never to be shifted; that the action of the play continue in the same place where it began. Unity of time. strictly taken, requires that the time of the action be no longer, than the time allowed for the representation of the play. Aristotle, however, permits the action to comprehend the whole day. These rules are intended to bring the imitation nearer to reality. Among the Greeks there was no division of acts. In modern times, the practice has prevailed of suspending the spectacle some little time between the acts. This practice gives latitude to the imagination and renders strict confinement to time and place less necessary. Upon this account, therefore, too strict an observance of these unities should not be preferred to higher beauties of execution, nor to the introduction of more pathetic situations. But transgressions of these unities, though they may be often advantageous, ought not to be too frequent nor violent. Hurrying the spectator from one distant city to another, or making several days or weeks pass during the representation, would shock the imagination too much, and therefore cannot be allowed in a dramatic writer. Having examined dramatic action, we shall now attend to the characters most proper to be exhibited in a tragedy. Several critics affirm that the nature of tragedy requires the principal personages to be always of high or princely rank; as the sufferings of such persons seize the heart most forcibly. But this is more specious than solid. For the distresses of Desdemona, Monimia, and Belvidera, interest us as much, as if they had been princesses or queens. It is sufficient, that in tragedy there be nothing degrading or mean in the personages exhibited. High rank may render the spectacle more splendid; but it is the tale itself, and the art of the poet, that make it interesting and pathetic. In describing his characters, the poet should be careful so to order the incidents, which relate to them, as to impress the spectators with favourable ideas of virtue, and of the divine administration. Pity should be raised for the virtuous in distress; and the author should studiously beware of making such representations of life, as would render virtue an object of aver Unmixed characters, either of good or ill men, are not, in the opinion of Aristotle, fit for tragedy. For the distresses of the former, as unmerited, hurt us; and the sufferings of the latter excite no compassion. Mixed characters afford the best field for displaying, without injury to morals, the vicissitudes of life. They interest us the most deeply; and their distresses are most instructive, when represented as springing out of their own passions, or as originating in some weakness incident to human nature. The Greek tragedies are often founded on mere destiny and inevitable misfortunes. Modern tragedy aims at a higher object, and takes a wider range; as it shows the direful effect of ambition, jealousy, love, resentment, and of every strong emotion. But of all the passions which furnish matter for tragedy, love has most occupied the modern stage. To the ancient theatre, love was almost unknown. This proceeded from the national manners of the Greeks, which encouraged a greater separation of the sexes than takes place in modern times; and did not admit female actors upon the ancient stage; a circumstance which operated against the introduction of love stories. No solid reason, however, can be assigned for this predominancy of love upon the stage. Indeed, it not only limits the natural extent of tragedy, but degrades its majesty. Mixing it with the great and solemn revolutions of human fortune, tends to give tragedy the air of gallantry and juvenile entertainment. Without any assistance from love, the drama is capable of producing its highest effects upon the mind. Besides the arrangement of his subject, and the conduct of his personages, the tragic poet must attend to the propriety of his sentiments. These must be suited to the characters of the persons to whom they are attributed, and to the situations in which they are placed. It is chiefly in the pathetic parts, that the difficulty and importance of this rule are greatest. We go to a tragedy, expecting to be moved; and, if the poet cannot reach the heart, he has no tragic merit; and we return cold and disappointed from the performance. To paint and to excite passion strongly, are prerogatives of genius. They require not only ardent sen sibility, bat the power of entering deeply into cha racters. It is here, that candidates for the drama are least successful. A man, under the agitation of passion, makes known his feelings in the glowing language of sensibility. He does not coolly describe what his feelings are, yet this sort of secondary decription, tragic poets often give us, instead of the primary and native language of passion. Thus in Addison's Cato, when Lucia confesses to Portius her love for him, but swears that she will never marry him, Portius, instead of giving way to the language of grief and astonishment, only describes his feelings; Fixed in astonishment, I gaze upon thee, This might have proceeded from a bystander, or an indifferent person; but it is altogether improper in the mouth of Portius. Similar to this descriptive language, are the unnatural and forced thoughts, which tragic poets sometimes employ, to exaggerate the feelings of persons whom they wish to paint as strongly moved. Thus, when Jane Shore, on meeting her husband in distress, and finding that he had forgiven her, calls on the rains to give her their drops, and to the springs to lend her their streams, that she may have a constant supply of tears; we see plainly that it is not Jane Shore that speaks; but the poet himself, vho is straining his fancy, and spurring up his genius, to say something uncommonly strong and lively. The language of real passion is always plain and simple. It abounds indeed in figures, that express a disturbed and impetuous state of mind, but never employs any for parade and embellishment. Thoughts, suggested by passion, are natural and obvious, and not the offspring of refinement, subtlety, and wit. Passion neither reasons, speculates, nor declaims; its language is short, broken, and interrupted. The French tragedians deal too much in refinement and declamation. The Greek tragedians adhere most to nature, and are most pathetic. This too is the grea excellency of Shakspeare. He exhibits the true language of nature and passion. Moral sentiments and reflections ought not to recur very frequently in tragedy. When unseasonably crowded, they lose their effect, and convey an air of pedantry. When introduced with propriety, they give dignity to the composition. Cardinal Wolsey's soliloquy on his fall, is a fine instance of the felicity with which they may be employed. Much of the merit of Addison's Cato depends on that moral turn of thought which distinguishes it. The style and versification of tragedy should be free, easy, and varied. English blank verse is happily suited to this species of composition. It has sufficient majesty, and can descend to the simple and familiar; it admits a happy variety of cadence, and is free from the constraint and monotony of rhyme. Of the French tragedies it is a great misfortune that they are always in rhyme; for it fetters the freedom of the tragic dialogue, fills it with a languid monotony, and is fatal to the power of passion. With regard to those splendid comparisons in rhyme, and those strings of couplets with which it was some time ago fashionable to conclude the acts of a tragedy, and sometimes the most interesting scenes; they are now laid aside, and regarded not only as childish ornaments, but as perfect barbarisms. What are the three unities? Which is most important? Why? Give an example of a double plot. What is the fault of the Greek tragedies? Why is every tragedy divided into five acts? What must be done in the first act? What in the second, third, and fourth? What in the fifth? Must tragedy end unhappily! Why are emotions of sorrow in tragedy pleasing? What the second? What does unity of time and place mean? What advantage arises from a division of the acts? Why are mixed characters best? What is the aim of modern tragedy? Must all tragedies be founded on love? What is required for propriety of sentiments? Describe the language of passion. What tragedians are most pathetic? GREEK TRAGEDY. THE plot of Greek tragedy was exceedingly siinple; the incidents few; and the conduct very exact with regard to the unities of action, time, and place. Machinery, or the intervention of gods, was employed; and, what was very faulty, the final unravelling was sometimes made to turn upon it. Love, one or two instances excepted, was never admitted into Greek tragedy. A vein of morality and religion always runs through it; but they employed less than the moderns, the combat of the passions. Their plots were all taken from the ancient traditionary stories of their own nation. Eschylus, the father of Greek tragedy, exhibits both the beauties and defects of an early original writer. He is bold, nervous, and animated; but very obscure, and difficult to be understood. His style is highly metaphorical, and often harsh and tumid. He abounds in martial ideas and descriptions, has much fire and elevation, and little tenderness. He also delights in the marvellous. The most masterly of the Greek tragedians is Sophocles. He is the most correct in the conduct of his subjects; the most just and sublime in his sentiments. In descriptive talents he is also eminent. Euripides is accounted more tender than Sophocles; he is fuller of moral sentiments; but he is less correct in the conduct of his plays. His exposition of his subjects are less artful; and the songs of his chorus, though very poetic, are less connected with the principal action, than those of Sophocles. Both of them, however, have high merit, as tragic poets. Their style is ele |