"Tis hard to write on such a subject more, And sharpest thoughts in smoothest words convey'd. Rage you must hide, and prejudice lay down ; By painful steps at last we labour up And with just pride behold the rest below. To be the utmost stretch of human sense; There are but two the world has yet brought forth— Do those mere sounds the world's attention draw! DRAMATISTS. JOHN DRYDEN. trical representation-the regular introduction of actresses, or female players, and the use of moveable scenery and appropriate decorations. Females had performed on the stage previous to the Restoration, and considerable splendour and variety of scenery had been exhibited in the Court Masques and Revels. Neither, however, had been familiar to the public, and they now formed a great attraction to the two patent theatres. Unfortunately, these powerful auxiliaries were not brought in aid of the good old dramas of the age of Elizabeth and James. Instead of adding grace and splendour to the creations of Shakspeare and Jonson, they were lavished to support a new and degenerate dramatic taste, which Charles II. had brought with him from the continent. Rhyming or heroic plays had long been fashionable in France, and were dignified by the genius of Corneille and Racine. They had little truth of colouring or natural passion, but dealt exclusively with personages in high life and of transcendent virtue or ambition; with fierce combats and splendid processions; with superhuman love and beauty; and with long dialogues alternately formed of metaphysical subtlety and the most extravagant and bombastic expression. 'Blank verse,' says Dryden, is acknowledged to be too low for a poem, nay more, for a paper of verses; but if too low for an ordinary sonnet, how much more for tragedy! Accordingly, the heroic plays were all in rhyme, set off not only with superb dresses and decorations, but with the richest and most ornate kind of verse, and the farthest removed from ordinary colloquial diction.' The comedies were degenerate in a different way. They were framed after the model of the Spanish stage, and adapted to the taste of the king, as exhibiting a variety of complicated intrigues, successful disguises, and constantly-shifting scenes and adventures. The old native English virtues of sincerity, conjugal fidelity, and prudence, were held up to constant ridicule, as if amusement could only be obtained by obliterating the moral feelings. Dryden ascribes the licentiousness of the stage to the example of the king. Part, however, must be assigned to the earlier comedies of Beaumont and Fletcher, and part to the ascetic puritanism and denial of all public amusements during the time of the commonwealth. If the Puritans had contented themselves with regulating and purifying the theatres, they would have conferred a benefit on the nation; but, by shutting them up entirely, and denouncing all public recreations, they provoked a counteraction in the taste and manners of the people. The over-austerity of one period led naturally to the shameless degeneracy of the succeeding period; and deeply is it to be deplored, that the great talents of Dryden were the most instrumental in extending and prolonging this depravation of the national taste. The operas and comedies of Sir William Davenant were the first pieces brought out on the stage after the Restoration. He wrote twenty-five in all; but, notwithstanding the partial revival of the old dramatists, none of Davenant's productions have been reprinted. His last work,' says Southey,' was his At the restoration of the monarchy the drama was worst; it was an alteration of the Tempest, exealso restored, and with new lustre, though less cuted in conjunction with Dryden; and marvellous decency. Two theatres were licensed in the metro- indeed it is, that two men of such great and indupolis, one under the direction of Sir William Dave- bitable genius should have combined to debase, and nant, who, as already mentioned, had been permitted vulgarise, and pollute such a poem as the Tempest.' to act plays even during the general proscription of The marvel is enhanced when we consider that the drama, and whose performers were now (in com- Dryden writes of their joint labour with evident pliment to the Duke of York) named the Duke's complacency, at the same time that his prologue Company. The other establishment was managed to the adapted play contains the following just and by Thomas Killigrew, a well-known wit and courtier, beautiful character of his great predecessor :whose company took the name of the King's Servants. As when a tree's cut down, the secret root Davenant effected two great improvements in thea-Lives under ground, and thence new branches shoot; So, from old Shakspeare's honour'd dust, this day Dryden was in the full tide of his theatrical popularity when Davenant died, in 1688. The great poet commenced writing for the stage in 1662, when he produced his Wild Gallant, which was followed next year by the Rival Ladies, the serious parts of which are in rhyme. He then joined Sir Robert Howard in composing the Indian Queen, a rhyming heroic play, brought out in 1664, with a splendour never before seen in England upon a public stage. A continuation of this piece was shortly afterwards written by Dryden, entitled the Indian Emperor, and both were received with great applause. All the defects of his style, and many of the choicest specimens of his smooth and easy versification, are to be found in these inflated tragedies. In 1667 was represented his Maiden Queen, a tragi-comedy; and shortly afterwards the Tempest. These were followed by two comedies copied from the French of Moliere and Corneille; by the Royal Martyr, another furious tragedy, and by his Conquest of Granada, in two parts, in which he concentrated the wild magnificence, incongruous splendour, and absurd fable that run through all his heroic plays, mixed up with occasional gleams of true genius. The extravagance and unbounded popularity of the heroic drama, now at its height, prompted the Duke of Buckingham to compose a lively and amusing farce, in ridicule of Dryden and the prevailing taste of the public, which was produced in 1671, under the title of the Rehearsal. The success of the 'Rehearsal' was unbounded; the very popularity of the plays ridiculed aiding,' as Sir Walter Scott has remarked, 'the effect of the satire, since everybody had in their recollection the originals of the passages parodied.' There is little genuine wit or dramatic art in the 'Rehearsal,' but it is a clever travesty, and it was well-timed. A fatal blow was struck at the rhyming plays, and at the rant and fustian to which they gave birth. Dryden now resorted to comedy, and produced Marriage a-laMode, and the Assignation. In 1673 he constructed a dramatic poem, the State of Innocence, or the Fall of Man, out of the great epic of Milton, destroying, of course, nearly all that is sublime, simple, and pure, in the original. His next play, Aureng-Zebe (1675), was also 'heroic,' stilted, and unnatural; but this was the last great literary sin of Dryden. He was now engaged in his immortal satires and fables, and he abandoned henceforward the false and glittering taste which had so long deluded him. His All for Love, and Troilus and Cressida, are able adaptations from Shakspeare in blank verse. The Spanish Friar is a good comedy, remarkable for its happy union of two plots, and its delineation of comic character. His principal remaining plays are Don Sebastian (1690), Amphitryon (1690), Cleomenes (1692), and Love Triumphant (1694). Don Sebastian' is his highest effort in dramatic composition, and though de formed, like all his other plays, by scenes of spurious and licentious comedy, it contains passages that approach closely to Shakspeare. The quarrel and reconciliation of Sebastian and Dorax is a masterly copy from the similar scene between Brutus and Cassius. In the altercation between Ventidius and Antony in All for Love,' he has also challenged comparison with the great poet, and seems to have been inspired to new vigour by the competition. This latter triumph in the genius of Dryden was completed by his Ode to St Cecilia' and the 'Fables,' published together in the spring of 1700, a few weeks before his death-thus realising a saying of his own Sebastian A setting sun Should leave a track of glory in the skies. Dryden's plays have fallen completely into oblivion. command of rich stores of language, information, He could reason powerfully in verse, and had the and imagery. Strong energetic characters and passions he could portray with considerable success, but he had not art or judgment to construct an interesting or consistent drama, or to preserve himself racter and softer passions seem to have been entirely from extravagance and absurdity. The female chabeyond his reach. His love is always licentiousness -his tenderness a mere trick of the stage. Like Voltaire, he probably never drew a tear from reader or spectator. His merit consists in a sort of Eastern magnificence of style, and in the richness of his versification. The bowl and dagger-glory, ambition, lust, and crime-are the staple materials of his tragedy, and lead occasionally to poetical grandeur and brilliancy of fancy. His comedy is, with scarce an exception, false to nature, improbable and illarranged, and subversive equally of taste and morality. Before presenting a scene from Dryden, we shall string together a few of those similes or detached sentiments which relieve the great mass of his turgid dramatic verse:— Love is that madness which all lovers have ; As some fair tulip, by a storm oppress'd, Ibid. Part I. So Venus moves, when to the Thunderer, And drawn by doves, she cuts the liquid skies, A change so swift what heart did ever feel! [Midnight Repose.] Spanish Friar. What precious drops are those Which silently each others track pursue, Men are but children of a larger growth; All for Love. Man is but man; unconstant still, and various; Ber. Now death draws near, a strange perplexity Creeps coldly on me, like a fear to die: Courage uncertain dangers may abate, But who can bear th' approach of certain fate? Both heavenly faith and human fear obey; round: Tyrannic Love. [Love Anticipated after Death.] PORPHYRIUS. BERENICE. Por. You either this divorce must seek, or die. Ber. My earthy part, Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove. [Adam after the Fall.] ADAM. RAPHAEL. EVE. Toid Adam. Heaven is all mercy; labour I would choose; And could sustain this Paradise to lose: The bliss; but not the place. Here,' could I say, 'Heaven's winged messenger did pass the day; Under this pine the glorious angel stay'd:' Then show my wondering progeny the shade. In woods and lawns, where'er thou didst appear, Each place some monument of thee should bear. I, with green turfs, would grateful altars raise, And heaven, with gums and offer'd incense, praise. Raph. Where'er thou art, He is; th' eternal mind Acts through all places; is to none confined: Fills ocean, earth, and air, and all above. And through the universal mass does move. Thou canst be no where distant: yet this place Had been thy kingly seat, and here thy race, From all the ends of peopled earth, had come To reverence thee, and see their native home. Adam. The deaths thou show'st are forced and full of strife, Cast headlong from the precipice of life. Is there no smooth descent-no painless way Raph. There is-but rarely shall that path be trod, Adam. So noiseless would I live, such death to find, Eve. Thus daily changing, with a duller taste State of Innocence. [Scene between Mark Antony and Ventidius, his general.] [Dryden says he preferred this scene to anything which he had written of that kind. It occurs in the first act of All for Love,' a tragedy founded on the story of Antony and Cleopatra, and avowedly written in imitation of Shakspeare. All for Love' was the only play Dryden ever wrote for himself; the rest, he says, were given to the people. It will be observed that this scene, as also that between Dorax and Sebastian, is copied from the quarrel between Brutus and Cassius in Julius Cæsar.'] Ant. They tell me 'tis my birth-day, and I'll keep it "Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. Till all my fires were spent, and then cast downward Vent. [Aside] On my soul "Tis mournful, wondrous mournful! Ant. Count thy gains, Now, Antony: wouldst thou be born for this? Has starv'd thy wanting age. Vent. [Aside.] How sorrow shakes him! So now the tempest tears him by th' roots, Ant. [Having thrown himself down.] Lie there, thou The place thou pressest on thy mother earth Cæsar will weep, the crocodile will weep, To see his rival of the universe TO 1689. My uncomb'd locks, matted like mistletoe, Vent. Methinks I fancy Myself there too. Ant. The herd come jumping by me, Ant. [Starting up.] Art thou Ventidius ? I'm liker what I was, than you to him Ant. I'm angry. Ant. I would be private. Leave me. And therefore will not leave you. Where have you learn'd that answer? Who am I? Ant. All that's wretched. You will not leave me, then! To say I would not: but I dare not leave you; Vent. Look, emperor, this is no common dew; Ant. By heav'n, he weeps! poor good old man, he The big round drops course one another down Vent. I'll do my best. Ant. Sure there's contagion in the tears of friends; Ant. Emperor! Why that's the style of victory. Vent. I warrant you. Ant. Actium, Actium! Oh- Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day; Vent. Out with it; give it vent. I lost a battle. Vent. So has Julius done. Ant. Thou favour'st me, and speak'st not half thou think'st; Lie still and peaceful there. I'll think no more on't. For Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly; Give me some music; look that it be sad; I'll sooth my melancholy, till I swell, And burst myself with sighing. 'Tis somewhat to my humour. Stay, I fancy I'm now turn'd wild, a commoner of nature; Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene; Stretch'd at my length beneath some blasted oak, And look just of a piece, as I grew from it: But Antony Vent. Nay, stop not. Ant. Antony (Well, thou wilt have it), like a coward, fled, Fled while his soldiers fought! fled first, Ventidius. I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. Vent. I did. Ant. I'll help thee-I have been a man, Ventidius. Ant. I know thy meaning. But I have lost my reason, have disgrac'd The name of soldier with inglorious ease; In the full vintage of my flowing honours Sat still, and saw it press'd by other hands. Fortune came smiling to my youth, and woo'd it. And purple greatness met my ripen'd years. When first I came to empire, I was borne On tides of people, crowding to my triumphs. The wish of nations, and the willing world, Receiv'd me as its pledge of future peace. I was so great, so happy, so belov'd, Fate could not ruin me; till I took pains, And work'd against my fortune, chid her from me, And turn'd her loose: yet still she came again. My careless days and my luxurious nights At length have wearied her, and now she's gone; Gone, gone, divorc'd for ever. Help me, soldier, To curse this madman, this industrious fool, Who labour'd to be wretched. Pr'ythee curse me. Vent. No. Ant. Why? Vent. You are too sensible already Of what you've done; too conscious of your failings. And like a scorpion, whipp'd by others first To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds, Cure your distemper'd mind, and heal your fortunes. Ant. I know thou wouldst. Vent. I will. Ant. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Vent. You laugh. Ant. I do, to see officious love Give cordials to the dead. Vent. You would be lost, then? Ant. I am. serve; But fortune calls upon us now to live, To fight, to conquer. Ant. Sure thou dream'st, Ventidius ! Vent. No; 'tis you dream; you sleep away your hours In desperate sloth, miscall'd philosophy. Up, up, for honour's sake; twelve legions wait you, in 'em : They'll sell those mangled limbs at dearer rates Than yon trim bands can buy. Ant. Where left you them? Vent. I said in Lower Syria. Ant. Bring 'em hither; There may be life in these. Vent. They will not come. Ant. Why didst thou mock my hopes with promis'd aids, To double my despair! They're mutinous. Vent. Most firm and loyal. Ant. Yet they will not march To succour me. Oh, trifler! Vent. They petition You would make haste to head 'em. Vent. There's but one way shut up. Vent. They would perhaps desire A better reason. Ant. I have never us'd My soldiers to demand a reason of How came I [hither! My actions. Why did they refuse to march ? Vent. They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. Ant. Ventidius, I allow your tongue free license Vent. Behold, you pow'rs, To whom you have intrusted humankind; And all weigh'd down by one light worthless woman } I think the gods are Antonies, and give, Like prodigals, this nether world away To none but wasteful hands. Ant. You grow presumptuous. Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. Thy men are cowards, thou an envious traitor; Vent. You may kill me. You have done more already-call'd me traitor. Vent. For showing you yourself, I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, Ant. Forgive me, soldier; Vent. You thought me false; Thought my old age betray'd you. Kill me, sir; Pray, kill me; yet you need not; your unkindness Has left your sword no work. Ant. I did not think so; I said it in my rage; pr'ythee forgive me. Why didst thou tempt my anger, by discovery Of what I would not hear? Vent. No prince but you Could merit that sincerity I us'd; Nor durst another man have ventur'd it; But you, ere love misled your wand'ring eyes, Were sure the chief and best of human race, Fram'd in the very pride and boast of nature. Ant. But Cleopatra Go on; for I can bear it now. Vent. No more. Ant. Thou dar'st not trust my passion; but thou may'st; Thou only lov'st, the rest have flatter'd me. Vent. Heaven's blessing on your heart for that kind word. May I believe you love me? Speak again. |