liberties; possessions, life, and reputation, may be in another's power, but opinion is always independent. If any man can obtain that gentle influence, by which he ingratiates himself with the understanding, and makes a sect in a commonwealth, his followers will sacrifice themselves for him, and nobody will be pardoned that dares to attack him justly or unjustly, because that truth, real or imaginary, which he maintained, is now become an idol. Time will do nothing for the extinction of this hatred; it will be pro-and leave them for Moliere, who appears like a pagated from age to age; and there is no hope that Aristophanes will ever be treated with tenderness by the disciples of Plato, who made, Socrates his hero. Every body else may, perhaps, confess that Aristophanes, though in one instance a bad man, may nevertheless be a good poet; but distinctions, like these, will not be admitted by prejudice and passion, and one or other dictates all characters, whether good or bad.

oircumstances which we measure by the circumstances of our own days. According to this prejudice, oratory depends more upon its subject than history, and poetry yet more than oratory. Our times, therefore, show more regard to Herodotus and Suetonius, than to Demosthenes and Cicero, and more to all these than to Homer or Virgil. Of this prejudice, there are regular gradations; and to come back to the point which we have left, we show, for the same imperceptible reason, less regard to tragic poets than to others. The reason is, that the subjects of their paintings are more examined than the art. Thus comparing the "Achilles" and "Hippolytus" of Euripides, with those of Racine, we drive them off the stage, without considering that Racine's heroes will be driven off, in a future age, if the same rule of judgment be followed, and one time be measured by another.

Yet tragedy having the passions for its object, is not wholly exposed to the caprice of our taste, which would make our own manners the rule of human kind; for the passions of Grecian heroes are often dressed in external modes of appearance that disgust us, yet they break through the veil when they are strongly marked, as we cannot deny them to be in Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. The essence then gets the better of the circumstance. The passions of Greece and France do not so much differ by the particular characters of particular ages, as they agree by the participations of that which belongs to the same passion in all ages. Our three tragic poets will, therefore, get clear by suffering only a little ridicule, which falls directly upon their times; but these times and themselves will be well recompensed by the admiration which their art will irresistibly enforce.

Comedy is in a more lamentable situation; for, not only its object is the ridiculous, which, Upon this incontestable principle, which supthough in reality always the same, is so dependant on custom, as to change its appearance with time and with place; but the art of a comic poses a beauty universal and absolute, and a writer is, to lay hold of that species of the ridicu- beauty likewise relative and particular, which lous which will catch the spectators of the pre- are mingled through one work in very different sent hour, without regard to futurity. But proportions, it is easy to give an account of the though comedy has attained its end, and diverted contrary judgments passed on Aristophanes. If the pit, for which it was written; if it goes we consider him only with respect to the beaudown to posterity, it is in a new world, where it ties, which, though they do not please us, deis no longer known; it becomes there quite a lighted the Athenians, we shall condemn him at foreigner, because there are no longer the same once, though even this sort of beauty may someoriginals, nor the same species of the ridi- times have its original in universal beauty carried culous, nor the same spectators, but a set of to extravagance. Instead of commending him merciless readers, who complain that they are for being able to give merriment to the most retired with it, though it once filled Athens, Rome, fined nation of those days, we shall proceed to or Paris, with merriment. This position is ge- place that people, with all their atticism, in the neral, and comprises all poets and all ages. To rank of savages, whom we take upon us to desay all at once, comedy is the slave of its sub-grade, because they have no other qualifications ject, and of the reigning taste; tragedy is not subject to the same degree of slavery, because the ends of the two species of poetry are different. For this reason, if we suppose that in all ages, there are critics who measure every thing by the same rule, it will follow, that if the comedy of Aristophanes become obsolete, that of Menander likewise, after having delighted Athens, and revived again at Rome, at last suffered by force of time. The Muse of Moliere has almost made both of them forgotten, and would still be walking the stage, if the desire of novelty did not in time make us weary of that which we have too frequently admired,

but innocence and plain understanding. But
have not we likewise, amidst our more polished
manners, beauties merely fashionable, which
make part of our writings as of the writings of
former times; beauties of which our self-love
now makes us fond, but which, perhaps, will
disgust our grandsons? Let us be more equit
able, let us leave this relative beauty to its real
value more or less in every age: or if we must
pass judgment upon it, let us say that these
touches in Aristophanes, Menander, and Mo-
liere, were well struck off in their own time;
part of Aristophanes was a colouring too strong,
but that, comparing them with true beauty, that

1

that of Menander was too weak, and that of Moliere was a peculiar varnish formed of one and the other, which, without being an imitation, is itself inimitable, yet depending upon time, which will efface it by degrees, as our notions, which are every day changing, shall receive a sensible alteration. Much of this has already happened since the time of Moliere, who, if he was now to come again, must take a new road.

With respect to unalterable beauties, of which comedy admits much fewer than tragedy, when they are the subject of our consideration, we must not too easily set Aristophanes and Plautus below Menander and Terence. We may properly hesitate with Boileau, whether we shall prefer the French comedy to the Greek and Latin. Let us only give, like him, the great rule for pleasing in all ages, and the key by which all the difficulties in passing judgment may be opened. This rule and this key are nothing else but the ultimate design of the comedy.

Etudiez la cour, et connoissez la ville:
L'une et l'autre est toujours en modéles fertile.
C'est par-là que Moliere illustrant ses écrits
Peut-etre de son art eût remporté le prix.
Si moins ami du peuple en ses doctes peintures
Il n'eût point fait souvent grimacer ses figures,
Quitté pour le bouffon l'agréable et le fin,
Et sans honte à Terence allié Tabarin *

In truth, Aristophanes and Plautus united buffoonery and delicacy in a greater degree than Moliere; and for this they may be blamed. That which then pleased at Athens, and at Rome, was a transitory beauty, which had not sufficient foundation in truth, and therefore the taste changed. But if we condemn those ages for this, what age shall we spare? Let us refer every thing to permanent and universal taste, and we shall find in Aristophanes at least as much to commend as censure.

TRAGEDY MORE UNIFORM THAN COMEDY.

XII. But before we go on to his works, it may be allowed to make some reflections upon tragedy and comedy. Tragedy, though different according to the difference of times and writers, is uniform in its nature, being founded upon the passions, which never change. With comedy it is otherwise. Whatever difference there is between Eschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; between Corneille and Racine; between the French and the Greeks, it will not be found sufficient to constitute more than one species of tragedy.

The works of those great masters are, in some respects, like the sea-nymphs, of whom Ovid says, “That their faces were not the same, yet so much alike that they might be known to be sisters."

Facies non omnibus una, Nec diversa tamen, qualem decet esse sororum.

The reason is, that the same passions give action and animation to them all. With respect to the comedies of Aristophanes and Plautus, Menander and Terence, Moliere and his imitators, if we compare them one with another, we shall find something of a family likeness, but much less strongly marked, on account of the different appearance which ridicule and plea

* Boileau, Art. Poet. chant. 3.

santry take from the different manners of every age. They will not pass for sisters, but for very distant relations. The Muse of Aristophanes and Plautus, to speak of her with justice, is a bacchanal at least, whose malignant tongue is dipped in gall, or in poison dangerous as that of the aspic or viper; but whose bursts of malice, and sallies of wit, often give a blow where it is not expected. The Muse of Terence, and consequently of Menander, is an artless and unpainted beauty, of easy gayety, whose features are rather delicate than striking, rather soft than strong, rather plain and modest than great and haughty, but always perfectly natural.

Ce n'est pas un portrait, une image semblable: C'est un fils, un amant, un père véritable. The Muse of Moliere is not always plainly dressed, but takes airs of quality, and rises above her original condition, so as to attire herself gracefully in magnificent apparel. In her manners she mingles elegance with foolery, force with delicacy, and grandeur, or even haughtiness, with plainness and modesty. If sometimes, to please the people, she gives a loose to farce, it is only the gay folly of a moment, from which she immediately returns, and which lasts no longer than a slight intoxication. The first might be painted encircled with little satyrs, some grossly foolish, the others delicate, but all extremely centious and malignant; monkeys always ready to laugh in your face, and to point out to indiscriminate ridicule, the good and the bad. The second may be shown encircled with geniuses full of softness and of candour, taught to please by nature alone, and whose honeyed dialect is so much the more insinuating as there is no temptation to distrust it. The last must be accomand that of the city somewhat more coarse, and panied with the delicate laughter of the court, neither the one nor the other can be separated from her. The Muse of Aristophanes and of Plautus can never be denied the honour of sprightliness, animation, and invention; nor that of Menander and Terence the praise of nature and of delicacy; to that of Moliere must be allowed the happy secret of uniting all the piquancy of the former, with a peculiar art which they did not know. Of these three sorts of merit, let us show to each the justice that is due. Let us in each separate the pure and the true from the false gold, without approving or condemning either the one or the other in the gross. If we must pronounce in general upon the taste of their writings, we must indisputably allow that Menander, Terence, and Moliere, will give most pleasure to a decent audience, and consequently that they approach nearer to the true beauty, and have less mixture of beauties purely relative, than Plautus and Aristophanes.

If we distinguish comedy by its subjects, we shall find three sorts among the Greeks, and as if we distinguish it by ages and authors, we many among the Latins, all differently dressed; shall again find three sorts; and we shall find three sorts a third time if we regard more closely the subject. As the ultimate and general rules of all these sorts of comedy are the same, it will, perhaps, be agreeable to our purpose to sketch them out before we give a full display of the last class. I can do nothing better on this occasion than transcribe the twenty-fifth reflection of Rapin upon poetry in particular.

GENERAL RULES OF COMEDY.

THREE SORTS OF COMEDY.

ing: but commonly the weak place in our coXIII. "Comedy," says he,* "is a represen-medy is the untying of the plot, in which we tation of common life: its end is to show the faults almost always fail, on account of the difficulty of particular characters on the stage, to correct which there is in disentangling of what has been the disorder of the people by the fear of ridicule. perplexed. To perplex an intrigue is easy, the Thus ridicule is the essential part of a comedy. imagination does it by itself; but it must be disRidicule may be in words or in things; it may entangled merely by the judgment, and is, therebe decent, or grotesque. To find what is ridi- fore, seldom done happily: and he that reflects culous in every thing, is the gift merely of naa very little, will find that most comedies are ture; for all the actions of life have their bright faulty by an unnatural catastrophe. It remains and their dark sides; something serious, and to be examined whether comedy will allow picsomething merry. But Aristotle, who has given tures larger than the life, that this strength of rules for drawing tears, has given none for rais- the strokes may make a deeper impression upon ing laughter; for this is merely the work of the mind of the spectators; that is, if a poet nature, and must proceed from genius, with very may make a covetous man more covetous, and a little help from art or matter. The Spaniards peevish man more impertinent and more troublehave a turn to find the ridicule in things much some than he really is. To which I answer, more than we: and the Italians, who are natural that this was the practice of Plautus, whose aim comedians, have a better turn for expressing it; was to please the people; but that Terence, who their language is more proper for it than ours, wrote for gentlemen, confined himself within by an air of drollery which it can put on, and of the compass of nature, and represented vice which ours may become capable when it shall without addition or aggravation. However, be brought nearer to perfection. In short, that these extravagant characters, such as the "Citiagreeable turn, that gayety which yet maintains zen turned Gentleman," and the "Hypochonthe delicacy of its character without falling into driac Patient," of Moliere, have lately succeeded dulness or into buffoonery, that elegant raillery at court, where delicacy is carried so far; but which is the flower of fine wit, is the qualifica- every thing, even to provincial interludes, is well tion which comedy requires. We must, how-received if it has but merriment, for we had raThese are the most ever, remember that the true artificial ridicule, ther laugh than admire. which is required on the theatre, must be only important rules of comedy." a transcript of the ridicule which nature affords. Comedy is naturally written, when, being on the theatre, a man can fancy himself in a private family, or a particular part of the town, and meets with nothing but what he really meets with in the world: for it is no real comedy in which a man does not see his own picture, and find his own manners and those of the people among whom he lives. Menander succeeded only by this art among the Greeks: and the Romans, when they sat at Terence's comedies, imagined themselves in a private party; for they found nothing there which they had not been used to find in common company. The great art of comedy is to adhere to nature without deviation; to have general sentiments and expressions which all the world can understand; for the writer must keep it always in his mind, that the coarsest touches after nature will please more than the most delicate with which nature is inconsistent. However, low and mean words should never be allowed upon the stage, if they are not supported with some kind of wit. Proverbs and vulgar smartnesses can never be suffered, unless they have something in them of nature and pleasantry. This is the universal principle of comedy; whatever is represented in this manner must please, and nothing can ever please without it. It is by application to the study of nature alone that we arrive at probability, which is the only infallible guide to theatrical success; without this probability every thing is defective, and that which has it, is beautiful: he that follows this, can never go wrong; and the most common faults of comedy proceed from the neglect of propriety, and the precipitation of incidents. Care must likewise be taken that the hints made use of to introduce the incidents, are not too strong, that the spectator may enjoy the pleasure of finding out their mean

Reflections sur la Poét. p. 154, Paris, 1684.

XIV. These rules, indeed, are common to the three kinds which I have in my mind; but it is necessary to distinguish each from the rest, which may be done by diversity of matter, which always makes some diversity of management. The old and middle comedy simply represented real adventures: in the same way some passages of history and of fable might form a class of comedies, which should resemble it without having its faults; such is the "Amphitryon." How many moral tales, how many adventures ancient and modern, how many little fables of Æsop, of Phædrus, of Fontaine, or some other ancient poet, would make pretty exhibitions, if they were all made use of as materials by skilful hands? And have we not seen some like "Timon the Man Hater," that have been successful in this way? This sort chiefly regards the Italians. The ancient exhibition called a satire, because the satyrs played their part in it, of which we have no other instance than the "Cyclops" of Euripides, has, without doubt, given occasion to the pastoral comedies, for which we are chiefly indebted to Italy, and which are there more cultivated than in France. It is, however, a kind of exhibition that would have its charms, if it were touched with elegance and without meanness; it is the pastoral put into action. To conclude: the new comedy, invented by Menander, has produced the comedy properly so called in our times. This is that which has for its subject general pictures of common life, and feigned names and adventures, whether of the court or of the city. This third kind is incontestably the most noble, and has received the strongest sanction from custom. It is likewise the most difficult to perform, because it is merely the work of invention, in which the poet has no help from real passages, or persons, which the tragic poet always makes use of.