LECTURE II.

Theatrical effect-Importance of the stage. Principal species of the drama— Essence of tragedy and comedy-Seriousness and mirth-How far it is possible to become acquainted with the ancients without knowing the original languages-Winkelmann.

AFTER this rapid view of what may be called the map of dramatic literature, we return to the examination of the principal idea. We have already shown that the supposition of a visible representation is essential to the dramatic form; and a dramatic work can therefore be considered in a double point of view, how far it is poetical, and how far it is theatrical. The two are by no means inseparable. I do not mean the poetical expression: I am not now considering the versification and the ornaments of language, though without a higher merit these are the least essential parts of theatrical works, but the poetry in the spirit and plan of a piece; and this may exist in a high degree, when it is even written in prose. How does a drama become poetical? Most assuredly in the very same way as works in other branches become so. It must in the first place be a connected whole, and complete within itself. But this is merely the negative condition of the form of a work of art, by which it is distinguished from the phenomena of nature, which flow into one another, and do not possess an independent existence. To be poetical it is necessary that it should be a mirror of ideas, that is, thoughts and feelings in their character necessary and eternally true, which soar above this earthly life, and that it should exhibit them embodied before us. The ideas which in this view are essential to the different departments of the drama will hereafter be the object of our investigation. We shall also, by way of contrast, show that without them a drama becomes altogether prosaic and empirical, that is, composed by the understanding from the observation of reality.

But how does a dramatic work become theatrical, or fitted to appear with advantage on the stage? It is often difficult in a single instance to determine whether it may possess such a property or not. This is frequently the subject of great controversy, especially when the self-love of authors and players comes into collision; the one throws the blame of the failure on the other, and those who advocate the cause of the author complain of the inadequacy of the representation, and the insufficiency of the means afforded to do justice to his conceptions.-But in general

The ob

the answer to this question is by no means so difficult. ject proposed is to produce an impression on an assembled crowd, to gain their attention, and to excite in them an interest and participation. This part of his business is common to the poet with the orator. How does the latter attain his end? By perspicuity, celerity, and force. Whatever exceeds the ordinary measure of patience or comprehension must be carefully avoided by him. Moreover, a number of men assembled together constitute an object of distraction to one another, if their eyes and ears are not directed to a common object beyond their circle. Hence the dramatic poet, as well as the orator, must at the very commencement produce such a strong impression as to draw his hearers from themselves, and become masters, as it were, of their bodily attention. There is a species of poetry capable of producing a soft emotion in a mind turned to solitary contemplation, as the gentle breezes draw forth accordant sounds from an Æolian harp. However excellent this poetry may be in itself, without some other accompaniment its tones would be lost on the stage. The melting harmonica is not calculated to regulate the march of an army, and kindle its military enthusiasm. For this we must have piercing instruments, but above all a decided rhythmus, to quicken the pulsation ad give a more rapid motion to the senses. The grand requisite a drama is to make this rhythmus visible in its progress. When this has once been effected, the poet may the sooner halt in his rapid career, and indulge his own inclinations. There are points when the most simple or artless tale, the inspired lyric, thest profound thoughts, and remote allusions, the smartest co scations of wit, and the most dazzling flights of a sportive or ethereal fancy, are all in their place, and when the willing audience, even those who cannot entirely comprehend them, follow the whole with a greedy ear, like a music in harmony with their feelings. The great art of the poet is to avail himself of the effect of contrasts, wherever he can, to exhibit at times, in as clear a manner, a quiet stillness, the musings of self contemplation, and even the indolent resignation of exhausted nature, as at other times the most tumultuous emotions, the most raging storm of the passions. With respect to the theatrical, however, we must never forget that much must be suited to the capacities and inclinations of the audience, and consequently to the national character in general, and the particular degree of civilization. Dramatic poetry is in a certain sense the most worldly of all, for from the stillness of an inspired mind, it exhibits itself in the midst of the noise and tumult of social life. The dramatic poet is, more than any other, obliged to court external favour for applause. But he ought to lower himself only

in appearance to his hearers; in reality, however, elevate them to himself.

In producing an impression on an assembled multitude, the following circumstance deserves to be weighed, that the whole amount of its importance may be ascertained. In ordinary intercourse men exhibit only their exteriors to one another. They are withheld by suspicion or indifference from allowing others to look into what passes within them; and to speak with anything like emotion or agitation of that which is nearest our heart would be considered unsuitable to the tone of polished society. The orator and the dramatic poet find means to break down these barriers of conventional reserve. While they transport their hearers to such scenes of mental agitation, that their external signs break involuntarily forth, every man perceives in those around him the same degree of emotion, and those who before were strangers to one another, become in a moment intimately acquainted. The tears which the orator or the dramatic poet compels them to shed for persecuted innocence, or a dying hero, make friends and brothers of them all. The effect produced by seeing a number of others share in the same emotions, on an intense feeling which usually retires into solitude, or only opens itself to the confidence of friendship, is onishingly powerful. The belief in the justness of the feeling omes unshaken from its diffusion; we feel ourselves strong among so many associates, and the minds of all flow together in one great and overflowing stream. Hence the privilege of influencing an assembled crowd is exposed to a most dangerous abuse. we may inspire them. in the most disinterested manner, for thoblest and best of purposes, we may also ensnare them by the deceitful webs of sophistry, and dazzle them by the glare of false magnanimity, of which the crimes may be painted as virtues and even as sacrifices. Under the delightful dress of oratory and poetry, the poison steals imperceptibly into the ear and the heart. Above all things let the comic poet take heed, as from the nature of his subject he has a tendency to split on this rock, lest he afford an opportunity for the lower and baser parts of human nature to exhibit themselves without any disguise; for if, by the appearance of a common participation in these ignoble propensities, the shame is once overcome, which generally confines them within the bounds of decency, the depraved inclinations soon break out with the most unbridled licentiousness.

The powerful nature of such an engine for either good or bad purposes has justly, in all times, drawn the attention of the legislature to the drama. Many regulations have been devised by different states, to render it subservient to their views, and to

guard against abuses. The great difficulty is to combine such a degree of freedom as is necessary for the production of works of excellence, with the precautions demanded by the customs and institutions of every state. In Athens the theatre flourished under the protection of religion, with the most unlimited freedom, and the public morality preserved it for a time from degeneracy. The comedies of Aristophanes, which with our views and habits appear so intolerably licentious, and in which the senate and the people themselves are covered with ridicule, were the seal of the Athenian freedom. Plato, again, who lived in the very same Athens, and witnessed or anticipated the decline of art, proposed the entire banishment of dramatic poets from his ideal republic. Few states however have conceived it necessary to subscribe to this severe sentence of condemnation; but few also have thought proper to leave the theatre to itself, without any superintendence. In many Christian countries the dramatic art has been honoured by being made subservient to religion, in the composition of spiritual subjects; and in Spain, more especially, competition has given birth to many works which neither devotion nor poetry will disown. In other states and under other circumstances, this has been thought offensive and unadvisable. Where a previous censureship, and not merely an after responsibility on the part of the poet and player, is considered indispensable before a piece can appear on the stage, it will be found perhaps the most difficult of application to the very point of all others of the greatest importance: namely, the spirit and general impression of a piece. From the nature of the dramatic art, the poet must put much into the mouths of his characters of which he does not himself approve, and he conceives that his own sentiments should be appreciated from the spirit and connexion of the whole. It may again happen that a piece is perfectly inoffensive with respect to single speeches, and that they defy all censureship, while upon the whole it may be calculated to produce the most dangerous effects. We have in our times seen but too many plays favourably received throughout Europe, overflowing with ebullitions of good-heartedness and traits of magnanimity, and in which, notwithstanding, a mind of any penetration could not mistake the concealed aim of the writer to sap the foundations of moral principles, and the respect for whatever ought to be held in veneration by men; and by that means to make the dissolute effeminacy of his contemporaries the panders to his success.* On the other hand, if any person were to undertake the defence of the moral tendency of Aristophanes, who has such a bad name,

• The author it is supposed alludes to Kotzebue —Trans.

and whose licentiousness in particular passages appears quite irreconcilable with our ideas, he would found it on the general object of his pieces, in which he at least displays the sentiments of a patriotic citizen.

The purport of these observations is to show the importance of the object of our consideration in a convincing manner. The theatre, where the magic of many combined arts can be displayed; where the most elevated and profound poetry has the most finished action for its interpreter, action which is at once eloquence and a living picture; while architecture lends her splendid receptacle, and painting her perspective deceptions, and even music contributes its assistance to attemper the minds, or to heighten by its melody the agitation into which they are already thrown; the theatre, in short, where the whole of the social cultivation and art of a nation, the fruits of centuries of continued exertions, may be represented in a few hours-has an extraordinary charm for every age, sex, and rank, and was ever the most delightful amusement of cultivated nations. Here, the prince, the statesman, and the leader of an army, see the great events of past times, resembling those in which they themselves may be called to act, laid open in their inmost springs and relations; the philosopher finds a subject for the deepest reflections on the nature and constitution of man; the artist follows with a curious eye the groups which pass rapidly before him, which in his infancy he embodies into future pictures; the susceptible youth opens his heart to every elevated feeling; age becomes young in recollection; even childhood sits with anxious expectation before the gaudy curtain, which is to be drawn up with a rustling noise, and to display so many unknown wonders: all are recreated, all are exhilarated, and all feel themselves for a time elevated above the sorrows and the daily cares and troubles of life. As the dramatic art, with the arts which are subservient to it, from neglect and contempt of artists and the public for one another, may degenerate to such a degree as to convert the theatre into the most trivial and stupid amusement, and even a downright waste of time, we conceive that we shall attempt something more than a light entertainment, if we enter on a consideration of the works produced by the most distinguished nations in their most flourishing times, and institute an inquiry into the means of ennobling and perfecting an art of such high importance.

So much for the importance of our object. We shall now enter into a preliminary consideration of the two opposite kinds into which all dramatic poetry may be divided, the tragic and comic, and examine the meaning and import of each.

The three principal kinds of poetry are the epic, the lyric, and