ed by learning, I look upon her with a mix-an interruption in every second thought, when ture of admiration and pity. Amidst these in- the consciousness is employed in too fondly nocent entertainments which she has formed to approving a man's own conceptions; which herself, how much more valuable does she ap- sort of consciousness is what we call affectapear than those of her sex, who employ them- tion. selves in diversions that are less reasonable As the love of praise is implanted in our though more in fashion? What improvements bosoms as a strong incentive to worthy actions, would a woman have made, who is so suscepti- it is a very difficult task to get above a desire ble of impressions from what she reads, had of it for things that should be wholly indiffershe been guided to such books as have a ten-ent. Women, whose hearts are fixed upon dency to enlighten the understanding and rec- the pleasure they have in the consciousness tify the passions, as well to as those which are of that they are the objects of love and admiraa little more use than to divert the imagination? tion, are ever changing the air of their counBut the manner of a lady's employing herself tenances, and altering the attitude of their usefully in reading, shall be the subject of an- bodies, to strike the hearts of their beholders other paper, in which I design to recommend with new sense of their beauty. The dressing such particular books as may be proper for the part of our sex, whose minds are the same with improvement of the sex. And as this is a subject the sillier part of the other, are exactly in the of a very nice nature, I shall desire my corres-like uneasy condition to be regarded for a well pondents to give me their thoughts upon it. C. tied cravat, an hat cocked with an uncommon No. 38.] Friday, April 13, 1711. Cupias non placuisse nimis.-Mart. One would not please too much. briskness, a very well-chosen coat, or other instances of merit, which they are impatient to see unobserved. This apparent affectation, arising from an ill-governed consciousness, is not so much to be wondered at in such loose and trivial A LATE Conversation which I fell into, gave minds as these: but when we see it reign in me an opportunity of observing a great deal of characters of worth and distinction, it is beauty in a very handsome woman, and as what we cannot but lament, not without some much wit in an ingenious man, turned into de-indignation. It creeps into the heart of the formity in the one, and absurdity in the other, wise man as well as that of the coxcomb. When by the mere force of affectation. The fair one you see a man of sense look about for applause, had something in her person, upon which her and discover an itching inclination to be com, thoughts were fixed, that she attempted to show mended; lay traps for a little incense, even to advantage in every look, word, and gesture. from those whose opinion he values in nothing The gentleman was as diligent to do justice to but his own favour; who is safe against this his fine parts, as the lady to her beauteous form. weakness? or who knows whether he is guilty You might see his imagination on the stretch to of it or not? The best way to get clear of such find out something uncommon, and what they a light fondness for applause, is to take all poscall bright, to entertain her, while she writhed sible care to throw off the love of it upon ocherself into ás many different postures to en-casions that are not in themselves laudable, gage him. When she laughed, her lips were but as it appears we hope for no praise from to sever at a greater distance than ordinary, to them. Of this nature are all graces in men's show her teeth; her fan was to point to some persons, dress, and bodily deportment, which thing at a distance, that in the reach she may will naturally be winning and attractive if we discover the roundness of her arm; then she think not of them, but lose their force in prois utterly mistaken in what she saw, falls back, portion to our endeavour to make them such. smiles at her own folly, and is so wholly discomposed, that her tucker is to be adjusted, her bosom exposed, and the whole woman put into new airs and graces. While she was doing all this, the gallant had time to think of something very pleasant to say next to her, or make some unkind observation on some other lady to feed her vanity. These unhappy effects of affectation, naturally led me to look into that strange state of mind which so generally discolours the behaviour of most people we meet with. When our consciousness turns upon the main design of life, and our thoughts are employed upon the chief purpose either in business or pleasure, we shall never betray an affectation, for we cannot be guilty of it: but when we give the passion for praise an unbridled liberty, our pleasure in little perfections robs us of what is due to us for great virtues, and worthy qualities. How many excellent speeches and honest actions are lost, for want of being indif. ferent where we ought? Men are oppressed The learned Dr. Burnet, in his Theory of with regard to their way of speaking and actthe Earth,' takes occasion to observe, that every ing, instead of having their thoughts bent upthought is attended with a consciousness and on what they should do or say; and by that representativeness; the mind has nothing pre-means bury a capacity for great things, by sented to it but what is immediately followed their fear of failing in indifferent things. by a reflection of conscience, which tells you This, perhaps, cannot be called affectation; whether that which was so presented is grace- but it has some tincture of it, at least so far, ful or unbecoming. This act of the mind dis-as that their fear of erring in a thing of no covers itself in the gesture, by a proper be- consequence, argues they would be too much haviour in those whose consciousness goes no pleased in performing it. further than to direct them in the just progress It is only from a thorough disregard to himof their present state or action; but betrays self in such particulars, that a man can act with a VOL. I. laudable sufficiency: his heart is fixed upon the mind one of the most delightful and most A virtuous man one point in view; and he commits no errors, improving entertainments. because he thinks nothing an error but what (says Seneca) struggling with misfortunes, is such a spectacle as gods might look upon with deviates from that intention. The wild havock affectation makes in that pleasure; and such a pleasure it is which one part of the world, which should be most polite, meets with in the representation of a well-writis visible wherever we turn our eyes: it pushes ten tragedy. Diversions of this kind wear out men not only into impertinences in conversa- of our thoughts every thing that is mean and tion, but also in their premeditated speeches. little. They cherish and cultivate that humaniAt the bar it torments the bench, whose busi- ty which is the ornament of our nature. They ness it is to cut off all superfluities in what is soften insolence, sooth affliction, and subdue spoken before it by the practitioner; as well the mind to the dispensations of Providence. It is no wonder therefore that in all the polite as several little pieces of injustice which arise from the law itself. I have seen it make a nations of the world, this part of the drama man run from the purpose before a judge, who has met with public encouragement. was, when at the bar himself, so close and logical a pleader, that with all the pomp of eloquence in his power, he never spoke a word too much.* The modern tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome, in the intricacy and disposition of the fable; but, what a Christian writer would be ashamed to own, falls infinitely short of it in the moral part of the performance. It might be borne even here, but it often ascends the pulpit itself; and the declaimer in This I may show more at large hereafter: that sacred place, is frequently so impertinently and in the mean time, that I may contribute witty, speaks of the last day itself with so something towards the improvement of the many quaint phrases, that there is no man English tragedy, I shall take notice, in this who understands raillery, but must resolve to and in other following papers, of some partisin no more. Nay, you may behold him cular parts in it that seem liable to exception. sometimes in prayer, for a proper delivery of Aristotle observes, that the Iambic verse in the great truths he is to utter, humble himself the Greek tongue was the most proper for trawith so very well-turned phrases, and mention gedy: because at the same time that it lifted his own unworthiness in a way so very be- up the discourse from prose, it was that which coming, that the air of the pretty gentleman is preserved, under the lowliness of the preacher. I shall end this with a short letter I writ the other day to a very witty man, overrun with the fault I am speaking of: 'DEAR SIR, We approached nearer to it than any other kind of verse. 'For,' says he, ‘ we may observe that men in ordinary discourse very often speak iambics, without taking notice of it.' may make the same observation of our English blank verse, which often enters into our common discourse, though we do not attend to it, 'I spent some time with you the other day, and is such a due medium between rhyme and and must take the liberty of a friend to tell prose, that it seems wonderfully adapted to you of the unsufferable affectation you are tragedy. I am therefore very much offended guilty of in all you say and do. When I gave when I see a play in rhyme; which is as absurd you a hint of it, you asked me whether a man in English, as a tragedy of hexameters would is to be cold to what his friends think of him? have been in Greek or Latin. The solecism is, No, but praise is not to be the entertainment of I think, still greater in those plays that have every moment. He that hopes for it must be some scenes in rhyme and some in blank verse, able to suspend the possession of it till proper which are to be looked upon as two several periods of life, or death itself. If you would languages; or where we see some particular not rather be commended than be praise-wor- similies dignified with rhyme at the same time thy, contemn little merits; and allow no man that every thing about them lies in blank verse. to be so free with you, as to praise you to your I would not however debar the poet from conface. Your vanity by this means will want its cluding his tragedy, or, if he pleases, every food. At the same time your passion for esteem act of it, with two or three couplets, which will be more fully gratified; men will praise may have the same effect as an air in the Italian you in their actions: where you now re-opera after a long recitativo, and give the actor ceive one compliment, you will then receive a graceful exit. Besides that, we see a divertwenty civilities. Till then you will never have sity of numbers in some parts of the old trageof either, further than, R. Sir, No. 39.] Saturday, April 14, 1711. IMITATED. Much do I suffer, much, to keep in peace * This seems to be intended as a compliment in Chancellor Cowper. dy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired with the same continued modulation of voice. For the same reason I do not dislike the speeches in our English tragedy that close with an hemistich, or half verse, notwithstanding the person who speaks after it begins a new verse, without filling up the preceding one; nor with abrupt pauses and breakings off in the middle of a verse, when they humour any passion that is expressed by it. Since I am upon this subject, I must ob serve that our English poets have succeeded much better in the style, than in the sentiments of their tragedies. Their language is, slackens his efforts, and eases the style of those epithets and metaphors, in which he so much abounds. What can be more natural, more soft, or more passionate, than that line in Statira's speech where she describes the charms of Alexander's conversation? very often noble and sonorous, but the sense that it does not appear in half its lustre. He either very trifling, or very common. On the frequently succeeds in the passionate parts of contrary, in the ancient tragedies, and indeed the tragedy, but more particularly where he in those of Corneille and Racine, though the expressions are very great, it is the thought that bears them up and swells them. For my own part, I prefer a noble sentiment that is depressed with homely language, infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the sound and energy of expression. Whether 'Then he would talk-Good gods! how he would talk!* this defect in our tragedies may arise from want of genius, knowledge, or experience in That unexpected break in the line, and the writers, or from their compliance with the turning the description of his manner of talkvicious taste of their readers, who are bettering into an admiration of it, is inexpressibly judges of the language than of the sentiments, beautiful, and wonderfully suited to the fond and consequently relish the one more than the character of the person that speaks it. There other, I cannot determine. But I believe it is a simplicity in the words, that outshines the might rectify the conduct both of the one and utmost pride of expression. of the other, if the writer laid down the whole contexture of his dialogue in plain English, before he turned it into blank verse; and if the reader, after the perusal of a scene, would consider the naked thought of every speech in it, when divested of all its tragic ornaments. By this means, without being imposed upon by words, we may judge impartially of the thought, and consider whether it be natural or great enough for the person that utters it, whether it deserves to shine in such a blaze of eloquence, or show itself in such a variety of lights as are generally made use of by the writers of our English tragedy. Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore shines in the pas sionate 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. It has been observed by others, that this I must in the next place observe, that when poet has founded his tragedy of Venice Preour thoughts are great and just, they are often served on so wrong a plot, that the greatest obscured by the sounding phrases, hard me- characters in it are those of rebels and traitors. taphors, and forced expressions in which they Had the hero of this play discovered the same are clothed. Shakespeare is often very good qualities in the defence of his country faulty in this particular. There is a fine obser- that he showed for its ruin and subversion, the vation in Aristotle to this purpose, which I have audience could not enough pity and admire never seen quoted. The expression, says he, him: but as he is now represented, we can onought to be very much laboured in the unac-ly say of him what the Roman historian says of tive parts of the fable, as in descriptions, simil- Cataline, that his fall would have been glorious itudes, narrations, and the like; in which the (si pro patriâ sic concidisset) had he so fallen in opinions, manners, and passions of men are the service of his country. not represented; for these (namely, the opinions, manners, and passions) are apt to be obscured by pompous phrases and elaborate expressions. Horace, who copied most of his criticisms after Aristotle, seems to have had his eye on the foregoing rule, in the following verses: 'Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri: 'Tragedians too lay by their state to grieve: No. 40.] Monday, April 16, 1711. Ac ne fortè putes, me, quæ facere ipse recusem, C. Ut magus; et modò me Thebis, modò ponit Athenis. IMITATED. Yet lest you think I rally more than teach, Pope. Among our modern English poets, there is none who has a better turn for tragedy than Lee; if instead of favouring the impetuosity of his genius he had restrained it, and kept it THE English writers of tragedy are possess, within its proper bounds. His thoughts are sed with a notion, that when they represent a wonderfully suited to tragedy, but frequently virtuous or innocent person in distress, they lost in such a cloud of words, that it is hard to ought not to leave him till they have delivered see the beauty of them. There is an infinite him out of his troubles, or made him triumph fire in his works, but so involved in smoke over his enemies. This error they have been led into by a ridiculous doctrine in modern the English theatre, is one of the most moncriticism, that they are obliged to an equal dis-strous inventions that ever entered into a poet's tribution of rewards and punishments, and an thoughts. An author might as well think of impartial execution of poetical justice. Who weaving the adventures of Æneas and Hudibras were the first that established this rule I know into one poem, as of writing such a motley not; but I am sure it has no foundation in na-piece of mirth and sorrow. But the absurdity ture, in reason, or in the practice of the anci- of these performances is so very visible, that I ents. We find that good and evil happen alike shall not insist upon it. to all men on this side the grave; and as the The same objections which are made to principal design of tragedy is to raise commis- tragi-comedy, may in some measure be applieration and terror in the minds of the audi-ed to all tragedies that have a double plot in ence, we shall defeat this great end, if we al-them; which are likewise more frequent upon ways make virtue and innocence happy and the English stage, than upon any other; for successful. Whatever crosses and disappoint-though the grief of the audience, in such perments a good man suffers in the body of the formances, be not changed into another pastragedy, they will make but a small impression sion, as in tragi-comedies; it is diverted upon on our minds, when we know that in the last another object, which weakens their concern act he is to arrive at the end of his wishes and for the principal action, and breaks the tide of desires. When we see him engaged in the sorrow, by throwing it into different channels. depth of his afflictions, we are apt to comfort This inconvenience, however, may, in a great ourselves, because we are sure he will find his measure be cured, if not wholly removed, by way out of them; and that his grief, how great the skilful choice of an under-plot, which may soever it may be at present, will soon termin- bear such a near relation to the principal deate in gladness. For this reason the ancient sign, as to contribute towards the complewriters of tragedy treated men in their plays, tion of it, and be concluded by the same caas they are dealt with in the world, by making tastrophe. The virtue sometimes happy and sometimes miser- There is also another particular, which may able, as they found it in the fable which they be reckoned among the blemishes, or rather made choice of, or as it might affect their au- the false beauties of our English tragedy: I dience in the most agreeable manner. Aristotle mean those particular speeches which are comconsiders the tragedies that were written in monly known by the name of rants. either of these kinds, and observes, that those warm and passionate parts of a tragedy, are which ended unhappily had always pleased the always the most taking with the audience; for people, and carried away the prize in the pub-which reason we often see the players prolic disputes of the stage, from those that end-nouncing, in all the violence of action, seveed happily. Terror and commiseration leave ral parts of the tragedy which the author writ a pleasing anguish in the mind; and fix the au- with great temper, and designed that they dience in such a serious composure of thought, should have been so acted. I have seen Powas is much more lasting and delightful than any ell* very often raise himself a loud clap by little transient starts of joy and satisfaction. this artifice. The poets that were acquainted Accordingly we find, that more of our English with this secret, have given frequent occasion tragedies have succeeded, in which the favour- for such emotions in the actor, by adding veites of the audience sink under their calamities, hemence to words where there was no passion, than those in which they recover themselves or inflaming a real passion into fustian. This out of them. The best plays of this kind are hath filled the mouths of our heroes with bomThe Orphan, Venice Preserved, Alexander the bast; and given them such sentiments, as proGreat, Theodosius, All for Love, Edipus, ceed rather from a swelling than a greatness Oroonoko, Othello, &c. King Lear is an ad- of mind. Unnatural exclamations, curses, mirable tragedy of the same kind, as Shaks- vows, blasphemies, a defiance of mankind, peare wrote it; but as it is reformed according and an outraging of the gods, frequently pass to the chimerical notion of poetical justice, in upon the audience for towering thoughts, and my humble opinion it has lost half its beauty. have accordingly met with infinite applause. At the same time I must allow, that there are I shall here add a remark, which I am afraid very noble tragedies, which have been framed our tragic writers may make an ill use of. As upon the other plan, and have ended happily; our heroes are generally lovers, their swelling as indeed most of the good tragedies, which and blustering upon the stage very much rehave been written since the starting of the commends them to the fair part of their audiabove criticism, have taken this turn; as The ence. The ladies are wonderfully pleased to Mourning Bride, Tamerlane, Ulysses, Phædra see a man insulting kings, or affronting the and Hippolitus, with most of Mr. Dryden's. I gods in one scene, and throwing himself at must also allow, that many of Shakspeare's, the feet of his mistress in another. Let him and several of the celebrated tragedies of an- behave himself insolently towards the men, tiquity, 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 sphere with Betterton, Booth, Wilkes, &c. maintained no *Mr. George Powell, though moving in the same inconsiderable rank in the public estimation: unfortu nately however, in his latter days, the love of the bottle weaned him from his attachment to the stage, and he declined greatly from that reputation which he had acquired. He was author of five Plays, all of which he brought on the stage with good success. He died in 1714. and abjectly towards the fair one, and it is ten |ries a woman, and finds her not to be the same to one but he proves a favourite with the boxes woman whom he intended to marry, but anoDryden and Lee, in several of their tragedies, ther. If that be law, it is, I presume, exactly have practised this secret with good success, my case. For you are to know, Mr. SpectaBut to show how a rant pleases beyond the tor, that there are women who do not let their most just and natural thought that is not pro-husbands see their faces till they are married. nounced with vehemence, I would desire the 'Not to keep you in suspense, I mean plainreader, when he sees the tragedy of Œdipus, ly that part of the sex who paint. They are to observe how quietly the hero is dismissed some of them so exquisitely skilful this way, at the end of the third act, after having pro- that give them but a tolerable pair of eyes to nounced the following lines, in which the set up with, and they will make bosom, lips, thought is very natural, and apt to move com-cheeks, and eye-brows, by their own industry. passion: 'To you, good gods, I make my last appeal.' Or clear my virtues, or my crimes reveal. If in the maze of fate I blindly run, And backward tread those paths I sought to shun; Let us then observe with what thunder-claps of 'O that, as oft I have at Athens seen, [Where, by the way, there was no stage till The stage arise, and the big clouds descend; This pond'rous globe, and all yon marble roof, ADVERTISEMENT. Having spoken of Mr. Powell, as sometimes raising himself applause from the ill taste of an audience, I must do him the justice to own, that he is excellently formed for a tragedian, and, when he pleases, deserves the admiration of the best judges: as I doubt not but he will in the Conquest of Mexico, which is acted for his own benefit, to-morrow night. No. 41.] Tuesday, April 17, 1711. C. Ovid, Met. i. 654, As for my dear, never was a man so enamour- 2 Your most obedient, humble servant. 2 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 in borrowed complexions, by the Picts and the British. There does not need any great discernment to judge which are which. The British have a lively animated aspect; the Piets, 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 them, or the ideas presented to them, affect their imagination. But the Picts behold all, things with the same So found, is worse than lost. air, whether they are joyful or sad; the same COMPASSION for the gentleman who writes fixed insensibility appears upon all occasions. the following letter, should not prevail upon A Pict, though she takes all that pains to invite me to fall upon the fair-sex, if it were not that the approach of lovers, is obliged to keep them I find they are frequently fairer than they ought at a certain distance; a sigh in a languishing to be. Such impostures are not to be tole-lover, if fetched too near her, would dissolve a rated in civil society, and I think his misfor-feature; and a kiss snatched by a forward one, tune ought to be made public, as a warning might transfer the complexion of the mistress for other men always to examine into what to the admirer. It is hard to speak of these they admire. false fair ones, without saying something uncomplaisant, but I would only recommend to them to consider how they like coming into a room new painted; they may assure themselves the near approach of a lady who uses this practice is much more offensive. SIR, Addison. Supposing you to be a person of general knowledge, I make my application to you on a very particular occasion. I have a great mind to be rid of my wife, and hope, when you consider my case, you will be of opinion Will Honeycomb told us, one day, an advenI have very just pretensions to a divorce. I ture he once had with a Pict. This lady had am a mere man of the town, and have very wit, as well as beauty, at will; and made it little improvement, but what I have got from her business to gain hearts, for no other reason plays. I remember in The Silent Woman,* but to rally the torments of her lovers. She the learned Dr. Cutberd, or Dr. Otter, (I for- has for several years been totally neglected by the managet which) makes one of the causes of sepa-gers of our theatres. Unless the public taste has greatly ration to be Error Persona, when a man mar-declined from what it was, this excellent performance would certainly be more acceptable than the flippant Epicone, or The Silent Woman, a comedy by Ben vulgar nonsense with which we are so often annoyed from Jonson-It is much to be regretted that this fine comedy the pens of some of our modern dramatists. |