“As to his laying the scene of his comedy in Greece, he thinks this practice sufficiently justified by the practice of the French writers, who make no scruple to lay their scene abroad, as in Spain or England.
“Lastly, for what concerns the introduction of great personages into the comic drama, he observes that by ordinary life, which he supposes the proper subject of comedy, he understands as well that of Emperors and Princes, at times when they are only men, as of inferior persons. And he thinks it very evident that what passes in the ordinary life, so understood, of the greatest men, is truly comic[10].”
This is a simple exposition of M. de Fontenelle’s idea of comedy, which, however, he hath set off with great elegance and a plausibility of illustration, such as writers of his class are never at a loss to give to any subject they would recommend.
Now, tho’ the principal aim of what I have to offer in confutation of this system be to combat the ingenious writer’s notion of comedy, yet as the tenor of his preface leads him to deliver his sentiments also of tragedy, I shall not scruple intermixing, after his example, some reflexions on this latter drama.
M. de Fontenelle sets out with observing, that the end of dramatic representation is to please. This end is very general. But he explains himself more precisely, by saying, “this pleasure is of two kinds, and consists either in attaching the mind or affecting it.” And this is not much amiss. But his further explanation of these terms is suspicious. “The mind, says he, is ATTACHED by the representation of what is great, noble, singular, or unexpected: It is AFFECTED by what is terrible, pitiable, tender, or pleasant[11].” In this enumeration he forgets the merely natural draught of the manners. Yet this is surely one of the means by which the drama is enabled to attach the spectator. With me, I confess, this is the first excellence of comedy. Nor could he mean to include this source of pleasure under his second division. For tho’ a lively picture of the manners may in some sort be said to affect us, yet certainly not as coming under the consideration of what is terrible, pitiable, tender, or ridiculous, but simply of what is natural. The picture is pleasant or otherwise, as it chances; but is always the source of entertainment to the observer. When the pleasantry is high, it takes indeed the passion of ridicule. In other instances, it can scarcely be said to move, “emouvoir.” Now this I take to be a very considerable omission. For if the observation of character be a pleasure, which comedy is more particularly qualified to give, and which is not in any degree so compatible with tragedy, does not this bid fair for being the proper end of comedy? Human life, he says, which is the subject of the drama, can only be regarded in two views, as either that of the great and principally of kings, and that of private men. Now the attachments and emotions, he speaks of, are excited more powerfully and to more advantage in a representation of the former. That which is peculiar to a draught of ordinary life, or which is attained most perfectly by it, is the delight arising from a just exhibition of the manners. No, he will say. The pleasant belongs as peculiarly to a picture of common life, as the natural. Surely not. Common life distorted, or what we call farce, gives the entertainment of ridicule more perfectly than comedy. The only pleasure, which an exposition of ordinary life affords, distinct from that we receive from a view of high life on the one hand, and ordinary life disfigured on the other, is the satisfaction of contemplating the truth of character. However then this species of representation may be improved by incorporating other kinds of excellence with it, is not this, of pleasing by the truth of character, to be considered as the appropriate end of comedy?
I don’t dispute the propriety of serious or even affecting comedies. I have already explained myself as to this point, and have shewn under what restrictions the weeping comedy, la larmoyante comedie, as the French call it, may be admitted on my plan. The main question is, whether there be any foundation in nature for two distinct and separate species only of the drama; or whether, as he pretends, a certain scale, which connects by an insensible communication the several modifications of dramatic representation, unites and incorporates the two species into one.
It is true the laws of the drama, as formed by Aristotle out of the Greek poets, can of themselves be no rule to us in this matter; because these poets had given no example of such intermediate species. This, for aught appears to the contrary, may be an extension of the province of the drama. The question then must be tried by the success of this new practice, compared with the general dictates of common sense.
For I perfectly agree with this judicious critic, that we have a right to inquire if, in what concerns the stage, we are not sometimes governed by established customs instead of rules; for Rules they will not deserve to be esteemed, till they have undergone the rigid scrutiny of reason[12].
In respect of the Practice, then, it must be owned, there are many stories in private life capable of being worked up in such a manner as to move the passions strongly; and, on the contrary, many subjects taken from the great world capable of diverting the spectator by a pleasant picture of the manners. And lastly, it is also true, that both these ends may be affected together, in some degree, in either piece. But here is the point of enquiry. Whether if the end in view be to affect, this will not be accomplished BETTER by taking a subject from the public than private fortunes of men: Or, if the End be to please by the truth of character, whether we are not likely to perceive this pleasure more FULLY when the story is of private, rather than of public life? For, as Aristotle said finely on a like occasion, we are not to look for every sort of pleasure from tragedy [or comedy] but that which is peculiarly proper to each[13]. “Human life” this writer says, “can be considered but as high or low;” and “a representation of it can please only as it attaches, or affects.” I ask then, to which sort of life shall the dramatic poet confine himself, when he would endeavour to raise these affections or these attachments to the highest pitch. The answer is plain. For if the poet would excite the tender passions, they will rise higher of necessity, when awakened by noble subjects, than if called forth by such as are of ordinary and familiar notice. This is occasioned by what one may call a transition of the Passions: that affection of the mind which is produced by the impression of great objects, being more easily convertible into the stronger degrees of pity and commiseration, than such as arises from a view of the concerns of common life. The more important the interest, the greater part our minds take in it, and the more susceptible are we of passion.
On the other hand, when the intended pleasure is to result from strong pictures of human nature, this will be felt more entirely, and with more sincerity, when we are at leisure to attend to them in the representation of inferior persons, than when the rank of the speaker, or dignity of the subject, is constantly drawing some part of our observation to itself. In a word, though mixed dramas may give us pleasure, yet the pleasure, in either kind, will be LESS in proportion to the mixture. And the end of each will be then attained MOST PERFECTLY when its character, according to the ancient practice, is observed.