Bayle’s manner of writing by text and note is generally decried, but without reason. When there is a necessity of proving the assertion by quotation, which was his case, no other way can be taken equally perspicuous. The authorities must be produced somewhere—they cannot be in the text, and if they are put at the end of the book, which is the modern fashion, how much more troublesome are they for referring to, than by being at the bottom of the page? The truth is, this is another instance of ignorance in the method of reading. Bayle, Harris, and other writers of this class, should have the text read first, which is quickly dispatched; then, begin again and take in the notes. By this means you preserve a connection, and judge of the proofs of what is asserted.
I might in other respects complain of your treating me rather unfairly; indeed, none judge less favourably of an author than his intimate friends——their personal knowledge of him as a man, destroys a hundred delusions to his advantage as an author.—“Who is a hero to his Valet de Chambre?” said the great Condé, and he might have added, “or to his friends?” Besides the obvious reason for this, it is most likely that an author has in his common conversation made his friends acquainted with his sentiments long before they are communicated to the public. The consequence is, that to them his work is not new; and it is possible that they may take to themselves part of his merit; for I have known many instances, where a person has been told something by way of information, which he himself told to the informer.
I know you will take this to yourself.—Do so, but still think me
Yours, &c.
LETTER XIV.
WE are got into a custom of mentioning Shakespeare and Jonson together, and many think them of equal merit, tho’ in different ways. In my opinion, Jonson is one of the dullest writers I ever read, and his plays, with some few exceptions, the most unentertaining I ever saw. He has some shining passages now and then, but not enough to make up for his deficiencies. Shakespeare, on the contrary, abundantly recompenses for being sometimes low and trifling. One of his commentators much admires his great art in the construction of his verses—I dare say they are very perfect; but it is as much out of my power to think upon the art of verse-making when I am reading this divine poet, as it is to consider of the best way of making fiddle-strings at a concert. I am not master of myself sufficiently to do any thing that requires deliberation: I am taken up like a leaf in a whirlwind, and dropped at Thebes or Athens, as the poet pleases!
I have seldom any pleasure from the representation of Shakespeare’s plays, unless it be from some scenes of conversation merely, without passion. The speeches which have any thing violent in the expression, are generally so over-acted as to cease to be the “mirror of nature”—but this was always the case—“Oh! it offends me to the soul, to see a robustious perriwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters:”—’tho’ this is a “lamentable thing,” yet it appears to be without remedy. An actor, in a large theatre, is like a picture hung at a distance, if the touches are delicate, they escape the sight: both must be extravagant to be seen at all, and hence the custom of the ancients to make use of the Persona and Buskin. Acting has a very different effect in the stage-box from what it has in the back of the gallery. In the one, every thing appears rough and rude, like a picture of Spagnolet’s near the eye; in the other, it is with difficulty that the play can be made out. Perhaps, the best place is the front of the first gallery; as being sufficiently removed to soften these hardnesses, yet near enough to see and hear with advantage. But there is no place can alter the impropriety of rant and turgid declamation, which the performer naturally runs into by endeavouring to be strong enough to be heard—so that, as I observed, the evil seems to be incurable.