by N.W.
Originally published in The Monitor (Joseph Dollard) vol.2 #7 (Jul 1879).
The word "drama" signifies "action." In Madame de Stael's phrase, the drama is "literature in action;" hence, in compositions of this order, the plot must be so constructed and the incidents and characters so conceived and arranged, that all conform to the general movement of the piece; and even when they seem to retard, to hasten its consummation. Contrast and harmony, unity in variety, are the fundamental principles of all art. Dramatic art in tragedy consists not in the delineation of one or more passions and characters, or, in comedy, of one or more humours and characters, but in their opposition; in the diversities of motives and interests in the personages; in the contrast of the situations and that of the characters in relation to them. The situations in a play may be compared with the broad masses of light and shade in a picture, the traits to the minute touches. There are two varieties of comedy—the natural, and the conventional or artificial: the poetic and romantic, as we have it in Shakespeare; and that of manners, as in Molière. The one is an humorous picture of ideal—the other of real life; but, in many instances, the former is truly the more real, for it is evolved from principles and materials which are permanent, eternal—not modes which are transitory. The one is founded on emotions and passions so universal as to render all human souls contemporary. Poetic comedy also blends the beautiful with the comic, and is the highest species of this order of composition. A good comedy must exhibit humour in the conception as a whole; in its subject, in the characters, situations, incidents: the latter should be interesting or striking, yet natural; connected, yet unexpected. In conventional comedy the opposition of interest to interest is a common principle, as that of passion to passion in tragedy. In the plays of Scribe and others, this system is worked out with such mechanical exactness, that the French refer to it as charpenterie—carpenter's work. Here "the art itself is not nature." In poetic comedy, such as "As You Like It," or other creative, as distinguished from mechanical dramatic work, there are no such sharp adaptations, no such antitheses of action. Contrasted with this class of plays and their art, the comedies of Shakespeare and their characters are like the trees of a natural forest, green and alive, majestic and graceful, compared with the same trees cut down, shaped and squared. His romantic drama is a natural wood, while that of the classical French is like the stately but formal avenues and gardens of Versailles.
When the conception of the subject—the plot and characters—has been completed, the dramatic artist divides the action into the number of acts requisite for effective representation, and the acts into scenes. Every play must have a beginning, middle and end, like any other systematic composition. In order to be popular, the action of a drama must run parallel with emotions, purposes, topics, opinions, which are generally popular. The old English tragedians dealt solely with the passions of human nature; while, on the other hand, some of the French have endeavoured to render their serious drama educational, by the intentive introduction of philosophic ideas, maxims, &c., in imitation of the ancient Greeks, whose tragedy was an historical and religious ceremony, resembling somewhat the Autos of the Spaniards. But considering the influence of the stage on mankind, it is much to be wished that the drama of the future, while manifesting in its fulness the resources of true creative genius, could be rendered a higher, moral, and educational instrument than it has hitherto been, whether tragic or comic. Every trace of that grossness or licence which was the result of ignorance should be elided. Life will always afford materials for comedy, and the most delightful humour is the purest.
The finest of the Greek comedies have been lost, but we can form an opinion of Menander's plays from those of Plautus and Terence, whom Julius Cesar called "a half Menander"—"dimi-dium Menandri." Although the plots of the Roman writers' plays are slight, their dialogue is singularly easy, animated, and natural, and several of the descriptive passages full of grace—such as that of the emotion felt by Pamphylius at the funeral, when Glycera goes too near the flaming pyre—in the Andrian. Aristophanes is a sort of dramatic Rabelais, with the same sanguine redundance of intellect—a buffoon genius of satire abounding in animal spirits, but with a more direct and vivid genius for ridicule—a quality often recklessly applied, as in the "Clouds," where he holds up Socrates to derision. His personation of the people under the name of Demos in his "Knights," is admirable; but his most interesting composition, because the most poetic, is his "Birds," with its fantastic and charming choruses. In this play he has united beauty with humour, as Shakespeare has done in the "Midsummer Night's Dream." We have few instances of the commingling of those delightful elements in modern literature, except in short pieces, such as "A May-Day Revel," by one of our Irish poets, and in a fainter degree as regards humour, in Tennyson's "Talking Oak," the idea of which was possibly derived from Ovid's "Nux," or "Walnut Tree." Among mock-heroic poems, there is the most exquisite wit and humour in Pope's "Rape of the Lock," and much gaiety in Gresset's "Vert-Vert," but little of that intermingling of true poetic beauty with humour, to which we have referred. Several of the scenes in Aristophanes are highly comic, as are not a few in Lucian, who, though a satirist in dialogue, may be classed among the great comic dramatists. Nothing can be better for the purpose of satirical expose than his "Sale of the Philosophers," in which the opinions of each of the sophists who are put up to auction, are ridiculed. It was, perhaps, from this piece that Sheridan derived the idea of the scene in the "School for Scandal," in which Charles brings his family portraits under the hammer, appraises, and knocks them down.
Shakespeare's highest power was his imagination for character. His poetic comedy is ideal—that of nature; Ben Johnson's that of manners. The latter is enriched here and there with fine flashes of fancy, like shot-silk tagged to drugget. They are not so "crammed with life," as, to use his own phrase, those of his great contemporary are, but are full of observation; and apart from their poetry, valuable as illustrations of the modes and colloquial forms of his time. A couple of his masques—"Cynthia's Revels," for instance—possess much beauty of fancy and diction. Indeed, in the writings of the era of Elizabeth and James I., those of Shakespeare, Johnson, Bacon, and others, the language is nobler, more creative, more abounding in imagery, and utilizes the English vocabulary to a greater extent than those of our time. Shakespeare's comedies were his "amusements." Their characters are ideal; their humour now poetic, graceful and human, and now broad, as in Falstaff, but not satirical, as in Molière, who remains the greatest master of artificial comedy, or that whose object is to paint manners and ridicule affectations, follies, and pretensions. Molière's verse is distinguished for its natural flow, ease and point.
Before alluding to Molière, let us glance at the development of the French as a literary language. Like others, it has several well-marked epochs, titled by the names of Rabelais and Marot, of Molière and Regnard, of Corneille and Racine, of Chateaubriand, Beranger, Victor Hugo, and contemporary writers. In the hands of the first group it attained a youthful maturity, signalized by strength, adroitness, vivacity; it became savoury and clear, full of colour, full of spirit, with amusing caprices and elegant proprieties. The excellent taste of Racine rendered the language more limpid and correct; while Voltaire's style, clear, dry and uncoloured, suited it to reasoning more than feeling, and a better medium for prose than poetry. During the nineteenth century it became more Gothic in character, while remaining Greek in style. Words and idioms eclecticised from the old writers were again put in circulation, and the language recovered the grace and naïveté of the fourteenth, while retaining the strong turns and majestic phrase of the seventeenth century. The nineteenth century, however, introduced the false brilliancy of the feuilleton. The necessity of keeping public interest attracted to the serial tales and romances, one or more chapters of which appeared in the daily journals, and hence of ending each with a suspense or a surprise, to engage and sustain public attention, gave rise to a style which would strike by its novelty anyway. And this change, while evincing a decline in taste as regards literary language, like fine manners become vulgarized, may be said to have originated what is now called the "sensational school" of fiction. In the hands of many of the feuilletonists the French language was no longer the pure, full-bodied Burgundy of past ages, but resembled champagne, whose vivacity is derived less from the natural spirit of the vintage than from its chemical ingredients; or, in poetry, it resembled the Dead Sea fruit, with rich surface colour, gaudy, but sapless, feelingless; no longer like "the full-juiced apple that, waxing over-mellow, drops in the silent autumn night."
Literary excellence is inseparable from style; this it is which gives duration and immortality to the work of the prose writer or poet. The fine expression at once embellishes and conserves the thought; is, at the same time, its ornament and armour; is to the idea what the enamel is to the teeth. Design and style are the only passports to permanent popularity. Without them the writer but attains momentary success, merely insignia victoriæ, non victoriam.
The style of each of the great French writers we have named, is as individual and peculiar as his nature and intellect. The wonderful animal spirits of old Rabelais are everywhere impressed on his jovial and fantastic pages, where fun, fancy, and satire—too frequently coarse and extravagant—run riot. He is par excellence the jolliest of writers. Nothing is too preposterous in the way of adventure for his characters to encounter and pass through. He writes from a pure love of fun. In this respect he differs from Cervantes, whose humour is graver and more satirically pertinent. Rabelais' command of the resources of the French vocabulary is almost as complete as Shakespeare's over the English, and his pages are a repertoire of old and expressive idioms.
Passing on to the purely literary characteristics of Molière, we recognise in him a master of French verse, at once lively, familiar and amusing, well turned and pointed, alternately easy and epigrammatic. In Fontaine all must be pleased by the fresh naïveté and perfection of detail which characterize the verses of the fabulist. In Corneille we admire the vigorous, sinewy phrase, sustained energy and fine exaggerated turns of expression which render the old poet half Roman—the Michael Angelo of tragedy. In Racine, a style, chaste, discreet, harmonious, with fine Raphaelistic outlines. With him may be allied Fenelon, whose prose is as melodious and serene as the verses of the author of "Athalie." Boileau's manner is grave, yet coloured where colour is appropriate. Then what a magnificent pomp distinguishes the sonorous sentences of Bossuet, which so swell and vibrate in harmony with the majesty of his thoughts! What appropriateness in the language, and logic in the metaphor marks Pascal's mathematical style! how flowing and animated the style of Voltaire, in his History of Charles XII., which seems written with the same spirit with which his hero acted! Take away from any of those writers their individual style, and the matter would resemble the wrong side of a transparency, or a bad translation of a fine composition. Glancing at the modern literature of France, we may remark that there is more true poetry in some French prose than in most French verse. Where, for instance, can we find more exquisitely-coloured descriptions than in Fromentin's "Eté dans la Sahara?" Here we have truth of detail expressed in the finest tow of imaginative language. Compared with this work, the books of travel of Théophile Gautier, though profuse in colour, are rather graphic than poetic. In his search for striking illustrations, he sometimes selects images which are inferior to the objects sought to be illustrated. In Victor Hugo's poetic and prose compositions, all varieties of style are to be found; dramatic design and dramatic narrative are his most obvious characteristics. To the beauty and eloquence of Buffon's prose we need not refer, or to the elegance and exactitude of Cousin, and many other modern writers. As constructive and dramatic artists, the French excel the English. Even some of their slightest novelettes are remarkable in this way. By the way, while referring to the old prose style of France, we have forgotten to notice that of Froissart, that most charming chronicler and story-teller, whose simple, animated style resembles that of a prose ballad. He is indeed the prose trouvère of history, the favourite of Sir Walter Scott, who called him his "master" in the art of narrative.
Beginning as an imitator of Plautus, Molière soon formed his own style. His first success was in "Les Précieuses Ridicules," which, as a specimen of light French gaiety and satirical characterization, remains unsurpassed—like Foot's "Minor," in broad English farce. On its first performance, a man stood up in the pit and cried out—"Bravo, Molière! that is true comedy." The intention of this piece was to ridicule affectation and the peculiar slang affected by the would-be exquisites of society, who were called "Précteuses." Two gentlemen of sense and true breeding visit, for the purpose of paying their addresses to them, two young country ladies, Cathos and Magdalen, who mistake this sort of slang for fashionable refinement, and are rejected. In revenge, one of the gentlemen directs his lively servant, Mascarelle, to visit them under the assumed title of a marquis, and act their ideal of a man of fashion, which he does to perfection. The scenes in which he pays his compliments, talks of his clothes, and reads his sonnets are the most sparkling bits of light comedy in Molière's writings. The sonnet scene has been imitated by both Steele and Addison in the "Tatler" and "Spectator." Molière has ridiculed the fopperies of fashion in "Les Facheux;" the tricks of domestics in the "Fourberies de Scapin;" aristocratic assumption in "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme;" pedantry in "Les Femmes Savantes;" and the ignorance of quacks in many places, chiefly in "Le Malade Imaginaire." Nothing can be more humorous than the opening and some other scenes of this farcical comedy. The French consider the "Misanthrope" his chef-d'œuvre, but it is far less laughable than many others in his comic gallery. It is interesting to contrast Molière's "Misanthrope" with Shakespeare's "Timon," in which the poetic delineations of passion is only second to that exhibited in "Lear."
The comedy of Beaumont and Fletcher is almost poetic when compared with that of the dramatists of the Restoration. Some of Congreve's scenes are truly humorous, and no comedies exhibit such a corruscation of wit as his; but they are repulsive, not alone from their licentiousness, but from a sort of heartlessness which pervades them. His young men are a set of witty apes; morals are almost excluded from the circle of those comedies, Even the French of Voltaire's day express their astonishment at the grossness of the English artificial drama. In this group Vanburgh displays most humour; Farquhar most animation, adventure, and variety in scene and dialogue. His best play is "The Beau's Stratagem," and from the point of view indicated, bad is the best. Congreve is a more polished writer than any of them. In brilliancy he excels even Sheridan; his characters lose distinction in the profusion of wit put into their mouths; but, unlike the Irishman, he was deficient in the dramatic art on which the interest of a play depends. It is pleasing to contrast the comedies of Goldsmith with the coarse plays of the epoch of the Restoration—comedies which it is neither an injury or a waste of time to peruse.
Among the best comedies of the period succeeding those of the Restoration, always including those of Goldsmith, is the "Clandestine Marriage." The character of Lord Ogleby is almost as good as any of Shakespeare's comic delineations. The humour arises from the contrast between the senility of this personage and his affectation of youth—as in Dogberry, from the union of utter imbecility of intellect and perfect self-esteem and self-confidence. The delicate traits of nature in the character of Lord Ogleby, his vanity, principles of honour, reliance on his unconquerable fascination, and his good-nature, have never been excelled in so slight a sketch. Garrick and Colman are the reputed authors of this character, which, however, they derived from a MS. farce, written by a clergyman, which had been long lying unused on the shelves of the press of the theatre, and which has never been printed. Of Sheridan's plays, it is enough to say that they are all complete in their way. His "School for Scandal" is the most perfect comedy of the conventional order in the English language. There is humour in the conception of the piece as a whole, and characters, scenes, situations, dialogue—all are effective. There is no French play in which the wit—which is that of comparison—is so brilliant. The esprit of our Gallic neighbours consists in gaiety, rather than the uttering of sparkling antitheses and fancies—vide Beaumarchais, who is called the French Sheridan, or his modern succeedant, Sardou. Modern English comedy is neither so poetic as that of the epoch of Elizabeth and James, or so humorous as that of Charles II. and Anne's time; and in conception and finished art, Sheridan has met with no rival. The popularity of Bulwer's plays, which are so deficient in vis comica, has resulted from their structure—Kotzebue was his model. In our day prose fiction, not the drama, has become the chief medium for humour and wit. It is something to feel a national pride in, that Ireland has in various ways produced some of the most perfect compositions in English or any literature—the profoundest general satire ever penned, "Gulliver's Travels;" the most charming of little novels, "The Vicar of Wakefield;" the Comedies of Sheridan, the Lyrics of Moore, and the most inspiring of all oratory, in the English language at least—that of Grattan.