; Personae ipsae nunquam discedunt, qui silent pro absen­tibus habentur. At enim verò perridiculum ibi spectatorem videre te audi­re, & te videre, teipsum non au­dire quae alius coram te de te loquatur: quasi ibi non sis ubi es. Cùm tamen maxima Poetae vis sit suspende­re animos, atque eos facere semper expectantes. At hîc tibi novum fit nihil, ut pri­ùs satietas sub­repat, quàm ob­repat fames. Scal. l. 1. c. 21. Poet. And these are his Words.

In France, says he, they Act Plays so, that all things are expos'd to the Eyes of the Spectators; all the Decorations appear upon the Stage, the Actors ne­ver disappear; onely those that are silent, are repu­ted absent: But certainly it must be very ridiculous, that the Spectators should know that you hear and see, and yet you your self should not hear nor see what is said of you in your own presence, as if you were not where you are: Whereas the true Art of the Poet is to suspend the Attention of the Audience, and make them always expect some Novelty; but there, far from that, Satiety is upon one, before ones Appetite is rais'd.

Thus it is that Scaliger describes the old French Stage; which I have alledg'd elsewhere, to prove the difference between that and our Stage, as it is brought to Perfection at this time, and to what Splendour it might be brought, by following the Example of the Ancients. But Scaliger's Design, as it appears, was not here to speak of ill Apartes, as may appear to any who shall carefully read what he writes there of the Fabrick of the Ancient Theatres.

Chapter the Tenth.
Of the Acts.

WE call Act that Fifth part of a Drammatick Poem which is begun and ended with Mu­sick, and consists, in our Plays, of about Three hundred Verses, or thereabouts. The ancient Greek Poets knew not the Name, though they had the Thing; for their Episodes (which, according to Ari­stotle, were that which was contained between two Singings of the Chorus) was the same thing, and our Musick answers their Chorus. The Romans have had the Word, (as we from them) but not, I believe, al­ways; for at first it signified a whole Play, as the Word Dramma did among the Greeks: but, I believe, when Comedy came to lose its Choruses, and had nothing left but Dancing, Musick, and Buffooning, for Interludes, then the Poets bethought themselves to distinguish their Plays by Acts, for to take off the Confusion that must else have been in reading of them. And this, I think, hapned but late nei­ther; for we see nothing of it in those who were Contemporaries with Terence. Neve minor, n [...]ve sit quinto productior actu Fabula, quae pósci vult & spectata reponi. Horace is, I think, the first that has given us any Precepts about it, as well for the Distinction as Number; and 'tis won­derful that Athenaeus, who cites so many Greek Drammatick Poets, does not give us the least hint, from which we might conjecture, that this Distin­ction was known in his time. But since the Greeks have had the Thing, I will treat of it under the name of Acts, without examining in what time, or how it came by that Name.

[Page 67] First then, we must know, that Poets have gene­rally agreed, that all Drammas regularly should have neither more nor less than Five Acts: And the Proof of this is in the general Observation of it; but for the Reason, I do not know whether there be any founded in Nature. Rhetorick has this advantage over Poetry in the Parts of Oration, that the Exord, Narration, Confirmation, and Peroration, are founded upon a way of Discoursing natural to all Men; for every one always makes some little Preface, then passes to the thing he has to say, which he confirms by Reason, and, as he makes an end, endeavours to gain the Favour of those that hear him. But for the Five Acts of the Drammatick Poem, they have not been fram'd upon any such ground; only they owe their being to the many Observations of the Poets, who have studied to find out what would be most agree­able to their Spectators. First then, having per­ceived that it was not possible for their Spectators to have a continued Attention to the Reciting of Fifteen or Sixteen hundred Verses, without interruption, they used Choruses, whose Singing and Dancing eas'd the Impatience of the Spectators, and put them in good humour to hear the Remainder of the Dramma: and for the same reason they divided it into Five Parts, which hapned so well, that whether it be that that is a Proportion that just hits the Weak­ness of the Audience, or that by Custom we are made Friends to it, 'tis certain, that we do not na­turally like a Play that has more or less than Five Acts, which divide the Time of so many Hours as we can well spare to a Diversion, without making it a Toil. We see by experience, that the Italian Comedians, who fail in this, by making only Three [Page 68] Acts, according to their ill-received Custom, make the First Act so very long, that it is most impor­tunately tedious. I should therefore advise the Poet to make Five Acts, and each of them of about Three hundred Verses, or little more, having always ob­serv'd, that the Patience of the Audience seldom reaches beyond Sixteen hundred Verses; and every body knows, that two of the most Ingenious and Magnificent of our Plays have miscarried for having been too long: For 'tis an ordinary thing to see the Spectators applaud a Play of a good just Length, though with some Faults, rather than admire an exact accomplish'd one, that is too long. We can find Excuses for the Poet in any thing else; but Weariness and Satiety have that particular to them, that they make even the best things insupportable to us.

Let the Poet then seek among the Ancients the Observation of this Rule. The Greeks have both known and practised this Division of the Dramma­tick Poem, but not all alike. It is pretty apparent in Sophocles: Aeschylus had not attain'd in his time the exactness of the Rules; and as for Euripides, he always does so embarass himself with Prologues, that his Plays seem often to have Six Acts, and sometimes Seven. Besides, it seems that in some Plays the Chorus sings in the middle of an Act, and so interrupts the Sequel; which is confirm'd by Horace, who gives it for a Rule, That the Chorus should sing nothing in the middle of the Acts, that is not proper to the Subject. But this regards a Criticism not useful in our days, by which perhaps we might doubt of the Choruses singing in the middle of an Act: For either the Chorus did not [Page 69] sing, or the Verses are ill placed in our Impressions, as we can make appear by divers Plays of Aristo­phanes, and in the Bacchants of Euripides.

As for the Latin Tragedies, which we have under the Name of Seneca, I think our Poet may forbear imitating them in the Structure, as in all the rest, except in the Refinedness of the Thoughts? for to me nothing seems so ridiculous, and withal so te­dious, as to see one Man alone make an Act, without any Variety; and that a Ghost, a God, or some He­roe, shall make at the same time the Prologue, and, according to Euripides, an Act too.

It is not so easie to give Advice about Aristopha­nes's Comedies; for they have all of them a Pro­logue, after the way of the Greek Tragedy; but the Plays are not all alike: some of them are very re­gular, and others so full of confusion, that it is very hard to name the Acts distinctly; as in that called The Birds, where it is hard to say which is the first Singing of the Chorus, nor how many Acts there is, nor where the Second begins: And we see that the Interpreters have not marked the Acts in our Impres­sions, finding them too much out of order to be ea­sily methodiz'd. Though, I think, the greatest dif­ficulty has been, either out of the Licence of old or middle Comedy, or by the Corruption of the Co­pies, which Time partly dispersed, and the Ignorance of the Compilers and Printers has ill re-establish'd.

Plautus's Comedies have been liable to the same Misfortunes in many places, where there are whole Scenes lost, others added, and Acts confounded, as in the Mostellaria, of which the Scene which is rec­koned the Third of the First Act, ought to be the First of the Fourth: For after the Second Scene of [Page 70] the Third Act, the Stage is empty, and without Action, Theuropides and Tranion entring into Si­mon's House to visit him, and no other Actor re­mains upon the Stage; so that the Musick or the Mimes ought to have mark'd the Interval of an Act in this place: but the Scene which is counted for the Second of the Fourth Act, ought to be added to this, which is put for the First of the Third Act; for there is no distinction neither of Time nor Action between them, the Stage having still the same Per­sons present, and the same Discourses going on; and so these two together must make the First of the Fourth Act, since between that which is put for the last of the Third Act, and these two, there is no se­paration; for Theuropides is still upon the Stage, being neither gone off, nor come on again: so that the Interludes have no time wherein they may be inserted to distinguish the Acts.

As for Terence's Comedies, they may be a Model for a great many things, to those who have a mind to gain Reputation, and excel in this Art.

It has been ask'd sometimes, When one may say properly, that an Act is finished? And it has been answered by Donatus, Est igitur at­tente animad­vertendum, Ʋ ­bi, & quando Scena vacua sit ab omnibus personis ut in eâ Chorus vel tibi­cen audiri pos­sit, quod cum viderimus, ibi actum finitum esse debemus ag­noscere, &c. That it is when the Stage is empty, and without any Actor. But if it were so, we might object, That it would be in the power of the Players to shorten or lengthen any Act at their pleasure; for if they did but take away the Musick, they might appear one after another, without ever leaving the Stage empty: And besides, when the Scenes are broken, as they are frequently enough in our Plays, the Musick might play, since the Stage would be empty. Donat. in Andr. Terent. Therefore, I think, that the Act ends not when the Stage is without an Actor, but [Page 71] when it is without Action. And that which makes me say so, is, that I have observ'd, that among the Ancients the Chorus does both sing and dance, and the Musick play, though there be an Actor upon the Stage, which happens two ways; the one, when an Actor remains upon the Stage, but incapable of Action, as Hecuba in Euripides, who falls in a swoon between the First and Second Act; and the Amphy­trio of Plautus, surpriz'd by a Thunderbolt, between the Fourth and Fifth Act. The other Case is, when the Actor which appears at the end of an Act does mingle with the Chorus, as Electra in the Intervals of the Acts of the Orestes of Euripides; and other Actors in the second Iphigenia, and in the Bacchan­tes; this being common enough to Tragedy, Now in the first Case, the Actor which remain'd upon the Stage without Action, stopp'd the Course of the Theatral Action, and so finish'd the Act: And in the second Case, the Actor making part of the Cho­rus, gave easily to understand, that the Theatral Action was ceas'd, and by consequent the Act end­ed. Therefore I am not of Donatus's Opinion, when he writes, That the Reason which oblig'd Menander to take away the Chorus from Comedy, and likewise forc'd Poets to confound their Acts, so as no body could distinguish them, was, that the Spectators were grown so impatient, that they withdrew as soon as the Actors disappear'd from off the Stage, to make room for the Musick, which was to mark the Interval of the Acts. For, I think, he spoke as a Man not thorowly in­structed in the Matters of the Stage. For the Impa­tience of the Spectators must needs be greater, if their Attention had no ease; and still more, if the Acts were not broken, nor distinguish'd, as that [Page 72] must be, if the last Scene of an Act was immediate­ly rack'd to the first of the next; for then the The­atre being never without Actor or Action, you could not naturally part that, which was not separated by any Interval of Time. Besides, the Musick among the Ancients was very agreeable, and did not, as now a days, consist of two or three scurvy Violins, but was one of the greatest Diversions of their Co­medies; and the Masters of those Musical Compo­sitions had their Names graven in all Publick In­scriptions, with those of the Poet, and Chief Histrio or Player.

To which, if we add the other Interludes, of Mimes, Dances, and Buffooning, we may easily judge, that there was less reason to be impatient in the Intervals of the Acts, than in the Acts them­selves; particularly, if some scurvy Actor were to come on to spoil a Part, such as formerly was Pellio, who acted so ill in Plautus's Epidicus, that the Poet affronted him publickly the next day, when the Bacchides was represented.

Besides, we do not see any where but in Plautus, that the Acts are not well distinguish'd; (and in him too 'tis the fault of the Printers.) Neither do I think that his Plays were so little diverting, as to need such a scurvy Contrivance to fix the Spectators Attention; for his Plays have more Action, and are not so seri­ous as Terence's, and always succeeded better in the Representation, though Terence's pleas'd the Reader better, as having Passions better govern'd, more elegant Expressions, and modester Characters. But to come to Donatus; he shews himself that he was not very sure of what he writ, when he adds, That the Learned were not all agreed, that it was for this [Page 73] reason that Menander took away the Chorus from Comedy, and confounded the Acts. Besides, that which makes me think that he speaks as a man that did not very well understand the Stage, is what he says of Terences Eunuchus, That the Acts are there more con­founded, than in any other of his Plays, and that none but the Learned can distinguish them well. In which (says he) the Poet has made but one Act of all five, that the Spectator might scarce have the time to breathe, and to hinder him by the continuation of the Events from rising before the Scenes were taken away: For 'tis most certain, that this Comedy is one of those in which the Acts are best distinguish'd, though the Scenes are also best knit together; for at the end of every Act the Actors say precisely where they are going, and what they are going to do; and they that begin the next Act tell whence they come, and why they come on upon the Stage; so that there is not the least suspicion of that imaginary confusion, of which Donatus speaks. Nay, the Latines are generally so careful to make the distinction remarkable, that Plau­tus having made Pseudolus go out the last man in the first Act, and come in the first man in the second, because that is against the Rules, and that it might cause some confusion, he makes him say these words as he goes out; While I retire to my house there to call the great Council of all my Cheats, the Musick will divert you. And for this reason in the Heautontimo­rumenos of Terence, Menedemus, who makes an end of the fourth Act, and begins the fifth, says precisely, That he had been some time absent, that he had been in the remotest part of his house, where he had seen Cli­tipho shut himself up with Bacchide; so that there is no room to believe that confusion of Acts, as Donatus [Page 74] would have it, and indeed may say, that in most of the Latine Comicks, it is only by the ignorance of those who have marked the Acts, that there is any confusion, as in the Amphytrio of Plautus, where the fourth Act ought to begin by that Scene which is put for the last of the third Act; and in the Heautonti­morumenos of Terence, where the fourth Act should begin at the Scene cited for the second, that which is mark'd for the first belonging properly to the third Act, it is then much more reasonable to believe what we have said, which is, that the Actor in these occa­sions where he seems to continue an Act, did mingle with the Mimes, and other Interlude Actors, as in Tragedy with the Chorus, or that the Copys are cor­rupted, and Scenes lost; or at least some Verses which might have justified the Poets Art; as it has happened to Plautus in many places, of which I speak more at length in my Observations. But let us come now to the Instruction of the Poet about the division and structure of his Acts.

Having then chosen his Subject, he must remem­ber to take the Action he has a mind to represent in its last point, Perspecto ar­gumento, scire debemus hanc esse virtutem poeticam ut à novissimis ar­gumenti rebus incipiens, &c. Donat. in Te­rent. And. and he must believe, if he be not ve­ry sterile indeed, that the less matter he shall borrow, the more liberty he shall have for agreeable Inven­tion; therefore let him so strengthen himself, as in appearance not to have wherewithal to make above one Act; things pass'd will furnish him with matter to fill up the others, either by bringing the Events of the Story somewhat nearer, or by Recitals, or other ingenious Inventions. Thus Furipides in his Orestes opens his Stage with the very moment in which those that were guilty of Clitemnestra's death, were to be judg'd. One would think that there were [Page 75] not matter for one Act, and that the Catastrophe must presently follow; but he prepares all so dextrously by the coming of Menelaus, and Hermiones absenting her self from the Pallace, that this Tragedy is one of the most Noble and Excellent ones of all Antiqui­ty. Corneille does so in his Horatius; he begins his Story just after the Truce agreed upon by both Ar­mies, and the Gombat of the three against three re­solv'd upon for the decision of the Cause; then he furnishes his Stage with those passions which he draws from Sabina's Marriage.

After this, he must consider that which Aristotle says of Episodes; for the Drammatick Poem has three things differing from each other, which are the Constitution of the Fable or Story, the Composition of the Tragedy, which is properly, the disposing of the Acts and Scenes, and the versification or Poetry.

The constitution of the Fable is the Invention and Order of the Subject, whether from Story, or re­ceiv'd Fables, or the Imagination of the Poet. Ari­stotle, by the Constitution of the Fable, means only that part of the Story or Subject which compre­hends the Theatral Action, that is, which happens after the opening of the Stage, and is of Opinion, that all that is done before, is out of the Constitution of the Fable; and for this reason, speaking of proba­bility, he says, That it is lawful for the Poet to sup­pose something against probability, provided it be with­out the Fable, that is, in those things which are done before the opening of the Stage, and are to be made known afterwards by some Actor; and he brings for Example Sophocles in his Oedypus, in which he supposes in the part which happens before the over­ture of the Stage, that Oedypus did not know how [Page 76] King Laius died, which was not at all probable.

But for my part, I am of Opinion that the Constitu­tion of the Fable ought to comprehend the whole Story of the Stage; for that which happens before the opening, is as much of the Subject, as that which happens when the Stage is open; and I cannot con­sent that the Poet should suppose any Incidents against probability in those Adventures which precede the Action represented, because that they being a foun­dation for things which happen afterwards upon the Stage, it breaks all the Chain of Events, it being a­gainst all order that a thing probable should be built upon an improbable one; and the Poet is less to be excus'd in this, than in any thing; for the Incidents which are before the opening of the Stage, are in his power, whereas often in the sequel of the Play the Events constrain each other, and take away some of the Author's liberty.

The Composition of the Tragedy is the disposition of the Acts and Scenes, that is, of the Episodes, which are to be added to the Constitution of the Fable, to give it its just proportion, in which often consists the greatest beauty of the Poem, as it is the greatest Art of the Poet; for the same Subject, that is, the same Constitution of Fable, without altering the Fund or the Events, may have a Disposition of Acts and Scenes so differing, that is, the Episodes so di­versly order'd, that there may be a very good, and a very bad Tragedy made of it. For Example, that Cinna had resolv'd to kill Augustus, and engaged di­vers of his Friends in the Design, is of the Constitu­tion of the Fable, but that he comes and tells the De­sign to Emilia, repeating to her the very words he had us'd to excite the Conspirators, that is of the [Page 77] Composition of the Tragedy, or Disposition of the Acts; for without changing either the Fund of the Events of the Fable, another besides Cinna might have related the Conspiracy, and to another person than Emilia; but such a Narration would not have had the same Effect; and 'tis in that that Mr. Corneille does particularly excel; for he has an Art of placing in his distribution of the Acts and Scenes, such Inci­dents as afford him most lively, moving passions, and another man, without changing any thing in the Sub­ject, would place the same Incidents so as to draw little of beauty from them. This has made me of­ten wonder at some Learned men, and well read in Aristotle, who have confounded the Constitution of the Fable with the Disposition of the Tragedy. For the Philosopher says in express words, That after ha­ving constituted the Fable, you must insert the Episodes, that is, all the Pathetick Discourses, Narrations, De­scriptions, &c. and take care that they naturally flow from the Fable or Subject. As to the versification, which is the last part, that depends upon the Talent the Poet has receiv'd, and his study in the Art, which will help him to cultivate and polish Nature. To come then again to our Subject, the Poet must exa­mine if the Constitution of his Fable can suffer Epi­sodes; and if so, of what kind, which will be the most taking, and in what place they will appear, and have their best Effect; and after this he must divide his Acts so, as if possible, they may not be very unequal, and that the last Acts have still some­thing of strength and ornament more than the first, either by the greatness of the Passions, the singularity of the Events, or the rarity of the Show and Deco­ration.

[Page 78] To do this well, we must have a full Idaea or Pro­spect of his whole Subject, and have it entire before him; for he that comprehends the whole, can ea­sily examine the parts, and range them; but he that knows his Subject only as he divides it, runs the ha­zard of dividing it very unequally.

Some have maintain'd, that every Act is to be opened by a new Actor that has not appear'd be­fore. I should not dislike this if it could be done so as that the new Actor brought no confusion upon the Stage, and that his coming on be so prepar'd, as that this variety may seem natural to the Subject, and not appear to be the bare Invention of the Poet, for Art that discovers it self, is against the Rules of Art upon the Stage. Yet I do not think it necessary to be always thus practised, the Poet having other ways of diversifying his Acts by Incidents, Passions, or some such thing; not that I would confine the Poet neither to one Episode in an Act, but if he pro­duce more, he must be careful that they do naturally, and without affectation, create one another; and one of our best Plays was condemn'd for being too richly various in this kind, so as the Audience had not time to breathe after the impression of a moving Passion; the Graces of the Stage must have time to be rellish'd, and like other humane pleasures, we lose the Enjoy­ment of them, if we are either cloy'd with them, or have not the leisure to tast them thoroughly.

Sometimes it happens that there are in a Story such circumstances, that they are not agreeable, nor decent in the Representation, and yet they might give rise to noble Narrations, and produce Senti­ments, of which the Expressions would be admirable. In these occasions there is nothing to be done, but to [Page 79] use the Antients Artifice, which is to suppose the things done. For Example; It would have been hard and ridiculous to represent Ajax upon the Stage killing of Sheep, which he mistook for the Greeks in his rage, and whipping a great Ram whom he thought to be Ʋlysses, and yet it was fitting to give some Image of this to the Spectators; there­fore Sophocles does not only make the recital of it, but supposing this Massacre, arriv'd in the night, he opens Ajax's Tent, where appear these creatures slaughter'd, and that poor Prince overwhelm'd with grief and madness. Where we may take notice, that the Poet avoided to open the Stage by the beginning of Ajax's fury; for he could not so well have go­vern'd his Subject, neither would he let it quite pass over, because then he should not have rais'd compas­sion in the minds of his Spectators. Euripides like­wise is very ingenious, when he avoids making Phaedras Nurse corrupt Hyppolitus upon the Stage (as Seneca and our French Poet Garnier have done) because he must either have made her say things weak, and of no effect to her design, or have made her use expressions against the Decency and Majesty of Tragedy; therefore by making that young Prince appear angry at the old Womans Discourse to him, he preserves to the Stage all its Sentiments of Vertue, and yet informs the Audienee of the thing that was necessary for them to know.

In a word, the most general Precept is so to cast your Subiect, as to throw between the Acts all that can be troublesom to the Poet, or disagreeable to the Spectators. That which I have said before, that the same Actor ought not to finish one Act, and begin the next, in strict regularity is true, because that [Page 80] the Actor that goes off, is suppos'd to do it upon some important business, which requires some rea­sonable time, for the Execution of it; and if he come in immediately upon the playing of a Tune or two, the Spectators are surpriz'd to see him come back so soon; but yet there are some Exceptions; for if the Actor have but little to do, or go but a little way, he may begin the next Act; and 'tis ordinary for Plautus so to do; and Terence does it sometimes: But Comedy suffers this better than Tragedy, because that the Actors in the first being but of mean condi­tion, they may do any thing hastily, without in­decency; but in Tragedy, the persons being all Ladys, and great Men, their Actions must be more grave and serious. If the Antient Tragick Poets begun an Act by the Actor, that had just ended the preceding Act, it was when he stay'd upon the Scene, being mingled with the Chorus; a thing pretty ordinary with the Women, and of which the Examples are fre­quent.

Above all things, Principium debet esse illu­stre. methinks the first opening of the Stage ought to be magnificent, either by the number, the Majesty of the Actors, or by the Pomp of the Decoration. Voss. lib. 1. cap. 7. Poet.

The Greek Tragedys begun generally by a Ma­chine, Sumendum principium ex illustri re, ea­que tùm cog­nata, tùm proxama. which brought on a God or Goddess; that is very noble, but must be but seldom practis'd amongst us, they had a veneration for their Gods, and Plays were a part of their Religion; Scal. lib. 3. cap. 95. Poet. but we are ignorant of those Mysteries, and despise them; and I for my part should rather approve of any other Invention or Contrivance, which should raise some great Expecta­tion, or a strong desire of knowing something that were past.

[Page 81] The Orestes of Euripides begins very finely, by exposing that unhappy Prince lying upon a Couch, wrapp'd up in his Cloke, sleeping with disquiet and starts; his Sister at his Feet weeping, the Chorus scarce daring to tread for fear of waking him, and so raise his Fury: all that is pleasing, and raises an ex­pectation of something extraordinary. The waking of Herode in the Mariamne, is a fine opening of the Stage. These are things not to be neglected; for they are to the Poet what an Exordium is to the Orator, to gain the Attention of the Audience, and the Good-will of his Judges.

Chapter the Eleventh.
Of the Intervals of the Acts.

PAinting and Drammatick Poesie, besides many other Points that they meet in, do also agree in this, that they cannot possibly give the entire Image of that which they design to represent, and can comprehend but the least part of their Design. A Picture cannot shew any Person entire, nor any Story but by halves, and by the visible Parts onely. So the Stage cannot represent an Action in all its Circumstances: Battels of Armies must be suppos'd, which cannot be seen; and many other things, ei­ther undecent, or frightful. But likewise as the Ex­cellence of the Painter consists in finishing so rarely well all that he does shew, that by that the Specta­tor may judge of what he hides; so the Poet must work with so much Industry, that those things which [Page 82] he shews upon the Stage, may lead the Spectator to an easie comprehending of those which he either cannot or ought not to shew. 'Tis for this reason that the Drammatick Poets have made use of the Intervals of the Acts, to perform those things which could not so well be done upon the Stage: And the Ancients fill'd up that space of time with Choruses, and other Interludes, as we do now with Musick. Some may say, perhaps, That these Intervals are not so very necessary, because one might so conti­nue the Scenes of a Play without Interludes or Mu­sick, that the Actors who should disappear, should be reputed to do off of the Stage, all that either could not, or ought not to be done there, while other Actors should appear and act their Parts. This in it self may be true; but Experience teaches, that Mankind has not Attention enough to support the reading of one entire Play, without interruption: for even one Act too long is a most insupportable trouble; and, as Cicero says, That no Man would make an Oration of one Period, though he had Breath enough to recite it; so no Auditor would be content with a Dramma without any pause or stop, though he had an Attention strong enough to mind it. Va­riety is our greatest Charm; and by that means Beauties will pass upon us more agreeably, than a great and excellent one, always the same. But be­sides, it happens sometimes, that all the Actors are to be busied for some time off of the Stage, which then remains empty; and so that time must be fill'd up, that the Audience may not expect with disgust and tediousness. Moreover, if there were always some Actor present upon the Stage, the Spectators could not naturally imagine that an Actor had em­ploy'd [Page 83] any more time in what he had been about, than while the other Actor was speaking; and yet, it may be, that first Actor must be suppos'd to need two or three Hours to do his business in, which can­not be thought to have pass'd away in half a quarter of an Hours Talking by another, whom the Audi­ence has seen all the while. But the Intervals make this probable enough; for the absence of all the Actors, with the Musicks playing, and the cessation of the Audiences attention, do all contribute to de­ceive the Imagination; so as we may take a few Moments for whole Hours: and then when the Actors return, and say what they have been doing, we do not wonder that they have perform'd so much in so little a time. Besides, the impatience we are in to see the Continuation of the Story, makes us think we have staid a great while, and so give the more allowance for the things we hear have been done in that time.

The Poet then must consider well in his Subject what things cannot well be expos'd to view, and throw them in the Intervals; but if they are to af­ford Matter to any great Passion or Narration, there the Poet's whole Art will be necessary, and the Reading of the Ancients to boot, who will afford him great light in managing those Contrivances.

Sometimes the Beauty of an Action lies in its be­ginning onely, and then you must shew the first Strokes and Preparations of it, and finish it in the Intervals, and behind the Stage: So we see that Eteocles and Polinices dispute their Pretensions be­fore their Mother; but they do not fight and kill one another before her. Otherwhile it happens, that an action has nothing but the latter part of it fit for [Page 84] Representation, and then the beginning must be sup­pos'd to be done in the Intervals, and the last Touch­es onely made sensible, and present to the Spectators. Sophocles, as we have observ'd in the preceding Chap­ter, has done this in his Ajax; not that the Poet is bound to do this always at the end of an Act; for sometimes the thing may come to pass somewhere further than the Place represented by the Stage, and then the Business may be related in the next Scene.

The greatest Advantage the Poet has from the In­tervals of the Acts, is, that by that means he can throw off all the troublesom Superfluities of his Sub­ject. But he must have a care not to fall into one Errour, common enough among our Poets, which is to suppose a thing done in the Interval of an Act, which in all probability could not have been done without having been seen by the Audience. And this must happen when it is suppos'd to have come to pass upon the Place represented by the Stage; for that being open and expos'd to the Spectators Eyes, nothing can probably be perform'd there, that shall not be seen. I remember, upon this Subject, that I was once at a I lay, which otherwise was no ill Dram­matick Poem, in which there was a Bastion of a be­sieg'd Town, upon which were armed Men for its de­fence; and then in the Interval of an Act this Town was suppos'd to be taken by Assault, and yet this Ba­stion was neither attack'd nor defended upon the Stage; and so the Spectators remain'd with an ima­gination that the Town was not taken. Whereas the Poet might at least have said somthing of the pro­bability, if he had found a way to let the Audience know that the Town had been carried by an Assault [Page 85] in another Place, and so there had been no need of defending it there.

I shall not here enter into a particular deduction of the Kinds of Interludes with which the Romans mark'd the Intervals of the Acts in new Comedy, after having taken away the Chorus's. I shall not neither say at what time it was that the Mimes and the Embolarii took possession of the Stage, nor what their Dancing, Musick, and Buffooning was; why they made use of Flutes, and of what sort they were that are nam'd in ancient Inscriptions of Comedy equal and unequal, right or left: all that concerns onely the understanding the Stage of the Ancients, and not the Art of making a Drammatick Poem. I had undertaken to treat of all this in a Book which I should have called The Restoring of the Theatre in France, to shew what Ornaments might be added to ours from Antiquity; but I should here go too far from my Subject, if I should lanch into this Mat­ter. I will onely say, That much of it may be learn'd out of Scaliger, Vitruvius, Julius Pollux, Vossius, and others, though they speak of these Mat­ters with ill Methods, and not much Application.

Chapter the Twelfth.
Of the Scenes.

I Was in some doubt whether I should explain here all the different Significations of the Word Scene, because the Learned will meet with nothing but what they know already; however, having con­sider'd, [Page 86] that others may have by it some Instruction about the Matters of the Stage, I thought it not amiss to do it,

First then, the Word Scene, in its original and proper Signification, is taken for a Covering of Boughs made by Art, from whence the Feast of the Tabernacles of the Jews was call'd Scenopegia; and from thence too some People of Arabia were call'd Scenites. Sometimes too it signifies a natural Shade of some Grotto, or solitary place; so Virgil has it,

But because the first Comedies, or rather the first Buffooning, was under some green Shade, the name of Scene was given to all Places where Comedy was represented; and Tragedy too, though transferr'd into great Cities, yet preserv'd the name of Scene, with that of Theatre, which signifies a place for Spectacles. But then the Word Scene, even in Drammatick Poetry, was taken in different Signifi­cations; for sometimes it signified the Place of Act­ing, as we say, to be upon the Scene; and Pliny has it, That Lucia, an old buffooning Woman, recited upon the Scene at the Age of a hundred years.

Sometimes it signifies that which we call the De­coration of the Stage; that is, all the Ornaments of painted Cloth which represent the Place where the thing is acted; and according to the three kinds of Drammatick Poetry, Vitruvius teaches how to make three sorts of Scenes or Decorations of the Stage, fit for Tragedy, Comedy, and Pastoral; and from this Signification is come the Word Proscenion, or Fore­scene, [Page 87] attributed by the Greeks to that part of the Stage where the Histrions or Actors did both act and speak. At last its Signification became so extended, as to express at once the Place where the Actors acted, and that where the Spectators were. And it is in this sense that the Jurisconsult Labeo defines the Scene, according to Ʋlpian. Sometimes likewise it signified all that pompous Structure of Buildings, Galleries, Walks, Seats, and other places, where the Romans us'd to represent their Games.

From these different Significations have proceed­ed many Mistakes amongst the Modern Writers, be­cause they did not rightly understand the Ancients, and so have confounded the Proscenion with the De­coration, and that again with the whole Building.

The last sense in which the Word Scene has been taken, and which we particularly need here, is, when it signifies that part of an Act which brings any Change upon the Stage, by the change of Actors.

The Greeks never us'd it in this Signification, Fabulae quidem in Actus divi­sio vetus est & à Poetis ipsis: Actus autem in Scenas distri­butio est à Grammaticis & à vet. T [...] ­rentii & Plau­ti cod. abest. Vossius, l 2. c. 5. Poet. tho they had the same distinction of Acts which we have. The Latins first brought it in use, with the Word Act, in New Comedy, having taken away the Choruses. I do not find any thing about this, in any Author ancienter than Donatus; but since we have receiv'd it, it will not be amiss to put here some In­structions to correct the Irregularities of Scenes.

The Ancients, who had no Division of their Acts into Parts, have always very exactly observ'd the Union or Dependance of Scenes upon one another; for knowing that the whole Act could not contain above one sensible Action upon the Stage, they judg'd very reasonably, that there was no need of [Page 88] separating the Parts that should compose it. But when our Poets begun to write for the Stage, they hardly knew what an Act or a Scene was; they plac'd a Man upon the Stage, to recite there what they had compos'd for him, and they took him away again when the Capricio of their Muse pleas'd, and then brought on one or more, which went off too with as little reason; so that one might have trans­pos'd any of their Scenes, without any injury to the Play, every one of them making as it were an Act by it self. We have seen upon our Stage a Captain, a Poet, and a Visionary Lover, all without having any thing to do with one another; and what they said, was more like so many Scholars Declamati­ons, without any dependency upon each other.

Now I have observ'd, that there are four ways of uniting the Scenes together; to wit, an Union of Presence, another of Seeking, a third of Noise, and a fourth of Time.

The Union of Presence is, when in the following Scene there remains upon the Stage an Actor of the preceding Scene; which may be done three ways: Either by bringing on at once all those that are to be employ'd in that Act, and make them retire one after another, according to the diversity of their Interests; for still those who remain make a new Scene, which is united to the precedent Scenes by the Presence of those who rest. And this is a no­ble manner for a First Act. The second is, when the Actors come upon the Stage one after another, and none of the first go off; for then all the new Actors make new Scenes, which are united to the preceding ones by the Presence of those who were already upon the Stage. And this manner is very [Page 89] good for a last Act. The Third Way is, when the Actors go and come according to their Interests and Business: As when two Actors meet upon the Stage, if there goes off but one, the second who remains makes a new Scene, and knits it with the first, by other Actors who are to appear; and this way is capable of as much variety as the Poet pleases.

The Second Way of uniting the Scenes is, by seek­ing when an Actor who comes upon the Stage, looks for him who went off; and the Examples are very frequent among the Latine Comick Poets; but one must be very careful that the reason for which one Actor looks after the other, be a reason taken from the Subject in hand, and sensible to the Spectators, or else it would be a false Colour affected, and of no effect; and we must remember besides, that if the Actor who was upon the Stage goes off, for fear of being seen by him that comes on, that does not make an union of Scenes, except he that comes on, comes with an Intention to look for him that goes off. Some of our Moderns have fail'd in this, in withdrawing their Actors for fear of being seen by the comers on, when the New Actor had no Intention to look for him that went off; for in this, far from being an union of Seeking, it is rather one of avoiding, and so the Scenes would be united by the very Actor who broke them.

The Union of Noise is, when upon some Noise which is made upon the Stage, an Actor, who pro­bably might hear it, comes to know the cause, and finds no body upon the Stage, that Scene made by him is very well united to that which was made by those who went off, since the Stage does not remain without Action, and that a Chorus or Musick could [Page 90] not be brought in without interrupting the Sequel of the Story. Plautus has many Examples of that.

As for the last which is made by Time, 'tis when an Actor, who has nothing to do with those who go off the Stage, comes on, but in such a nick of time, that he could not reasonably be suppos'd to do it sooner or later. We have a precise Example of this in the Eunuchus of Terence, in the third Act where Antipho, who has nothing to do with Chremes, nor those who go off the Stage, says, That he is in much trouble not to find Chaerea, who was that day to take care of the Dinner for a Club of young men, that the hour of the Assignation was pass'd, and that he is going to look him, and so popt upon him. Now 'tis most certain Antipho comes on naturally at the due time, and that Chaerea had fail'd by being taken up in the Intrigue, in which Parmeno had ingag'd him by making him pass for an Eunuch, with a young Woman that he was in love with. Yet I must say this, that this Union of Scenes, except it be done with very natural Colours, and great Exactness, is not to be much practis'd.

Some have put the Question, What ought to be the number of Scenes in each Act? The Poet must use in that his own Judgment; if there be very few, the Act will want variety; if there be many, and short, the Act will be perplex'd; there will be little said, and much confusion. But we must observe that Co­medy endures many more Scenes than Tragedy, as being more active, and less engaged in great passions which take up time. The Antients have sometimes made up an Act of one single Scene, but I do think that taedious, and much more when as in Seneca there is but one Actor for that Scene. I think in Tragedy [Page 91] there ought to be at least three Scenes in an Act, and that if there be above eight, it cannot please; I be­lieve experience will justifie this ghess of mine.

I shall now add here a thing, which it would be difficult for me to place any where else with more order, which is a difficulty which has often puzzled our best Poets; and I shall at the same time shew them how to avoid it. It happens then very ordi­narily in Drammatick Poems, that to give a foun­dation to some things which are to be spoke, or to clear some others which have been said already, there is a necessity of doing it in a Theatral way, and by consequent by an Actor, but as often some other of the Actors are not to know or hear of it; it is then necessary to make a new Scene, to drive off those who are to be ignorant of the thing, and to bring on others who may speak of it; and this I call a Scene of Necessity, when it precedes what is to be done; and a Scene of Esclaircissement, or clearing, when it fol­lows, and takes away any mistake or confusion that might have been: But it is good to observe, that such Scenes, being as it were independent and loose, they break the Union of the others, and often make the Stage dull; both which to avoid, I think we may take this Method.

First, To chuse the person that is to speak upon this occasion, and the place where the Speech shall be; all that depends on the Poets Judgment, who to gain Observations, may read Plautus and Terence; both which have many of these Scenes; and for those of Necessity, sometimes they are in the be­ginning of the Play, as Sosia in Andria, and Geta in Hecyra, where both these Slaves are of those Actors whom we call Protatick, who appear only at the [Page 92] opening of the Stage, to give intelligence about the Subject of the Play; and this way is not to be us'd without great dexterity.

As for that dulness which such Scenes bring along with them when they are not in the beginning, but in the body of the Poem, it must be corrected, by making the Discourse of him that speaks eager and quick, which cannot be done but by great Figures, such as Admiration, Exclamation, &c. or by some motions of fear or joy strongly expressed; for else, though the thing which is expressed be necessary, yet it will be cold and dull, without any grace, because there will be a plain affectation, which is the greatest fault a Poet can fall into. As for the coming off of such Scenes, which is often very troublesom, he may avoid it by introducing in the beginning of an Act the person whom he intends to employ in any such Scene, provided that may appear probable, and con­sist with the following Scenes; or else he may retain at the end of an Act one or two persons to this end. But the most refin'd way of performing this is, to do it in the middle of an Act by some body retain'd on purpose to unite the following Scene; and who in that interval of time makes alone a Scene of Neces­sity, or of Esclaircissement, by taking occasion to speak of the different concerns of the Actors, who are gone off, or of those who are to come on; for this way neither the person, nor the thing, are af­fected, and the Scenes are not broken, and the Stage being warm'd by the passions of those who are gone off, is kept so easily by those who are to come on next. In all this nevertheless I leave the Judicious Poet his liberty, only I have thought fit to warn him of these Inconveniencies.

Chapter the Thirteenth.
Of Spectacles, Machines, and Decorations of the Stage.

HAving treated at length in my Terence justified about the construction of the Theatres of the Antients; together with the Decorations, Ornaments and Machines, which were employed in the Repre­sentation of their Drammatick Poems, I can say little here that's new upon that Subject; therefore I shall not repeat any of it here, my design being on­ly to instruct the Poet, and not the Decorator; but some Advertisements may not be amiss to the first, to teach him some ways how to add some external Ornaments to the Inventions of his Brain, to make them appear with more grace and perfection.

'Tis certain that the Ornaments of the Stage with the Scenes. Machines, and Decorations, make the most sensible delight of that ingenious Magick which seems to make Hero's live again in the world after so many Ages; it sets before us a new Heaven, and a new Earth, and many other wonderful appearances of things which we imagine present, though we know at the same time that they are not so, and that we are agreeably deceiv'd: These Ornaments make the Poems themselves more illustrious; the people takes them for Enchantments, and the men of un­derstanding are pleas'd to see the dexterity of the Artists (who deservedly attract admiration) with the concurrence of so many Arts and Professions em­ployed in the Execution of these contrivances, to [Page 94] which all run with joy and delight. It was for this that the People of Greece and Rome, though as Martial as Learned and Ingenious, did bestow the richest De­corations upon their Theatres; there one might see the Heavens open, where appear'd their Imaginary Gods descending to converse with Men; the Air was often full of the noise of Thunder and Lightning; the Sea shew'd Tempests, Shipwracks, Men of War, Gallys, and Battles: The Earth did not only pro­duce Gardens, Deserts, and Forrests, with magnificent Temples and Pallaces, but it often opened, and shew'd flaming Abyssus's, Mountains came out of its bosom, Furies, Daemons, and all the Prodigies of their fabu­lous Hell: In a word, the Objects of the diversion of these People were taken from all the supernatural Ef­fects of the Divinity, the Miracles of Nature, the Ma­ster-pieces of Art, and all the beautiful contrivances that Imagination could form for the adorning their Theatre. Their Magistrates always strove to surpass one another in these magnificencies, and the People gave the highest dignities of their Government at this price: therefore the Poets, who saw that in the fortune of great Men there always was, and would be a fund for these Illustrious Expences, did not spare to fill their Poems with Incidents, where the richest Artifices were employed; and the Workmen were pleas'd in adding their labour and contrivance to ac­quire those riches and fame which certainly attended the success of their undertakings.

But for our times, though the Court does not dislike these Ornaments, and that the People crowd to see them, yet I would not advise our Poet to busy himself much in these machine Plays; our Players are neither Rich, nor Generous enough to make the Ex­pence [Page 95] of them, and their Decorators want ability in the performance; I must add that our Authors them­selv's have been so negligent in acquiring the know­ledge of the Ancients ways in this matter, and in their means of Execution, that we need not wonder if we see so many ill Invented Embellishments of this kind. Yet one would think that our Age, as soon as any might recover the pristine glory of the Theatre, considering the Liberality of our Princes, the Application of our Poets, the Ingenuity of our Work­men, and the Care of our Comedians, and that which we have seen already perform'd in this Kingdom, is, it may be, but a pattern of what we may expect in the plenty of Peace. Therefore that we may not be wanting to any thing that may contribute to the accomplishment of so great a work, I shall here com­municate some Observations upon publick Spectacles and Machines, which I hope will be of some use. I consider all publick Spectacles and Decorations of the Scene three ways.

Some are of things; when the Spectacles are per­manent and immovable; as a Heaven open, a stormy Sea, a Pallace, or the like Ornaments.

Others are of Actions; when the Spectacle depends principally upon some extraordinary Fact; as that one should throw himself headlong from a Tower, or from a Rock in the Sea.

The Third sort is of those that are mingled with Things and Actions, as a Sea-fight, where at the same time is the Sea and Ships, and Men acting upon it.

These may be all further distinguished into natural, artificial, and marvellous.

The Natural ones are those which represent the most agreeable things in Nature, as a Desert, a Moun­tain on fire, &c.

[Page 96] The Artificial are those which shew us the most magnificent works of Art, as a Temple, a Pallace.

The Marvellous are those which suppose some Di­vine Power or Magick Production, as the descent of some God from Heaven, or the rising of some Fury from Hell.

And of all these, the least considerable are the last, because there goes little contrivance to the inventing of them, there being hardly any wit so mean, who by this may not bring in, or carry off a great In­trigue. I saw once a Play, in which the Author ha­ving brought on a Rival, and concern'd him so deep­ly in his Subiect, that he did not well know how to bring him off, bethought himself to kill him with a Thunderbolt; the contrivance was pretty sure; but if this sort of Invention be admitted in Dramma's, we need not much trouble our selves to wind up the Plot any other way; therefore all these Machines of Gods and Devils are to be us'd with great discre­tion, and great care to be taken that in the Execution they play easily, for else the people are apt to laugh, and make Railleries of a God hanging in the Air, or coming down too fast.

I should not likewise advise our Poet to use fre­quently those, where Actions are to make the grea­test Effect, because that all the success depends upon the Exactness of the Comedians, who are often so negligent in the performance, that they will neither study the manner, nor time necessary; or else they are so possessed with an Opinion of their Abilities, that they think it beneath them to be inform'd; so that either their Idleness, or their Vanity, most com­monly spoils that which was well invented, and ought to have made the beauty of the Play. That which [Page 97] remains then is the permanent Decorations, of what nature soever they are; and to these I would con­fine the Poet, but still with many Precautions: For,

First, They are to be necessary, insomuch as the Play cannot be acted without these Ornaments; or else they will not take, though never so ingenious. And in this, I think, our Andromeda has not all its Regularity; for in the First and Fourth Act there are two noble Buildings, of different Architecture, and no mention made of them in the Play; since these two Acts might be represented with any of the De­corations of the other three, without offending the Poet, or spoiling any Incident of his Dramma.

Secondly, These Ornaments must be agreeable to the Sight; for 'tis for that, that the People flock to them. Not that I would absolutely forbid the Poet to put in things monstrous or horrible; but at least then the Painting must be exquisite, that the Art may be admir'd.

They must likewise be modest, and not against that Pudour which the most dissolute love the appear­ances of. I believe that the shewing of Mars and Venus surpris'd in a Net by Vulcan, would not be allowed for a fine Decoration.

They must, besides, be easie to put in execution; that is, that the Machinists do dispose their Machins to play so well, that there may be no need of great numbers of Hands, but they do of themselves per­form to a Minute; for the People cannot endure to expect long the Effect of a Machin, and when they do not hit the Minute, they do not agree with the Motion and Pretence of the Actor upon the Stage, and so spoil his Part.

It will likewise be reasonable to consider, whether [Page 98] the Place represented by the Scene, will bear in truth that which is to be shewed in Image; for else it would be a gross Fault against Probability: For ex­ample, If the place of the Scene were a Palace, and that close to it were a Prison, or some noisom place; for Princes and Great People do not live near such places.

There must not likewise be any Decorations made which are not agreeable to the Unity of Place; as to suppose the Scene the Palace or Chamber of a Prince, out of which there should be an immediate Passage to a great Forest: For all these Fictions, though pleasing to the Eye, yet are otherwise, to our Reason, which knows them to be false, impossi­ble, and ridiculous.

But particularly, the Poet must so order it, as that out of this Shew and Decoration some notable Event may result in the Body of the Play; that is, some­thing that may contribute either to the perplexing of the Plot, or the easier unweaving of it; for if all this Shew is onely for shew, and not of the Es­sence of the Piece, the Men of Understanding will value the Decorator for executing, but not the Poet for inventing so useless an Ornament. In the Ru­dens of Plautus, the Shipwrack that is there repre­sented, makes both the Knot and the Unweaving of the Intrigue. The Frogs of Aristophanes have a vast Decoration, which serves to all the Acts, and al­most to all the Scenes. And we shall find few among the Ancients, but what agree with our Rules.

I cannot omit here to advertise the Poet of two important Considerations: The first that regards himself, which is, That when the Spectacles are of Things, that is, of Permanent Objects, they must, [Page 99] if possible, appear at the first opening of the Stage, to the end that the Surprise and Applause of the Peo­ple, which generally attends such Sights, may be over, before the Actors begin to speak: or, that if there be any necessity of changing the Decorations, let it be done in the Interval of an Act, that the Workmen may have the time necessary for their Machins moving, and the Actor that is to appear, that of dressing himself at leisure. But if, by the necessity of his Subject, some great Change is to be in the middle of an Act, let him contrive his Actors Part so, as he have but little to say at that time, and those too Words of Admiration, Grief, or Astonish­ment, to give some time to the Murmur of the Spe­ctators, which is always rais'd upon some such new Appearance.

The other Consideration regards the Comedians; which is, when the Spectacles consist of Actions: that is, when the Actors are to be in some posture extraordinary: The Actor, I say, must study this Posture with care, before he comes to act it upon the Stage; or else 'tis odds but he performs it very ill and not without danger sometimes to himself: all which does not a little trouble the Beauty of the whole Piece.

Chapter the First.
Of the Quantitative Parts of the Drammatick Poem, and particularly of the Prologue.

THE Drammatiek Poem is so chang'd since the time of Aristotle, that though we should make an Allowance for his Tran­slators and Intepreters Errours, yet we think we have great reason not to be altogether of his mind, particularly in the Matter of which we are go­ing to treat.

[Page 102] He writes, That Tragedy has Four parts of Quan­tity, to wit, the Prologue, the Chorus, the Episode, and the Exode; and to make them the more intel­ligible, he defines three of them thus. The Prologue (says he) is that part of the Tragedy which is before the Entrance of the Chorus. The Episode is all that is between the two Cantos of the Chorus. And the Exode is that part after which the Chorus sings no more. This I cannot conceive to be true, accord­ing to the present state of the Greek Tragedies; nei­ther can I allow, that Aristotle has well distinguish'd the parts of Tragedy as it was in his time, at least according to the Works of those three excellent Tragick Poets which have been transmitted to us.

To understand this aright, let us begin with the Prologue, and consider how many sorts of Prologues there were among the Ancients.

The first sort was of those which were made for the Interest of the Poet, either in answering the Invectives of his Adversaries, or in expounding his Proceeding in the Play. Many of this kind are to be found in Plautus and Terence, particularly in the last; which made some say, as he himself relates, That without the Reproaches and Cavils of the old Poet, Vetus si Poeta non lacessisset prior, nullum invenire Prolo­gum potuisset novus. Prolog. in Phorm. the new one would not have known what Subject to have taken for his Prologues.

There were other Prologues that regarded the In­terest of the Comedians, either to obtain the Judges or the Peoples Favour, or to bespeak their Attenti­on. Such is that of the Pseudolus of Plautus, and some others.

There are some likewise which make a Mixture of the Subject of the Play, with the Poets or Co­medians Interest; and this was indeed the most or­dinary [Page 103] one with Plautus, as appears in his Captives, his Paenulus, and his Menechmes.

Now these three sorts of Prologues were particu­lar to Comedy; for we meet with none such among the Tragick Poets; neither do I think, that if they had us'd them, that Aristotle would have reckon'd these sort of Prologues amongst the Parts of Quan­tity of a Tragedy; for they are things by themselves which may be omitted, without injuring the Poem, or otherwise lessening its true Proportion. 'Tis for this reason that the Learned Vossius says, That the Pro­logues of Comedy and Tragedy are very different, be­cause in Comedy the Prologue is as it were alien to the Subject; but in Tragedy it is incorporated with it, and makes a part of it. And yet I must say, That I think he is mistaken in both; for sometimes in Co­medy the Prologue is fix'd to the Body of the Poem, as in the Cistellaria of Plautus, where it contains three Scenes: and, on the other side, the Tragedian Prologues are not always so twisted with the Subject, as to make a part of it.

The first and most ordinary Prologues of the Greek Tragedies were made by one of the Chief Actors, who came and explain'd to the Spectators all that had passed in the Story before the opening of the Stage. We have of this sort divers in Euripides, where the Actor having done this, ends with some Verses which give a beginning to the Action of the Poem.

But it cannot be said, that these Prologues make a part of the Tragedy; first, because they are Di­scourses made to the Spectators, and by consequent, faulty, by mingling the Representation with the Theatral Action: Neither are they necessary, because those things which precede the beginning of the [Page 104] Play, ought to be dexterously told in the Play, in different parts of it; and this Aeschylus and Sopho­cles always observe. So that it is most certain, that these Prologues, which contain the Argument of the Play, are useless, defective, and may be easily sepa­rated from it. And therefore we do not see that Monsieur Corneille, whom I always cite as a great Master for the Stage, has ever us'd so ill an Artifice; and I cannot but condemn those French and Italians who have had recourse to it.

Euripides makes another sort of Prologue, more faulty and defective still; to wit, when he employs some of the Gods to explain, by his Omniscience, not onely all that was pass'd, but things to come in the Play, even to the Catastrophe; by which means all the Events were forestall'd, than which there could not be a greater Fault, since it destroys all that Expectation and Suspension which makes the Sur­prise and Novelty of the Play. Now I do not think that Aristotle means this sort of Prologue neither, when he says 'tis a Quantitative part of the Dramma.

The two sorts of Prologue which remain for us to consider, seem to agree better with Aristotle's Definition: The Prologue, says he, is that part of the Tragedy which precedes the arrival of the Cho­rus upon the Stage: By which he seems rather to teach us the Place of the Prologue, than its Nature: And according to this Definition, those Tragedies that begin with the Chorus, have no Prologue: Such are the Rhaesas, the Persians, and the Suppliants of Euripides; and by consequent, according to this Doctrine, they have not their due Proportion, being depriv'd of their first Quantitative part: (And by the by, we may by this discover the Mistakes of those [Page 105] who have given us Arguments and Preambles upon these Greek Tragedies) for they say at the begin­ning of these three Plays which I now mention'd, That the Chorus makes the Prologue; for since the Prologue, according to Aristotle, ought to contain all that is said before the Chorus comes on; 'tis im­possible for the Chorus to make the Prologue; or if the Chorus could make the Prologue, then Aristotles definition is good for nothing: But now let us come to these two last sorts of Prologues.

One of them did use to contain in three or four Scenes made before the coming on of the Chorus, some things which concern'd the Theatral Action, but which in truth were not necessary parts of the Poem. We have two Examples of this in the Phoe­nicians, and in the Medaea of Euripides. In the first Antigone appears upon the Walls of Thebes, with her Governour, who shews her the Army of the be­sieging Princes, with some Discourses about the Commanders of it, and this in some sort does regard the Dramma, but does not in rigour make a part of it; and the Author of the Argument says expresly, that all that Antigonus does upon the Walls of the Town, is absolutely out of the Theatral Action.

In the other Tragedy Medaea's Children appear with their Governour, to whom Medaea's Nurse re­commends them, expressing some fear for them in the fury and rage of Medaea against Joson their Fa­ther; and this at first seems to belong to the Sub­ject, but yet it makes no part of the Dramma; for if you begin the Play just after the first Chorus, you will not miss any thing in it; and therefore in both these Plays the Prologues are not inseparable from the body of the Dramma; and that which may still [Page 106] contribute to convince us of this is, that in these Pro­logues the Poets often put things which were incon­sistent with the Rules of the Stage; as in the Aga­memnon of Aeschylus, where one of the Guard that speaks the Prologue seems to see things which could not come to pass in the time prescrib'd by the Dram­matick Poem; and if this Prologue were to be sup­pos'd part of the Play, it would make it defective, and against all the Rules.

The other sort of Prologue plac'd before the Cho­rus, contain'd not only such things as regarded the Poem, but such also as were proper, and incorpora­ted with its Subject, making a true part of it; as in the Sphigenia in Aulide, where the disquiet of Aga­memnon, and the Narration he makes to an old Man, whom he sends his Letters by, to his Wife, do cer­tainly begin the Play, and make an inseparable part of the Subject; and if the definition that Aristotle gives of Prologues can be reduc'd to any rational meaning, it must be to this sort of Prologue; but yet I cannot understand neither why this must be call'd a Prologue sooner than any other part of the Play; 'tis properly an Episode, and its being before or after the Chorus changes nothing in its nature, but only alters its place; and this, in my Judgment, is not enough to make a just and true distinction of the parts of a Dramma, who ought to have more Essen­tial difference between each other. My Conclusion then is, that that which is properly Prologue, cannot be reckon'd a part of the Play; and that which is a part of the Play can no more be nam'd a Prologue, than the other Episodes that compose the Play.

If in opposition to this any one shall say, that in the beginning of all the Tragedys of Sophocles and [Page 107] Aeschylus, we meet with the same word that is in Euripides (and which signifies to speak a Prologue) though neither of these Poets design'd a Prologue, except Sophocles in his Electra, and Aeschylus in his Agamemnon) I say, that is not so much to be minded, because the words signifie likewise to speak first, and are so translated in the Latine Version; and this may serve to avoid a mistake upon this Subject.

As for the Chorus, of which Aristotle makes the second part of Tragedy, it must be consider'd in two different states; the first is, when the Chorus speaks with the other Actors in an Episode, or the continuation of an Act, for then the Chorus is per­fectly an Actor concern'd, and working in the In­trigues of the Stage, according to the Doctrine of Aristotle and Horace; and in this sense the Chorus can in no wise be counted a distinct part of the Play.

The other state in which we are to consider the Chorus is, Chorus pars fabulae post actum vel in­ter actum & actum. Voss. l. 2. c. 5. Inst. Poet. when it sings to mark the Intervals of the Acts, and therefore is defin'd by Vessius a part of the Fable after an Act, or between two Acts. Now I will not deny but Chorus's may have been true parts of Tragedy, as long as they sung things concerning the true Subject of the Poem upon the Theatre; but they were not necessary parts, since they have been so easily omitted, no more than our Musick that plays between the Acts can be said to be an Essential part of our Plays.

Aristotles Exodus, or last part of Tragedy, is not, in my Opinion, any whit better distinguish'd; for if the Exodus contains all that is said after the Chorus gives over, L. 2. cap. 5. Inst. Poet. it is no more than our fifth Act; and therefore Vossius would have the Catastrophe and the [Page 108] Exodus to be the same thing; but in that he does not agree with Aristotle, for according to him the Catastrophe often begins towards the end of the fourth Act, and sometimes it does not begin till towards the middle of the fifth Act, so that then you would be ob­lig'd to cut off from the Exodus all that should be said after the Chorus gives over, or else according to Vossius it would be cut in two by a Chorus; both which are against Aristotle's Doctrine. But besides, what will become of this Exodus in those Tragedys that end with a Chorus, as all Euripides's, and the best of Sophocles and Aeschylus's do; for the last Verses of their Tragedys were according to the most receiv'd Opinion sung by the Chorus, and so there could be no Exodus in those Plays, who by consequence, accord­ing to Aristotle, must want that part of quantity. It will not be amiss to observe here by the by, that Exodus, and Exodion are not the same things; for the Exodus is the last part of the Play, and the Exo­dion was a piece of Buffoonery, as the Mimes and Embolimes were and were acted when the Play was done, by those they called Exodiarii, which may prevent a mistake, apt else to be made in reading the Antients.

From all this that we have said, it appears that either Aristotle did not explain himself well in his Definitions, or that those Plays which we have of the Greek Poets, did not serve him for the Rules of his Poeticks; so that of those four parts of quantity of Tragedy, of which Aristotle makes mention, we have but one left, which alone makes up our whole Tragedy, and that is the Episode; for since the Epi­sode contain'd all that was between the Antient Cho­rus's, and that our musick with which we begin and [Page 109] end our plays is to us in the place of the Ancient Chorus's, it is manifest, that five Episodes make our five Acts; but because we divide our Acts into Scenes, and that we separate our Acts by a considerable distance of time, necessary to the Theatral Action, I therefore think that a Drammatick Poem can be properly said to have but two parts of quantity, to wit, Five Acts subdivided into Scenes, without any limited number; and the four Intervals of those Acts. If any one else has more light to shew us other parts, I shall easily subscribe to this Opinion.

Chapter the Second.
Of Episodes according to the Doctrine of Aristotle.

TO understand this matter well, Hygin. l. 2. we must look back to some things that have been said al­ready, Astronom. in Actoph. Ex Eratostene. and know that Tragedy & Comedy begun thus. Virg. Georg. 2.

Bacchus having found out the Art of cultivating the Vine, and making Wine, taught it Icarius, who then was Master of a little Territory in Attica, to which he gave his name. Icarius having presently put his Skill to tryal, met with a Goat in the Vin­tage time, that was eating his Grapes, therefore look­ing upon him as an Enemy to Bacchus, sacrificed him to him; and having call'd his neighbours to this Sacrifice, they all together fell a dancing and sing­ing something in the honour of Bacchus, Cassiod. li. 4. whom they had thus reveng'd of his Foe. Var. Varr. l. 1. de vit. pop. This appear'd to them both so religious, Rom. Plutar. and so pleasant, Symposion. 19. qu. 1. that they continu'd it every year at the same time, and call'd it Tragoedia, that is, a Vintage-song.

[Page 110] The Athenians having in process of time trans­ferr'd this Ceremony to their Town; their best Poets began to be concern'd in the Hymn to Bacchus, and to strive with one another for the honour of excel­ling in it. They brought in besides great Chorus's of Musick and Dances, with many turnings and wind­ings, and so transferr'd it from the Temples to the Theatres, without any irreverence; nevertheless, be­cause those very Theatres were dedicated to Bacchus, and the Victim that was sacrificed to him, was a Goat, as destructor of the Vine; from whence this Hymn was called Tragedy, Athen. l. 2. as who should say, the Goat-Song, Cassiodor. l. 1. and so much of it as remain'd among the Country people in Villages, Plut. Sympos. l. 1. q. 1. Suidas. was called Comedy, as who should say a Country Song: Initium Tra­gaediae & Co­medie à rebus Divinis Incensis Altaribus, & admoto hirco id genus carminis quod sacer Chorus libero patri red­debat Tragedia dicebatur. Donat. in Terentium. All this appears clearly from many famous Authors of Antiquity.

Thus were distinguish'd these two Poems, though they had the same beginning in the same Country of Icaria, and by the same adventure, according to Athenaeus, of whose Opinion are Donatus Maximus of Tyr, and Eustathius.

Now it happening that by little and little the Sub­jects that the Poets took to praise Bacchus, being ex­hausted, they were forc'd to add little Stories or Fables, which they handled merrily at first, in ho­nour of Bacchus. To confirm this, Aristotle writes, that from little Fables made with mirth and fooling, Tragedy rose by degrees to that perfection it acquir'd in Sophocles time. Some are of Opinion that Epigenes the Sycionian was the Author of Tragedy, whether it were that he first brought the Song from the Vin­tage [Page 111] to the Town, or that he first instituted the Dis­pute between the Poets, in which the Conquerour receiv'd for reward the Goat that was sacrific'd to Bacchus, after a formal Procession; the Ceremony of which describ'd by Plutarch, was simple enough at first, though much alter'd in his time: However, Tragedy remain'd a great while in the same state; for between this Epigenes and Thespis, who first added an Act to this Hymn, there are reckon'd four­teen famous Tragick Poets, almost all Successors to one another; and 'tis of the Tragedies of that time that Diogenes Laertius is to be understood, when he writes in the Life of Plato, that the Chorus formerly acted the whole Tragedy. These words at first did ex­tremely puzzle me, because the neglect of Chorus's in our days, hinder'd me from penetrating the true sense of the Author. I consider'd Tragedy as I found it in Sophocles, and there I could not see any confor­mity with Laertius's mind; and all I could then imagine in order to make something of it was, that they that made the Chorus were likewise the Hist­rions and Actors of the Tragedy: But besides that thereby I made no distinction between the Hist­rions who were Actors, and the Thymelicks, who were Musicians, against all truth of Antiquity. I found the difficulty still grow upon me, when I read in Athenaeus, That antiently all sort of Tragedy was compos'd only of the Chorus, and had no Histrions or Actors at all: For these last words did entirely de­stroy all my first thought, neither could I any ways relieve my self by any of the Interpreters of these two Authors, though so many Learned men have commented them, without saying one word of this; therefore I began to go back to the first Original of [Page 112] things, and considering that Tragedy at first was nothing but an Hymn of the Pagan Religion, danc'd and sung by Chorus's of Musick, I easily found the solution of all my difficulties; for 'tis most certain, that in that time, and for almost six hundred years after Tragedy was represented only by the Chorus, as Laertius has it, and had no Actors, as Athenaeus tru­ly affirms.

At last Thespis bethought himself of putting in an Actor, who should recite without singing, that the Chorus might take breath, and rest themselves; not that I think that Actor spoke alone, but he made a Dialogue with the Coryphoeus, or some other person of the Chorus, who answer'd him something to the purpose, to give him Subject to continue his Dis­course, as we may yet see in some fragments of Epicharmus, who liv'd in that time. We must not think nevertheless, that Thespis was the Inventor of Tragedy, as Horace seems to believe, but only that he introduc'd the first Actor without singing. And Plato tells us, that Tragedy was in great credit in Athens long before Thespis's time. And as for what is said also of him, That he carryed his Actors about in a Cart, from whence they spoke many Railleries and witty Jests against passengers, that must not be under­stood of serious Tragedy, for which there were al­ready publick Theaters, but of Satyrical Tragedy, in which they represented the Dances, and grossest po­stures of Satyrs and Silenes, who were suppos'd to have accompany'd Bacchus in his Voyages, (for this Satyrical Tragedy was at first without Actors, as well as the serious one, according to Athenaeus) and came at last to that perfection, that it was one of the four Poems which made the Tetralogy of Dramma's, in [Page 113] which the Poets of Athens disputed the Prize at their four great Holidays.

Thespis likewise added to his Jests and Railleries the dawbing of his Actors with Lees of Wine, as Horace has it; Quae canerent agerentque per­uncti facibus ora. Horat. de art. Poet. or with Ceruse and Vermillion, as Suidas reports: And this was done to imitate so much the better the Satyrs, who were always repre­sented with red Faces, Virgil in Silen. as Virgil paints Silenus's, dawb'd with the Juyce of Elder berries and Mulberries. Sanguineis frontem moris & tempora pingit.

At last Tragedy having receiv'd a total alteration, by Recitals in the Intervals of the Musick, it acquir'd shortly after its utmost Perfection; for Aeschylus, who liv'd fifty years, or thereabouts, after Thespis, added one Actor more, and so made up two Actors: and indeed we never see more than two, in any Scene of his, talking together, except it be for a word or two put in by a third, and that too very seldom, whatever Scaliger says to the contrary; Diogen. in Plat. & Philost. in Sophist. Et de vit. Apollón. l. 6. c. 6. he invented likewise a convenient Dress for his Actors with Co­thurnes, or High Shoes to make them appear tall like Heroes. Sophocles who was born Ten or Twelve years after the Death of Aeschylus, encreas'd the number of the Chief Actors to Three, and caus'd the Scenes to be painted with Decorations fitting for his Subject. So that in less than Fourscore years Tragedy attain'd to its highest perfection, with all the Glory of which it was capable.

As for Comedy, Donatus seems to think it was invented by Shepherds and Country People, who us'd to dance about the Altars of Apollo sirnamed Nomian, and sing at the same time some Hymns in honour of him; but I had rather believe Athenaeus, who makes it take its rise with Tragedy, and they [Page 114] were both consecrated to Bacchus, and not to Apollo: Except Donatus would judge of all Theatral Actions by the Apollinary Games, which indeed were Sce­nick, and celebrated in the Honour of Apollo.

I say then, That Comedy and Tragedy were born together; Clem. Alexand. Stromat. lib. 1. [...]. and accordingly we find in Clemens Alex­andrinus, that the Invention of Comedy was attri­buted to one Sisarion of Icaria; it may be, because he was the first that compos'd the Hymns of Bac­chus, after the Sacrifice of the Goat by Icarius. And this may suffice to appease the Quarrels of the Learned upon the Origine of Comedy, since they are not agreed neither in Times, Places, nor Persons.

But Comedy had not the same progress with Tra­gedy, it being long detain'd in Confusion and Dis­order: Nay, even in Aristophanes's time, which was after Sophocles and Euripides, it was full of satyrical Reflections and scandalous Slanders. It will be hard for us to mark the degrees of its progress, from the time that it was a Rural Hymn, to that of its per­fection upon the Stage; because, as Aristotle says, it being not so noble as Tragedy, there has been less care to make Observations upon it; and the Magi­strates were a great while before they concern'd them­selves in giving the Choruses, but us'd to leave them to the Discretion of those who made the Comedy. Ne­vertheless, if I may venture to bring to light things buried in so long an Obscurity, I think that it begun to have Actors about the same time as Tragedy did, that is, under Epicharmus the Sicilian, the Con­temporary of Thespis; and before that time I have not observ'd any Speakers. And 'tis from this, that the Sicilians do maintain, That Comedy was invent­ed at Syracusa, because Epicharmus was that Coun­tryman: [Page 115] not that they can pretend that there was no Comedy before him, (for we have yet the Frag­ments of Alcaea, a Comedy two hundred years be­fore his time) but because he first introduc'd an Actor with the Chorus. We may say as much of Sannyrion, who was the first that added Masks and Buffoons, according to Athenaeus; and the same of Cratinus, who setled three Actors, and made the whole Composition regular; the same of Aristopha­nes, who gave Comedy a further perfection; and so of all those whom Diomedes calls the first Comick Poets, though they came a great while after Come­dy was invented.

Now we are to take notice, that the Recital of that Actor or Player introduc'd by Thespis in Tra­gedy, and the number of which was since encreas'd by other Poets, receiv'd the name of Episode, as who should say, an additional Discourse, thrown as it were across another; therefore Suidas says expresly, that Episode signifies a thing which is besides the Subject of another, and to which nevertheless it is joyn'd. So when Aeschylus and others did insert in­to their Tragedies Actors that recited a Story which was nothing to the Praises of Bacchus, the Priests of Bacchus began to complain of that neglect, and said, that in those Episodes there was nothing that was proper either to the Actions or Mysteries of their God; which gave occasion to that Greek Pro­verb, [...], Nothing to Bacchus. And this Explication of the Proverb, which is ac­cording to all the Ancients, seems most reasonable: For to think, as some do, that in Drammatick Poe­try they call'd Episodes all the Descriptions, Narra­tions, and pathetick Discourses, as things not belong­ing [Page 116] to the Subject, seems very absurd, since without those things the Episodes themselves could not be.

These Complaints of Bacchus's Priests did not at all stop the Progress of Tragedy, which by little and little went its Course, and at last grew to such a di­stance from its Originals, as that the Episodes be­came the Tragedy it self. Therefore now all the Doctrine and Precepts of Aristotle about the Epi­sodes, how to make them successfully, is no more than the Art how to make a Drammatick Poem; for we have neither Prologue, Chorus, nor Exode to make the Parts of our Tragedy: so that having none but the Episode left, that alone must be called the Dramma; and when we read in Athenaeus, That Alexander, at the last Feast he made before his death, recited an Episode of the Andromeda of Euripides, we must not understand it as Natalis Comes does in his Marginal Note, calling it a Piece added to make Mirth; but rather in the sense of Aristotle, that it was some part of that Tragedy, either a fine Descri­ption, or some pathetick Expression in some Act of the Play.

It being then agreed, that the Episodes contain all that is between the Choruses, that is to say, Five Acts, distinguish'd by five Concerts of Musick, Ari­stotle gives three principal Instructions in composing of these Episodes.

The first is, That having chosen your Story, and resolv'd how much of it you will bring upon the Stage, you must then cast your Episodes, that is, the Descri­ptions, Discourses, Passions, and other things that are to entertain the Stage. And this is one of the greatest Dexterities of the Poet.

The second is, That the Episodes be proper and na­tural [Page 117] to the Story or Fable; that is to say, drawn from the very Essence of the Subject, and s fit, as to seem to jump naturally, and of themselves, with the whole Concourse of other Events. And 'tis out of the secret Knowledge Men have of this Precept, that we have often seen them blame upon the Stage Narrations that were not necessary, superfluous and vain Descriptions, Complaints, and other Passions, introduc'd out of order, and without which the Dramma might not onely have been, but have been better.

The third Rule is, That the Episodes ought not to be too long. And that is it which even the Common people every day condemn upon our Stages; for the finest Discourses, and the most necessary ones, have a Measure, after which they become tedious.

To these three Precepts of Aristotle, I add two Observations of my own; That the Drammatick Poet must have a care in these Episodes not to enter too much and too strongly into the particular of things; but he must onely touch the beutiful places of his Subject, by some strong Thoughts; because else there will appear an Affectation, and be too un­like a Natural Discourse, which in all things he is to imitate.

The other Observation is, That often the Business of the Stage does not suffer that the Actors should make long Discourses, not even of a thing necessa­ry; as if they were to go in haste to succour some afflicted Person, or to avoid their Enemies. I should therefore advise the Poet, in sch occasions, to use some other Means to instruct the Spectators of that which they are not to be ignorant of, or to do it at least in very few Words, so as to keep the Rules of [Page 118] Probability. One great slight in these sudden Oc­casions, is to explain some Circumstance of the Sto­ry, which may serve for the understanding of the nearest Events, and so reserve to ones self the Liber­ty of explaining the rest at leisure.

As for the other general Instructions that Aristotle gives about the Episodes, they are to be found in his Interpreters; but the Poet must still remember, that they are to be applied to the Acts and Disposition of Tragedy, as it is now treated amongst us it being most certain, that Drammatick Poems which comprehend the Events of two Stories in the unity of one Theatral Action, were never called by the Ancients. Episodick Fables; because those Drammas which contain but one Story, are as much Episodick as the others; that is, they have as many Acts or Recitals between the Choruses, as we have already sufficiently explain'd.

Chapter the Third.
Of the Choruses of the Ancients.

WE have said already, That Tragedy in its first Original was nothing but a Sacred Hymn sung and danced to the Honour of Bacchus; and that by little and little the Episodes, which we call Acts, were added between each Chorus. And we know like­wise, that now adays Tragedy has quite lost its Choruses, as Comedy had lost his, even before the Age of Plau­tus. So that it may seem to some, that a Discourse of Choruses may be now an unnecessary thing for the [Page 119] Practice of our Stage. But besides that they may one day be re-establish'd upon our Theatres, when we are well inform'd what they were amongst the Ancients, I think it very necessary for me to explain here my Thoughts about them, and which will scarce be found any where else.

To take the Chorus not as it was at first, when alone it made the whole Tragedy; but as it was in the time of Sophocles and Euripides, that is to say, in its perfection among the Grecians, I think we may define the Chorus thus.

The Chorus is a Troop of Actors, representing the Assembly or Body of those Persons who either were pre­sent, or probably might be so, upon that Place or Scene where the Action is suppos'd to be transacted.

These Words are of importance, and we are not to proceed without well weighing of them. Thus we see, that in the Hecuba of Euripides, the Chorus is of Trojan Women who were Slaves in the Camp, it being most probable that they were at the Tents of Hecuba, who was under the same Captivity with them. And in the Cyclops the Chorus is of Satyrs, and that very ingeniously contriv'd; for no other sort of Men could venture to stay before the Den of cruel Polyphemus. In the Antigone of Sophocles the Chorus is of the Old Men of Thebes, because be­ing sent for by Creon to Council, none could more reasonably be thought to be before his Palace. In the Ajax the Chorus is of Seamen of Salamis, who come very naturally before the Tent of their Prince, to endeavour to do him some Service, upon the noise of his being furious and mad. In the Prome­theus of Aeschylus the Nymphs of the Ocean make the Chorus, because in probability hardly any other [Page 120] Persons could be suppos'd near that unfortunate Man, who was fastned to a Rock far from the commerce of the rest of Mankind; and also in the Seven before Thebes, the Young Women of the Town make the Chorus, because it was more reasonable to assemble them before the Palace, and make them stay there full of fears and apprehensions, lamenting the Cala­mity of the War, than to have plac'd Men there, who are suppos'd necessary to the defence of their Countrey. And from this we may judge likewise with what Industry and Ingenuity Aristophanes, in his Play against Socrates, makes a Chorus of Clouds, because he supposes Socrates to invoke them to appear at his Sophisms; as in another place he has made a Chorus of Birds, which two Athenians come and entertain in a place full of Trees, and out of the way, talking to them about building a Town in the Air. I make no Citations here out of those Trage­dies which go under the name of Seneca, because they are very ill Models to imitate; and particu­larly, the Choruses are very faulty: for sometimes they see all that's done upon the Scene, hear all that's said, and speak very properly to all; and at other times one would think they were blind, deaf, and dumb. In many of those Drammas one can hardly tell who they represent, how they were dress'd, nor what Reason brings them upon the Stage, nor why they are of one Sex, more than of another. Indeed the Verses are fine, full of Thoughts, and overload­ed with Conceit; but may in most places be very well spar'd, without spoiling any thing either in the Sence, or in the Representation of the Poem. Be­sides, the Thebaida has none at all, whether it be lost by the fault of the Copyists and our Printers, [Page 121] which I can hardly believe, because there would at least have remain'd some fragments, considering that they were pieces inserted into the very body of the Poem in many places; so that I am apt to believe that the Author made none at all for that Play; and this with some other conjectures, has given me occa­sion to doubt of the truth of what Scaliger affirms so positively; to wit, that Tragedy never was without Chorus's; for I incline to think that in the time of the debauch'd and loose Emperours, where Mimes, Em­bolimes, and Buffoons came in for Interludes in Tra­gedy, as well as in Comedy, the Chorus ceas'd by little and little to be a part of the Drammatick Poem, and became only a Troup of Musicians and Dancers, to mark the Intervals of the Acts; but those four Greek Poets, whose works we have, have been much more exact in their Chorus's than the Author of Se­neca's Tragedys, as understanding a great deal better than he, the Art of composing such Poems; and out of them likewise it is that we learn that the Chorus might be compos'd of all sorts of persons, without di­stinction either of Age or Sex, nay of living creatures. or insensible things, as Aristophanes has done, from which we may likewise observe, that they who thought the Chorus represented the people were something out; for we see that in his Knights the people of Athens is acting, speaking and judging the contest between Cleo and Agoracritus, and that the Chorus is of Athenian Knights, perfectly distinguish'd from those who represent the people.

And when Aristotle and Scaliger after him name the Chorus a kind of idle Client, which gives but small assistance to those he pretends to help. It must be un­derstood only in comparison of the other Actors, [Page 122] who are generally more busie; as also because the Chorus never forsakes the place of the Scene; where­as the other Actors often perform great things off of the Stage; but yet the Greek Poets have never chosen for their Chorus either idle people (though they might be easily suppos'd present) or those who had no concern in the business in hand, because all that they could have said or done would have been weak and languishing, of small, or no effect upon the Spe­ctators, who do not willingly hear unconcern'd per­sons in a Tragedy. Besides, according to the Art of Poetry, both of Aristotle and Horace, the Chorus, be­sides its singing, ought to act a part of some concern, and advance and forward the Affairs of the Stage, as other Actors do; and therefore it is observable, that when the Subject did naturally furnish the Poet with a Chorus, he never borrowed it any where else: as in the Rhaesus of Euripides, where the Scene is be­fore the Tents of the Generals of the Trojan Army, and all things coming to pass in the night. The Guard makes the Chorus, because it would have been a­gainst probability that any other persons should have been assembled there at that time. Nay, if the Prin­cipal Actors themselves were enough in number, they made the Chorus of them, as in the Suppliants of Eu­ripides, where the seven Princes of Argos, that im­plore Theseus's help to bury the dead bodies of their Husbands before Thebes, make the Chorus them­selves.

But if they were put to invent a Chorus, they al­ways did it conformably to the nature of their Sub­ject, and to the Rules of probability. This Aristopha­nes has ingeniously enough observ'd in Comedy, as where he makes a Chorus of Frogs to sing while Bac­chus [Page 123] passing the Stix in Carons Bark; and another of Wasps in the house of Philocleon, whose Son would hinder him from going abroad; for though those are very ridiculous Imaginations, yet they are Comical; well enough invented in mirth, and are not against the Rules of his Art.

From hence we may likewise judg why the Chorus was at last left out in new Comedy, and of this I think no body hitherto has given a true reason. Ho­race thinks that the malignity and satyrical humour of the Poets was the cause of it; for they made the Chorus's abuse people so severely, that the Magistrates forbid them at last to use any at all; but I think, that if the Rules of probability had not likewise se­conded this prohibition, the Poets would have pre­serv'd their Chorus still, with conformity to their Sub­ject, and that without too much Satyr; therefore I imagine the thing came to pass thus.

Comedy took its model and constitution from Tragedy; and when the downright abusing of li­ving persons was prohibited, they generally invented feigned Subjects, which they govern'd according to the Rules of Tragedy; but as they were necessitated to draw Pictures of the life of the Vulgar, and were confin'd by consequent to mean Events, they gene­rally chose the place of their Scene in some Streets before the houses of those whom they suppos'd con­cern'd in the Story; and it was not very probable that there should be a Troup of people in such a place managing an Intrigue of inconsiderable persons from morning to night. Comedy lost of its self insensibly the Chorus, which it could not preserve with any probability.

[Page 124] Comedy therefore having lost its Chorus long be­fore Tragedy, that which was called new Comedy receiv'd Dances, Musick, and Buffoons, in the room of the Chorus, as more proper for the genius of Co­mical Poetry.

Since therefore we are now fully inform'd what the Chorus was, let us see how it acted upon the Stage.

At first it was plac'd a little lower than the Theatre, and was seated by it self, from whence it rose to sing and dance; afterwards it was plac'd up­on the Stage it self, and at last it came upon the very Scene, that is, behind the Hangings or Decoration, as may be seen in Scaliger, Castelvetro, and other Au­thors, with many other things which I forbear to repeat here.

But we may observe besides, that the Chorus did not ordinarily appear upon the Stage, till after the Prologue, that is, as we have explain'd it, till after one or many Scenes, which open'd the Play, and were preparatives to the better understanding of the piece, not being reckon'd among the Acts or Epi­sods. This too is to be understood only in strictness; for sometimes there was no Prologue, and all that pass'd before the coming on of the Chorus was the first Act, and to be reckon'd of the body of the Trage­dy, as in the Ajax of Sophocles; at other times the Chorus its self opened the Stage, as in the Rhaesus of Euripides, because being compos'd of the Guards, which had watch'd all night, 'twas not probable any should be there before them.

We must observe besides, that when the Chorus once came on in regularity, they were not suppos'd to go off till the end of the Play; and this appears [Page 125] by all the Greek Tragedys, where the Chorus often shews the Pallace or House to strangers, complains, or seems astonished at sudden noises made within; by all which it may be concluded, it stayed all along up­on the Stage. 'Tis true, that sometimes we may observe it to come in and out, but that is extraordi­narily, and by some remarkable Artifice of the Poet, who has a mind that some Action or other should be perform'd upon the Stage without witness: As when Sophocles has a mind that Ajax should kill himself upon the Stage, he sends out the Chorus under pre­text of assisting Tecmessa, who is endeavouring to find out Ajax, to prevent the Effects of his fury (he ha­ving just left her with a Sword in his hand▪)

Another reason the Poets have of sending out the Chorus is, when 'tis probable that they who repre­sent the Chorus have done an action which could not naturally have been perform'd upon the Stage: So in the Oratrices, or pleading Women of Aristophanes, the Women which compose the Chorus, go out at the end of the first Act in Mens disguise, to go to the Council to have it there decreed, that the Govern­ment of Athens shall be put into their hands; and at the end of the second Act, they come back upon the Scene to bring their Husbands cloths which they had stolen in the night: Where by the by we may take notice of the Ignorance of some of our Pedants in their Latine Tragedys, when at the end of each Act they bring on a single Actor to represent the Chorus, and declaim some scurvy Verses of Morality, bring­ing him on, and driving him off as they please, think­ing thereby to fulfil Aristotles Rules, and perfectly imitate the Antients; whereas their Chorus was com­pos'd of many persons, who sung and danced with [Page 126] great Art, and were always brought upon the Stage for some good reason; nor are we to imagine, as some have done, that the Chorus sung and danc'd always; for that was only when there was need to mark the Intervals of the Acts. In other places the Chorus was considered as any other Actor, and the Corypheus, or chief of them us'd to hold Discourse for all the rest; or else being divided in two (as sometimes it was half on one side of the Stage, and half on the other) the Chiefs of each side discours'd together of the Af­fairs of the Stage, as is to be seen in the Agamem­non of Aeschylus upon the death of that King.

We see likewise sometimes that the Chorus after some Discourses falls a singing, or is commanded to do it, by which it appears, it did not sing before; The Example is precise in the seven before Thebes, where Prince Eteocles, after having discoursed with the Chorus a good while, bids him at last leave off talking, and sing, to know now whether they all danc'd, and whether the same persons danc'd that sung, and if they danc'd and played on Instruments together, and of what sort is that great diversity of Song we find among the Antients, all this I say can­not contribute any thing to the composition of a Drammatick Poem; and therefore need not be ex­amin'd, but in order to instruct our Musick, in case we should have a mind to bring the Chorus's upon our Theatres.

But we must not forget here, that the chief Actors did frequently mingle with the Chorus, as Electra in Euripides and Sophocles. Queen Aethra, with King Adrastus in the Supplicants of Euripides; and in these cases I am of Opinion, that those Actors were the Coryphaei's.

[Page 127] Sometimes there was divers Chorus's, when it was not probable that the same persons could be twice upon the Stage, as in Christophanes, when Bacchus passes the River Stix, to go to the Pallace of Pluto, the Chorus is made by Frogs; but when he is at the Gate of the Pallace, the Chorus is made by the Priests, and the fraternity of his Mysteries.

Sometimes likewise the Chorus did not come back time enough at the end of an Act, being ingag'd some­where else, and then that Act was mark'd by some Mime, Musick Dance or buffooning, taken from the Subject, as in the Oratrices of Aristophanes, the Wo­men being all elsewhere at the end of the fourth Act, the Poet makes a farce of two old Women, and a young Girl, who sing and dance to Instruments, in expectation of some Man to come by, and are al­ready disputing who shall have him to make him obey the Womens Laws.

From all these Observations it is most apparent, that the Chorus is nothing but what we have describ'd it to be; and that we have much reason to wonder that the Learned, who have afforded us so many cu­riosities upon the Drammatick Poem, have not never­theless discover'd any thing like this to us, though very important, to understand antient Tragedy, and justifie the probability of all the Rules of the Theatre.

For first, if the Antient Greek Poets have made but few Monologues upon the Stage, it is because it was not always easie to find a pretext to send out the Chorus, and to have it come in again; and on the other side, a man could not in probability be sup­pos'd to speak aloud of secret things, without being heard by persons who were so near him.

[Page 128] Secondly, The Ancient Poets seldom make any of their Actors die upon the Stage, because it was not probable, that so many Persons as compos'd the Chorus, should see such a thing done, and not endea­vour to hinder it. Thus Aeschylus makes Agamem­non be kill'd in his Palace, and his Crys and dying Groans to be heard without by the Chorus, which de­liberates whether they shall call the People, or break in to his Relief; when Clytemnestra her self comes out, and owns the Murder, and its manner, shewing them likewise her Husbands dead Body; which has made some imagine, that Agamemnon was kill'd up­on the Stage. On the other side, Sophocles makes the Chorus leave the Stage, and brings on Ajax in a sedate, calm Resolution of dying; where after ha­ving spoke a most passionate Monologue, he kills him­self with his own Sword, from which none could hinder him, he being alone upon the Stage. And by the by, that may serve to oppose to those who so peremptorily maintain, that the Ancients never shed any Blood upon the Stage; for they have both done it, and avoided it, and still with decency and pro­bability.

Thirdly, The Chorus oblig'd a Poet to a Conti­nuity of Action; for if the Action ceas'd, it was not probable the Chorus should stay there any longer, its Business being onely depending upon the Acti­on. Thus we see, that as soon as Ajax's Fury seem'd to be a little over, the Chorus, which was made up of his Subjects, who came to enquire of his Condi­tion, has a design to be gone; but is stopp'd by a Messenger, who tells them the Arrival of Teucer, Ajax's Brother, and the danger that Minerva had put Ajax in all that day.

[Page 129] Moreover, we may here conclude, That the Cho­rus oblig'd the Poet insensibly to a necessity of keep­ing the Unity of the Scene; for since it was regu­larly to stay from the beginning of the Dramma to the end, without going out, 'tis most undoubted, that the Place could not change: for it would have been most ridiculous, that Persons who never stirr'd, should have been transported from Europe to Asia, or from Athens to Thebes, without ever having dis­appear'd from the Spectators Eyes; and therefore those Poets, whenever they did make the Chorus go off from the Stage, were very careful to make them tell where they went, that it might not be imagin'd that in carrying off the Chorus, they meant to tran­sport the Scene too.

And not onely the Unity of Place, but likewise the Measure of Time convenient to the Drammatick Poem, may be learn'd from the Choruses▪ for if the Poet had comprehended in his Play a Year, a Month, or a Week, how could he make the Specta­tors believe, that People who had always been in their Eye, should have pass'd so long a time without either eating, drinking, or sleeping. I know it will be answered, That there is an Illusion to be allow'd upon the Stage; and I own it. But the Spectators must still be deceiv'd, so as not to perceive that they are so; and though they know before hand that they are to be deceiv'd, yet it must not be done so grossly as to be perceiv'd without reflection, and at first sight. Therefore that which in our days has help'd these irregular Plays to pass upon us, was the Intervals of the Acts, where none remaining upon the Stage, and our Musick not being look'd upon as a Continuation of the Action, the Spectator's Ima­gination [Page 130] was at liberty to help the Poet, and to shorten Years and Months into Moments, the Eyes having nothing before them to contradict this Ima­gination.

From hence then it results naturally, That the time of the Dramma ought to be very short, as we have shew'd in a Chapter on purpose.

To make an end of this Matter, we must observe, That the Choruses made all the Grandeur and Magni­ficence of the ancient Tragedies; not onely because the Stage was always full, but because there was need of making a vast Expence: for there was a great number of Actors, Musicians, Dancers, Clothes, and often very costly Machins, as in the Clouds of Aristophanes; and it was among the Grecians an ho­nourable Profession to instruct and direct the Chorus­es, as appears by Plato the Philosopher, who fol­low'd that Employment the best part of his Youth; and Aristophanes, we find, had the direction of his Choruses, particularly of that of the Clouds. The Richest of the Nobility often bore the Charge; as Dio, in favour of Plato, who at first was one of the Tragick Poets. The Magistrates likewise, to make the time of their Administration more Solemn, did the same thing. Sometimes the State it self, when they would do an extraordinary Honour to some of their Tragick Poets, order'd, that the Charges of the Chorus should be allow'd by the Pub­lick Treasury: And this the Athenians have often done. And I believe, that when the Great Men forsook the Care of the Stage, it soon fell into Con­tempt, the Choruses being retrench'd, by the impos­sibility that the Players and Poets were in to answer such an Expence; and afterwards, the Ignorance of [Page 131] following Ages thought fit to look upon them as useless, and unfit to be put in practice. New Co­medy it self lost its Choruses, even in the most flou­rishing Drammatick Age; but that was rather be­cause it was much harder to give Choruses their due Probability in Comedy, than in Tragedy, though its Mimes, Musicians, Embolaires, and such like, were not of a less Magnificence than the Choruses of Tra­gedy it self; and those who were the Masters and Directors in them, had as much Fame when they succeeded, as either Aesopus, or Roscius, or any of the Chief Actors of the Age. This may be seen by some ancient Inscriptions of Terence's Comedies, and other very considerable Proofs in Antiquity.

If then our Age could suffer the re-establishment of the Chorus, as being the most glorious and mag­nificent Ornament of Tragedy, our Poets ought in the first place to study the Art of the Ancients in that point, how ingeniously they invented them, how necessarily they brought them on, and how agreeably they made them speak and act; and then the King or our Great Lords, should be at the Ex­pence: Which I think not the hardest to compass, considering the Profusion we have seen in Ballets, Balls, and Tragedies in this Kingdom.

And lastly, It would be necessary to have Musici­ans and Dancers capable of executing the Inventions of the Poets, after the way of those lively speaking Dances of the Ancients, which, to say truth, I think impossible for us Frenchmen to attain to, and I believe it very hard for the Italians. Therefore I shall not expatiate here upon the Method of adding Choruses to our Tragedies, nor say what might be left out, and what taken from the Ancients, in conformity to [Page 132] our Customs; for that would deserve a particular Treatise, I pass now to things more necessary to the true Understanding of the Drammatick Poem, and the Practice of the Stage.

Chapter the Fourth.
Of the ancient Actors or first Reciters of Episodes, against the Opinion of some Modern Writers.

THough in all this Work I have had no other Design than to instruct the Poet in many Par­ticulars which I thought very important for the ma­king of a Dramma; yet being carried, by my own Study and Enquiries, into the Discovery of an Errour of some of our Moderns, about the ancient Reciters of Tragedy, I could do no less than endeavour to re­ctifie that Mistake, though it do not perfectly regard my first Design, which was onely to deliver Precepts about Drammatick Poetry. But if my Readers are curious enough to be willing to know some Circum­stances about the progress of Tragedy, I suppose this Discourse may not be disagreeable to them.

We have laid down, as a most constant Truth, That for many Years Tragedy was nothing but a Pagan Religious Hymn, sung and danced in the Honour of Bacchus; That Thespis introduc'd an Actor to recite something Forreign to that Subject, which was call'd an Episode; That Aeschylus brought on two Actors, and Sophocles three, with other Ornaments, which brought Tragedy to its perfection. And this we have justified by the Testimonies of Aristotle, Dio­genes [Page 133] Laertius, Athenoeus, Plutarch, Donatus, and many other ancient Writers; to whom I may add all those who since have writ of Drammatick Poesie. But Castelvetro, Ricoboni, and some others, are of opinion, that the Chorus signifies sometimes the Band of Comedians or Tragedians, and that 'tis in that sense that we must understand that Passage of Dio­genes Laertius, in the Life of Plato, which says, That formerly the Chorus alone acted the whole Tra­gedy: By which, says Castelvetro, it appears, that the Histrions acted formerly without Musick or Dan­cing. And as one Absurdity generally engages us in another, to maintain this Errour, he commits a greater, when he adds, That the Actor introduc'd by Thespis was a Buffoon who used to Sing, and Dance, and play upon some Instrument, and that Aeschilus af­ter him brought on two such, separating Dancing from the Singing, and playing upon Instruments, and that Sophocles at last brought on three Actors for these three things. So that he pretends, that before Thes­pis the Chorus was a Troop of Players or Actors, and that those brought on by Thespis, Aeschilus, and Sophocles were not so, but Singers and Dancers which certainly is both false and ridiculous. First, there is no passage in any of the Ancients that can be cited to prove, that they who associated themselves to Act Plays were ever called by the Word Chorus, but by that of Company: We have many Examples of this in Plautus, who very often makes them appear under this Name at the end of his Plays to thank the Spectators, and in Terence▪ Ambivius Turpio complains, That the Poets carry'd to other Companies those Plays that were easy to represent; be­sides, it is so far from being true, that antiently the [Page 134] Plays were acted by Histrions without Dancing or Musick; that on the contrary 'tis most certain, that they were originally danced and sung by a Chorus of Musicians without Actors or Histrions.

To Illustrate fully the truth, I think that it is a strange mistake to say that the Chorus of which Dio­genes, Athenoeus, and Donatus do speak, when they say, That Tragedy was at first acted by the Chorus was a Company of Comedians, or reciting Represen­tatours without either Dance or Musick, for one need only read those Authors to be convinced of the contrary; and when Athenoeus saies, That Tragedy had none of those Histrions which the Greeks call Hy­pocrites, or, Representers of other Men; he can­not be understood of Buffooning, Dancing or Singing Actors, because the Greeks had a great many of them, in Tragedy; particularly in that which was called Satyrical Tragedy. Besides, in the time, and before the time of Thespis, they used a little sort of Stage called Eileos, where was placed a Musician to answer the rest of the Chorus, and as Tragedy was then nothing but a Sacred Hymn in the honour of Bacchus, the Chorus was composed of those who were Ministers to his Ceremonies, and who were hir'd for Money often to Sing and Dance in great Feasts, so that if the Actor brought on by Thespis, had done nothing but Sing and Dance without re­citing, he had done nothing new, and the Priests of Bacchus would not have had reason to complain of it, but there is more in it still, for even in the time of Thes­pis the Choruses were composed of Dancers and Sing­ers, and Athenaeus saies, that he and Pratinas, and Phri­nicus with other Poets of that time, were Nicknam'd Dancers, because they fitted their Poetry to the Dance of [Page 135] the Choruses whom they used to teach with care them­selves, to represent well in Dancing, that which they had expressed in Verse.

This Pratinas was a Tragick Poet who lived a little after Thespis, and was contemporary with Aeschy­lus, and as Athenoeus tells us, he writ as an observati­on of his time, That when the People saw the Play­ers of Instruments come upon the Stage without Dancing with the rest of the Chorus, and the Chorus sing and dance without playing upon Instruments, they were angry at it, as a piece of Novelty against a received custom. By which it appears, that the Division of Musick from Dancing, which was then made by the Poets, was a change in the Chorus, and not an In­troducing of new Interludes; these Choruses were composed of such great numbers, that Aeschylus was forc'd to lessen them, as we have it from Aristotle, and this he did after the representation of his Eume­nides, and that Chorus is well distinguished from the Persons who recited. If then it were or could be true, that in the time of Thespis the Chorus was the company of Comedians, or Histrions, we must be told how that Name was transferr'd from the Reci­ters to the Musicians, and who first brought into Tragedy that great number of Dancers and Singers of which we could not be ignorant, the Greeks having been pretty well informed of their own History ever since the settling of the Olympiads, which was near three hundred years before that time.

To this we may add as very considerable, that which Aristotle, and Diogenes Laertius say, That by the means of the three Actors introduc'd by those three lights of the Stage, Thespis, Aeschylus, and Sopho­cles, Tragedy received all its splendour, and its last per­fection; [Page 136] for if before them there were companies of Players that represented reciting, as they have done since, and that these three Actors added, were on­ly to sing, dance, or play upon the Instruments; sure these Authors would not have judg'd that so great a thing as to make the perfection of Tra­gedy consist in it; and when in these latter times, Tragedy having recovered its glory without all this Musick, Mimiking, and Dancing; did ever any one yet object the want of that for a fault, and that its true splendour consisted in those ridiculous Inter­ludes? Besides Thespis brought so great a change upon Ancient Tragedy, that he was called the In­ventor of it, and if there had been before his time, whole companies of reciting Comedians, I doubt whether he would have deserv'd that name for only adding a Buffooning Actor to the rest.

There is yet another thing to confirm this, which in my opinion is important enough, which is, That if before Thespis's time there had been Stage Players, or Histrions, they must have acted without a Stage, and without Clothes conformable to their parts, and without any decoration, for all these things were most certainly brought in by those three Poets, and in different times.

And it is moreover true, that Aeschylus having In­troduc'd the Second Actor, divided the recitals of his Actours upon the Stage, and Aristotle for this reason calls the First Actors part, The Principal Dis­course, or the Principal Canto; and Philostrates speaking of this Second Actor of Aeschylus writes, That by this means he took off from the Stage those long and tedious Monodias of a single Actor, putting in their room a Dialogue of Discourse of different [Page 137] Actors. So Scaliger writes, that at the beginning Tragedy was Monoprosope, that is, of One Actor, and that Aeschilus brought in the Discourse of two, by which it appears that these Actors were Reciters and not Singers or Dancers, but to finish the proof of this matter we must know that by the general Inter­pretation of all the Greek and Latine Authors that writ since these three Poets; the Histrion, or Play­er introduc'd by Thespis is named Protagonist, that introduced by Aeschylus Deuteragonist, and the Third added by Sophocles Tritagonist; that is, First, Se­cond, and Third Actor, and not Dancer or Musician. By the First they understood that Actor who in Tra­gedy represented the chief Person of the Dramma, and had the chiefest part, as appearing most upon the Scene, and by the two others they understood those who acted the second and third parts of the Stage. Upon this Cicero writes, That amongst the Greeks he that has the second or third part, though he happen to have a stronger voice than the first Actor, yet he moderates it that he may not drown the first. And Porphyrius says, That the Tritagonists always acted with a low voice; and 'tis in that sense that these names have in other cases been applied to those Per­sons who had the first, second, and third parts, which made Demosthenes to affront Aeschynes call him Tri­tagonist, insinuating thereby, that he had been a Player, and that only of the third rank, and no body will say, that in all these comparisons there was any thought of these Actors being Musicians or Dan­cers.

Indeed something like the imagination of Castelve­tro has happened in Comedy: for where it was first received in Rome, it had no Chorus but Interludes of [Page 138] Singers, Dancers, and Players upon Instruments, who altogether marked the intervals of the Acts, and according to my opinion, were translated to the Stage from the Ludi Scenici, or Scenical Games.

That they sung, danc'd, and play'd upon Instru­ments all at once, appears by Livius Andronicus, who being grown old took an occasion from the weakness of his voice to have a youth sing for him, which made his dancing so much the more agreeable, as being freed from the constraint of managing his motions to his voice: Some while after he laid aside his Instruments likewise, and then having his Arms at liberty to give the full grace to his dancing, he brought that Art to great perfection. This he did in Imitation of the Greeks, for we see in Lucian, that in Tragedy these three Actions were formerly united and performed by the same Person of which the surprisal of the people mentioned by Pratinas, and which we have already alledged, is a sufficient proof.

Not but that there are some passages in Ancient Authors which seem to say, that formerly Trage­dies and Comedies were sung and danc'd, and that so Artificially that the Musick and the postures gave sensible Images of the things expressed by the Ver­ses; but this was either because the Musical Games (even in Plato) comprehended under them all the Exercises of Poetry even to the Drammatick; or else, because the Hymns of Bacchus which were original­ly at first both Tragedy and Comedy, were always accompanied with Musick and Dances, or because in the intervals of the Acts they had people who re­presented by their dancing; these things which had been spoken in the Act, as is to be seen in Plutarch [Page 139] and Lucian, or rather, most probably, because not only they had at the same time, and in the same places, Actors who recited Tragedy, but likewise Choruses for Tragedy; and Mimes for Comedy, who sung and danc'd to the sound of Instruments with postures which represented the Persons both of Men and Gods.

Let us then conclude, that before the Age of Thes­pis the Chorus was nothing but a company of Musi­cians singing and dancing Tragedy as a Hymn in the honour of Bacchus, and that Thespis brought on the First Actor, who by reciting, divided the singing of the Chorus, and gave a beginning to the Episodes, and of this truth besides Ancient Authors we have for Guarantees many modern ones, as Robortel, Picco­lomini, Bernardo Segni, Scaliger, Benius, Eugubi­nus, Vossius, Heinsius, Victorius, and other Inter­preters of Aristotle who have all proved this Asser­tion, though by reasons differing from those which we have here declared.

Chapter the Fifth.
Of Tragicomedy.

THis New Word which seems to have been in­troduc'd to signifie some new sort of Dram­matick Poem, obliges me to explain it more clearly, and at length, then any of our Modern Authors have done, and to that end I must shew all that in our Plays is different from, or conformable to the Works of the Ancients.

[Page 140] The Stage by little and little being come to its last perfection, became a sensible and moving Image of all humane life: Now there being three sorts of conditions or ways of living, that of Great persons in the Courts of Kings, that of Citizens, and Gentry in Towns, and that of the Country people in the Country, the Stage has likewise receiv'd three kinds of Drammatick Poems, to wit, Tragedy, Comedy, and Pastoral.

Tragedy represented the Life of Princes and great People full of disquiets, suspicions, troubles, rebel­lions, wars, murders, and all sorts of violent passions, and mighty adventures; whence it was well call'd by Theophrastus, The State of an Heroick Fortune.

Now to distinguish Tragedys by their Catastrophe, they were of two sorts; the one were calamitous and bloody in their Events, ending generally by the death, or some great misfortune of the Hero; the others were more happy, and concluded by the feli­city of the chief persons upon the Stage, and yet be­cause the Poets out of complaisance to the Athenians, who loved spectacles of horrour, ended often their Tragedys by unfortunate Catastrophes; many people have thought that the word Tragical never signifi'd any thing but some sad, bloody Event; and that a Drammatick Poem could not be call'd a Tragedy, if the Catastrophe did not contain the death of the chief persons in the Play; but they are mistaken, that word, in its true signification, meaning nothing else but a Magnificent, serious, grave Poem, conformable to the Agitations and sudden turns of the fortune of great people. And accordingly in the nineteen Tragedys of Euripides, many of them have a happy conclusion; and which is very remarkable is, that the Orestes, [Page 141] which begins with fury and rage, and runs upon such strong Passions and Incidents, that they seem to pro­mise nothing but a fatal, bloody Event; it neverthe­less terminated by the entire content and satisfaction of all the Actors, Helena being plac'd among the Gods, and Apollo obliging Orestes and Pylades to mar­ry Hermione and Electra, which made one of the An­tients say, that that Play had a Comical Catastrophe; but in that he is much mistaken, as well as Victorius and Stiblinus, who say the same thing of the Electra and Alceste.

Comedy was the picture of the Actions of the people, in which were generally represented the De­baucheries of young people, with the tricks and acts of Slaves and Courtezans, full of Railleries and Jests, and ending in Marriages, or some other pleasant Ad­venture of common life; and this Poem was so much confin'd to represent a popular life, that the style of it was to be low and mean, the expressions taken out of the mouths of ordinary people; the passions were to be short, and without violence. In a word, all the Intrigues were to be upheld by slight and cunning, and not by the sublime and marvellous part of hu­mane life; therefore Scaliger is in the right to find fault with Plautus for making Aleesimark appear with a Dagger, and a design to kill himself, because that is an undertaking too generous for the Comick Theatre. Donatus likewise blames Terence for making his passions too strong and lasting, with expressions something too noble for his Art, and Comedy its self does not always in Plautus end happily as may be seen in divers of his Plays.

Pastoral or Satyr had a mixture of serious and pleasant; Hero's and Satyrs were its Actors; and [Page 142] this sort of Poem ought to be consider'd two ways; at first it was nothing but a little Poem call'd Idyl­lium, or Eclogue, sung or recited by one man alone, and seldom by two or more; and they were gene­rally Shepherds, Gardners, Husbandmen, Satyrs, Nymphs, and all sorts of Country people; there was nothing but complaints of Lovers, cruelties of Shep­herdesses, disputes for Singing▪ Embuscadoes of Sa­tyrs, and ravishing of Nymphs, with such like divert­ing, easy Adventures; but the Poems were all loose pieces, without any story, or necessity of Action. We have many Examples in Theocritus and Virgil, and many Modern Poets have imitated them in La­tine. In the Reign of Henry the Second in France, divers French Poets made Eclogues in their own Lan­guage, of which we have some Examples in Ron­sard.

The other sort was a Drammatick Poem, carryed on according to the Rules of the Stage, where Hero's and Satyrs were mingled together, representing both grave and pleasant, ridiculous things; and for that reason this Poem had the name of Satyrical Tragedy.

This sort of Poem had not any course among the Romans, at least that ever I could observe either in their Historians or Poets; that which they call'd Satyr, being only a Copy of Verses made to slander or reprove, and never us'd for the Stage, but with the Mimes, and by way of Interlude.

But among the Graecians, Satyrical Tragedy was highly valued; for at the Feasts of Bacchus, call'd Chytres, the Poets us'd to vye with each other, and dispute for the Prize by this sort of Poem. Athe­naeus, Plato, Plutarch, and Suidas, alledg many Ex­amples of this kind, and we have some fragments, [Page 143] but no entire Poem of this kind, except the Polyphe­mus of Euripides: And I incline to think that his Alceste is one of that kind too, by reason that Her­cules is very pleasant there with a Slave, and does ve­ry Comical Actions; but I shall wait the Opinion of the Learned, before I shall determine any thing in that Point.

These three sorts of Poems are not now upon the Stage, in the same manner as they were antiently; for to begin with Pastorals, they are now a Drammatick Poem, according to the Rules of all other Dramma's, compos'd of five Acts, and many agreeable Events and Intrigues, but all regarding a Country life; so that we have borrowed the matter of the Eclogues from the Antients, and applyed it to the Rules of Sa­tyrical Tragedy.

Comedy among us has remain'd long, not only in meanness and obscurity, but look'd upon as infamous, being chang'd into that sort of Farce, which we still retain at the end of some of our Tragedys; though they are certainly things without Art, or Grace, and only recommendable to the Rascally sort of Mankind, who delight in obscene, infamous words and actions. I know indeed that sometimes our Poets have endea­vour'd to restore the Comedy of the Antients, either by translating their Works, or by otherwise imita­ting them, but that has seldom happened, and then without success too, for many reasons; but particu­larly, for not having chosen Subjects that had any conformity with our manners and customs; or for not having chang'd in the Works of the Antients, that which was not so conformable to our Sentiments: Neither can we say that the Comedy of the Italians has succeeded to those of Plautus and Terence, for [Page 144] they have observ'd neither the matter nor form of them; their Subjects are always mingled with seri­ous Adventures, and burlesk ones, Hero's and Har­lequins; and generally they consist but of three Acts, without any order of Scenes, nor any thing of the Conduct of the Antients. And indeed I cannot but admire how it comes to pass, that the Descen­dents of the Romans should be so unlearned in the Art of their Fathers.

As for Tragedy, it has been preserv'd a little better among us, because the manners of our Nobility be­ing serious and heroick, they have with more plea­sure been upon the Stage the Adventures of such per­sons, and have shew'd no disposition at all to that mixture of serious and burlesk which we blame in the Italians. But besides the Niceties of the Art, which as well as the Italians, we have long been ignorant of; we have done two things, one of which is very reasonable, and the other without any good grounds. The first is, that we have rejected all those Storys full of horrour and cruelty, which made the pleasure of the Roman and Athenian Stages; and for this very reason one of the noblest Tragedys that we have, Alboin. and the most worthy of a Graecian Theatre, could never succeed well upon ours, but gave always some disgust both at Court, and to the people. I have already given a reason for it in another place. But the second thing which we do without any ground at all is, that we have taken away the name of Tragedy from all those Plays where the Catastrophe is happy, and without blood, though both the Sub­ject and Persons are heroick, and have given them the name of Tragicomedys. I do not well know whe­ther our Poet Garnier was the first that brought it [Page 145] up, but he gave that name of his Bradamante, which many since that have imitated.

I shall not absolutely fall out with this name, but I shall shew that it is at least superfluous, since the word Tragedy signifies as well those Plays that end in joy, as those that end in blood; provided still the Adventures be of Illustrious persons. And besides, the signification of the word Tragicomedy is not true in the sense we use it; for in those Plays that we ap­ply it to, there is nothing at all Comical, all is grave and heroick, nothing popular and burlesk.

But moreover, this title alone may destroy all the beauty of a Play, which consisting particularly in the Peripetia, or return of Affairs, it may discover that too soon; since the most agreeable thing in a Dram­ma is, that out of many sad and Tragick appearances, the Event should at last be happy, against the Expe­ctation of the whole Audience; but when once the word Tragicomedy is prefix'd, the Catastrophe is pre­sently known, and the Audience the less concern'd with all the Incidents that trouble the designs of the chief Actors; so that all their Pathetick complaints do but weakly move the Spectator, who is prepos­sessed with an Opinion that all will end well; where­as if we were ignorant of the Event, we should tremble for them, and be likewise more delighted with the return of good Fortune that should deliver them.

One thing which surprises me the most in this occasion is, that there are men of Learning and Parts, who out of complaisance to popular Errours, do main­tain that this was a word us'd by the Romans; for, for my part I cannot imagine where they can find that a Dramma, containing the Adventures of heroick persons, and ending in a happy Catastrophe, had the [Page 146] name of Tragicomedy. We see nothing of this in what remains of the Works of the Antients, nor in those who have compil'd fragments, or written their own sense about the Art and Maxims of the Stage. 'Tis true that Plautus in the Prologue to his Amphytrio, uses the word Tragicomedy; but as he is the only Roman that has us'd it, so has he done it in a sense very remote from the use we make of it. That he is the only Poet of the Antients that has us'd this word, is out of dispute; and our Moderns cannot alledge any other Roman Author, while the Roman Tongue was a living Language; so that Plautus was the Coiner of this word, which also fell with him, and died in its Cradle long before the Roman Language; but if others after him had made use of it in the sense he employs it, that could not autho­rize the word Tragicomedy, as it is now employ'd; and quite contrary, 'tis by Plautus, that we will shew the mistake of its signification, and the ill use that is made of it.

To understand this well, we must repeat here, that Tragedy and Comedy were two Poems so distinct, that not only the Adventures, Persons, and Stile of the one, had nothing common with the other; but even the Tragedians never acted Comedys, nor the Come­dians Tragedy: They were as it were two different Trades or Professions; and accordingly Story gives us the names of divers Actors, who excell'd in the one or the other, but never, or at least very rarely of any that excell'd in both.

We are to take notice besides, that the Mimes, Pantomimes, Embolarii, the Buffoons, the Dancers, Musicians, Players of Instruments, nay even the Actors of the Atellane Fables (which were the modestest of [Page 147] all) were not admitted among those who acted Tra­gedys, nor likewise among the Comedians, or those who acted Comedy; both these being reputed much more honourable than the Actors of those Farces and Interludes; but the chief distinctive mark of these two Poems was the matter of their Incidents, and the condition of the persons in each Poem; for where Gods and Kings acted according to their gravity and dignity, that was call'd Tragedy; but when the In­trigues of the Stage were founded upon the tricks and behaviour of young Debauchees, Women and Slaves, that was Comedy. And if we seek a further reason for this, it will appear that the Hymn or Song of Bacchus, which was sung and danc'd before his Altars, having been transferr'd from the Coun­try, to Towns and Citys, the Subject of it was al­ways taken by the Poets out of illustrious and se­rious Storys and Fables, and treated in a grave and sublime style; but the very same Hymn remaining in the Country Villages, took its Subject from the common people, and their actions; and being treat­ed in a low, familiar style, was call'd Comedy, though that name too at first was common to both sorts of Poems, till their Characters being so very different, made them be distinguish'd by different names. Now let us see in what sense it is that Plautus employs the word Tragicomedy in the Prologue of his Amphy­trion, where Mercury speaks; and having desir'd from the people a favourable Audience, continues in these words. After this I will explain to you the Subject of this Tragedy, What, you frown, because I have call'd this Play a Tragedy? but I am a God, and therefore can change it presently if you will, and without alter­ing a Verse of it make it a Comedy. Then having jest­ed [Page 148] a little, he goes on; I will by a mixture make it a Tragicomedy; for I do not think it reasonable that a Play should be call'd all Comedy, where Gods and Kings come and act; how shall we do then since a Slave too is one of the chief Actors? why, as I told you, we will make it a Tragicomedy.

After such plain and intelligible words, I cannot imagine how any body can say, that Plautus had us'd the word Tragicomedy, as we use it; for he never dreamt of that signification; all that he says is a jest, wherein he joyns the names of those two Poems, as he had done the persons by which the great distin­ction that was between them does more evidently appear; and that therefore we have very ill apply'd that name to a Poem, where all the Persons and Ad­ventures are heroick. 'Tis for this that Plautus ne­ver call'd his Amphytrio a Tragicomedy, but because his Gods and Kings do not act according to their dig­nity, but rather very far from it, playing the fool almost continually, insomuch that Jupiter and Am­phytrío go to Fisty-cuffs; he therefore often boldly calls it Comedy, in many places of his Prologue. Jupiter, says he, will act himself in this Comedy, and by and by, Hearken now to the Argument of this Co­medy; so that his Interpreters and Commentators have not also call'd it by any other name, no more than such Antients as speak of Plautus and his Works; as Cicero, Quintilian, Varro, Aulus Gellius, Volcatius in his Treatise of the Comick Poets, Servius, Sextus, Pompeius, Macrobius, Rufinus, Donatus, Petrus Crini­tus, Lilius Geraldus, in his History of Poets, Scaliger in his Poetica; none of these▪ I say, have called his Amphytrio, no more than all his other Plays any thing else but a Comedy. And when Vossius explains [Page 149] this word of Tragicomedy, he says, Plautus gives it to his Amphytrio, because he in that Play mingles the dignity of persons with the lowness of Comical Discourses; and Festus making a division of the Fables among the Romans, says, that the Tabernariae, were such as admitted of persons of Quality, mingled with people of mean Extraction, upon which Vossius adds, that the Amphytrio of Plautus is of that sort, and that such a Play may be call'd Tragicomedy, or Hilaro-Comedy, which is a new word invented by that Author. And Scaliger before him, speaking of the name of Tragicomedy given to this Play, says, It is done in Raillery, because the Poet had made a mix­ture of the meanness of Comedy, with the dignity of great persons; let us not therefore affirm any lon­ger, that this word Tragicomedy was us'd by the Antients in our sense; for Plautus is the only one that has it, and that in a quite different sense from ours, who by that word do mean a Drammatick Poem, of which the Subject is Heroick, and the End or Catastrophe happy; and that indeed is a noble and agreeable sort of Tragedy much us'd by the An­tients.

The same fault, in my Opinion, is committed by those who would have the Hilaro-Tragedia to be a Dramma, or Theatral piece in use among the Greeks, and of the nature of that which we call Tragicomedy, which seems not to be very probable. Suidas indeed does say, that Rintho, a Comick Poet, invented a sort of Poetry call'd by him Hilaro-Tragedia; but to con­clude from thence, that it was a regular Drammatick Poem, of which the Subject was Heroick, and the End happy, seems against all appearance, first, be­cause that it was a Comick Poet that invented it, and [Page 150] they seldom or never undertook to treat any grave Subjects; or when they did, it was always to turn them into Ridicule, as this Amphytrio of Plautus, and the Comedys of Aristophanes. Suidas calls this Play of his a Farce. Hesichius calls the Author Jester and Laugher; and Varro puts the name of Riortho for a Jester. Besides, this Invention of his had no progress, and we have not heard ever since, of any regular Dramma that has carryed this title, nor of any Poet that succeeded him in this kind.

What I should think then of this Hilaro-Tragedia is, that it was a little piece of Poetry, of the number of those call'd Mimes, wherein were mingled serious and pleasant things, sung with Voices and Instru­ments, and danc'd upon the Stage with gestures, ex­pressing the sense of each word, according to that wonderful way of the Antients, so little known in our days; and this seems to be so much the more probable, because Vossius says, that the Hilaroedia is the same with the Hilaro-Tragedia; and 'tis certain, that that, and the Magedia, were two Poems of that sort, sung and danc'd upon the Stage by those who were thence call'd Hilaroedians, and Magedians; and they were not Drammatick Poems represented by Tragedians or Comedians, as some by mistake have imagin'd, for the Hilaroedians (who were likewise call'd Simoedians from one Simon Mages, who ex­celled in that Art) did dance and sing a piece of Poe­try agreeable, but serious; and though not so se­rious as Tragedy, yet much of the same nature and as for the Magedians, they at first recited only Dis­courses of Magick or natural Causes, such as is the Pharmaceutra of Theocritus and Virgil; but in pro­cess of time they came to act all sort of lascivious [Page 151] Farces in the Comick Character, but much below it. The Magedians represented Men in Womens cloths; but there were another sort who represented only Women in Mens cloths, and those were call'd the Lisoedians Athenaeus remarks many more parti­culars about them not proper to our Subject.

But that none may have cause to wonder at what I say about Hilaro-Tragedy, we must observe that most of the Poems of the Antients were sung and danc'd with ingenious Gestures, either in their Temples, or upon the Theatres, or at their Feasts In a word, in all publick Pomps and Shows, either sa­cred or profane. Sometimes they took Odes and Idylliums, and other small pieces of Poetry, as Mna­sion did by the Jambicks of Simonides, and some others by the Verses of Phocilides, and other Poets. The Lacedemonians did the same thing by the Songs of Thaletas and Aleman, and the Paeans of Dionisiodo­rus, at the celebration of the Feast for the Tyrean Victory. Sometimes they took a Cento out of some great work, as out of Hesiod or Homer; and these re­citers were call'd Homeristes, being first brought upon the Stage by Demetrius Phalereus; and one Hermodo­rus was famous among them.

We find also by a certain Jason, cited by Athenaeus, that in the great Theatre of Alexandria, Hegesias the Comedian was a famous Actor of those Poems, writ­ten by Herodotus Logominus, a noted Poet of those times, different from the Historian of that name.

Nay, there were people who us'd to sing and dance some parts of Tragedys and Comedys at Feasts, and great Entertainments; and sometimes the entire Plays were thus sung and danc'd, not only in the time when Tragedys and Comedys consisted of the Hymn [Page 152] of Bacchus, (of which we have spoke in its proper place) but even since they were reduc'd into Rules, and made up of many Episodes inserted between the Chorus's, as we have them now.

From whence we see Aristotle calls Aeschylus's Dancer Divine, for having so rarely danc'd a Play of his call'd the Seven before Thebes; and we see Seneca makes use of Pylades, a rare Tragedian Dan­cer: and Batyllus as rare a one for Comedy, to insi­nuate, that no one ought to undertake any thing but what they are excellent in, if they mean to suc­ceed. 'Twas this Pylades who rais'd a Dispute be­fore the people of Rome against Hylus his own Scho­lar, which of them two represented Agamemnon best, either Hylus, who to make him great, rais'd himself upon his Toes, or Pylades, who made him pensive and thoughtful, as being the best Idaea of a Prince that was to take care of his Subjects good. Plutarch likewise in his Table Conversations makes two great Discourses about this ingenious way of representing by motions and postures, persons and actions, insi­nuating that Poetry is nothing but a speaking Dance, and Dancing a dumb kind of Poetry, and condemn­ing at the same time the Dances of Pylades in pub­lick Feasts, as being too serious and passionate.

But, though these Discourses about the Antients may be agreeable and useful, they carry me too far from my Subject, upon which I have already been too taedious to explain only the word Tragicomedy, our Poets may reflect whether they think fit to use it still in its vulgar acceptation, or whether according to the tr [...]e notion of Tragedy, they will use this word indifferently in all those Dramma's, of which the persons are Heroick, whether the Catastrophes be [Page 153] happy or fatal, that so they may hinder the Specta­tor from discovering the Event of their Plays be­forehand.