And periwig with snow the bald-pate woods:—[5]
379 I am much deceived if this be not abominable fustian, that is, thoughts and words ill-sorted, and without the least relation to each other; yet I dare not answer for an audience, that they would not clap it on the stage: so little value there is to be given to the common cry, that nothing but madness can please madmen, and the poet must be of a piece with the spectators, to gain a reputation with them. But, as in a room, contrived for state, the height of the roof should bear a proportion to the area; so, in the heightenings of poetry, the strength and vehemence of figures should be suited to the occasion, the subject, and the persons. All beyond this is monstrous: it is out of nature, it is an excrescence, and not a living part of poetry. I had not said thus much, if some young gallants, who pretend to criticism, had not told me, that this tragi-comedy wanted the dignity of style; but, as a man, who is charged with a crime of which he thinks himself innocent, is apt to be too eager in his own defence; so, perhaps, I have vindicated my play with more partiality than I ought, or than such a trifle can deserve. Yet, whatever beauties it may want, it is free at least from the grossness of those faults I mentioned: what credit it has gained upon the stage, I value no farther than in reference to my profit, and the satisfaction I had, in seeing it represented with all the justness and gracefulness of action. But, as it is my interest to please my audience, so it is my ambition to be read: that I am sure is the more lasting and the nobler design: for the propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action: all things are there beheld, as in a hasty motion, where the objects only glide before the eye, and disappear. The most discerning critic can judge no more of these 380 silent graces in the action, than he who rides post through an unknown country can distinguish the situation of places, and the nature of the soil. The purity of phrase, the clearness of conception and expression, the boldness maintained to majesty, the significancy and sound of words, not strained into bombast, but justly elevated; in short, those very words and thoughts, which cannot be changed, but for the worse, must of necessity escape our transient view upon the theatre; and yet, without all these, a play may take. For, if either the story move us, or the actor help the lameness of it with his performance, or now and then a glittering beam of wit or passion strike through the obscurity of the poem, any of these are sufficient to effect a present liking, but not to fix a lasting admiration; for nothing but truth can long continue; and time is the surest judge of truth. I am not vain enough to think that I have left no faults in this, which that touchstone will not discover; neither, indeed, is it possible to avoid them in a play of this nature. There are evidently two actions in it; but it will be clear to any judicious man, that with half the pains I could have raised a play from either of them; for this time I satisfied my humour, which was to tack two plays together; and to break a rule for the pleasure of variety. The truth is, the audience are grown weary of continued melancholy scenes; and I dare venture to prophecy, that few tragedies, except those in verse, shall succeed in this age, if they are not lightened with a course of mirth; for the feast is too dull and solemn without the fiddles. But how difficult a task this is, will soon be tried; for a several genius is required to either way; and, without both of them, a man, in my opinion, is but half a poet for the stage. Neither is it so trivial an undertaking, to make a 381 tragedy end happily; for it is more difficult to save, than it is to kill. The dagger and the cup of poison are always in a readiness; but to bring the action to the last extremity, and then by probable means to recover all, will require the art and judgement of a writer; and cost him many a pang in the performance.
And now, my lord, I must confess, that what I have written, looks more like a Preface, than a Dedication; and, truly, it was thus far my design, that I might entertain you with somewhat in my own art, which might be more worthy of a noble mind, than the stale exploded trick of fulsome panegyrics. It is difficult to write justly on any thing, but almost impossible in praise. I shall therefore wave so nice a subject; and only tell you, that, in recommending a protestant play to a protestant patron, as I do myself an honour, so I do your noble family a right, who have been always eminent in the support and favour of our religion and liberties. And if the promises of your youth, your education at home, and your experience abroad, deceive me not, the principles you have embraced are such, as will no way degenerate from your ancestors, but refresh their memory in the minds of all true Englishmen, and renew their lustre in your person; which, my lord, is not more the wish, than it is the constant expectation, of
Your lordship's
Most obedient, faithful servant,
John Dryden.
Footnotes:
- John, Lord Haughton, eldest son of the Earl of Clare. succeeded to his father, was created Marquis of Clare, and died 1711, leaving an only daughter, who married the eldest son of the famous Robert Harley, Earl of Oxford.
- See [note on Œdipus, p. 151.]
- Dryden appears to have alluded to the following passage in
Strada, though without a very accurate recollection of its contents:
"Sane Andreas Naugerius Valerio Martiali acriter infensus,
solemne jam habebat in illum aliquanto petulantius jocari.
Etenim natali suo, accitis ad geniale epulum amicis, postquam
prolixe de poeticæ laudibus super mensam disputaverat; ostensurum
se aiebat a cæna, quo tandem modo laudari poesim deceret: Mox
aferri jubebat Martialis volumen, (hæc erat mensæ appendix) atque
igni proprior factus, illustri conflagratione absumendum flammis
imponebat: addebatque eo incendio litare se Musis, Manibusque
Virgilij, cujus imitatorem cultoremque prestare se melius
haud posset, quam si vilia poetarum capita per undas insecutus ac
flammas perpetuo perdidisset. Nec se eo loco tenuit, sed cum
Silvas aliquot ab se conscriptas legisset, audissetque Statianu characteri
similes videri, iratus sibi, quod a Martiale fugiens alio declinasset
a Virgilio, cum primum se recessit domum, in Silvas
conjecit ignem." Stradæ Prolusiones, Lib. II. Pro. 5. From
this passage, it is obvious, that it was Martial, not Statius, whom
Andreas Navagero sacrificed to Virgil, although he burned his
own verses when they were accused of a resemblance to the style
of the author of the Thebaid. In the same prolusion, Strada
quotes the "blustering" line, afterwards censured by Dryden;
but erroneously reads,
- Super imposito moles gemmata colosso.
- "Bussy D'Ambois," a tragedy, once much applauded, was
the favourite production of George Chapman. If Dryden could
have exhausted every copy of this bombast performance in one
holocaust, the public would have been no great losers, as may be
apparent from the following quotations:
- Bussy. I'll sooth his plots, and strew my hate with smiles,
Till, all at once, the close mines of my heart
Rise at full state, and rush into his blood.
I'll bind his arm in silk, and rub his flesh,
To make the veine swell, that his soule may gush
Into some kennel, where it loves to lie;
And policy be flanked with policy.
Yet shall the feeling centre, where we meet.
Groan with the weight of my approaching feet.
I'll make the inspired threshold of his court
Sweat with the weather of my horrid steps,
Before I enter; yet, I will appear
Like calm securitie, befor a ruin.
A politician must, like lightning, melt
The very marrow, and not taint the skin;
His wayes must not be seen through, the superficies
Of the green centre must not taste his feet,
When hell is plowed up with the wounding tracts,
And all his harvest reap't by hellish facts. - Montsurry, when he discovers that the Friar had acted as confident
in the intrigue betwixt his lady and d'Ambois, thus elegantly
expresses the common idea of the world being turned upside
down.
- Now, is it true, earth moves, and heaven stands still;
- Even heaven itself must see and suffer ill.
- The too huge bias of the world hath swayed
- Her back-part upwards, and with that she braves
- This hemisphere, that long her month hath mocked.
- The gravity of her religious face,
- Now grown too weighty with her sacrilege,
- And here discerned sophisticate enough,
- Turns to the antipodes, and all the forms
- That here allusions have impressed in her,
- Have eaten through her back, and now all see
- How she is riveted with hypocrisie.
- Yet, I observe, from the prologue to the edition of 1641, that
the part of D'Ambois was considered as a high test of a players'
talents:
- —Field is gone,
- Whose action first did give it name; and one
- Who came the neatest to him, is denied,
- By his grey beard, to shew the height and pride
- Of d'Ambois' youth and braverie. Yet to hold
- Our title still a-foot, and not grow cold,
- By giving't o'er, a third man with his best
- Of care and paines defends our interest.
- As Richard he was liked, nor do we fear,
- In personating d'Ambois, heile appear
- To faint, or goe lesse, so your free consent,
- As heretofore, give him encouragement.
- I believe the successor of Field, in this once favourite character, was Hart. The piece was revived after the Restoration with great success.
- Dryden has elsewhere ridiculed this absurd passage. The original has "periwig with wool."