fingle halfpence are too much, because they are given to the encouragement of an indolent nuifance to our public streets; and we know very well that hypocrify and importunity frequently maintain their profeffors in dirty luxury. If the object of our charity is really ftimulated by occafional distress, to prefer his modeft plea, to give a half-penny or two is to do nothing; for it is an evident, though a melancholy, truth, that the contributors to fuch petitioners will be few; and as we may be fure that fuch will only ask till their real wants arè relieved, we ought, as far as is in our power, to remove the painful neceffity. Nor would this fall hard upon us: the inftances which can come under the cognizance of an individual are fo few, that we need not be fo very fparing when they occur. [To be concluded in our next.] An ESSAY on the DRAMATIC UNITIES. IN Na late Effay on the ancient Chorus, it was obferved, that the difcuffion of that fubject had cleared our way for examining, with more advantage, the three unities of action, place, and time, which have generally been confidered as effential to the proper conduct of the dramatic fable. Of these the most important is the unity of action. This confifts in a relation, which all the incidents bear to fome defign or effect, so as to combine naturally into one whole. It is neceffary to Epic Poetry, but is ftill more effential to Tragedy: for a multiplicity of plots or actions, crowded into fo fhort a fpace as Tragedy allows, must distract the attention, and prevent paffion from rifing to any height. Nothing, therefore, is more unfkilful in a tragic poet, than to carry on two independent actions in the fame play; the effect of which is, that the mind being fufpended and divided between them, cannot give itself up entirely either to the one or to the other. There may, indeed, be under-plots; that is, the perfons introduced may have different purfuits and defigns; but the art of the poet must be fhewn in managing thefe, fo as to render them fubfervient to the main action. They fhould be connected with the catastrophe, and affift to bring it forward. Every intrigue which stands feparate and independent, and which may be omitted without affecting the unravelling of the plot, is a faulty violation of unity. Of this the love-fcenes in Addison's Cato are a remarkable inftance. The unity of the action is not to be confounded with the fimplicity of the plot. The play is faid to be fimple, when a small number, of incidents is introduced into it; but it may also include a confiderable number of perfons and events, and yet not be deficient in unity; provided all the incidents be made to tend toward the principal object of the play, and be properly connected with it. In all the Greek tragedies, we not only find unity in the action maintained, but a remarkable fimplicity in the plot; to fuch a degree, indeed, as sometimes to appear to us too naked, and destitute of interesting events; and yet the moft fimple and barren fubjects are wrought up by Sophocles with fo much art, as to become very tender and affecting; particularly in his Philoctetes and Edipus Coloneus. A much greater variety of events has been admitted into modern tragedy. It has become more the theatre of paffion than it was among the Ancients. A greater display of character is attempted; more intrigue and action are carried on; our curiofity is more awakened, and more interefting fituations arise. This variety is upon the whole, an improvement of tragedy; it renders the entertainment not only more animated, but more inftructive; and, when kept within due bounds, it may be perfectly confiftent with unity of fubject. But the poet, at the fame time, muft take care not to deviate too far from fimplicity, in the conftruction of his fable; for, if he overcharge it with action and intrigue, it becomes perplexed and embarraffed; and, confequently, lofes much of its effect. Of this, The Mourning Bride of Congreve is a ftriking example. Unity of action must not only be ftudied in the general conftruction of the fable, or plot, but muft regulate the feveral acts and fcenes into which the play is divided. The divifion into five acts, has no other foundation than custom, and the authority of Horace : Neve minor, neu fit quinto productiora&tu If you would have your play deferve fuccefs, Give it five acts complete, nor more, nor lefs. FRANCIS. It is a divifion purely arbitrary. There is nothing in the nature of the compofition, to fix this number rather than any other; and it had been much better if no fuch number had been afcertained, but every play had been allowed to divide itself into as many parts, or intervals, as the fubject naturally pointed out. On the Greek ftage, the divifion into acts was totally unknown. As practice has established a different plan on the modern stage, divided every play into five acts, and made a total paufe in the reprefentation at the end of each act, the poet must be careful that this paufe fhall fall in a proper place; where there is a natural paufe in the action; and where, if the imagination has any thing to fupply, that is not reprefented on the ftage, it may be fuppofed to have been tranfacted during the interval. The first act ought to contain a clear expofition of the fubject; to be fo managed as to awaken the curiofity of the fpectators; and, at the lane It time, to furnish them with materials for understanding the fequel. fhould make them acquainted with the perfonages who are to appear, with their refpective views and interefts, and with the fituation of affairs when the play commences. In the fecond, third, and fourth acts, the plot should gradually thicken, The great object which the poet ought to have in view, is, by interefting us in his story, to keep our paffions always awake. As foon as he allows us to languish, there is no more tragic merit. He should, therefore, introduce no personages, but such as are neceffary for carrying on the act on. He fhould contrive to place those, whom he finds it proper to introduce, in the moft interefting fituations. He fhould have no fcenes of idle converfation, or mere declamation. The action of the play ought to be always advancing, and, as it advances, the fufpenfe and concern of the spectators to be excited more and more. is the great excellency of Shakfpeare. This The fifth act is the feat of the cataftrophe, or the unravelling of the plot, in which we always expect the art and genius of the poet to be most fully difplayed. It must be brought about by probable and natural means. Hence all unravellings which turn upon difguifed habits, rencounters by night, miftakes of one perfon for another, and other fuch theatrical and romantic circumftances, are to be condemned as faulty. It ought likewife to be always fimple, to depend on few events, and to include but few perfons. Paffion never rifes fo high, when it is divided among many objects, as when it is directed toward one, or a few; and it is ftill more checked, if the incidents be fo intricate, that the understanding is put on the ftretch to trace them, when the heart fhould be wholly delivered up to emotion. The ca:aftrophe of The Mourning Bride, as obferved before, violates both thefe rules. In fine, the catastrophe ought to be the reign of pure pure fentiment and paffion. In proportion as it approaches, every thing hould warm and glow. No long difcourfes, no cold reafonings, no parade of genius, in the midft of thofe awful events that close fame of the great revolutions of human fortune. There, the poet must be fimple, ferious, pathetic, and fpeak no language but that of nature. It is not effential to the catastrophe of a tragedy that it fhould end unhappily. In the courfe of the play, there may be fufficient agitation and diftrefs, and many tender emotions raifed by the fufferings and dangers of the virtuous, though, in the end, good men are rendered fuccefsful. The tragic fpirit, therefore, does not want fcope upon this fyftem. But, in general, the fpirit of tragedy, efpecially of English tragedy, inclines more to the fide of leaving the impreffion of virtuous forrow full and ftrong upon the heart. It is now neceffary to take notice of the conduct of the feveral fcenes which make up the acts of a play. The entrance of a new perfon upon the stage, forms, what is called, a new scene. Thefe fcenes, or fucceffive conversations, fhould be clofely connected with each other; and much of the art of dramatic compofition is fhewn in maintaining this connection. Two rules are neceffary to be obferved for this purpose. The first is, that during the course of one act, the stage should never be left vacant, though but for a fingle moment; that is, all the perfons who have appeared in one fcene, fhould never go off together, and be fucceeded by a new fet of perfons appearing in the next fcene, independent of the former. This makes a gap, or total interruption, in the reprefentation, which, in effect, puts an end to that act: for whenever the ftage is evacuated, the act is clofed. The fecond rule is, that no perfon fhould enter, or leave, the ftage, without an evident reafon both for the one and the other. Nothing is more awk ward, than for an actor to enter, without our feeing any cause for his appearing in that scene, except that it was for the poet's purpose he should enter precifely at such a moment; or for an actor to go away without any reafon for his retiring, farther than that the poet had no more speeches to put into his mouth. This is managing the Perfonæ Dramatis exactly like fo many puppets, who are moved by wires, to anfwer the call of the master of the fhow. Whereas the perfection of dramatic writing requires that every thing fhould be conducted in imitation, as nearly as poffible, of fome real tranfaction; where we are let into the fecret of all that is paffing, where we behold perfons before us always bufy; fee them coming and going; and know perfectly whence they come, and whither they go, and about what they are employed. To render the unity of action more complete, critics have added the other two unities of time and place. The ftrict obfervance of these is more difficult, and perhaps not fo neceffary. The unity of place requires that the fcene fhould never be shifted; but that the action of the play fhould be continued to the end, in the fame place where it is fuppofed to begin. The unity of time, ftrictly taken, requires, that the time of the action be no longer than the time that is allowed' for the reprefentation of the play; though Aristotle seems to have given the poet a little more liberty, and permitted the action to comprehend the whole time of one day. The intention of both these rules, is to overcharge, as little as poffible, the imagination of the spectators with improbable circumstances in the acting of the play, and to bring the initation more clofe to reality. But, it must be obferved, that the nature of dramatic exhibitions upon the Greek flage, fubjected their tragedians to a more frict obfervance of thefe unities than is receffary in modern theatres. A Greek tragedy, as already intimated, was one uninterrupted repre fentation fentation from beginning to end. There was no divifion of acts; no pause or interval between them; but the ftage was continually full; occupied either by the actors, or the chorus. Hence, no room was left for the imagination to go beyond the precife time and place of the reprefentation, any more than is allowed during the continuance of one act, on the modern theatre. But the practice of fufpending the fpectacle totally, for fome time, between the acts, has made a material change; it gives more latitude to the imagination; and renders the ancient ftrict confinement to time and place lefs neceffary. While the acting of the play is interrupted, the fpectator can, without any violent effort, fuppofe a few hours to país between every act, or can fuppofe himself moved from one part of a palace, or one part of a city to another; and therefore, too ftrict an obfervance of these unities ought not to be preferred to higher beauties of execution, nor to the introduction of more pathetic fituations, which, fometimes cannot be accomplished in any other way, than by the tranfgreffion of thefe rules. But fill it fhould be remembered, that there are certain bounds to this liberty. Frequent and wild changes of time and place, hurrying the fpectator from one diftant city, or country, to another; or making several days or weeks to pafs during the courfe of the reprefentation, are liberties which hock the imagination, which give to the performance a romantic and unnatural appearance, and, therefore, cannot be allowed to any dramatic writer who aims at correctnefs. In particular, we must remember, that it is only between the acts, that any liberty can be given of going beyond 5 the unities of time and place. During the courfe of each act, they ought to be strictly obferved; that is, during each act, the fcene fhould continue the fame, and no more time fhould be fuppofed to pass, than is employed in the representation of that act. In general, the nearer a poet can bring the dramatic representation, in all its circumstances, to an imitation of nature and real life, the impreffion he makes will always be the more perfect. Probability is effential to the conduct of the tragic action, and we never fail to be hurt by the want of it. It is this that makes the obfervance of the dramatic unities to be of confequence, as far as they can be obferved, without facrificing more material beauties. It is not, as has been fometimes faid, that by the prefervation of the unities of time and place, fpectators are deceived into a belief of the reality of the objects that are fet before them on the ftage; and that, when those unities are violated, the charm is broken, and they difcover the whole to be a fiction. No fuch deception as this can ever be accomplished. No one ever imagines himself to be at Athens, or Rome, when a Greek or Roman subject is prefented on the ftage. He knows the whole to be an imitation only; but he requires that imitation to be conducted with skill and probability. His pleasure, the entertainment he expects, the interest he is to take in the ftory, all depend on its being fo conducted. His imagination, therefore, feeks to aid the imitation, and to reft on the probability; and the poet, who fhocks him by improbable circumftances, and by awkward, unfkilful imitation, deprives him of his pleasure, and leaves him hurt and difpleased. This is the whole mystery of the theatrical illufion. A Con |