that line in Statira's speech where she describes the wishes and desires. When we see him engaged in charms of Alexander's conversation? Then he would talk-Good gods! how he would talk! That unexpected break in the line, and turning the description of his manner of talking into an admiration of it, is inexpressibly beautiful, and wonderfully suited to the fond character of the person that speaks it. There is a simplicity in the words that outshines the utmost pride of expression. Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore shines in the passionate parts more than any of our English poets. As there is something familiar and domestic in the fable of his tragedy, more than in those of any other poet, he has little pomp, but great force in his expressions. For which reason, though he has admirably succeeded in the tender and melting part of his tragedies, he sometimes falls into too great familiarity of phrase in those parts, which, by Aristotle's rule, ought to have been raised and supported by the dignity of expression. the depth of his afflictions, we are apt to comfort ourselves, because we are sure he will find his way out of them; and that his grief, how great soever it may be at present, will soon terminate in gladness. For this reason, the ancient writers of tragedy treated men in their plays, as they are dealt with in the world, by making virtue sometimes happy and sometimes miserable, as they found it in the fable which they made choice of, or as it might affect the audience in the most agreeable manner. Aristotle considers the tragedies that were written in either of these kinds, and observes, that those which ended unhappily had always pleased the people, and carried away the prize in the public disputes of the stage, from those that ended happily. Terror and commiseration leave a pleasing anguish on the mind, and fix the audience in such a serious composure of thought, as is much more lasting and delightful than any little transient starts of joy and satisfaction. Accordingly we find, that more of our English tragedies have succeeded, in which the favourites of the It has been observed by others, that this poet has audience sink under their calamities, than those in founded his tragedy of Venice Preserved on so wrong which they recover themselves out of them. The a plot, that the greatest characters in it are those of best plays of this kind are, The Orphan, Venice Prerebels and traitors. Had the hero of this play dis-served, Alexander the Great, Theodosius, All for Love, covered the same good qualities in the defence of his country that he showed for its ruin and subversion, the audience could not enough pity and admire him; but as he is now represented, we can only say of him what the Roman historian says of Catiline, that his fall would have been glorious (si pro patriâ sic concidisset), had he so fallen in the service of his country. C. No. 40.] MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1711. IMITATED. Yet lest you think I rally more than teach, Or praise, malignant, arts I cannot reach, Let me for once presume t' instruct the times, To know the poet from the man of rhymes; "Tis he, who gives my breast a thousand pains, Can make me feel each passion that he feigns; Enrage, compose, with more than magic art, With pity, and with terror, tear my heart; And snatch me o'er the earth, or through the air, To Thebes, to Athens, when he will, and where.-Porx. THE English writers of tragedy are possessed with a notion, that when they represent a virtuous or innocent person in distress, they ought not to leave him till they have delivered him out of his troubles, or made him triumph over his enemies. This error they have been led into by a ridiculous doctrine in modern criticism, that they are obliged to an equal distribution of rewards and punishments, and an impartial execution of poetical justice. Who were the first that established this rule I know not; but I am sure it has no foundation in nature, in reason, or in the practice of the ancients. We find that good and evil happen alike to all men on this side the grave; and as the principal design of tragedy is to raise commiseration and terror in the minds of the audience, we shall defeat this great end, if we always make virtue and innocence happy and successful. Whatever crosses and disappointments a good man suffers in the body of the tragedy, they will make but a small impression on our minds, when we know that in the last act he is to arrive at the end of his Edipus, Oroonoko, Othello, &c. King Lear is an admirable tragedy of the same kind, as Shakspeare wrote it; but as it is reformed according to the chimerical notion of poetical justice, in my humble opinion it has lost half its beauty. At the same time I must allow, that there are very noble trage dies which have been framed upon the other plan, and have ended happily; as indeed most of the good tragedies, which have been written since the starting of the above-mentioned criticism, have taken this turn; as The Mourning Bride, Tamerlane, Ulysses, Phaedra and Hippolytus, with most of Mr. Dryden's. I must also allow, that many of Shakspeare's, and several of the celebrated tragedies of antiquity, are cast in the same form. I do not therefore dispute against this way of writing tragedies, but against the criticism that would establish this as the only method; and by that means would very much cramp the English tragedy, and perhaps give a wrong bent to the genius of our writers. The tragi-comedy, which is the product of the English theatre, is one of the most monstrous inventions that ever entered in a poet's thoughts. An author might as well think of weaving the adventures of Æneas and Hudibras into one poem, as of writing such a motley piece of mirth and sorrow. But the absurdity of these performances is so very visible, that I shall not insist upon it. The same objections which are made to tragicomedy, may in some measure be applied to all tragedies that have a double plot in them; which are likewise more frequent upon the English stage, than upon any other; for though the grief of the audience, in such performances, be not changed into another passion, as in tragi-comedies; it is diverted upon another object, which weakens their concern for the principal action, and breaks the tide of sorrow, by throwing it into different channels. This inconvenience, however, may in a great measure be cured, if not wholly removed, by the skilful choice of an under plot, which may bear such a near retation to the principal design, as to contribute towards the completion of it, and be concluded by the same catastrophe. There is also another particular, which may be reckoned among the blemishes, or rather the false beauties of our English tragedy: I mean those particular speeches which are commonly known by the name of Rants. The warm and passionate parts of a tragedy are always the most taking with the au dience; for which reason we often see the players pronouncing, in all the violence of action, several parts of the tragedy which the author writ with great temper, and designed that they should have been so acted. I have seen Powell very often raise himself a loud clap by this artifice. The poets that were acquainted with this secret, have given frequent occasion for such emotions in the actor, by adding vehemence to words where there was no passion, or inflaming a real passion into fustian. This hath filled the mouths of our heroes with bombast; and given them such sentiments as proceed rather from a swelling than a greatness of mind. Unnatural exclamations, curses, vows, blasphemies, a defiance of mankind, and an outraging of the gods, frequently pass upon the audience for towering thoughts, and have accordingly met with infinite applause. I shall here add a remark, which I am afraid our tragic writers may make an ill use of. As our heroes are generally lovers, their swelling and blustering upon the stage very much recommends them to the fair part of the audience. The ladies are wonderfully pleased to see a man insulting kings, or affronting the gods, in one scene, and throwing himself at the feet of his mistress in another. Let him behave himself insolently towards the men, and abjectly towards the fair one, and it is ten to one but he proves a favourite with the boxes. Dryden and Lee, in several of their tragedies, have practised this secret with good success. But to show how a rant pleases beyond the most just and natural thought that is not pronounced with vehemence, I would desire the reader, when he sees the tragedy of Edipus, to observe how quietly the hero is dismissed at the end of the third act, after having pronounced the following lines, in which the thought is very natural, and apt to move compassion: To you, good gods, I make my last appear; And backward tread those paths I sought to shun; My hands are guilty, but my heart is free. No. 41.] TUESDAY, APRIL 17, 1711. Tu non inventa reperta es.-OVID. Met. i. 654. So found, is worse than lost.-ADDISON. COMPASSION for the gentleman who writes the following letter should not prevail upon me to fall upon the fair sex, if it were not that I find they are frequently fairer than they ought to be. Such impostures are not to be tolerated in civil society, and I think his misfortune ought to be made public, as a warning for other men to examine into what they admire. "SIR, 66 ledge, I make my application to you on a very parSupposing you to be a person of general knowticular occasion. I have a great mind to be rid of my wife, and hope, when you consider my case, you will be of opinion I have very just pretensions to a divorce. I am a mere man of the town, and have very little improvement but what I have got from Dr. Cutberd, or Dr. Otter (I forget which), makes plays. I remember in the Silent Woman, the learned when a man marries a woman, and finds her not to one of the causes of separation to be Error Persona be the same woman whom he intended to marry, but another. If that be law, it is, I presume, extator, that there are women who do not let their husactly my case. For you are to know, Mr. Specbands see their faces till they are married. that part of the sex who paint. They are some of "Not to keep you in suspense, I mean plainly them so exquisitely skilful in this way, that give them but a tolerable pair of eyes to set up with, and by their own industry. As for my dear, never was they will make bosom, lips, cheeks, and eyebrows, a man so enamoured as I was of her fair forehead, neck, and arms, as well as the bright jet of her hair; but to my great astonishment I find they were ali the effect of art. Her skin is so tarnished with this practice, that when she first wakes in a morning, she scarce seems young enough to be the mother of her whom I carried to bed the night before. I shall take the liberty to part with her by the first opportunity, unless her father will make her portion suitable to her real, not her assumed, countenance. This I thought fit to let him and her know by your "I am, Sir, means. "Your most obedient humble servant. I cannot tell what the law or the parents of the lady will do for this injured gentleman, but must allow he has very much justice on his side. I have indeed very long observed this evil, and distinguished those of our women who wear their own, from those [Where, by the way, there was no stage till many in borrowed complexions, by the Picts and the years after Edipus.] The stage arise, and the big clouds descend; So now, in very deed, I might behold This pon'drous globe, and all yon marble roof, ADVERTISEMENT. British. There does not need any great discernment to judge which are which. The British have a lively animated aspect; the Picts, though never so beautiful, have dead uninformed countenances. The muscles of a real face sometimes swell with soft passion, sudden surprise, and are flushed with agreeable confusions, according as the objects before Having spoken of Mr. Powell, as sometimes rais-them, or the ideas presented to them, affect their ing himself applause from the ill taste of an audience, imagination. But the Picts behold all things with I must do him the justice to own, that he is excel the same air, whether they are joyful or sad; the lently formed for a tragedian, and, when he pleases, same fixed insensibility appears upon all occasions. deserves the admiration of the best judges; as IA Pict, though she takes all that pains to invite the doubt not but he will in the Conquest of Mexico, which is acted for his own benefit to-morrow night. C. approach of lovers, is obliged to keep them at a certain distance; a sigh in a languishing lover, if fetched too near her, would dissolve a feature; and a kiss snatched by a forward one, might transfer the complexion of the mistress to the admirer. It is E hard to speak of these false fair ones, without saying something uncomplaisant, but I would only recommend to them to consider how they like to come into a room new painted; they may assure themselves the near approach of a lady who uses this practice is much more offensive. Will Honeycomb told us one day, an adventure Th' adorning thee with so much art The Pict stood before him in the utmost confusion, with the prettiest smirk imaginable on the finished side of her face, pale as ashes on the other. Honeycomb seized all her gallipots and washes, and carried off his handkerchief full of brushes, scraps of Spanish wool, and phials of unguents. The lady went into the country, the lover was cured. How like is this lady, and how unlike is a Fict, to that description Dr. Donne gives of his mistress Her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, A young gentlewoman of about nineteen years of N.B. She is also well skilled in the drapery part, and puts on hoods, and mixes ribands so as to suit the colours of the face, with great art and success. R. No. 42.] WEDNESDAY, APRIL 18, 1711. IMITATED. Loua as the wolves on Orca's stormy steep, What shook the stage, and made the people stare? ARISTOTLE has observed, that ordinary writers in tragedy endeavour to raise terror and pity in their audience, not by proper sentiments and expressions, but by the dresses and decorations of the stage. There is something of this kind very ridiculous in the English theatre. When the author has a mind to terrify us, it thunders; when he would make us melancholy, the stage is darkened. But among all our tragic artifices, I am the most offended at those which are made use of to inspire us with magnificent ideas of the persons that speak. The ordinary method of making a hero, is to clap a huge plume of feathers upon his head, which rises so very high that It is certain no faith ought to be kept with cheats, there is often a greater length from his chin to the and an oath made to a Pict is of itself void. I top of his head than to the sole of his foot. One would therefore exhort all the British ladies to sin- would believe that we thought a great man and a gle them out, nor do I know any but Lindamira tall man the same thing. This very much embarwho should be exempt from discovery: for her own rasses the actor, who is forced to hold his neck excomplexion is so delicate, that she ought to be al-tremely stiff and steady all the while he speaks; and lowed the covering it with paint, as a punishment notwithstanding any anxieties which he pretends for for choosing to be the worst piece of art extant, in his mistress, his country, or his friends, one may see stead of the master-piece of nature. As for my by his action that his greatest care and concern is to part, who have no expectations from women, and keep the plume of feathers from falling off his head. consider them only as they are part of the species, For my own part, when I see a man uttering his I do not half so much fear offending a beauty, as a complaints under such a mountain of feathers, I am woman of sense; I shall therefore produce several apt to look upon him rather as an unfortunate lunafaces which have been in public these many years, tic than a distressed hero. As these superfluous orand never appeared. It will be a very pretty en-naments upon the head make a great man, a princess tertainment in the play-house (when I have abolished this custom) to see so many ladies, when they first lay it down, incog. in their own faces. In the meantime, as a pattern for improving their charms, let the sex study the agreeable Statira. Her features are enlivened with the cheerfulness of her mind, and good-humour gives an alacrity to her eyes. She is graceful without affecting an air, and unconcerned without appearing careless. Her having no manner of art in her mind, makes her want none in her person. generally receives her grandeur from those additional encumbrances that fall into her tail—I mean the broad sweeping train that follows her in all her motions, and finds constant employment for a boy who stands behind her to open and spread it to advantage. I do not know how others are affected at this sight, but I must confess my eyes are wholly taken up with the page's part: and, as for the queen, I am not so attentive to any thing she speaks, as to the right adjusting of her train, lest it should chance 1 to trip up her heels, or incommode her, as she walks to and fro upon the stage. It is, in my opinion, a very odd spectacle, to see a queen venting her passions in a disordered motion, and a little boy taking care all the while that they do not ruffle the tail of her gown. The parts that the two persons act on the stage at the same time are very different. The princess is afraid lest she should incur the displeasure of the king her father, or lose the hero her lover, whilst her attendant is only concerned lest she should entangle her feet in her petticoat. We are told, that an ancient tragic poet, to move the pity of his audience for his exiled kings and distressed heroes, used to make the actors represent them in dresses and clothes that were thread-bare and decayed. This artifice for moving pity seems as ill contrived as that we have been speaking of to inspire us with a great idea of the persons introduced upon the stage. In short, I would have our conceptions raised by the dignity of thought and sublimity of expression, rather than by a train of robes or a plume of feathers. Another mechanical method of making great men, and adding dignity to kings and queens, is to accompany them with halberts and battle-axes. Two or three shifters of scenes, with the two candle-snuffers, make up a complete body of guards upon the English stage; and by the addition of a few porters dressed in red coats, can represent above a dozen Legions. I have sometimes seen a couple of armies drawn up together upon the stage, when the poet has been disposed to do honour to his generals. It is impossible for the reader's imagination to multiply twenty men into such prodigious multitudes, or to fancy that two or three hundred thousand soldiers are fighting in a room of forty or fifty yards in com pass. Incidents of such nature should be told, not represented. Non tamen intus Digna geri promes in scenam: multaque tolles Yet there are things improper for a scene, Which men of judgment only will relate.-RosCOMMON. I should, therefore, in this particular, recommend to my countrymen the example of the French stage, where the kings and queens always appear unat. tended, and leave their guards behind the scenes. I should likewise be glad if we imitated the French in banishing from our stage the noise of drums, trumpets, and huzzas, which is sometimes so very great, that when there is a battle in the Haymarket theatre, one may hear it as far as Charing-cross. I have here only touched upon those particulars which are made use of to raise and aggrandize the persons of a tragedy; and shall show, in another paper, the several expedients which are practised by authors of a vulgar genius to move terror, pity, or admiration in their hearers. The tailor and the painter often contribute to the success of a tragedy more than the poet. Scenes affect ordinary minds as much as speeches; and our actors are very sensible that a well dressed play has sometimes brought them as full audiences as a wellwritten one. The Italians have a very good phrase to express this art of imposing upon the spectators by appearances: they call it the "Fourberia della scena," "The knavery, or trickish part of the drama." But however the show and outside of the tragedy may work upon the vulgar, the more under standing part of the audience immediately see through it, and despise it. A good poet will give the reader a more lively idea of an army or a battle, in a description, than if he actually saw them drawn up in squadrons and bat talions, or engaged in the confusion of a fight. Our minds should be opened to great conceptions, and inflamed with glorious sentiments by what the actor speaks, more than by what he appears. Can all the trappings or equipage of a king or hero, give Brutus half that pomp and majesty which he receives from a few lines in Shakspeare ?-C. No. 43.] THURSDAY, APRIL 19, 1711. Hæ tibi erunt artes; pacisque imponere morem, Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.-VIRG. Æn. vi. 854 Bo these thy arts; to bid contention cease, Chain up stern wars, and give the nations peace; O'er subject lands extend thy gentle sway, And teach with iron rod the haughty to obey. THERE are crowds of men, whose great misfortune it is that they were not bound to mechanic arts or trades; it being absolutely necessary for them to be laid by some continual task or employment. These are such as we commonly call dull fellows; persons who for want of something to do, out of a certain vacancy of thought rather than curiosity, are ever meddling with things for which they are unfit. I cannot give you a notion of them better, than by presenting you with a letter from a gentleman, who belongs to a society of this order of men, residing at Oxford. "SIR, "Oxford, April 13, 1711. Four o'clock in the morning. "In some of your late speculations, I find some sketches towards a history of clubs; but you seem to me to shew them in somewhat too ludicrous a light. I have well weighed that matter, and think, that the most important negociations may be best carried on in such assemblies. I shall, therefore, for the good of mankind (which I trust you and are equally concerned for,) propose an institution of that nature for example sake. "I must confess the design and transactions of too many clubs are trifling, and manifestly of no consequence to the nation or public weal. Those I will give you up. But you must do me then the justice to own, that nothing can be more useful or laudable, than the scheme we go upon. To avoid nick-names aud witticisms, we call ourselves The Hebdomadal Meeting. Our president continues for a year at least, and sometimes for four or five; we are all grave, serious, designing men in our way; we think it our duty, as far as in us lies, to take care the constitution receives no harm-Ne quid detrimenti res capiat publica-To censure doctrines or facts, persons or things, which we do not like; to settle the nation at home, and to carry on the war abroad, where and in what manner we think fit. If other people are not of our opinion, we cannot help that. It were better they were. Moreover, we now and then condescend to direct in some measure the little affairs of our own university. But Verily, Mr. Spectator, we are much offended at the act for importing French wines. A bottle or two of good solid edifying port at honest George's, made a night cheerful, and threw off reserve. this plaguy French claret will not only cost us more money, but do us less good. Had we been aware of it before it had gone too far, I must tell you, we would have petitioned to be heard upon that subject. But let that pass. "I must let you know likewise, good Sir, that we look upon a certain northern prince's march, in conjunction with infidels, to be palpably against our good-will and liking; and for all Monsieur Palmquist, a most dangerous innovation; and we are by no means yet sure, that some people are not at the bottom of it. At least, my own private letters leave room for a politician, well versed in matters of this nature, to suspect as much, as a penetrating friend of mine tells me. "We think we have at last done the business with the malcontents in Hungary, and shall clap up a peace there. "What the neutrality army is to do, or what the army in Flanders, and what two or three other princes, is not yet fully determined among us; and we wait impatiently for the coming in of the next Dyer's, who you must know is our authentic intelligence, our Aristotle in politics. And, indeed, it is but fit there should be some dernier resort, the absolute decider of controversies. "We were lately informed, that the gallant trained-bands had patrolled all night long about the streets of London. We indeed could not imagine any occasion for it, we guessed not a tittle on it aforehand, we were in nothing of the secret; and that city tradesmen, or their apprentices, should do duty or work during the holidays, we thought absolutely impossible. But Dyer being positive in it, and some letters from other people, who had talked with some who had it from those who should know, giving some countenance to it, the chairman reported from the committee appointed to examine into that affair, that it was possible there might be something in it. I have much more to say to you, but my two good friends and neighbours Dominic and Slyboots are just come in, and the coffee is ready. I am, in the meantime, "Mr. Spectator, many other distichs no less to be quoted on this ac To bring these observations to some useful purposes of life-what I would propose should be, that we imitated those wise nations, wherein every man learns some handicraft-work-Would it not employ a beau prettily enough, if, instead of eternally playing with a snuff-box, he spent some part of his time in making one? Such a method as this would very much conduce to the public emolument, by making every man living good for something; for there would then be no one member of human society but would have some little pretension for some degree in it: like him who came to Will's coffee-house, upon the merit of having writ a posy of a ring.-R. No. 44.] FRIDAY, APRIL 20, 1711. Tu, quid ego et populus mecum desideret, audi. A HOR. Ars. Poet. ver. 123. Now hear what every auditor expects.-RoscoMMON. AMONG the several artifices which are put in practice by the poets to fill the minds of an audience with terror, the first place is due to thunder and lightning, which are often made use of at the "Your admirer and humble servant, descending of a god, or the rising of a ghost, at the "ABRAHAM FROTH." vanishing of a devil, or at the death of a tyrant. You may observe the turn of their minds tends I have known a bell introduced into several trageonly to novelty, and not satisfaction in any thing. dies with good effect; and have seen the whole asIt would be disappointment to them to come to cer-sembly in a very great alarm all the while it has tainty in any thing, for that would gravel them, and put an end to their inquiries, which dull fellows do not make for information, but for exercise. I do not know but this may be a very good way of accounting for what we frequently see-to wit, that dull fellows prove very good men of business. Business relieves them from their own natural heaviness, by furnishing them with what to do; whereas business to mercurial men is an interruption from their real existence and happiness. Though the dull part of mankind are harmless in their amusements, it were to be wished they had no vacant time, because they usually undertake something that makes their wants conspicuous, by their manner of supplying them. You shall seldom find a dull fellow of good education, but, if he happens to have any leisure upon his hands, will turn his head to one of those two amusements for all fools of eminence, politics or poetry. The former of these arts is the study of all dull people in general; but when dulness is lodged in a person of a quick animal life, it generally exerts itself in poetry. One might here mention a few military writers, who give great entertainment to the age, by reason that the stupidity of their heads is quickened by the alacrity of their hearts. This constitution in a dull fellow, gives vigour to nonsense, and makes the puddle boil which would otherwise stagnate. The British Prince, that celebrated poem, which was written in the reign of King Charles the Second, and deservedly called by the wits of that age incomparable, was the effect of sch a happy genius as we are speaking of. From among been ringing. But there is nothing which delights and territies our English theatre so much as a ghost, especially when he appears in a bloody shirt. spectre has very often saved a play, though he has done nothing but stalked across the stage, or rose through a cleft of it, and sunk again without speaking one word. There may be a proper season for these several terrors; and when they only come in as aids and assistances to the poet, they are not only to be excused, but to be applauded. Thus the sounding of the clock in Venice Preserved makes the hearts of the whole audience quake; and conveys a stronger terror to the mind than it is possible for words to do. The appearance of the ghost in Hamlet is a master-piece in its kind, and wrought up with all the circumstances that can create either attention or horror. The mind of the reader is wonderfully prepared for his reception by the discourses that precede it. His dumb behaviour at his first entrance strikes the imagination very strongly; but every time he enters, he is still more terrifying. Who can read the speech with which young Hamlet accosts him without trembling? HOR. Look, my lord, it comes! HAM. Angels and ministers of grace defena us! Thou com'st in such a questionable shape Events for advents, comings, or visits. We read in other copies, intents. |