be substantially the same, but the piece, agreeable as it now is, would lose much of its true and present value. Ariadne must be a princess, so used are we to be dazzled with splendid titles; therefore illustrious names are almost necessary in tragedy.

The Horatii and the Curiatii are only simple citizens, but the fate of two states is attached to them, and one of those states became mistress of the world.

Hence the grandeur to which Rome arrived ennobles the Horatii and the Curiatii.*

SECTION VIII.

GRAND INTERESTS AND THEIR NATURE.

Grand interests are

1. The danger of death.

2. Danger of losing our honour.

3. Danger of losing liberty.
4. Danger of losing a throne.

5. Danger of losing a friend.

6. Danger of losing a mistress beloved.

Is death necessary in tragedy?

Death is certainly an important event, but, generally, is no more in tragedy than an expedient for the dénouement: it serves more for that than the importance of the action.

The danger of death, simply, does not operate so much as other circumstances. RODRIGUE, in the CID, is not so important because he is to fight the Count, or the Moors, or Don Sancho, as because he is in danger of losing either his honour, or the mistress, whom he adores. These are the contending interests of the drama.

Contending interests in the same person make the true and beautiful distress of tragedy.

Thus, as we have just observed, Rodrigue in the Cid is important, not on account of the danger of death, (which in certain occasions is not our greatest passion,) but because he is involved in a conflict of two powerful and contending motives, viz. the danger of losing his honour, or that of losing his mistress: there is his conflict-there is his distress.

* Livy's description of the combat is beyond all panegyric: even Corneille falls far, very far, short of his prototype, which displays the ut pictura poësis of Horace with the most happy effect.

SECTION IX.

The grand interests are divided into two classes.
The first class-the more noble, such as

1. The acquisition of a throne-ambition.
2. The preservation of a crown.

3. An indispensible duty.

4. A desire of vengeance.

The second class-the more soft and affecting, such as 1. Friendship.

2. Love.

One or other of these passions should be predominant, and give the character of the piece in which it is paramount.

Ex. gr. Of the first class is Nicomede, by Corneille.

Of the second class is Berenicé, by Corneille and Racine. Nicomede is the more noble-Berenice the more touching, or pathetic.

But the best kind of subject is where the noble and the pathetic are united.

The grand secret of the drama is to set the passions at variance, as Love in opposition to AMBITION, DUTY to GLORY, &c. so that the conflict may be highly distressing, and love in the end unsuccessful.

It is the opposition of interests, or of contending passions, that gives true importance to the drama.

Vide CINNA, CID, POLICEUTE, &C.

SECTION X.

LOVE IN THE DRAMA.

The ancients seldom chose love for the subject of their pieces, and it has become the fashion with some moderns to praise the ancients for not having love plots. This praise, however, is perhaps ill-founded. Why not treat such subjects as CINNA? We might add ARIANE, ALZIRE, ZAIRE, RHADAMISTE, and ZENOBIE; MARIAMNE, ALL FOR LOVE, ROMEO AND JULIET, OTHELLO, OROONOKO, THE ORPHAN, THEODOSIUS, or Love's Empire, TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA, FAIR PENITENT, &C. The ancients had PHEDRA AND HYPOLITUS, &c.*

The whole question is to place love in its proper place, i. e. to make it predominant,--the character of the piece, and not a

* And to these may be added Mr. Murphy's own excellent dramas. J. S. B.

subordinate plot. Episodic love is of no value-as in Addison's Cato. Love has no business in the second place. In the first class abovementioned, viz. the noble, love must be too strong for some other noble passion, but must yield at last, as in the CID; but this has only been practised by Corneille.

SECTION XI.

The importance of the action has been considered: we come

now to

2ndly. The new and singular in Incidents and Characters.

These may be seen in the events, the incidents, and in the characters; but of these hereafter; at present our business is with

The new and singular in the passions.

These are always highly pleasing in the drama.

Truth in itself is not sufficient to attract attention, but in new and uncommon truth consists the grand secrets of the drama, both in tragedy and comedy.

The passions are known to all the world to a certain point: beyond a certain degree they are terra incognita, and we are pleased with those who make new discoveries.

The passions have nice and delicate turns, which, however, occur but rarely, and when they do occur, they are not observed (save) by men of just discernment.

When passions are in the extreme, they assume an air of novelty; in common life we only see them in a state of mediocrity. How often do we see men perfectly amorous, perfectly ambitious, perfectly avaricious? Men are perfect in nothing, not in virtue, nor even in vice!

SECTION XII.

THE NEW AND SINGULAR IN THE PASSIONS CONTINUED.

An instance of the singular in passion, from the Bourgeois Gentilhomme of Moliere.

A lover is angry with his mistress-let her go, the loss will not be great; she is not very handsome. His resentment is here carried a considerable way. Very true, says the lover's friend, she is not very handsome, her eyes are too small.—No, say nothing againt her eyes; her fault does not lie there; she must be allowed to have good eyes.-Well, but her mouth,-That too

need not be censured; her mouth is handsome.-Her complexion, however. You cannot quarrel with that; no, do her justice, she has a fine complexion.-The friend goes on finding fault, and the lover justifies her in every thing. Here is a new, a fine, a delicate turn: the lover is indifferent, he will part, and yet, unknown to himself, he loves, he admires her in every part.*

Modern romances have much of the science of the heart: many of them are rich in those traits, those features of the mind. Romances have carried the science of the heart much farther than we are aware of.

* The English reader will probably not be displeased to have the part of the scene referred to translated.

Cleontes. Give a helping hand to my resentment, and support my resolution against all the remains of love that may plead with me in her behalf. Tell me all the ill of her thou canst; paint her so as I shall despise her, and, to make me completely disgusted with her, point out all the faults thou canst see in her.

Coviel. Faults indeed !---we need not go far for them---a pretty lump of fat she is for you to be in love with. I don't see a single beauty in her. You'll find a thousand more worthy of your love than her. In the first place, she has little eyes.

Cleontes. That's true---she has little eyes; but they are so full of fire, so brilliant, and so piercing------oh they are the most attractive eyes in the world. Coviel. She has a wide mouth.

Cleontes. Why yes, to be sure she has; but there are beauties in it that we cannot find in any other mouth, and her mouth, in looking at it, inspires one with desire; it is the most attractive, the most amorous mouth in the world.

Coviel. And then her figure---she's neither tall nor...........

Cleontes. To be sure she is not; but she is very graceful and well formed for all

that.

Coviel. She affects a degree of nonchalance in her words and actious.

Cleontes. True, she does so; but it is so gracefully, and her manners are so engaging, that they have I know not what charins, whereby they insinuate themselves into our hearts.

Coviel. And as for her wit......

Cleontes. Yes, Coviel, her wit is the most refined and delicate in the world.

Coviel. Her conversation......

Cleontes. Her conversation is charming.

Coviel. She is always serious.

Oleontes. And would you prefer childish mirth, and the loud vacant laugh? any thing more ridiculous than those women, who are always laughing?

Coviel. Well, after all, she is at least the most capricious being on earth. Cleontes. True, true, she is capricious; I agree with you there; but every thing becomes a beautiful woman---every thing is permitted to her. Coviel. Well, I perceive you are inclined to love her still.

Cleontes. Me! I would die first. No, I'll hate her as much as I have loved her.

My motive for translating this scene is, to shew that the picture is charged much higher by Moliere than Mr. M. has represented, since the lover is constrained to praise what he himself acknowledges to be an imperfection. J. S. E.

SECTION XIII.

THE SUBJECT CONTINUed.

The singular effects of the passions consist chiefly in certain contrasts, very sudden transitions, in changes, shiftings, blendings, contradictions, and seeming inconsistencies.

Singular appearances of love.

1. The lover does what he does not think he is doing.

2. He says the reverse of what he intends to say.

3. He is governed by a sentiment which he thinks he has conquered.

4. He discovers what he means with care to conceal.

Love is fertile in these singular effects, it is the passion which furnishes most of these singular effects, or blended contradictions

-THE PLAY OF THE PASSIONS.

WOMEN by custom are either to conquer or disguise their love, from whence it sometimes happens that being obliged to disguise their love to others, they do it unawares to themselves; hence female love affords many singular appearances, and much play of the passions.

MEN are not under the same formalities and restraints as women. Hence their love is not so diverting as that of women.

AMBITION and REVENGE have not the same singular contrasts as love has. Men, actuated by the passions of ambition and revenge, indulge them without disguise and without restraint.

SECTION XIV.

LOVE CONTINUED.

Ambition and revenge are never so delicate as to manage appearances; they are generally above disguise, and they go their train boldly and with firmness: on the other hand lovers are delicate as to the means of gaining success.

1. The hope of being beloved, the fear of not being loved; these agitate their hearts, and these depend upon slender circumstances, such as

A look-a sigh-a word—a smile-a frown.

All these are weighty matters with a lover, and such like trifles, and even things almost imperceptible, employ all the thoughts of a lover, and throw him into what he calls pleasing agony, delightful distress, &c.

The lover, if beloved, fears he is not loved enough.