impression of anarchy and misrule, produces always a damp upon the mind. I give for an example the Romeo and Juliet of Shakspeare, where the fatal catastrophe is occasioned by Friar Laurence's coming to the monument a minute too late; we are vexed at the unlucky chance, and go away dissatisfied. Such impressions, which ought not to be cherished, are a sufficient reason for excluding stories of that kind from the theatre. The misfortunes of a virtuous person, arising from necessary causes, or from a chain of unavoidable circumstances, are considered in a different light. A regular chain of causes and effects directed by the general laws of nature never fails to suggest the hand of Providence; to which we submit without resentment, being conscious that submission is our duty.* For that reason we are not disgusted with the distresses of Voltaire's Mariamne, though redoubled on her till her death, without the least fault or failing on her part; her misfortunes are owing to a cause extremely natural, and not unfrequent, the jealousy of a barbarous husband. The fate of Desdemona, in the Moor of Venice, affects us in the same manner. We are not so easily reconciled to the fate of Cordelia in King Lear; the causes of her misfortune are by no means so evident, as to exclude the gloomy notion of chance. In short, a perfect character suffering under misfortunes is qualified for being the subject of a pathetic tragedy, provided chance be excluded. Nor is a perfect character altogether inconsistent with a moral tragedy; it may successfully be introduced in an under part, if the chief place be occupied by an imperfect character, from which a moral can be drawn. This is the case of Desdemona and Mariamne just mentioned; and it is the case of Monimia and Belvidera, in Otway's two tragedies, The Orphan, and Venice Preserved.

I had an early opportunity to unfold a curious doctrine, That fable operates on our passions, by representing its events as passing in our sight, and by deluding us into a conviction of reality.f Hence, in epic and dramatic compositions, every circumstance ought to be employed that may promote the delusion; such as the borrowing from history some noted event, with the addition of circumstances that may answer the author's purpose: the principal facts are known to be true; and we are disposed to extend our belief to every circumstance. But in choosing a subject that makes a figure in history, greater precaution is necessary than where the whole is a fiction. In the latter case there is full scope for invention: the author is under no restraint other than that the characters and incidents be just copies of nature. But where the story is founded on truth, no circumstances must be added, but such as connect naturally with what are known to be true; history may be supplied, but must not be contradicted: farther, the subject chosen must be distant in time, or at least in place for the familiarity of recent persons and events ought to be avoided. Familiarity ought more especially to be avoided in an epic poem, the peculiar character of which is dignity and elevation: modern manners make no figure in such a poem,‡

* See Essays on the Principles of Morality, edit. 2. p. 291.

+ Chap. 2. part 1. sect. 7.

I would not from this observation be thought to undervalue modern manners.

After Voltaire, no writer, it is probable, will think of rearing an epic poem upon a recent event in the history of his own country. But an event of that kind is perhaps not altogether unqualified for tragedy it was admitted in Greece; and Shakspeare has employed it successfully in several of his pieces. One advantage it possesses above fiction, that of more readily engaging our belief, which tends above any other circumstance to raise our sympathy. The scene of comedy is generally laid at home familiarity is no objection; and we are peculiarly sensible of the ridicule of our own manners.

some art.

After a proper subject is chosen, the dividing it into parts requires The conclusion of a book in an epic poem, or of an act in a play, cannot be altogether arbitrary; nor be intended for so slight a purpose as to make the parts of equal length. The supposed pause at the end of every book, and the real pause at the end of every act, ought always to coincide with some pause in the action. In this respect, a dramatic or epic poem ought to resemble a sentence or period in language, divided into members that are distinguished from each other by proper pauses; or it ought to resemble a piece of music, having a full close at the end, preceded by imperfect closes that contribute to the melody. Every act in a dramatic poem ought therefore to close with some incident that makes a pause in the action; for otherwise there can be no pretext for interrupting the representation: it would be absurd to break off in the very heat of action; against which every one would exclaim the absurdity still remains where the action relents, if it be not actually suspended for some time. This rule is also applicable to an epic poem; though in it a deviation from the rule is less remarkable; because it is in the reader's power to hide the absurdity, by proceeding instantly to another book. The first book of Paradise Lost ends without any close, perfect or imperfect: it breaks off abruptly, where Satan, seated on his throne, is prepared to harangue the convocated host of the fallen angels; and the second book begins with the speech. Milton seems to have copied the Æneid, of which the two first books are divided much in the same manner. Neither is there any proper

pause at the end of the fifth book of the Eneid. There is no proper pause at the end of the seventh book of Paradise Lost, nor at the end of the eleventh. In the Iliad little attention is given to this rule.

This branch of the subject shall be closed with a general rule, That action being the fundamental part of every composition, whether epic or dramatic, the sentiments and tone of language ought to be subservient to the action, so as to appear natural and proper for the occasion. The application of this rule to our modern plays, would reduce the bulk of them to a skeleton.*

The roughness and impetuosity of ancient manners may be better fitted for an epic poem, without being better fitted for society. But with regard to that circumstance, it is the familiarity of modern manners that unqualifies them for a lofty subject. The dignity of our present manners will be better understood in future ages, when they are no longer familiar.

*"En général, il y a beaucoup de discours et peu d'action sur la scene Françoise. Quelqu'un disoit en sortant d'une piece de Denis le Tiran, Je n'ai rien vu, mais j'ai entendu force paroles. Voila ce qu'on peut dire en sortant des pieces Françoises, Racine et Corneille avec tout leur génie ne sont eux-mêmes que des par

After carrying on together epic and dramatic compositions, I shall mention circumstances peculiar to each; beginning with the epic kind. In a theatrical entertainment, which employs both the eye and the ear, it would be a gross absurdity to introduce upon the stage superior beings in a visible shape. There is no place for such objection in an epic poem; and Boileau,* with many other critics, declares strongly for that sort of machinery in an epic poem. But waving authority, which is apt to impose upon the judgment, let us draw what light we can from reason. I begin with a preliminary remark, That this matter is but indistinctly handled by critics: the poetical privilege of animating insensible objects for enlivening a description is very different from what is termed machinery, where deities, angels, devils, or other supernatural powers, are introduced as real personages, mixing in the action, and contributing to the catastrophe; and yet these are constantly jumbled together in the reasoning. The former is founded on a natural principle; but, can the latter claim the same authority? far from it; nothing is more unnatural. Its effects, at the same time, are deplorable. First, It gives an air of fiction to the whole, and prevents that impression of reality which is requisite to interest our affections, and to move our passions. This of itself is sufficient to explode machinery, whatever entertainment it may afford to readers of a fantastic taste, or irregular imagination. And, next, were it possible, by disguising the fiction, to delude us into a notion of reality, which I think can hardly be, an insuperable objection would still remain, that the aim or end of an epic poem can never be attained in any perfection where machinery is introduced; for an evident reason, that virtuous emotions cannot be raised successfully but by the actions of those who are endued with passions and affections like our own, that is, by human actions; and as for moral instruction, it is clear, that none can be drawn from beings who act not upon the same principles with us. A fable in sop's manner is no objection to this reasoning his lions, bulls, and goats, are truly men in disguise; they act and feel in every respect as human beings; and the moral we

leurs; et leur successeur est le premier qui, à l'imitation des Anglois, ait osé mettre quelquefois la scene en representation. Communément tout se passe en beaux dialogues bien agencés, bien ronflans, ou l'on voit d'abord que le premier soin de chaque interlocuteur est toujours celui de briller. Presque tout s'enonce en maximes générales. Quelque agités qu'ils puissent être, ils songent toujours plus au public qu'à eux mêmes; une sentence leur coute moins qu'un sentiment; les pieces de Racine et de Moliere exceptées, le je est presque aussi scrupuleusement banni de la scene Françoise que des écrits de Port-Royal; et les passions humaines, aussi modestes que l'humilité Chrétienne, n'y parlent jamais que par

on.

Il y a encore une certaine dignité manierée dans la geste è propos, qui ne permit jamais à la passion de parler exactinent son language, ni à l'auteur de revetir son personage, et de se transporter au lieu de la scene; mais le tient toujours enchainé sur le théatre, et sous les yeux des spectateurs. Aussi les situations les plus vives ne lui font-elles jamais oublier un bel arrangement de phrases, ni des attitudes élégantes; et si le desespoir lui plonge un poignard dans le cœur, non coutent d'observer la décence en tombant comme Polixene, il ne tombe point; la décence le maintient debout après sa mort, et tous ceux qui viennent d'expirer s'en retournent l'instant d'après sur leurs jambes."-Rosscar * Third part of his Art of Poetry. Chap. 20. sect. 1.

See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 7.

draw is founded on that supposition. Homer, it is true, introduces the gods into his fable: but the religion of his country authorized that liberty; it being an article in the Grecian creed, that the gods often interpose visibly and bodily in human affairs. I must however observe, that Homer's deities do no honour to his poems: fictions that transgress the bounds of nature seldom have a good effect; they may inflame the imagination for a moment, but will not be relished by any person of a correct taste. They may be of some use to the lower rank of writers; but an author of genius has much finer materials, of nature's production, for elevating his subject and making it interesting.

One would be apt to think that Boileau, declaring for the Heathen deities as above, intended them only for embellishing the diction; but unluckily he banishes angels and devils, who undoubtedly make a figure in poetic language equal to the Heathen deities. Boileau, therefore, by pleading for the latter in opposition to the former, certainly meant, if he had any distinct meaning, that the Heathen deities may be introduced as actors. And, in fact, he himself is guilty of that glaring absurdity, where it is not so pardonable as in an epic poem. In his ode upon the taking of Namur he demands, with a most serious countenance, whether the walls were built by Apollo or Neptune? and in relating the passage of the Rhine, anno 1672, he describes the god of that river as fighting with all his might to oppose the French monarch; which is confounding fiction with reality at a strange rate. The French writers in general run into this error: wonderful the effect of custom, to hide from them how ridiculous such fictions are !

That this is a capital error in the Gierusalemme Liberata, Tasso's greatest admirers must acknowledge: a situation can never be intricate, nor the reader ever in pain about the catastrophe, as long as there is an angel, devil, or magician, to lend a helping hand. Voltaire, in his essay upon epic poetry, talking of the Pharsalia, observes judiciously, "That the proximity of time, the notoriety of events, the character of the age, enlightened and political, joined with the solidity of Lucan's subject, deprived him of poetical fiction." Is it not amazing, that a critic, who reasons so justly with respect to others, can be so blind with respect to himself? Voltaire, not satisfied to enrich his language with images drawn from invisible and superor beings, introduces them into the action in the sixth canto of the Henriade, St. Louis appears in person, and terrifies the soldiers; in the seventh canto, St. Louis sends the God of Sleep to Henry; and, in the tenth, the demons of Discord, Fanatacism, War, &c. assist Aumale in a single combat with Turenne, and are driven away by a good angel brandishing the sword of God. To blend such fictitious personages in the same action with mortals, makes a bad figure at any rate; and is intolerable in a history so recent as that of Henry IV. But perfection is not the lot of man.*

* When I commenced author, my aim was to amuse, and perhaps to instruct, but never to give pain. I accordingly avoided every living author, till the Henriade occurred to me as the best instance I could find for illustrating the doctrine in the text; and I yielded to the temptation, judging that my slight criticisms

I have tried serious reasonings upon this subject; but ridicule, I suppose, will be found a more successful weapon, which Addison has applied in an elegant manner: "Whereas the time of a general peace is in all appearances, drawing near; being informed that there are several ingenious persons who intend to shew their talents on so happy an occasion, and being willing, as much as in me lies, to prevent that effusion of nonsense which we have good cause to appre hend, I do hereby strictly require every person who shall write on this subject, to remember that he is a Christian, and not to sacrifice his catechism to his poetry. In order to it, I do expect of him, in the first place, to make his own poem, without depending upon Phoebus for any part of it, or calling out for aid upon any of the muses by name. I do likewise positively forbid the sending of Mercury with any particular message, or despatch, relating to the peace; and shall by no means suffer Minerva to take upon her the shape of any plenipotentiary concerned in this great work. I do further declare, that I shall not allow the destinies to have had a hand in the deaths of the several thousands who have been slain in the late war; being of opinion, that all such deaths may be well accounted for by the Christian system of powder and ball. I do therefore strictly forbid the fates to cut the thread of man's life upon any pretence whatsoever, unless it be for the sake of the rhyme. And whereas I have good reason to fear, that Neptune will have a great deal of business on his hands in several poems, which we may now suppose are upon the anvil, I do also prohibit his appearance, unless it be done in metaphor, simile, or any very short allusion: and that even here he may not be permitted to enter, but with great caution and circumspection. I desire that the same rule may be extended to his whole fraternity of Heathen gods; it being my design to condemn every poem to the flames in which Jupiter thunders, or exercises any other act of authority which does not belong to him. In short, I expect that no Pagan agent will be introduced, or any fact related, which a man cannot give credit to with a good conscience. Provided always, that nothing herein contained shall extend, or be construed to extend, to several of the female poets in this nation, who shall still be left in full possession of their gods and goddesses, in the same manner as if this paper had never been written."*

The marvellous is indeed so much promoted by machinery that it is not wonderful to find it embraced by the plurality of writers, and perhaps, of readers. If indulged at all, it is generally indulged to excess. Homer introduceth his deities with no greater ceremony than as mortals; and Virgil has still less moderation: a pilot spent with watching cannot fall asleep, and drop into the sea

would never reach M. de Voltaire. They have however reached him; and have, as I am informed, stirred up some resentment. I am afflicted at this information; for what title have I to wound the mind more than the body? It would besides shew ingratitude to a celebrated writer, who is highly entertaining, and who has bestowed on me many a delicious morsel. My only excuse for giving offence is. that it was undesigned: for, to plead that the censure is just is no excuse. As the offence was public, I take this opportunity to make the apology equally so. I bope it will be satisfactory: perhaps not-I owe it however to my own character. *Spectator, No. 523.