THE Whole ART OF THE STAGE. CONTAINING Not only the Rules of the Dramatic Art, but many curious Observations about it. Which may be of great use to the Authors, Actors, and Spectators of Plays. Together with much Critical Learning about the Stage and Plays of the Ancients.  
Written in French by the command of Cardinal Richelieu. By Monsieur Hedelin, Abbot of Aubignac, and now made English.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author, and sold by William Cadman at the Pope's-Head in the New Exchange; Rich. Bentley, in Russel-street, Covent-Garden; Sam. Smith at the Prince's Arms in St. Paul 's Churchyard; & T. Fox in Westminster-Hall. 1684.   

The Translator's PREFACE.  
SOme may wonder that this being a work of such use, and replenished with such judicious Remarks, as well as deep learning, in the whole course of it, has hitherto scaped the pen of our Translators out of a Language that has almost tired our Presses with continual productions. But the reason of that may be that it was published in a time when we were Embroiled in civil Wars here in England, and that having laid aside all those Innocent Theatral Representations the whole Kingdom was become the Stage of real Tragedies; So that till his Majesty's happy Restauration, with whom the Muses seemed to have been banished this Island, it could not be expected that a book of this nature could meet with any kind reception in the world; but by that time I suppose the Impressions were all sold off, and it was to be met with no where but in the Libraries of the curious. It was by Communication from a Person of that sort that the Translator first had the thoughts of making it English, which he obtained leisure to do, by an unhappy confinement to a retired life for his health sake from more solid studies and business which his profession else involves him in. So Reader thou hast here the whole Art of the Stage, of which there needs little to be said, the Book being its own Commendation; As for the Author he was a person of a good Family in Paris, and of Exquisite Learning in Antiquity; much cherished by Cardinal Richelieu that great Maecenas of Ingenious men, and by him for his deserts made Abbot of Aubignac & designed Overseer or Superintendent General of the Theatres in France, if the project of restoring them to their Ancient glory (of which you will see an abstract at the end of the book) had gone on, and not been Interrupted by the Cardinal's Death.  
The Translator has made some Alterations in the Author's method & order of his Chapters, for the Author having promiscuously placed much of the crabbed Antiquity Learning among the other Observations upon the Dramatic Art; and that being likely to disgust some Readers The Translator has put it all in one Book at the latter end, where those who love that critical Learning may have it altogether, and the others who delight in a smother career of Reasons and Observations may go on in the first three Parts without too strong an Application in matters of some Intricacy.  
There is nothing more, but that thou excuse the Errata, which by the negligence of the Printer are but too many.   

THE CONTENTS.  

Book I.  

Chap. 1. BEing instead of a Preface to the whole Work wherein is treated of the necessity of Public Spectacles, of the Esteem the Ancients had them in, and in what state they are now amongst us.  
Chap. 2. The Design of the whole Work.  
Chap. 3. What is to be understood by the Art of the Stage.  
Chap. 4. Of the Rules of the Ancients.  
Chap. 5. How they ought to instruct themselves, who intent to write a Dramatic Poem.  
Chap. 6. Of the Spectators, and how they are to be considered by the Poet.  
Chap. 7. Of the Mixture of Representation, with the Truth of the Theatral Action.  
Chap. 8. How the Poet must make his Decorations, and other necessary Actions in the Play, known to the Audience.    

Book II.  

Chap. 1. OF the Subject of Dramatic Poems.  
Chap. 2. Of Probability and Decency.  
Chap. 3. Of the Unity of Action.  
Chap. 4. Of the Continuity of the Action.  
Chap. 5. Of the Subjects with two Walks, whereof one is by Modern Authors called Episode.  
Chap. 6. Of the Unity of Place.  
Chap. 7. The Extent of the Theatral Action, or of the time fit to be allowed a Dramatic Poem.  
Chap. 8. Of the Preparation of the Incidents.  
Chap. 9 Of the Catastrophé or Issue of the Dramatic Poem.    

Book III.  

Chap. 1. OF the Actors or Persons to be brought upon the Stage, and what the Poet is to observe about them.  
Chap. 2. Of Discourses in general.  
Chap. 3. Of Narrations.  
Chap. 4. Of Deliberations.  
Chap. 5. Of Didactic Discourses or Instructions.  
Chap. 6. Of Pathetic Discourses; or of the Passions and Motions of the Mind.  
Chap. 7. Of the Figures.  
Chap. 8. Of Monologues, or Discourses made by a single Person.  
Chap. 9 Of a Parts, or Discourses made to one's self in the presence of others.  
Chap. 10. Of the Acts.  
Chap. 11. Of the Intervals of the Acts.  
Chap. 12. Of the Scenes.  
Chap. 13. Of Spectacles, Machine's, and Decorations of the Stage.    

Book IU.  

Chap. 1. OF the Quantitative Parts of the Dramatic Poem, and particularly of the Prologue.  
Chap. 2. Of Episodes according to the Doctrine of Aristotle.  
Chap. 3. Of the Choruses of the Ancients.  
Chap. 4. Of the Ancient Actors, or first Reciters of Episodes against the Opinion of some Modern Writers.  
Chap. 5. Of Tragicomedy. An Analysis, or Examen of the first Tragedy of Sophocles, entitled Ajax, upon the Rules delivered for the Practice of the Stage. A Project for Re-establishing the French Theatre.     

THE Whole Art OF THE STAGE. The First BOOK.  

CHAP. I.  
Being instead of a Preface to the whole Work, wherein is treated of the necessity of Public Spectacles, of the Esteem the Ancients had them in, and in what state they are now amongst us.  
ALL those Incomparable and Famous Genius's which, from time to time, Heaven Designs for the Government of Mankind, do not only endeavour to make the Nations subject to their Conduct, Triumph with victorious Arms over their Enemies, and thereby become Formidable to the World; but also having enriched them with all the wonders of Nature and Art, by the means of Commerce with Foreign Nations, they do strive to soften and sweeten their Dispositions, by all the Noble Sciences that Mankind is capable of; and considering that Nature its self in its Noblest Productions, after having adorned them with all Qualities necessary to their Perfection, gives them a certain Contentment and Rejoicing in them, which is the greatest of its Favours; these great Politicians, in imitation of her, do use to Crown all their Endeavours for the public safety, with public Pleasures and Entertainments, making their own glorious Labours either the means or the pretexts of all general Diversions. Their Victories are noted by days of Rejoicing and public Games; and all the Spoils and Riches of Foreign Nations, are brought from the extremity of the Earth, only to compose the Pomp and Decoration of their Spectacles, as well as the most curious Sciences are Cultivated to produce men capable of inventing new Entertainments.  
And to say Truth, what greater marks can there be of a flourishing Greatness in any State, than to see many of these Diversions? Thereby in Peace appears the Superfluity of its Riches, the Abundance of its People, who without being a Charge to the Public, can spare many days to their Pleasure, from those Employments which are necessary to the subsistence of the great Body of the People; and besides, the Number of rare Wits busied in the public Diversion, with all sorts of Inventions, and the greater number of excellent Artificers, employed to execute the ingenious thoughts of the first, cannot but be a great Ornament to a Nation.  
All the Commonwealths of Greece, had each their public Games, where their Neighbours were as it were obliged to assist, that they might all appear equal in Magnificency, as well as in Power and Authority: And if the Commonwealths of Italy were forced to come short of the Grandeur of Rome in that point, yet by their particular Cirk's and Theatres they have showed the World that they yielded only to the Mistress of it, and not to one another.  
But whenever in the midst of War all these Diversions are continued in a state, 'tis giving an evident demonstration, that the Riches of it are without measure, and the People inexhaustible, when the dangers and labours of a Campaigne passed in the toils of War, and the prospect of one to come, does neither change the Humour nor the Courage of those that compose the Armies, nor of those that stay at home; that they undertake with Joy in Summer those glorious actions, of which they see an Image upon the Stage in Winter, with so much Pleasure; and that the Advantages their Enemies reap from the War, are so inconsiderable as not to disquiet, or interrupt the public Joy.  
Thus the Athenians, having received in the very Theatre the news of an entire defeat of their Army before Syracuse, would not so much as interrupt the public Games, but went on with those Spectacles as they had begun; and Foreign Ambassadors, who themselves were by, and Spectators of this undaunted Generosity, admired it more than their real Power, as thinking it harder to subdue. And to come nearer our times, if we consider what has passed at Vienna and Paris, the Heads of two Rival Empires, under the Ministry of the great Cardinal Richelieu; we must confess that these two Capitols seemed by the Magnificencies of their Plays, Ballets, and other public Entertainments, to try to persuade the World, that the Event of the War, which so warmly they carried on against each other, was indifferent to them, both as to their good or evil Fortune.  
We are not nevertheless to imagine that these public Spectacles afford nothing but a vain Splendour, without any real Utility; for they are a secret Instrustruction to the People of many things, which it would be very hard to insinuate into them any other way. As for Example, Those public Diversions where there is any image of War, do insensibly make them acquainted with Arms, and make those Instruments of Death familiar to them, inspiring them at the same time with Courage and Intrepedity against all dangers; besides, Vanity often prevails more with us than Reason; and that Jealous humour, of which our Nature can hardly ever well divest itself, does continually foment within us a certain desire of Conpuering, which often carries us to overcome all our natural Weaknesses, and go beyond ourselves in great Attempts: Thus the Glory which one receives in public for some handsome action; and the recital or representation of the Heroic Virtues of those who are not even in being, at the time we hear them, does nevertheless raise in us a presumptuous belief that we are able to perform the like; and this presumption becoming a nobler sort of Envy, called Emulation, produces in us an insatiable desire of Honour, and elevates our Courage to undertake any thing that may effect that Glorious Design.  
As for those Spectacles which consist as much in Discourse as Action, such as formerly were the Disputes upon the Stage between the Epic and Dramatic Poets: They are not only useful but absolutely necessary to instruct the People, and give them some tincture of Moral Virtues.  
The minds of those who are of the meanest Rank and Condition in a State, are generally so little acquainted with any notions of Morality, that the most general Maxims of it are hardly known to them; 'tis in vain therefore to make fine Discourses, full of convincing Reasons, and strengthened with Examples to them, they can neither understand the first, nor have any deference for the latter. All the elevated Truths of Philosophy are lights too strong for their weak Eyes: Tell them of these Maxims, that Happiness consists less in the possession of worLdly things, than in the despising of them; that Virtue ought to seek its recompense in its self; that there is no Interest in the World considerable enough to oblige a man of Honour to do a base thing; all these, I say, are Paradoxes to them, which makes them suspect Philosophy itself, and turn it into Ridicule; they must therefore be instructed by a more sensible way, which may fall more under their senses; and such are the Representations of the Stage, which may therefore properly be called the People's School.  
One of the chiefest, and indeed the most indispensible Rule of Dramatic Poems, is, that in them Virtues always ought to be rewarded, or at least commended, in spite of all the Injuries of Fortune; and that likewise Vices be always punished, or at least detested with Horror, though they triumph upon the Stage for that time. The Stage being thus regulated, what can Philosophy teach that won't become much more sensibly touching by Representation; 'tis there that the meanest Capacities may visibly see, that favours of Fortune are not real Enjoyments, when they see the ruin of the Royal Family of Priamus; all that they hear from the Mouth of Hecuba seems very probable, having before their Eyes the sad Example of her Calamities; 'tis there that they are convinced that Heaven punishes the horrid Crimes of the Guilty with the remorse of them; when they see Orestes tormented by his own Conscience, and driven about by Furies within his own Breast; 'tis there that Ambition seems to them a very dangerous Passion, when they see a man engaged in Crimes, to attain his Ends, and after having violated the Laws of Heaven and Earth, fall into Misfortunes as great as those he had overwhelmed others in, and more tormented by himself than by his Enemies: 'Tis there again that Covetousness appears a Disease of the Soul, when they see a Covetous man persecuted with continual Restlessness, and fears of want in the midst of all his Riches. And lastly, 'tis there that a Man, by Representation, makes them penetrate into the most hidden secrets of Humane Nature, while they seem to touch and feel in this living Picture, those Truths which else they would scarce be capable of: But that which is most remarkable, is, That they never go from the Theatre without carrying along with them the Idea of the Persons represented; the knowledge of those Virtues and Vices, of which they have seen the Examples; their memory repeating continually to them those Lessons which have been derived to them, from sensible and present Objects.  
Besides, in all Governments there is a number of idle People, 
Comoedias & Tragoedias otiosis damus: nemo enim in Theatrum venit qui non libens velit id temporis amittere.  either because they hate taking pains, or because they need not do it to live; this idleness carries them generally to many Debaucheries, where they consume in a very little time, what might suffice for the keeping of their Families many Months, and are then forced upon ill actions for a supply to their present wants. 
Scalig. l. 3. c. 121. poet.  Now, I think nothing worthier the care of a Great Prince, than to prevent, if possible, his Subjects from taking these extravagant Courses; and as it would be too severe to enjoin them perpetual labour, so I think that public Spectacles and Entertainments would most innocently amuse those who have no other employment; their own pleasure would carry them thither without constraint, their hours would slide away without regret, and their very idleness being busy, they would there lose all the thoughts of doing ill.  
Thus whether out of the consideration of procuring that Joy and Content to Mankind, which makes their greatest Felicity, and without which they can relish no other Happiness; or whether to show the greatness of a State, either in Peace or War; to inspire the People with Courage, or to instruct them in the knowledge and practice of Virtue; or lastly, to prevent Idleness, (one of the greatest mischiefs of a State) Princes can never do any thing more advantageous for their own Glory, nor for their People's Happiness, than to found, settle, and maintain at their own Charges, public Spectacles, Games, and other Diversions, in the greatest Order, and the noblest Magnificence that their Crown will afford.  
And without doubt they have always been thought very important to the very Political part of the Government, since the Philosophy of the Greeks, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally concern their Magistrates, in making them Venerable, Noble, and Magnificent. They made them Venerable, by Consecrating them always to some of their Gods, and by putting them under the direction of their Chief Magistrates; and they were beyond measure Magnificent, because the Expense was allowed out of the public Treasure; and the liberal Contributions of their greatest Men in employment, who endeavoured to surpass each other in Magnificence, that they might make the time of their Administration more memorable. Very often the Chief of the Nobility were at the whole Expense, only to gain the People's Favour; and they obliged all the Eminent Artificers in all kinds, to show their Excellency in them: they did use to send to the remotest Nations for Men, Beasts, or any Rarity that could increase the Pleasure of their Spectacles; and last of all, they had Crowns for the Conquerors in all Exercises, and Statues for those, who with any extraordinary Magnificence had been at the charge of them.  
It had been nevertheless little for these two Noble Nations to enjoy these Pleasures alone, if they had not propagated them to all the others of their Knowledge. The Greeks filled Asia with them, and the Romans carried them all over Africa and Europe, and after they had Conquered the best part of the known World, to show that their Domination was Gentle, and not Tyrannical; they received the Gods, and the Religions of all Nations into Rome, and sent them the Games, Spectacles, and Diversions of that famous Capitol, to let them see that they had not made War upon them to oppress them, but to increase their Happiness, by sharing their Felicity with them. The Theatre of Sardis in Asia, that of Carthage in Africa, and those of Dovay, Nismes, and Autun in France, are convincing Testimonies of this, though ruinous ones; and when Constantine carried the Siege of the Empire to the City of his Name, he made there such public Buildings for Spectacles, as showed he would make it the Seat of his Pleasures, as well as of his Power.  
But the Ancients did not only aim at obliging the present Age with their Noble Structures, but endeavoured to endear Posterity to them, by making of them, as much as in them lay, immortal: Thus their Cirques, their Theatres, and Amphitheatres, were built with the most polished and lasting Marble, and with so much Art, that if any thing they might resist the suppression of Time; but alas! as if man imprinted the Character of his own Mortality upon all his Works, these Glorious Monuments of their greatness have yielded to the same destiny; the Torrent of Time which overwhelms and destroys all things, has scarce left us the Image of them in some old ruins, half demolished. And Reason and Custom seem to have joined with Time in abolishing many of the Ancient Spectacles. Those Bloody Combats of Gladiators against each other, and of Men against Beasts, till certain Death followed, have not been derived to us, because they are contrary to that Humanity which the Law of the Gospel recommends, as the Foundation of Christian Charity. Something of that consideration made their Naumachia's or Naval Battles in which sometimes, there were fifteen or sixteen thousand men engaged, be left of; but indeed the Expense of that was such, as nothing but the Roman Empire could ever furnish. The Courses of their Chariots, and the Races of their Horses, with the other Games of the Cirque, have been neglected as useless. And the running at the Ring in Tournaments, and fight on Foot at the Barriere, which succeeded them in our Ancestors Days, have been likewise laid aside; Lances being as little in use with us in War, as Chariots: For as to the Courses of Bulls and Horses, which yet remain in Italy, they are rather to be numbered among the ridiculous Sights of our Age, than compared to the Spectacles of the Ancients.  
The Javelin is of little use neither; and therefore▪ we have neglected the Art of throwing it with slight in War.  
The Discus or Coite is only a diversion of the meaner sort of People. 
Agonot. Fabr. l. c. 6.  Boxing or fight with Cudgels or Clubs, becomes the roughness of none but Savages, and it would in my Opinion be a very scurvy Diversion in the Gallantry of the French Court.  
Tennis, or Playing at Balls, which the Ancients called Sphaeromachia, has nothing of its first manner and glory, but is so changed as hardly to be known, and there being no Crowns nor Rewards for the Actors, 
Petr. Fabr. in Agon. passim. Sueton. in Domitia. c. 4. & pugnas faeminarum dedit, etc. Mart. l. 1. Stat. Sylu. & Juvenal. satire.  it is only become a voluntary Diversion.  
As for Wrestlers, they are in some of our Provinces, but very few: First, because it is against the Rules of Modesty to see not only Men, but Women naked, try their Strength and Skill against one another, (for so both Sexes did formerly) but now the Women are banished from that Immodest Exercise: And besides there was a necessity of being Dieted, and living up to the strictness of certain Rules of Health, which has made it be forsaken; and having nothing Noble left in it, is only become the Diversion of the meaner sort.  
The same thing has befallen the Amphitheatres, 
Nostri saeculi ludiera nihil cum antiquis simile, quum incondite, ineptè nulla in consciendi● arte, sed tumultuariè, & sine ullo figurae artificio fiant etc. O●●. in Lud. Circ. l. 2. c. 18.  where from all Parts of the Earth were brought wild Beasts to fight against one another: For to see, as we do sometimes, a Fellow lead a Lion about to be Worried by a Dog of his Acquaintance, is a ridiculous sight; and so are those other Combats of Beasts, which are yet in Italy, unworthy the greatness or care of a State.  
Bonfires and Fireworks have had a better destiny; for if ours do not observe that Order and Art which the Ancients did in theirs, they are not at all Inferior to them in Magnificence. I may say the same of our Balls and Balets, of which we have happily maintained the Splendour, though our way of Dancing has nothing in it like that of the Greeks and Romans: But still those which we have seen at Paris, and which have deserved the Admiration and Applause of the two greatest Kings in Europe, and of their Courts; these Balets, I say, in which twice the whole Machine of this World, the Heavens, the Sea, the Earth, and Hell the bottom of it, were represented, surpass in my Opinion any thing that we can by reading observe of that kind among the Ancients.  
As for the Theatre, or Stage, it has not been much happier than the Cirque. For not to speak of those other Diversions which were given the People in it, the Art of composing Dramatic Poems, and representing of them, seems to have had the same Destiny with those Famous Structures where they were Acted. It has lain long buried with the Ruins of Athens and Rome: And when at last it was restored in some small measure amongst us, it still appeared like a Carcase taken out of the Grave, without any Shape or Vigour. All the first Pieces of the Stage were without either Art or Learning, or any other Ornament than that of Novelty; the Composition was without Skill, and the Verses without any Politeness; the Actors no ways understood their business, and the whole Representation was defective all over; insomuch that they had not a painted Cloth to hide those who were to go off the Stage; but they were reputed absent who did not present themselves to speak.  
'Tis true, 
Nunc in Gallia ita agunt fabulas, ut omnia in conspectu sint, universus 〈◊〉 dispositus sublimibus sedibus personaeipsa nunquam discedunt, qui silent, p●o absentib. habent Scalig. lib. 1. c. 21. Poet.  that in our Age our Poets having recovered the Way to Parnassus, upon the Footsteps of Eurpides and Terence, and there happening to be Actors amongst us, who might in Rome itself have matched with Aesopus the famous Tragedian, and Roscius the no less Renowned Comedian. the Stage has got a new Face, and the Wrinkles that were upon that Old one have begun to grow smooth, and altogether to look with less deformity. Happy in this, that the greatest Genius of our Time, the great Cardinal Richelieu, smiled upon her. It was by his Liberality that she first received new Strength, and began to challenge her Old Rights, her Beauty, Nobility and Splendour; and it was by his care that most of what was either Ingenious, Learned, or Magnificent among the Ancients, was seen by degrees upon our Theatre: And yet after all, we must own that the Stage was fallen from so high a degree of Glory, into so much contempt and abjectness, that it was impossible to heal entirely those Wounds which it had received in its fall, nor to restore it, but after much Labour and Time. But since the same hand, which begun the Cure, has not been able to finish it, 'tis to be feared that the Dramatic Art will never arrive to its perfection, and I doubt will hardly maintain itself in the state it is, any long time. And if so, its relapse will be so much the more dangerous, because it is not every Age that produces Genius's both understanding and Liberal, and accomplished with all the Qualities necessary to so great a Design. The Life of this great man has formed an Age of great and new things: but all those which did not arrive to perfection, according to their Nature, in his time, will hardly meet with an Opportunity to do it after his Death. And indeed it belonged to no body more to adorn the Kingdom with all delightful Spectacles, than to him; who every day increased our Victories, and Crowned us with new Laurels. 'Twas but reasonable that he, who was in War so like Caesar and Pompey, should imitate them likewise in the restoring of Theatres, and other Princely Diversions; and in a Word, the magnificence of Public Spectacles could not be better derived than from him, who was himself the most glorious and noble Spectacle in the World.  
It was to please him that I Compiled this Practice of the Stage, which he most passionately had wished for; in hopes it would ease our Poets of the great labour, they must else have undergone, if with great Expense of Time they would have collected these Observations, which I have made ready for them, out of the different Authors, and from nice and accurate Remarks on the Stage itself. It was likewise by his Order, that I made a Project of restoring the French Theatre to the Splendour of that of the Ancients, and what Remedies were to be used against all our Impediments. He had conceived such hopes of succeeding in this design, that he made me treat to the whole extent of the matter, upon that which I had first but summarily touched, and was resolved to employ all his Power and Liberality in compassing this Noble Enterprise. The Death of that great man made those two Works miscarry, but here is the first, which as it is I give to the public, upon the solicitation of my Friends. As for the second, I shall only Communicate to the World the Project of it, it not being proper to Expose any more of it, since there were not above five or seven Chapters of it Writ, which are imperfect too, and out of Order.   

CHAP. II.  
The Design of the whole Work.  
THE Glory to which the French Theatre is arrived, may perhaps make some think that this Discourse is useless, since our Poets, having given to the World so many complete Poems, with a general Approbation, may be thought to be above those Instructions, which seem to be the Remedy for Faults to which they are no longer subject; I will not therefore be guilty of so great a Vanity, as to say that the Scope of this Work is to inform them of things which we see they Practise every day with success, but it is to let the World know the Excellency of their Art, and to give People subject to admire them so much the more, in showing what Learning, Invention, Abilities, and Care there are required to finish those Poems▪ which make one of the greatest of our Pleasures, while they only give the Players the Trouble of reciting them. And in this I shall not only raise the Fame of our Poets, but contribute considerably to increase the Pleasure we take in seeing and reading their Works: For it is natural to every body to relish any agreeable object so Much the more, by how much they are capable of discovering the Reasons that render it agreeable; and as we have more Value for Precious Stones, when besides their noble natural Qualities, we consider to what dangers they expose themselves, who bring them from the remotest Parts of the Earth; so I think we shall feel so much the more admiration and joy in the Representation of Theatral Diversions, if by the knowledge of the Rules of the Art we are able to penetrate all the Beauties of them, and to consider what Meditations, Pains, and Study they have cost to be brought to that Perfection. So noble and so vast a design required, I confess, a Genius much superior to mine, and a Body more capable of supporting the Fatigue of study and application. But I think that this being rather a Summary, than a complete Treatise, and as it were rather a Collection of my own Observations, than a profound Dissertation, full of knotty Disputes and Contestations with our modern Authors, whose Opinions are it may be more reasonable than mine, I may be the easilier Excused. All that will be seen here is but the Compendium of those Matters which I had once resolved to treat at large, if many Considerations had not taken from me both the desire and power of performing it: If by chance it be observed, that some Places are touched with more Strength, and better Finished than others, it is because I delivered these Memories to my Friends as they were, unequal and unpolished, according to those Heats and Colds which accompany all Writers, who following the first ardour of their Projects, do not review with Care the whole Product of their Endeavours.  
If any thing appear reasonable and pleasing, that will be enough to hinder me from repenting the reprieve I have given my Book from those Flames to which I had once resolutely Condemned it; and at least, though my matter and Order be not approved, yet some one more laborious, finding the way open, and having the Assistance of some Illustrious Protector, will pursue to the utmost Perfection that which I have but hinted, and as it were slightly imagined.   

CHAP. III.  
What is to be understood by the Art of the Stage.  
IT may seem very rash, or at least superfluous, to treat of Poetry, after that so many Authors both Ancient and modern have given us Books upon that Subject, full of Learning; and more particularly have taken Pains to make Observations upon Dramatic Poetry, as being the most agreeable, and yet the hardest to succeed in. But if we may believe, with Seneca, that all Truths have not been yet spoken, we may assure it in the Subject which I undertake; for all I have seen yet that concerns the Stage, contains only the general Maxims of Dramatic Poetry, which is properly the Theory of the Art; but as for the Practice and Application of those Instructions, I never met with any thing of that kind hitherto; all the Discourses that are upon that Subject, being only Paraphrases and Commentaries upon Aristotle, with great obscurity and little Novelty.  
I do not pretend here to trouble myself about satisfying the Criticisms of Grammarians, or the Scruples of Logicians, who it may be will nor freely admit of this distinction in an Art, whose Rules seem all to tend to practice: I am sure all the rational and polite Learning will not oppose me in it, since 'tis natural in all Arts to distinguish the knowledge of the Maxims, and the Use of them; besides that in the Execution of all general Rules, there are observations to be made, of which there is no mention, when one teaches only the Theory, and which nevertheless are of great importance. Thus Architecture teacheth the beauty and symmetry of Buildings, their noble Proportions, and all the rest of their magnificent Appearance, but does not descend to express a thousand necessary Contrivances, of which the Master of the House is to take care, when he puts his hand to the Work. If the Art of playing upon the Lute were reduced into Rules, it could teach only geneal things, as the number of the strings and touches, the manner of making the Accords, the measures, passages, quavers, etc. but still one would be forced to have recourse to the Master himself, to learn, in the Execution of all this▪ the nicest way of touching the strings, the changing of the measures, the most graceful way how to give a good motion to ones playing, and many more particulars, which could not well be committed to writing, and so must either be negelcted or learned of the Masters themselves.  
The same thing has happened to the Stage. There has been ample Treatises of Dramatic Poems, the original of them, their progress, definition, species, the unity of action, measure of time, the beauty of their contrivance, the thoughts, manners, language, which is fittest for them, and many other such matters, but only in general; and that I call the Theory of the Stage; but for the Observations to be made upon those general Rules, as how to prepare the Incidents, to unite times and places; the continuity of the Theatral Action, the Connexion of the Scenes, the intervals of the Acts, and a thousand other particulars, of which there is nothing left in Antiquity, of which all the Moderns have said so little, that it is next to nothing; all this, I say, is that which I call the Art or Practice of the Stage. As for the Ancients, if they have writ nothing about it, as to the practical part, it is because that perhaps in their time it was so common, that they could not believe any body capable of not knowing it; and indeed if one look into their works, and make but the least reflection upon the Art they use, one may perceive it almost every where.  
But for the Moderns; they for the most part have been entirely ignorant of it, because they have neglected the reading the Poems of those great Masters; or if they have read them, it was without taking notice of the nicest beauties with which they are adorned; therefore it must be set down for a Maxim out of contest, that 'tis impossible to understand Dramatic Poetry without the help of the Ancients, and a thorough meditation upon their Works.   

CHAP. IU.  
Of the Rules of the Ancients.  
I was, I must confess, extremely surprised some years ago, to see some Plays in great esteem both in Paris, and at Court, in which there was scarce a Scene, that did not in some measure offend the Rules of Decency and Probability; but I was much more astonished, when going about to say something of those Rules, and to Explain the ways how to observe them, I was taken for an Hypochondriack, who had strange singular fancies of his own, of things that never were, nor could be. All the Rules of the Ancients, by which I pretended Poets were to be guided in the conduct of their Plays, were looked upon as dangerous innovations, like those in Government, or in Religion. There was no ask, what time the action represented took up, and in what place the things exposed to our view were supposed to be performed, nor how many Acts a Play had? I was answered presently, that the Play had lasted three hours, that the Action had been all upon the Stage, and that the Fiddles had marked the Intervals of the Acts; in a word, 'twas enough to please, to have the name of Comedy given to a great many Verses put together, and recited upon the Stage. But at last having grown acquainted with some of the learned men of our Age, I found amongst them many very well acquainted with the Art of the Stage, particularly in the Theory and the Maxims of Aristotle, and some too, who did apply themselves to the consideration of the Practical part. All these were of my opinion, and condemning the voluntary blindness of our times, did extremely help me to confound the stubbornness of those, who refused to yield to Reason.  
Thus by little and little the face of the Theatre has been entirely changed, and is at last come to that perfection, that one of our most celebrated Authors has publicly confessed, and that often, that in looking over some of his own Plays, which had been acted with great approbation of the Town, about ten or twelve years ago, that he was much ashamed of himself, and did extremely, pity those who had applauded him. I have nevertheless had the misfortune to incur the disgrace of some little Authors, who having neither Genius, nor Learning enough, to come up to these Rules in the excellency which they propounded, sided with part of the Players, to run me down. As for these latter, their design being only to gain by their Profession, and not to excel in it, they thought that the strictness and severity of these Rules would frighten all the young Authors, and deter them from writing; by which means they thought themselves in danger of being forced to leave the Stage, to seek for some other Employment, for want of new Plays: but the Event has confounded this piece of Ignorance, for there were never seen more Dramatic Poems, nor more agreeable ones, than since; although we have not for Actors such as Valeran, Veautray, and Mondory were.  
But yet since some persons of Judgement, for want of being well versed in Antiquity, have endeavoured with some appearance of Reason to maintain the errors of our Age, I think myself obliged to answer their scruples, and to satisfy a great number, who yet seem unwilling to be undeceived. Therefore here are five Objections which have been ordinarily made to me, against the Rules of the Ancients.  
First, That we are not to make Laws to ourselves from Custom and Example, but from Reason; which ought to prevail over any Authority.  
Secondly, That the Ancients themselves have often violated their own Rules.  
Thirdly, That divers Poems of the Ancients had been translated, and acted upon our Stage with very ill success.  
Fourthly, That divers of our modern Plays, though quite contrary to these Rules, had been acted with great applause.  
And last of all, That if these rigorous Maxims should be followed, we should very often lose the greatest beauty of all true Stories. Their Incidents having most commonly happened at different times, and in different places  
As to the first Objection; I answer, That the Rules of the State are not founded upon Authority, but upon Reason; they are not so much settled by Example, as by the natural judgement of Mankind; and if we call them the Rules and the Art of the Ancients, 'tis only because They have practised them with great regularity, and much to their Glory; having first made many Observations upon the Nature of Moral Actions, and upon the probability of Humane Accidents in this life, and thereby drawing the Pictures after the truth of the Original, and observing all due circumstances, they reduced to an Art this kind of Poem, whose Progress was very slow, though it were much in use among them, and much admired all the world over. But however I am very sparing of citing their Poems, and when I do it, it is only to show with what agreeable Artifice they kept to these Rules, and not to buoy up my opinion by their Authority.  
As for the second Objection, it seems not considerable; 
Non omnia ad Homerum referenda tanquam ad normam censeo, sed & ipsum ad normam.  for Reason, being alike all the world over, does equally require every body's submission to it; and if our modern Authors, cannot without offence be dispensed from the Rules of the Stage, no more could the Ancients; and where they have failed, I do not pretend to excuse them. 
Scalig. l. 1. c. 5.  My Observations upon Plautus, show very well that I do propose the Ancients for Models, only in such things as they shall appear to have followed Reason in; and their Example will always be an ill pretext for faults, for there is no excuse against Reason. In things which are founded only in Custom, as in Grammar, or in the Art of making a Verse with long or short syllables, the Learned may often use a licence against the received practice, and be imitated in it by others, because Custom may often have countenanced a thing not well of itself. But in all that depends upon common sense and reason, such as are the Rules of the Stage, there to take a licence, is a crime; because it offends not Custom, but Natural light, which ought never to suffer an Eclipse.  
I must not omit, for the Glory of the Ancients, that if they have sometimes violated the Art of Dramatic Poems, they have done it for some more powerful and inducing Reason, than all the Interest of the Play could amount to. As for Example, Euripides, in the Suppliants, has preferred the glory of his Country to that of his Art, of which I have spoken elsewhere.  
The third Objection has no force, but in the Ignorance of those that allege it. For if some Poems of the Ancients, and even those which were most in Esteem with them, have not succeeded upon our Stage, the Subject, and not the want of Art, has been the cause of it; And sometimes likewise the Changes made by the Translators, which destroyed all the Graces of the Original: They have added improbable Scenes between Princes, and have showed out of time that which the Ancients had carefully concealed with Art; and very often changed a fine Relation, into an impertinent ridiculous Spectacle. But That which is more worthy our consideration, is, that there were certain Stories, fitted for the Stage of Athens with great Ornaments, which would be in abomination upon Ours: For Example, the Story of Thy●stes; so that we may say, that either the Moderns have corrupted the Ancients, by changing their whole Oeconomy, or the Imperfection of the Matter stifled the excellency of the Art.  
To destroy the 4th Objection, we need only to remember, that those Plays of ours, which took with the people, and with the Court, were not liked in all their parts; but only in those things which were reasonable, and in which they were conformable to the Rules: When there were any passionate Scenes, they were praised; and when there was any great Appearance or noble Spectacle, it was esteemed; and if some notable Event was well managed, there was great satisfaction shown; but if in the rest of the Play, or even in these beauties of it, any irregularities were discovered, or any fault against Probability and Decency, either in the persons, time, or place, or as to the state of the things represented, they were condemned as Faults. And all the favour that was showed the Poet, was, that out of the desire of preserving what was fine, the Spectators were somewhat more indulgent to what was amiss.  
Therefore that success so much bragged on, is so far from contradicting the Rules of the Stage, that quite contrary it establishes their Authority. For these Rules being nothing but an Art to cause the finest Incidents to please with decency and probability, it sufficiently appears how necessary they are, since by common consent, all that comes up to them is approved of, and all that varies from them is in some measure condemned. Examples would extremely illustrate this truth, if I were not afraid to anger some of our Poets, by instructing the others at their cost.  
The 5th Objection is absolutely ridiculous. For the Rules of the Stage do not at all reject the most notable Incidents of any Story, but they furnish us with Inventions, how so to adjust the Circumstances of the Action, Time, and Place, as not to go against all probable appearance, and yet not to represent them always as they are in Story, but such as they ought to be, to have nothing but what's agreeable in them. 'Tis That then that we are to seek, and of which in the following Discourse I shall communicate my Thoughts.   

CHAP. V.  
How they ought to Instruct themselves, who intent to write a Dramatic Poem.  
IN the Universities, the Dramatic Poets, as well as others, are given to young Scholars to read and study, and they affording great variety by moral Sentences, of which they are full, and by the Dialogues of different persons contesting with passion, as also by the imagination of those Machine's, which one must necessarily suppose to have been employed in the representation of them; to which may be added the sudden Turns and Events of the Stage, they cannot but procure an Extreme delight to these young Students, and make a strong impression in their minds; and though the whole, it may be, is both ill explained by those that Instruct them, and as ill understood by Them; yet they have infinite satisfaction in the thing.  
It may be after this, they see some Play composed by their Master, and acted in the same Schools; and though that be done by very ill Actors, and carry with it in all its circumstances the true Character of pedantry, nevertheless this is performed with so much noise, bustle, and preparation, that they conceive a mighty Idea of it, having seen nothing better, and being incapable of finding out the faults of the piece.  
If then there happens to be amongst these Youths a fiery Lad with Fancy, and some Inclination to Poetry, finding himself at leisure to employ his parts his own way, he fixes upon Dramatic Poetry; and out comes a piece of his. To make which he generally follows this method; he pitches upon some story that pleases him, without considering, whether it be fit for the Scene or no, or ever reflecting what is to be avoided in it, or what Ornaments may be added; he is resolved to hide under the Curtain any thing that shall incommode him, to put France at one corner of the Stage, Turkey at the other, and Spain in the middle, his Actors shall be sometimes in the Lovure, then in a Wood, or Highway, and then in a Garden full of Flowers, and no body knows how they came there; and if any body is to pass by Sea from Denmark to France, 'tis done with the drawing of a Scene. Having thus filled every thing with ridiculous Imaginations, and things opposite to all probability, he makes his first Scene; which he was no sooner done, but finding himself at a stand, he repairs to some of the Theatres, to see if he can steal any Invention from them, that shall please him. Then he gets into the company of some celebrated Poet or Critic, and from them he is supplied with some new thought, or passionate incident, or some slight of the Art, which he immediately employs quite contrary, and out of all time; and having thus with the help of some Songs and Elegies, made formerly for Cloris, mustered up three or four hundred Verses, he resolves to call it an Act. Thus going on in the same method, he gets to the death or marriage of some Prince, and then 'tis privately whispered among his Friends, that he has made a very pretty Play: The Ladies desire to see it, and 'tis by the Author red to them in secret, they are charmed with some Florid Expressions, or smart Repartees, and call in the Gentlemen of their acquaintance to hear it. Every body applauds and flatters the Author, reserving to themselves the privilege of laughing at him, as soon as his back's turned; and in short, he acquires thus the honourable title of a Poet.  
Without doubt, 
Extat illius Comaedia, q●a nihil aversum magis a comitate; adeo enim insulsa est, ut misericordiam ●otius quam risum excitet. Scal. l. 6. c. 3.  not only one must have prodigious good fortune, but more than that, an infused science, like Adam's, to make at first and by such methods a piece (not comparable, I say, to those whom twenty Ages have reverenced) but to make a thing like that of the Poet Rhodophilus, of whom Scaliger says, that his Comedy rather excited pity than mirth. To say truth, the Complaisance or Ignorance of the Spectators is extreme, when they condemn others, as too severe, who cannot applaud such stuff, as this is. There is no Mechanic trade in the World that does not oblige to a long Apprenticeship under a Master, and when the Artists set up for themselves, they are examined by the Company, to whom they must produce some Masterpiece of their own making. And shall we then think, 
Diu non nisi ●●●imus quisque, & qui credentem sibi minime fallat, legendus est; sed diligenter aut pene ad scribendi solicitudinem, nec per partes modo scrutanda omnia; sed perlectus liber utique ex integro resumendus.  that to succeed in the greatest Art that is, in which the mind has all the share, and which is not only the hardest, but the least understood Art that we have, there needs nothing, but to have the Impudence to undertake it; no certainly, there goes a great deal more to it, and therefore I will now counsel, as well as I can, any body that undertakes to be a Poet, and tell him, what he is to do.  
In the first place, let our Poet suppress all those impetuous desires of glory and applause, 
Quintil. l. 10. cap. 1.  and leave thinking, that to make a good Play, 'tis enough to have a vein for Poetry. He must begin with applying himself to the reading of Aristotle's Poeticks, and those of Horace, and he must read them attentively, and meditate upon them; then he must turn over those that have made Commentaries upon them, as Castelvetro in Italian, who in his Jargon says very fine things, Hieronymus Vida, Heinsius, Vossius, la Menardiere, and a great many more; and let him remember, that Scaliger alone says more than all the rest; but he must not lose a word in him, for all his words are of weight and importance. As for the book of Boulenger, he must value him only for his Collection of Passages out of other Authors, and not mind the Consequences he draws from them; for I believe for my part that the things he has writ, came into his head just as he was writing them, and without any precedent Meditation.  
I add to these Authors Plutarch, 
Horat. de art. poet. vers. 268. Vos exemplaria Graeca Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ.  Athenaeus, and Lilius Giraldus, who all in many places have touched the chief Maxims of the Stage; in a word, he must not let slip any thing of the Ancients, without examining every period of them; for very often a word thrown out by the by, and out of the subject of the Stage, contains in their books some important secret, and the resolution of some great difficulty.  
Having thus studied the Theory, he must read all the Greek and Latin Dramatic Poems, which by good fortune have been preserved to our times, as likewise their old Scholiasts or Commentators, but still take the liberty to examine them impartially, for they are subject to a great many Errors, and delight in false and vain subtleties of no use at all; and all along one must be sure to make constant reflections, and examine why a Poet has rather done one thing than another, and he may observe that often a word ingeniously cast out by an Actor, to prepare some Incident, or to explain the Circumstances of place or time, is not a thing slightly to be passed over; and if after all, I durst be so vain, as to make one amongst his Masters, I could wish he would join the Precepts of this practical part of the Art, to what he may discover in the Ancient or Modern Poets; for though I cannot brag of giving him considerable and important succours in his Design, yet I am sure I shall not be useless or incommodious to him, and though it should appear that I am mistaken, yet I am sure he will thank me for the very means I afford him of instructing himself better.  
Our Poet having thus acquired a perfect Notion of the Art of the Stage, may much more certainly, and with greater success undertake some noble design.  
As for me, without repeating here what may be learned in Aristotle, and his Interpreters, both Ancient and Modern, I will only endeavour to treat of new matters, or at least to give new Instructions upon those things, which have been treated of by others.   

CHAP. VI  
Of the Spectators, and how they are to be considered by the Poet.  
MY Intention is not here to teach the Spectators of a Play, the attention that they ought to have, nor the silence that they ought to keep, no more than the caution they ought to observe in judging of the Play; nor what they should do to avoid those Errors which Complaisance, or a Prejudice against the Author, often runs them into; though all this might be usefully enough, and to good purpose, treated of here.  
But I only mention the Spectators in reference to the Poet, that is, how he ought to consider them when he is making a Play.  
I borrow here the Comparison of a Picture, of which I shall often make use in this Treatise; and I say that my Picture may be considered two ways.  
First, as a Picture; that is, as the work of the Artist; where there are Colours, and not real things; shadows, and not substances; artificial lights, false elevations, prospective distances, or lontananzas, deceiving shortenings; and in a word, appearances of things that really are not in the Picture.  
Secondly, It may be considered as containing a Story painted, whether a true one, or supposed to be so; whereof the Place is certain, the Qualities natural, the Actions undoubtedly true, and all the Circumstances of them observed according to order and reason.  
This may be all applied to Dramatic Poems: One may at first consider the Show and Representation of things, where Art gives you Images of them which really are not. There are Princes in appearance; Palaces upon painted cloth, dead men in show; and 'tis for this that the Actors carry all the Marks of those whom they represent. The Decoration of the Stage, is the Image of those places where the thing is supposed to be transacted. There are Spectators, and the persons that appear upon the Stage talk in the Mother Tongue of the Audience, all things being to be made sensible and plain to them. 'Tis to arrive to this Representation of the thing, that the Poet causes sometimes one, sometimes another Actor to appear, and discourse upon the Stage: making recitals of things that ought to be known, and yet ought not to appear; and Employing Machine's, and other Contrivances, for the appearance of those things which are to be showed to the Audience.  
Thus Eschylus makes the Palace of Clytaemnestra open, that the bodyof Agamenon may be seen upon the Step of the inward door, where a dead man lies along upon the Threshold. In Ajax, Tecmessa opens his Tent to show his madness, by the number of the dead sheep which lie round about him. In Euripides, Hecuba swoons away upon the Stage, to express the greatness of her Misery: And in Plautus, the Captives express their condition of slavery, by being bound, and having an appearance of Guards about them; and after this the discourses made by the Actors, upon these different Appearances, perfect the Representation.  
Or else we may consider in these Dramatic Poems, the true History, or that which is supposed true, and of which all the Adventures have really come to pass, in that order, time, and place, and according to those Intrigues which appear to us. The persons are there considered according to their different Characters, of their Condition, Age and Sex; and the things they say, as having been really pronounced by them, as well as performed in their actions; and in a word, all things as we see them upon the Stage.  
I know very well that the Poet is the Master, and that he disposes the order of his Poem as he thinks fit; taking the time, which he lengthens or shortens as he pleases; choosing likewise what place he will in the whole world; and for the Plot he Invents it according to the strength and fineness of his own fancy; and in a word, he gives what form he pleases to the matter he has in hand; but still 'tis certain, that all these things must be so adjusted, as to seem to have naturally both the rise, progress, and end which he gives them; so that though he be the Author, yet he must write the whole with such Art, that it may not so much as appear that it was by him Invented. So in Eschylus' Tragedy of Agamemnon, all things appear as if really Agamemnon had been murdered; and in Sophocles, as if Ajax were really furious; and so of all the other Pieces of the Ancients. And likewise when we judge of any Play on our Stage, we suppose the thing either true, or that aught to be so, and might be so; and upon that supposition we approve of all the Words or Actions that are done or said by those who speak or act; and of all those Events which might probably follow the first Appearances; because that in this case we believe that things might really happen as they seem, nay that they have happened, and aught to happen so. And on the contrary, we condemn all that ought not to be done, or said, according to the qualities of the persons, the place, the time, and the first appearances of the Play.  
Now to understand how the Poet is to govern himself, with regard to the Spectators, and when they are to be considerable to him, or not so, we need but reflect upon what we have said of a Picture; for looking upon it only as the Work of the Artist, the Painter does what he can to make it Excellent, because it will be seen, and that he expects to be known and admired by it; but if he consider it as a Story painted, he keeps as close as he can to the Nature of the thing he represents, and does nothing but what will seem probable in all its Circumstances, because it is all to be considered as true, and supposed so. For example, if he will draw Mary Magdelen in her penitent retirement, he will not omit any of the most important parts of her Story, because if he should do otherwise, they that should see it would hardly know it. He must place her in a decent posture, else she will be a disagreeable Object. He will not draw her prostrate and grovelling with her face upon the ground, because that would hide the finest part of her, but rather he must set her upon her knees. He ought not to cover her all over with a Cilice, or haircloth, but leave her half naked, that the Charm of her beauty may appear the more. He must not place her in the bottom of a deep Cavern, for than she cannot be supposed to be seen, but at the entrance of it, with so much light as is just necessary; and this he must do, because he considers his work as a Picture which ought to fall under the Senses, and please at the same time.  
But when he considers this Picture the other way, that is, keeping to the truth of the Story, he must give her a Complexion pale and wan, because it is not credible it could be otherwise in the midst of so much austerity; she shall not have a Crown before her, but a Cross; she must not be placed upon a rich embroidered Bed, but upon the ground; there shall not be a Palace near her, but a horrid Wilderness; he must not environ her with Pages, and womans Attendants, but rather with wild Beasts, but they must be in a quiet posture, that she may be supposed to live among them; the Cave shall be covered with Moss, not gilded and finely set out. The very trees are not to be made full of Flowers and Fruits, but rather half-dryed, and withered; and all the Country about them barren and wild. And in a word, he shall adorn his work with all those things which probably might become the state of penitence, according to the person, place, and other dependencies of the Story, because here he considers the truth of what he is to represent.  
In the same manner, the Poet considering in his Play the Representation or Spectacle of it, does all that he can to make it agreeable to the Spectators; for his business is to please them. And therefore he shall preserve all the noblest Incidents of his Story, he shall make all his Actors appear with the best Characters he can, he shall employ the finest Figures of Rhetoric, and the Moving'st Passions, observing to hide nothing that aught to be known and please, and to show nothing that aught to be hid, and may offend; and in fine, he shall try all means to gain the esteem and admiration of the Audience.  
But when he considers in his Play the true Story of it, or that which is supposed to be so, he must particularly have a care to observe the Rules of probability in every thing, and to make all the Intrigues, Actions, Words, as if they had in reality come to pass; he must give fit thoughts and designs, according to the persons that are employed, he must unite the Times with Places, and the Beginning with the Consequences; and in a word, he follows the Nature of things so, as not to contradict neither the State, nor the Order, nor the Effects, nor the Property of them; and indeed has no other Guide but Probability and Decency, and rejects all that has not that Character upon it. He must contrive every thing as if there were no Spectators; that is, all the Persons in the Play are to act and speak as if they were truly (for example) a King, and not Mondoroy or Bellerose; as if they really were in the Palace of Horatius in Rome, 
Two famous Players.  and not at Paris in the Hostel de Bourgogne; and as if no body saw them, or heard them, but those who are acting with them upon the Stage. And by this Rule it is that they often say that they are alone, that no body sees them, nor hears them, that they need not fear being interrupted, or disturbed in their Solitude, no more than hindered in their designs; though all this is spoken in the presence of it may be two thousand persons; because in this the Nature of the Action is followed according to truth, for then the Spectators were not by; and this aught to be strictly observed, for all that is affected in favour of the Spectators is false and faulty.  
I know very well that the Poet does not work upon the Action as true, but only so far as it is fit for Representation, and therefore it may seem that there may be some mixture of these two Considerations, therefore I shall propound the way how he shall distinguish them. He examines first all that he designs to make known to the Audience, either by their Eyes or their Ears, and accordingly resolves either to let them see it, or to instruct them by some recital of the thing which they ought to know. But he does not make these Recitals or Spectacles only because the Spectators ought to know or see. How then? Why he must find in the Action, which is considered as true, some motive, colour, or apparent Reason, for which it may appear that these Shows or Recitals did probably happen, and aught to come to pass; and I may say that the greatest Art of the Stage consists in finding out these Motives or Colours. An Actor must come upon the Stage, because the Spectator must know his Designs and Passions. There must be a Narration made of things past, because else the Spectator being ignorant of them, would not understand what's present, and under representation. There must be a Show or Spectacle, to move the Audience with pity or admiration; and that is working upon the action as represented; and it is his duty as well as his chief design; but he must hide this under some colour drawn from the truth of the Action itself; insomuch, that the person who is to instruct the Audience, must come upon the Stage upon the pretext of looking for some body there; or to meet one who had given him an Assignation. So the person who is to make a Narration of things past, must do it so as it may seem necessary, and done to advise about something in agitation at present, for which there is some help wanting. If there be a Spectacle, it must be to some end, as to excite some body to be revenged, or so; and this called working upon the truth of the Action, without minding the Spectators; because 'tis probable, that, taking things only in themselves, all this might fall out so.  
Let us come to the Examples alleged before. Aeschylus causes Agamemnon to be murdered in his Palace; but the Audience must know this, and how does he inform them of it? He makes that Unfortunate Prince cry out like a man that expires under the violence of those who murder him. Sophocles observes the same thing in the murder of Clytaemnestra by the hand of Orestes. And I cannot but admire at some who tax both those Poets of having defiled the Stage with blood, when 'tis apparent that they are killed in the Houses represented upon the Stage, and out of the sight of the Spectators, who only hear their cries and lamentations, and see the body afterwards when 'tis dead.  
In the same Sophocles, Ajax is outrageously furious, and yet there is a necessity of his appearing upon the Stage with Ulysses, without hurting him, and to that end Minerva brings him out of his Tent, and suspends for a while his fit of madness.  
In Euripides the Spectators must know that Polydorus is dead, that Hecuba may receive a new heightening to her afflictions; and to do it with appearance of reason, one of her Women goes to fetch water at the Sea side, to wash and purify the dead body of her Daughter Polyxena, whose Funeral she was to perform, where she finds, as it were by chance, the body of the unhappy young Prince, which she brings to his more unhappy Mother, and so discovers very handsomely the series of all that sad Adventure. (And by the by it appears, how much they are mistaken, who think that the Poet sends Hecuba herself to the Sea side, and that there she had found the Body of her Son). But we should be bound to too tedious an enumeration, if we would by Examples show the conduct of the Ancients in this point.  
For upon their Stage there is not a Recital, a Passion, nor an Intrigue, that has not its colour; if you take the Story as true, though it be a Fable invented by the Poet only for Representation. In a word, the Spectators are not considerable to the Poet in the Truth of the Action, but only in the Representation; and upon this Maxim, if we examine the best part of our Modern Poets, we may easily perceive, that they go against all probability, even in those things which have been esteemed the most; Because the Authors, when they exposed them to the people, did it without any colour that might make us suppose them reasonable. Thus in the truth of the Action it happens that a man makes a necessary Narration, that's well, for the Spectators ought not to be ignorant of it; but this man could not know the very thing he tells, then 'tis against probability for him to make this recital. A Lover appears upon the Stage in a violent passion to please the Spectators; but he could not naturally make these complaints in the place represented by the Stage; there must then some colour be found out for his being there extraordinarily, or else you go against probability: As much may be said of a thousand other Adventures which appear upon our Stages, where every day we have Images of things that never were, never can be, and by consequent ought not to be.   

CHAP. VII.  
Of the Mixture of Representation with the Truth of the Theatral Action.  
I Believe the Title of this Chapter will be at first sight severely censured, because it may be it will not be understood; but when I shall have explained my meaning, I hope all the judicious will be reconciled to the Terms, as well as to my Sentiments about the thing.  
I call Truth of the Theatral Action, the whole Story of the Play, so far as it is considered as a true one, and that all the Adventures in it are looked upon as being come to pass. But I call Representation, the Collection of all those things which may serve to represent a Dramatic Poem, considered in themselves and in their own Nature, as the Players, the Scenes, the Music, the Spectators, and a great many other things. As for Example, in the Play of Cinna, made by Monsieur Corneille; that that Cinna, who appears upon the Stage, speaks like a Roman, that he loves Aemilia, counsels Augustus Caesar to keep the Empire, conspires against him, and is pardoned by him; all this I say, is the truth of the Theatral Action. That the same Aemilia hates Augustus, and loves Cinna, that she desires to be revenged, and yet apprehends the Event of so great an Undertaking; all this too is of the truth of the Action. That Augustus proposes his thoughts of leaving the Empire to two perfidious Friends, and that one advises him to keep it, and the other to leave it, is likewise of the truth of the Action. In a word, all that in the Play either is considered as a part, or has a necessary dependence upon the Story, aught to be of the truth of the Action; and 'tis by this Rule that one ought to Examine the probability of all that's done in the Play; as the fitness and decency of the Expressions, the connexion of the Intrigue, the patness of the Events, etc. And one naturally approves of all that aught to have been done according to the truth, though it be a supposed Story, and one condemns all that one thinks contrary to truth, or not becoming the actions of life.  
But that Floridor or Beauchasteau act the part of Cinna, that they are good or ill Actors, well or ill dressed, that they are separated from the people by a Stage, which is adorned with painted cloth, representing Palaces and Gardens, that the Intervals of the Acts are marked by ill Fiddlers, or excellent Music; that an Actor goes behind the Stage, when he says he goes into the King's Closet, and speaks to his Wife, instead of speaking to a Queen, that there are Spectators, and those either from the Court, or the City; that they are silent or make a noise, that there are quarrels in the Pit, or none, all these things are, and do depend on the Representation.  
Therefore Floridor and Beauchasteau are to be looked upon as representing, and that Cinna or Horatius, whom they represent, are to be considered as real and true persons, acting and speaking as Cinna, and Horatius, and not as those who represent them, and Floridor and Beauchasteau must be looked upon as transformed into those men, whose names and concerns they take upon them, so that part of the Hostel de Bourgogne which is raised and adorned for a Stage, is the place representing, and the Image of another place which is represented at that time, whether the Palace of Augustus or Horatius; and it must in the Play be looked upon as the true place where all things pass, so the time which is employed in the Representation, being a part of our natural currant year, is but a representing time, but the day represented, and in which one supposes the action of the Stage to come to pass, aught to be taken for a real true time in regard to the Action.  
I say then that one ought never to mingle together what concerns the Representation of a Play, with the true Action of the Story represented.  
It would not be well liked off, that Floridor, while he is representing Cinna, should talk of his own domestic affairs, or of the loss and gains of the Play house; or that while he is repeating the Speech made by Cinna to the Conspirators at Rome, he should address himself to the People of Paris, and make some Reflections upon them; or that while he is examining the hatred and haughtiness of Aemilia, he should go about to talk of the sweetness and good breeding of our Ladies; In a word, he would not be endured to confound Rome and Paris, nor actions passed so many years ago, with present Adventures; because that is not only offending against all the Rules of decency, but those of common sense.  
I know very well that our Modern Poets have not hitherto been very guilty of this fault, but because the Ancients, whom I generally propose for Examples, have been so indulgent to the People's pleasure, as not to take care to avoid this Error, I thought it would not be amiss to say something of it, lest our Poets should follow their Example, after the rate of that scurvy Orator, whom Cicero speaks of in Brutus, for never imitating the great men in any thing, but such things where they were faulty. Aristotle says that ill Poets fall into Errors, because they are ignorant of the means of doing better, and that good ones do the same thing out of Complaisance to the Players, and for the Diversion of the Audience; but I think that a true Poet ought not to seek any other way of being profitable to the first, nor of pleasing the last, but by the excellence of his Play.  
Comedy in its rise, and when it first begun to be acted, as Tragedy was, by set Actors, was nothing but a Satirical Poem, which by little and little, under pretext of instructing the People, by inveighing at their Vices, came at last to be so bitter and scandalous, as not only to expose the most Eminent Citizens, but not to spare the Magistrates themselves, nor the most Illustrious Persons of the State, whose Names, Faces, and actions were brought upon the Stage; and this was that the Authors call Old Comedy.  
Not but that at first even this was much more innocent than afterwards; for under Epicharmus, and first Comicks who succeeded him, Comedy was merry and laughing, but not injurious and affronting; it had Salt and Railleries, but not Gall and Vinegar; but at last that liberty degenerated into so much libertinism, that Aristophanes' Plays did not a little contribute to the death of the famous Socrates by exciting the People against him. The Representation in those days was so confounded with the Truth of Action, that they were almost the same thing; and that which was said against the Socrates upon the Stage, was often applicable to the Socrates who was in the Pit. 'Tis but reading Aristophanes' first Plays, and you shall see that all along he confounds the interest of the Actors with those of the Spectators, and even the History represented with the Public Affairs of the State, upon which he found'st his Jests and Railleries; In a word, his Plays are downright Libels, containing the Names, Qualities, Actions, and visible Portraicts of those whom the Poet undertook to expose; and that without any other conduct or rule, but that of his Satirical wit and passion; so far were they from being ingenious rational Poems, regulated by Art; and the Magistrates foreseeing the dangerous Effects of such licence, forbid them any more naming particular persons in their Plays.  
But as one is always Ingenious in mischief, the Poets found means, though they left out the Name, to represent the Person so livelily, that every body knew presently, who they meant; and this was since called Middle Comedy; and such were the last Plays of Aristophanes.  
But this way of satire, though somewhat milder than the other, was still thought to be of as ill Consequence, and by the Magistrates accordingly prohibited. This put the Poets to some stand, and forced them at last to invent not only the Names, but likewise the Adventures of their Stage, and then Comedy, being an ingenious Product of wit and Art, was regulated upon the model of Tragedy, and became (to define it rightly) the true Picture and Imitation of the Common Actions of life. Then the Representation was no longer confounded with the Truth of the Action, and all that was done upon the Stage was considered as a true Story, in which neither the State, nor the Spectators, were supposed to have any part. The Adventures were generally taken from some remote Country, with which the place where they were represented had little communication, and the Actors seemed to act only by the consideration of those things, which were represented. Thus that which came to be called New Comedy was made, of which Terence was one of the first that gave us a Model, and that so good a one, that it is never seen that he ever confounds the Representation with the Truth of the Theatral Action. 
Parùm seriò res agividetur, si Actores ipsi populum compellent.  Plautus who went before him, and was nearer the time of Middle Comedy, is not so regular, but does so often fall into that inconvenience, 
Voss. lib. 2. c. 26. sect. 15. Poet.  that the reading him becomes tedious, and not seldom his Plays are confused and obscure by it.  
In his Amphytrion, 
Act. 3. Sc. 1.  Jupiter is supposed to be at Thebes in the time that Hercules is born, 
Nunc hûc honoris vestri venio gratiâ, ne hanc incboatam transigam Comoediam, simul Alcumenae quam vir etc.  and when he appears under the form of Amphytrion, he tells the Spectators, I am Jupiter, and I am changed to Amphytrion when I please, which I do, (says he to the Spectators) to oblige you by Continuing this Play, and for the love of Alcmene that she may appear Innocent. Where we see he mingles the concerns of the Actors with the Interest of the Spectators, and makes an Interfering of Romans who were present, with those who were supposed to act in Greece, which certainly cannot be but very ridiculous, and must confound the understanding of the Spectators, by forcing them to imagine a man double, and to distinguish in him both words and sentiments very different, without any necessity or reason for it. Certainly when a man appears before us with the Clothes, Countenance, Words, and Gesture of a person, whom he represents, he is not to be considered otherwise than according to that Image, which from our Eyes we imprint in our mind; and therefore all that unmasks him, to show him, as he really is, such a Player, whose Name is so or so, confounds the Attention of the Audience, who expect nothing from that Actor, but things proper to the person whose Appearance he takes.  
In his Aulularia, Euclio is at Athens, where he has been robbed, and while he is seeking the man that ran away with his Treasure, he says such things to express his despair, that the Audience falls a laughing; upon which Euclio turning to them, says, why do you laugh, I know you all well enough, and know that amongst you there are Thiefs enough. Now Euclio is supposed to be at Athens, where no Romans could be for Spectators, much less could they be suspected to conceal among them the man that had stolen his Money. He is so full of these faults, that there is scarce a Play of his without them; but in two places the raillery is so ingenious, and so placed at the end of the Play, without being interwoven in the Story, that it may very well be excused.  
The first is at the end of Pseudolus, where his witty Slave having invited Ballio to drink with him, 
Bal. Te sequor, quin vocas Spectatores simul?  he answers, Why don't you likewise invite these Gentlemen? 
Ps. Hercle me isti haud solent vocare, neque ergo ego istos; verùm si voltis appl●udere atque approbare hunc gregem & fabulam, in crastinum vos vocabo. Pseudol.  pointing to the Spectators; to which Pseudolus replies, I don't use to invite them, nor they me; but Gentlemen, if you will say that our House and Play pleases you, I invite you again to morrow.  
The other is at the end of his Rudens, where Daemons having invited Labrax to Supper, tells the Spectators, 
Act. 5. Sc. 2.  I would invite you too, Gentlemen, but I have little to give him; and besides I hope you are all engaged; but if you please to give your approbation to this Play, I will Invite you all to sup with me this day sixteen year. 
Spectatores vos quoque ad coenam vocem, ni daturus nihil sim, neque sit quicquam pollucti domi, néue adeò vocates credam vos esse ad caenam foras. Verùm si Vole 〈…〉 sum fab 〈…〉 olarum dare, Comissalum omnes venitote ad me ad annos sexdecim.   
In these cases, the Action of the Stage being over, the Railleries that are made can no longer confound the Ideas of the Spectators.  
As for Tragedies, as their subject is more noble and serious, they are seldom infected with this corrupt way; except in Euripides' Prologues, where often the chief Actor, or a God in some Machine, makes a Narration of things happened before the the opening of the Stage. Which I must confess I cannot approve of, because often these things are clear enough in the thread of the Story; and when Poets do not explain their Subject, by the Mouth and Actions of their Actors, 'tis a fault without excuse, and Prologues are but ill shifts to repair such a neglect. Sophocles never does it, and I cannot but advise all Poets to follow him in this.   

CHAP. VIII.  
How the Poet must make his Decorations, and other Necessary Actions in the Play, known to the Audience.  
THE most remarkable and indeed an essential difference between Epic and Dramatic Poems, is, that in the first, the Poet speaks alone, the persons that he produces all uttering themselves by his mouth; 'tis he that says, that such and such people made such and such discourses, and not they that come and make them themselves. But in the Dramatic Poem, the Poet is silent, and none but the persons introduced by him, do speak; and during all the Theatral Action, he appears no more than if the persons were really those whom they represent.  
Therefore in the Epic Poem, the Poet makes all the descriptions that may grace his work, when and where he pleases. If he has a mind to show a Temple or a Palace, he frames the Architecture of it according to his own fancy. If there be a shipwreck, he expresses as he pleases the horror of the Tempest, the fear of the Seamen, the cries of those who are cast away, and the constancy of his Hero, and for all this he chooses that place in his Poem, which he thinks fittest for these or other Descriptions. But in a Dramatic Poem, the Poet must speak by the mouth of his Actors, he cannot employ any other means, and what they omit, can no ways be supplied by any industry of his; if there be a Shipwreck, the Actors must explain it, and speak of the misfortune of those who have been cast away; and so for any Ornament or Action extraordinary: They must all be explained by those whom he brings upon his Stage. The Ancient Poets have been very exact and judicious in this particular, but our Modern Authors have committed such faults in it, as have much disfigured their Plays.  
A Play may be regarded two ways; it is made to be acted by persons, who are to do every thing, as if they were the true persons represented; and likewise Plays are made to be read by people, who without seeing them acted, can by their imagination, and the strength of the impressions the Poet gives, make those persons as it were present to their Idea. Now whether a Play be acted or read, it must be understood by the Spectators, and by the Reader; it cannot be known to the Spectators, but just as the Actors shall make it so; and the Reader can understand no more of it, than the Verses or Expressions do inform him, so that either way all the Decorations, Clothes, or necessary Motions, for the understanding the Play, must be had in the Verses, or other expressions in Prose, which are by the Actors recited.  
To this may be said, that our Poets use to be by at the Rehearsals, and so tell the Players every particular that they are to do; but besides the negligence of the Players in the execution of this, how shall any body do, that would act the Play without the Poet? how shall they know where the Scene lies? what Decorations belong to it, and what Clothes the Actors have, and so in any other Circumstances necessary to the understanding and Ornament of the Play? Eschylus his Tragedies have been often acted at Athens, after he was dead.  
The same thing was done by Plautus' Comedies at Rome; and is done every day at Paris by our old Plays; all which could not well have been performed, if the Poet had not been careful to explain all things by the Actors. I know indeed that to help the dulness of some Readers, many of our Poets have made Marginal Notes in their printed works, which express that which is not said in the Play; As here appears a Temple open, here a Palace adorned with divers Columns of noble Architecture, here the King whispers his Favourite, and the like. But in all these Notes 'tis the Poet that speaks, which he is not allowed to do in this sort of Poems, and it cannot be done without interrupting the Reader in the midst of passions, and dividing his application, and so dissipating some of those Ideas which he had received already for the understanding and relishing the Play.  
But I say more than all this, a Play ought to be made with so much Art, and the Actors are to speak so, that it shall not be necessary to mark the distinction of the Acts, nor Scenes, nor so much as to put the Names of those that speak, and to prove what I say, we need only to consider, that when an Actor comes upon the Stage, the Poet does not come to tell his name, it must be known by himself, or some other of the Actors; and the failing in this has made, that in some Plays, that I have seen, three Acts were over, before the Audience knew the Name of the chief Actor, and that without any apparent necessity of hiding either That or his Quality; for sometimes it is necessary he should be Incognito, but then 'tis as necessary that it should be known he is so.  
In this particular the Ancients have been so accurate, that I dare boldly say, that let one have a Tragedy, either of Sophocles, or Euripides, or a Comedy of Terence, or Plautus without Title, Distinction, Names of the Actors, or any Character particular, to make either Them, or the separation of the Acts and Scenes known, I would presently discover both the Name, Quality, Equipage, Clothes, Gesture, and Interests of all those who speak; the place of the Scene, its decorations, and in a word, all that can make any part of the Theatral Action; and all Plays, which cannot in the same manner make all things known to the Reader, are certainly defective. But to do this well, there are many Ingenious Artifices to put such words in the mouth of an Actor, as may be a reasonable pretext for him to explain what is necessary for the understanding of the Subject; and these following Contrivances may serve for an Example.  
Sometimes the surprise of an Actor is a very agreeable way of doing it; so in Plautus' Curculio, Palinurus, is surprised to see Phaedromus come out of his House before day with Flambeaux and Servants loaden with Bottles of Wine.  
Sometimes one employs the compassion which he ought to have of the miserable state of some other Actor, as Electra in Euripides does, to make it known that her Brother was before the Gates of his Palace, laid all along wrapped up in his Cloak, and tormenting himself with his own disquiets.  
It may be done likewise by way of raillery; as in the Trinummus of Plautus, where Charmides, to describe the great broad brimmed Hat of a Cheat, disguised like a Soldier, says, I believe this fellow is of the race of the Toadstools, for he is all head.  
Or else it may be contrived, that two Actors shall show one another some thing extraordinary; as in the first Act of the Rudens of Plautus, where by that Artifice one is informed, that there has been a Shipwreck, that there are some persons yet alive swimming to the shore, that two women are alone in a small Bark, and are by the Waves carried upon the Sands, where they fall into the Sea, and then getting up again with much ado gain the shore.  
Sometimes by the Actions themselves the Actors are sufficiently known, as in Euripides, Polyphemus and the Satyrs drinking and growing drunk.  
Very often an Actor by a choleric word or action makes known what another Actor is doing; as in the Casina, Cleostrata seeming angry, makes it appear that her Husband is chucking of her with his hand, to bring her into good humour again. These may serve for Examples, many such being obvious to an ingenious Fancy.  
Not that a Poet need be very particular neither, he is not bound to make an Exact description of all the Columns, Porticoes, or other Ornaments of Architecture in a Temple or Palace; 'tis enough that he mention in general terms, the Decoration of his Theatre: And yet when any Circumstance is to have an Effect in the Play, than not only he may, but he must stay upon it a little; as in the Io of Euripides, where it not being permitted to the Women to go into the Temple of Apollo, they stay without and talk of the painting, which made the Ornament of it on the outside; and in the Mostellaria of Plautus, where Tranio desirous to persuade his Master Theuropides, that he had purchased the House of one of his Neighbours, only to get some Money upon that pretext out of the old Man, he shows him the Avenue of it, and makes him observe it's Vestibule, Pillars, and other Singularities, which must be supposed necessary in the decoration of the Stage, when the Play was acted.  
There is no necessity neither that many particulars should be explained, which are sufficiently understood by natural Consequence; as when a Poet shall make Horatius a Roman speak, he need not tell us what dress he is in, nor endeavour to make us admire the Generosity of his Sentiments; for 'tis of Necessity, that he should be dressed and speak like a Roman.  
Two things, which must never be forgot for the understanding of the Play, are the Time, which the Poet gives to the Theatral Action, and the Place where the Scene is laid. The Ancients have Practised this with so much Art, that often they that read their Plays hardly take Notice of it at first; Plautus opens the Stage in his Amphytrio, at the end of that long night which Jupiter had made on purpose to come and visit Alcmene in, before she was brought to bed; which appears clearly by the discourse of Sosias, who complains in the very first Scene of the length of the night, and says, that he believes Aurora has a Cup too much, and cannot wake soon enough; and the Play ends before Dinner, as it appears again by the Order which Jupiter, under the shape of Amphytrio, gives to Sosias, to go and invite Blepharo to Dinner, as soon as he shall have finished his Sacrifice; for after this Order given, all the Events are so quick, that 'tis plain that all the Intrigues which perplexed Amphytrio are first solved and made open.  
The same Author has been as careful to express the place of his Scene, as has been already showed in his Rudens and Curculio; and the same is observed in the Frogs of Aristophanes, and the Ajax of Sophocles.  
Very often it happens, that things are not explained just as they are done, but a good while after; as the Poet thinks most convenient, and where he can do it with the least Affectation. I shall give no other example, but that of Corneille in his Andromeda, where when the winds carry her away, Phineas is thrown to the ground by a Thunderclap, of which at that time no further notice is taken, but 'tis made known in the second Act, where Phineas complaining of the violence of the Gods against the endeavours he made to save Andromeda, says, That they were forced to strike him to the ground, to take that occasion to carry her away.  
And since I am fallen upon this Play, which is adorned with so many Machine's, I cannot but observe, that all the Decorations and extraordinary Actions which are in the third and fifth Act, are very dexterously explained, and with an Art worthy of a Grecian Theatre; but for that great Palace, which makes the Decoration of the first Act, and that Magnificent Temple, which does the same in the 4th, I think there is not one word said by which it may appear that they are there; and I was forced, when I read the Play, to have recourse in those places, to the explanation which is before each Act, or else I had never known what the Decoration had been; and to say truth, one may put the Temple in the first Act, and the Palace in the 4th, and it will do altogether as well, without being obliged to any change in the Verses, or order of the Subject; by which it appears, how requisite it is to explain the Decorations in the Play itself, to join judiciously the Subject with the Place, and Actions with Things, and so make a Total full of symmetry and ornament in all its parts▪   
The End of the First Book.   

THE Whole Art OF THE STAGE. The Second BOOK.  

CHAP. I.  
Of the Subject of Dramatic Poems.  
SUpposing here what the Poet ought to know of that part of a Drama, which the Ancients called the Fable; we, the Story or Romance; and I in this place, the Subject: I will only say that for Subjects merely invented, and of which one may as well make a Tragedy as a Comedy; if they do not take, 'tis perfectly the Poet's fault, and a fault without excuse or pretext, which he can never clear himself of; for being Master as well of the Matter as of the Form, the miscarriage of the Play can be attributed to nothing, but to his want of Conduct in the thing, and to the Errors of his own Imagination. But as for Subjects drawn from Story, or from the Fables of the Ancients, he is more exc●s●ble if he misses of success in the Representation of them, for he may be many ways constrained; as if a great man command him to preserve certain Circumstances, not so fit for the Stage, or that he does it himself out of some consideration more important to him than the Glory of being a good Poet would be. But if he be free in his choice, he may be sure that he shall be blamed if his Play does not take, it being certain, that Art out of an ill Story may make an excellent Drama; as for Example, if there be no Plot, the Poet must make one; if it be too intricate, he must make it loser and easier; if too open and weak, he must strengthen it by Invention, and so for the rest. On the other side, there is no Story so rich in itself, but an ill Poet may so spoil the beauty of it, that it will hardly be known to be the same Story.  
Besides, one is not to think, that all fine Stories are fit to appear with success upon the Stage; for very often the beautifullest part of them depends upon some Circumstance, which the Theatre cannot suffer; and it was for this, that I advised one who had a mind to undertake the Loves of Antiochus and Stratoniea, to let it alone; for the most considerable incident in it, being the cunning of the Physician in discovering the Prince's Passion, by causing all the Ladies in the Court to pass one by one before the Prince's Bed, that so by the emotion of his Pulse, he might judge which of them it was, that caused his Disease; I thought it would be very odd, to make a Play where the Hero of it should always be a bed, and that it would be hard to change the Circumstance so, as to preserve the Beauty of it; and that besides, the Time and Place of the Scene would be difficult to bring together; for if Antiochus be supposed sick a bed in the morning, 'twould be improbable to lay much action upon him all the rest of that day; and to place the Scene in a sick man's Chamber, or at his door, would be as unlikely.  
'Twas for the same Reason, that the Theodora of Corneille had not all the approbation it deserved: 'Tis in itself a most ingenious Play; the Plot being well carried, and full of variety; where all the hints of the true Story are made use of to advantage, the Changes and Turns very judicious, and the Passions and Verse worthy the Name of so great a man. But because the whole business turns upon the Prostitution of Theodora to the Public Stews, it could never please; not but that the Poet, in that too, has taken care to expose things with great modesty and nicety; but still one is forced to have the Idea of that ugly Adventure so often in ones Imagination, particularly in the Narrations of the 4th Act, that the Spectators cannot but have some disgust at it.  
There are a hundred Stories like these, and harder yet to manage for the Stage; and likewise on the contrary there are lucky ones, which seem to have happened on purpose; as that of Sophonisba, who is a Widow, and married again, loses her kingdom, and recovers it all in a day.  
The way therefore of choosing a Subject, is to consider whether it be founded upon one of these three things; either upon Noble Passions, as Mariam and the Cid; or upon an intricate and pleasing Plot, as Cleomedon, or the Disguised Prince; or upon some extraordinary Spectacle and Show, as Cyminda, or the Two Victims; and if the Story will bear more Circumstances of this nature, or that the Poet's imagination can fitly supply the Play with them, it will be still the better; provided, he observe a just moderation, for though a Poem ought not to be without a Plot, nor without Passions, or noble Spectacles, yet to load a Subject with any of them, is a thing to be avoided. Violent Passions, too often repeated, do as it were numm the Soul, and its Sympathy; the multitude of Incidents and Intrigues distract the Mind, and confound the Memory; and much Show takes up more time than can be allowed it, and is hard to bring on well. 'Tis for this reason, that some of our Poets who had contrived in every Act a memorable Incident, and a moving Passion, did not find that the success answered their Expectation.  
If I am asked, what is the measure of employing those things? I shall answer, 'tis every ones natural judgement; and it may happen that a Drama may be so luckily contrived, that the preparation of the Incidents, and the variety of the Passions, shall correct the defect of the abundance of them; and that the Art of the Machine's shall be so well understood, that they may easily be made use of in every Act, as I formerly propounded to Cardinal Richelieu, but hitherto they are little in use in our ordinary Theatres.  
'Tis besides most commonly asked here, how far the Poet may venture in the alterations of a true Story, 
Arist. c. 15.  in order to the fitting of it for the Stage. Upon which we find different Opinions among both the Ancient and Modern Critics; 
Quis nescit omnibus Epicis Poëtis historiam esse pro argumento? quam illi aut adumbratam, aut illustratam, certè alia facie quum ostendunt, ex historia conficiunt Poëma. Nam quid aliud Homerus? quid tragicis ipsis faciemus? Scal. l. 1. c. 2.  but my Opinion is, that he may do it not only in the Circumstances, but in the Principal Action itself; provided he make a very good Play of it: For as the Dramatic Poet does not much mind the time, because he is no Chronologist; no more does he, nor the Epic Poet, much mind the true Story, because they are no Historians; they take out of Story so much as serves their turn, and change the rest; not expecting that any body should be so ridiculous as to come to the Theatres to be instructed in the truth of History.  
The Stage therefore does not present things as they have been, but as they ought to be; for the Poet must in the Subject he takes reform every thing that is not accommodated to the Rules of his Art; as a Painter does when he works up on an imperfect Model.  
'Twas for this Reason that the death of Camilla by the hands of her Brother Horatius was never liked of upon the Stage, though it be a true Adventure; and I for my part gave my Opinion, that to save in some measure the truth of the Story, and yet not to offend against the decency of the Stage, it would have been better that that Unfortunate Maid, seeing her Brother come towards her with his Sword drawn, had run upon it of herself; for by that means she would still have died by the hand of Horatius, and yet he might have deserved some compassion, as unfortunate but innocent, and so the Story and the Stage would have been agreed.  
In a word, The Historian ought to recite matter of Fact, and if he judges of it, he does more than he ought to do; the Epic Poet is to magnify all Events by great Fictions, where truth is as it were sunk and lost; and the Dramatic Poet ought to show all things in a state of decency, probability, and pleasingness. 'Tis true, that if Story is capable of all the Ornaments of Dramatic Poetry, the Poet ought to preserve all the true Events; but if not, he is well grounded to make any part of it yield to the Rules of his Art, and to the Design he has to please.  
Many against this do allege the Authority of Horace, 
Hinc Horatius cum dixisset, Famam sequere, quod pertinent ad 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Voss. lib 1. c. 5.  who says, that he ought in Story to follow the common received Opinion, or at least to invent things that may be as conformable to it as possible. But I answer, that Horace in that place does not treat of the Subject of the Play, but of the Customs and Morals that ought to be given the Actors; who ought not to be represented different from what they were believed; as it would be to make Caesar a Coward, or Messalina chaste; and this Vossius has well observed in his Poetic Art, and I wonder that people should be abused by Citations applied quite contrary to the Sense of the Author; and yet I am not of opinion that a known Story, yet fresh in the minds of the People, can suffer to be considerably changed, without great caution; but in such a case I should advise the Poet rather to abandon such a subject, than to make an ill Play of it, out of a humour of following truth; or at least to manage it so, as to check directly the received Opinion among the Vulgar. If we examine well the Sense of Aristotle, I believe he will be found to be of this Opinion; and as for the Ancient Poets they have always taken that Liberty, the same Story having hardly ever been treated the same way by different Poets. As for example, The Adventures of Polydorus are very different in Euripides and Virgil. Sophocles kills Emon and Antigone, but Euripides, who has made the same Story in two Plays, marrys them together in one, contrary to what he himself had done before in the other called, The Phaenician Ladies. The same Sophocles in Oedipus makes Jocasta strangle herself, and Euripides makes her live till the combat of her Sons Eteocles and Polynices, and then kill herself upon their dead bodies. Orestes and Electra are very different in many Circumstances, though both Works of the same Poet. In a word, the four Tragic Poets of the Greeks, whose Works we have, are all different in the disposition of the same Stories, and I believe that they were the cause of that grand disorder and confusion there is in Story and Chronology in those old times, because that they having changed both the Times and Events for their own ends, they have influenced some Historians, who thought to pick out of them the truth of Story, and so made all things uncertain; any body that will read the Electra of Euripides, that of Sophocles, and the Caephores of Aeschilus, will easily see that they made no difficulty of contradicting one another, and themselves.  
As for the different kinds of Subjects, letting alone those ordinary divisions of Aristotle, and his Commentators, I here propose three sorts of Subjects.  
The first consists of Incidents, Intrigues, and new Events, when almost from Act to Act there is some sudden change upon the Stage, which altars all the Face of Affairs; when almost all the Actors have different Designs; and the means they take to make them succeed come to cross one another, and produce new and unforeseen Accidents, all which gives a marvellous satisfaction to the Spectators, it being a continual diversion, accompanied with an agreeable Expectation of what the Event will be.  
The second sort of Subjects are of those raised out of Passions; when out of a small Fund the Poet does ingeniously draw great Sentiments and noble Passions, to entertain the Auditory; and when out of Incidents that seem natural to his Subject, he takes occasion to transport his Actors into extraordinary and violent Sentiments, by which the Spectators are ravished, and their Soul continually moved with some new Impression.  
The last sort of Subjects are the mixed or compound of Incidents and Passions, when by unexpected Events, but Noble ones, the Actors break out into different Passions; and that infinitely delights the Auditory, to see at the same time surprising Accidents, and noble and moving Sentiments, to which they cannot but yield with pleasure.  
Now 'tis certain, that in all these three sorts of Subjects the Poet may succeed, provided the disposition of his Play be ingenious; but yet I have observed some difference, according to which they take more or less.  
Subjects full of Plot and Intrigue are extreme agreeable at first, but being once known, they do not the second time please us so well, because they want the graces of Novelty, which made them charm us at first, all our delight consisting in being surprised, which we cannot be twice.  
The Subjects full of Passions last longer, and affect us more, because the Soul which receives the impression of them, does not keep them so long, nor so strongly, as our Memory does the Events of things; nay, often it happens, that they please us more at second seeing, because that the first time we are employed about the Event and Disposition of the Play, and by consequent do less enter into the Sentiments of the Actors; but having once no need of applying our thoughts to the Story, we busy them about the things that are said, and so receive more Impressions of grief of fear.  
But it is out of doubt, that the mixed or compound are the most excellent sort, for in them the Incidents grow more pleasing by the Passions which do as it were uphold them, and the Passions seem to be renewed, and spring afresh, by the variety of the unthought of Incidents; so that they are both lasting, and require a great time to make them lose their Graces.  
We are not to forget here (and I think it one of the best Observations that I have made upon this Subject) that if the Subject is not conformable to the Customs and Manners, as well as Opinions of the Spectators, it will never take, what pains soever the Poet himself take, and whatsoever Ornaments he employs to set his Play off. For all Dramatic Poems must be different, according to the People before whom they are represented; and from thence often proceeds that the success is different, though the Play be still the same. Thus the Athenians delighted to see upon their Theatre the Cruelties of Kings, and the Misfortunes befalling them, the Calamities of Illustrious and Noble Families, and the Rebellion of the whole Nation for an ill Action of the Prince, because the State in which they lived being Popular, they loved to be persuaded that Monarchy was always Tyrannical, hoping thereby to discourage the Noble Men of their own Commonwealth from the attempt of seizing the Sovereignty, out of fear of being exposed to the the fury of a Commonalty, who would think it just to murder them. Whereas quite contrary among us, the respect and love which we have for our Princes, cannot endure that we should entertain the Public with such Spectacles of horror; we are not willing to believe that Kings are wicked, nor that their Subjects, though with some appearance of ill usage, aught to Rebel against their Power; or touch their Persons, no not in Effigy; and I do not believe that upon our Stage a Poet could cause a Tyrant to be murdered with any applause, except he had very cautiously laid the thing: As for Example, that the Tyrant were an Usurper, and the right Heir should appear, and be owned by the People, who should take that occasion to revenge the injuries they had suffered from the Tyrant; but Usurpation alone, against the will of the People, would not justify without horror the death of the Sovereign by the hands of his rebellious Subjects: We have seen the trial of it in a Play called Timoleon, whom no consideration of State or common Good, no love nor generosity towards his Country, could hinder from being considered as the Murderer of his Brother and his Prince; and for my part I esteem that Author who avoided to have Tarquin killed upon the Stage, after the violence he had offered to Lucretia. The cruelty of Alboin inspired horror into the whole French Court, though otherwise it were a Tagedy full of noble Incidents and lofty Language.  
We have had upon our Stage the Esther of Mr. Du Ryer, adorned with great Events, fortified with strong Passions, and composed in the whole with great Art; but the success was much unluckier at Paris, than at Roüens; and when the Players at their teturn to Paris told us the good fortune they had had at Roüens, every body wondered at it, without being able to guests the cause of it; but for my part I think that Roüen, being a Town of great Trade, is full of a great Number of Jews, some known, and some concealed, and that by that reason they making up a good part of the Audience, took more delight in a piece which seemed entirely Jewish, by the Conformity it had to their Manners and Customs.  
We may say the same thing of Comedies; for the Greeks and Romans, with whom the Debauches of young People with Courtesans was but a laughing matter, took pleasure to see their Intrigues represented, and to hear the discourses of those public Women, with the tricks of those Ministers of their Pleasures countenanced by the Laws. They were also delighted to see old covetous men overreached, and cheated of their money, by the circumvention of their Slaves, in favonr of their young Masters; they were sensible to all these things, because they were subject to them one time or another; but amongst us all this would be ill received; for as Christian Modesty does not permit persons of Quality to approve of those Examples of Vice, so neither do the Rules by which we govern our Families allow of those slights of our Servants, nor do we need to defend ourselves against them. 'Tis for the same Reason that we see in the French Court, Tragedies take a great deal better than Comedies; and that on the contrary, the People are more affected with the latter, and particularly with the Farces and Buffooneries of the Stage; for in this Kingdom the persons of good Quality, and Education, have generous thoughts and designs, to which they are carried either by the Motives of Virtue or Ambition, so that their life has a great Conformity with the Characters of Tragedy; but the people, meanly born and dirtily bred, have low Sentiments, and are thereby disposed to approve of the meaness and filthiness represented in Farces, as being the Image of those things which they both use to say and do; and this aught to be taken notice of, not only in the principal part of the Poem, but in all its parts, and particularly in the Passions, as we shall say more amply in a Chapter about them; for if there be any Act or Scene that has not that conformity of manners to the Spectators, you will suddenly see the applause cease, and in its place a discontent succeed, though they themselves do not know the cause of it. For the Stage and Eloquence are alike in this, that their Perfections and Faults are equally perceived by the Ignorant and by the Learned, though the cause is not equally known to them.   

CHAP. II.  
Of Probability and Decency.  
HEre is the bottom and ground work of all Dramatic Poems; 
The French word is uraysemblance, for which we have not an English word Expressive of all its Sense.  many talk of it, but few understand it; but this is the general touchstone, by which all that comes to pass in a Play is to be tried and examined, and it is the very Essence of the Poem, without which nothing rational can be done or said upon the Stage.  
'Tis a general Maxim, that Truth alone is not the Subject of our Theatres, 
Synes in Caluit. encom. p. 72. edit. Paris. an. 1612.  because there are many Truths which ought not to be seen, and many that cannot be represented publicly; therefore Synesius has said very well, that Poetry and other Arts, founded in Imitation, follow not Truth but the common Opinion of men. It is very true, that Nero caused his Mother to be murdered, and then had her cut up to see the place, where he had lain nine Months before he was born; but this Barbarity, though pleasant to him that executed it, would yet be not only horrible to those, to whom it should be showed, but incredible because such a thing ought not to have come to pass: I believe that amongst the great number of Stories, from which the Poet may take Subjects, there is hardly any one which in all its true Circumstances is fitted for the Stage, so as to be represented without altering something of the Event, the Time, the Persons, and many other particulars.  
That which is simply possible is left a Subject for Plays, for many things may come to pass by the recounter of Natural Causes (or the adventures of humane Life) which yet would be ridiculous, and almost incredible, to be represented. 'Tis possible that a Man may die suddenly, and that happens often; but That Poet would be strangely laughed at, who to rid the Stage of a troublesome Rival, should make him die of an Apoplexy, as of a common Disease; and it would need exceeding ingenious and artful preparations.  
There is nothing therefore but Probability, 
Res esse oport in ipsis etia▪ Comoedijs adm●dum verisimiles ut tametsi ficta representari magis quam fingi videantur Scal. lib. 6. cap 3.  that can truly found a Dramatic Poem, as well as adorn and finish it; not that True and Possible things are banished off the Stage, but they are received upon it, only so far as they are Probable; and therefore all the Circumstances, that want this Character, are to be altered so as to attain it, if they hoped to appear in public.  
I shall not here expatiate upon ordinary and extraordinary Probability, the Masters of the Art have made ample Treatises about it; and no body is ignorant, that things naturally impossible become possible, and even probable, by the Power of God Almighty, or That of the Devil; and that the Probability of the Stage does not oblige to represent only those things which happen according to the common course of Humane Life, but likewise gives leave to launch into the wonderful Accidents of it, which makes the Events so much the more surprising, if they are still probable; but that which I have observed in this matter, is, That few have understood, how far this Probability ought to reach; every body indeed believing that it ought to be observed in the principal Action of the Poem, and likewise in the most sensible Incidents of it, but they went no further. Now is it most certain, that the least Actions, brought upon the Stage, aught to be probable, or else they are entirely faulty, and should not appear there. There is no Action of Humane Life so perfectly single, as not to be accompanied by many little Circumstances, which do make it up; as are the Time, the Place, the Person, the Dignity, the Designs, the Means, and the Reasons of the Action; and since the Stage ought ot be a perfect Image of Action, it ought to represent it entire, and that Probability and Decency be observed in all its parts. When a King speaks upon the Stage, he must speak like a King, and that is the Circumstance of his Dignity, against which nothing ought to be done with Decency; except there be some other reason to dispense with this last, as that he were in disguise. Besides, without doubt a King speaking according to his Dignity must be supposed to be somewhere, and therefore the Stage must carry the Image of the place where he than was, for there are things which in Probability ought not to be done or said, but in certain places. It ought also to appear, in what time he spoke, for one ought to speak differently in different times, as a Prince before he gives Battle, will speak otherwise than after he has won it, or lost it.  
Therefore to preserve this Probability in the Circumstances of the Treatral Action, the Poet must be Master of the Rules of the Stage, and Practise them, for they teach nothing else, to make all the parts of an Action appear with Probability and Decency, and to represent a whole and entire Image of them.  
To this some have said, That Reason and Common Sense are sufficient of themselves to Judge of all these things. I grant it, but it must be Reason and common Sense, instructed in the affairs of the Stage, and in what is designed to be represented: For suppose, that a Man of good Sense should have never seen nor heard of a Play, and be brought to see one, without being told what it is he is carried to; 'tis certain that he will hardly know, whether the Players be true Kings and Princes, or only the Images of them; and when he does know, that all that is but a Fiction, yet will he scarce be able to judge of the Faults or Perfections of the Play, without making many Reflections to consider, whether what is represented be profitable or no? For to judge perfectly of a Dramatic Poem, our Natural Reason must be instructed and enured to that kind of Images, which are made use of by men to represent any Action, and know precisely, how Probability is to be preserved in all the strokes of this animated Picture; and that cannot be attained to, but by a great number of Observations made by length of time and different Persons. The Art of the Stage was by these Observations framed by the Ancients, and had so slow a Progress, that from Thespis, who first added an Actor to the Chorus, who before that acted Tragedies alone, to the time of Aristotle, who reduced these Rules into an Art, there passed two hundred years: He therefore that, on a sudden without study or reflection, will pronounce his Judgement of a Play, will often find himself mistaken; because 'tis very hard he should have before his Eyes on a sudden all those Considerations, which are requisite to examine the Probability of what has been represented; and it has often happened, that People of very good understanding have at first commended some Actions of the Stage for well invented things, which upon being better informed, they have found contrary to all Probability and Ridiculous.  
But it is a much stranger thing, and yet very true, that I have seen People, who had for many years composed Plays themselves, read a Play of another's, and that over and over again, and yet never find out the length of time, nor the place of the Scene, nor many of the Circumstances of the most important Actions, so as to judge whether they were probable or not. Heinsius himself, though very Learned, 
Plautus novem menses uno Dramate complexus est, ut vix maior ampliorque Homericae Iliados quam Amphitryonis sit periodus: Alcumena autem concipit & parit; quod si fieret, iam nullo episodio opus esset, ideoque nec ars esset comoediam scribere.  and who has published the Art of composing Tragedies, is so far mistaken in the Amphitryon of Plautus, as to think it contains nine Months, though it do not really contain above eight hours, and at least is comprehended between Midnight and Noon the day following. Vossius, one of the most Learned of our time, and very understanding in the Art of Poetry, writes as He does, that Plautus in his Amphytrion makes Hercules be conceived and born in one Night, though 'tis certain he supposes him Conceived seven Months before; and Mercury says it twice expressly in the Play; therefore I think myself bound to give my Readers warning, 
Heins. in Horat.  that of all that that excellent man has made, 
Voss. lib. 2. c. 3.  there is nothing to be so carefully avoided, 
Ridicule se that Plautus, cum in Amphitry●ne fingat eadem die Alcumenam & concipere & parere.  as his Third Chapter of his First Book, where he treats of the Errors of Poets, and pretends to Correct the Ancients▪ for he himself falls into much greater. Scaliger has said in two places, that in Aeschylus, Prometheus is killed by a Thunder-Bolt, 
Hodie illa pariet filios geminos duos, alter decumo post mense nascetur puer quam seminatus est; alter mense septumo. Amphitry.  and yet 'tis certain that he is only carried away in the storm, and that appears by the words of Prometheus, and those of Mercury, who both say it clearly enough. There are those who have read Aeschylus over and over, and yet have been so negligent in observing of him, that they believe (and amongst them, 
Act. 1. sc. 2.  the Author of the Argument of his Agamemnon is one) that he makes Agamemnon be murdered upon the Stage, 
Lib. 7. c. 4. Poet. & lib. 3. c. 97.  though it be said by the Chorus, that they hear the Cries and Lamentations he makes in his Palace, and are ready to break in, to see what's the matter; from which Resolution they are diverted by the Arrival of Clytaemnestra, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  who comes and tells, how she had with her own hand committed that Cruel action. Many Learned Men have said, That the Third Comedy of Terence contained two days; Scaliger, Muretus, 
Arg. Agam. Aeschyl.  Vossius, F. Membrun, and others have been of that Opinion; but it does not contain above ten hours, as I have made it appear, in my Dissertation of Terence Justified. And Monsieur Menage, who writ upon this Subject, only to contradict Truth out of Malignity, has not dared to allow it above 14 or 15 hours, and to compass that, he has been fain, to pervert the Order of the Athenian Months, that he might shorten the day, and lengthen the night, and so overthrow the Oeconomy of Nature, to find some Fault with the Disposition of the Play.  
I have seen some others, whom I had much difficulty to persuade, that in the Phoenicians of Euripides, the Electra of Sophocles, and the Clouds of Aristophanes, the Unity of place was observed; so much do old Errors sometimes blind us: And so true it is, that in this Art, as well as in all others, our natural Reason needs the knowledge of the Rules of the Art, to judge well of the Perfection or Faults of the product of the Art, and I dare boldly say, that whoever shall read this Treatise, shall condemn many things which they formerly thought very Rational.   

CHAP. III.  
Of the Unity of Action.  
'TIS one of Aristotle's Rules, and without doubt a very Rational one, that a Dramatic Poem ought to comprehend but one Action; and he does very pertinently condemn those, who make a Play of the whole Story, or Life of a Hero. For though we speak but of one principal Part, on which all the other Events, bad and good, do depend; yet there are divers subordinate Actions. But to explain this more particularly, I will here give the Reason of this Rule, as I apprehend it; and how likewise one may comprehend upon the Stage divers Incidents in one Action.  
'Tis certain, that the Stage is but a Picture or Image of Humane Life; and as a Picture cannot show us at the same time two Originals, and be an accomplished Picture: It is likewise impossible that two Actions, I mean principal ones, should be represented reasonably by one Play. Let us consider what the Painter does, who is to make a Picture of some Story; he has no other design, but to give the Image of some Action, and that Action is so limited, that it cannot represent two parts of a Story together, and less all the Story upon which he has fixed; because it would be necessary that the same Person should be Painted, and appear in different places, which would make a strange Confusion in the whole Picture, and it would be hard to distinguish any Order amongst so many different Actions; and by consequent, the Story would be very obscure and confused: Therefore instead of that, the Painter would choose, amongst All the Actions which made up the Story, the most important One, and the fittest for the Excellency of his Art, and which in some measure should contain all the others; so that with one look one might have a sufficient knowledge of all that he designed to express; and if he desired to express two parts of the same Story, he would make in some corner of the Picture a Lontananza, where he would paint that other Action, which he had a mind to represent, that he might make it be understood, that he designed the painting of two different Actions, and that it was two Pictures, and not one.  
As for Example, Suppose he designed to draw the Story of Iphigenia, it would be hard for him to comprehend in one Picture, all the Adventures of that Princess; therefore he would choose that of the Sacrifice, which the Greeks were going to make of her to Diana, to appease her Anger, and the storms of the Sea; for in this Action her whole Story would in some measure be comprehended. The storms of the Sea, which kept the Fleet in the Port of Aulide, would be considered as the Cause; the Grief of her Father, and the Compassion of the other Grecian Princes, would be the Circumstances; and her being carried away by that Goddess herself, as an extraordinary Favour, by which she was to be saved; and than if he had a mind to express that Diana carried her to Tauris, where she was upon the point of Sacrificing her Brother Orestes, he would put her in one of the Corners of his Picture, in the particular dress of Diana's Priestess, with some other marks of this second Adventure, and so make two Pictures of two different Actions of the same Story.  
The Dramatic Poet must imitate the Painter, and when he undertakes the Composition of a Play, he must reckon that he undertakes to make a living speaking Picture, and that therefore he cannot comprehend in it a whole History, or the Life of an Hero, because he would be necessitated to represent an infinite number of Events, and employ a vast number of Actors, and mingle so many things, that he would make up a work of perfect Confusion, and would be forced in most places to offend against Probability and Decency, and to go beyond the time and extent, ordinarily allowed to Dramatic Poems; or if he would keep within the limits of the Rules of his Art, he would be forced to hasten all the Incidents, and as it were heap them one upon another, without either Graces or Distinction, and so be obliged to stifle and suppress all the Passionate strokes; and in a word, show such a Monstrous Extravagant Image, as They have done, who have represented in the First Act of a Tragedy, the Marriage of a Princess; in the Second, the Birth of her Son; in the Third, the Amours of that young Prince; in the Fourth, his Victories; and in the Fifth, his Death; in all which there was matter enough for above twenty Plays. Our Poet therefore, amidst this vast extent, shall pitch upon some one remarkable Action; and as one may say, a point of Story, notable by the Happiness or Misfortune of some Illustrious Person, in which point he may comprehend, as Circumstances, all the rest of the Story, and by representing one chief part make the whole known by some sleight to the Spectators, without multiplying the principal Action, and without retrenching any of the necessary Beauties to the perfection of his Work; and if by chance he should meet in the same Story with two or more Actions, so considerable, that they each of them deserved a Play, and so independent or opposite to each other, as not to be reconciled; he ought to make Two or More plays of them, or choose the most Important, and particularly, the most Pathetic for his Subject.  
Thus the Suppliants of Euripides do not contain the whole War of Thebes, but only the Burial of the two Princes of Argos. Hecuba contains not the taking of Troy, but the last misfortunes of that Queen in her Captivity. The Ajax of Sophocles, shows not all the Exploits of War of that Hero, nor his Disputes with Ulysses for the Arms of Achilles, but only represents his madness, which was the cause of his Death; and so we may say of most of the ancient Plays. But in all these the Poets have showed so much Art, as to instruct the Spectators, either by Narrations, Discourses, Complaints, or other sleights of the Art, in all the Circumstances of those Stories which they treated.  
As likewise, when the Subjects, that fell into their Hands, were of too great an Extent to be comprehended in one Play, and having in them many Actions of equal importance, they have made different Pictures of that, which could not be comprehended under one Image.  
Euripides has not confounded the Sacrifice of Iphigenia in Aulis, with the Adventures of the same Princess in Scythia. Aeschylus in one Play causes Agamemnon to be murdered by Clytaemnestra; and in another brings her to punishment for it; and from thence it comes amongst the Ancients, many Plays have the same Name, and often many Events of the same Story are represented in different Plays, which indeed was some ways necessary in Athens; for as their Poets were to work for the Solemnity of the four great Feasts or holidays, and to have four Plays for each of them; of which there were three to be Serious, and the fourth Satyrical or Comical, which made up the Tetralogy. I am of Opinion, they took all their Subjects from the same Story, as I have showed more at length in my Terence Justified.  
Now, as to the manner of bringing many different Incidents into one Action, and to make a Poem of them, which shall naturally contain many Acts, and different Scenes; to explain this well, I return to the comparison of Painting, which I have so often used already.  
We have said that a Picture can represent but one Action, but it ought to be understood one principal Action, for the Painter may very well place in the same Picture many Actions, which depend upon that chief Action, which he pretends principally to represent. And indeed there is no one action of Life so single, but it was preceded, accompanied, and followed by many others, all which do compose it, and give it its Being: Therefore the Painter must, whether he will or no, draw these subordinate Actions, or else his principal one is imperfect. If he paints the Sacrifice of Iphigenia, he cannot place her all alone at the foot of Diana's Altar, or without any body, but Chalchas who is to sacrifice her; but rather, following the Example of the Painter Tim●ntes, he will place there all the Grecian Princes with sad Countenances; Menelaus her Uncle shall be extremely afflicted; Clytaemnestra, her Mother, sh●ll be expressed all in Tears and despair; and Agamemnon, her Father, with a Veil upon his Face, to hide the weakness of his Nature to the chief of the Greeks, and yet allow something by this slight to the excess of his Grief; he will not forget to make Diana appear in the Sky, ready to stop the Arm and Sword of Chalchas, because all these Actions do as it were wait upon, and make up this doleful Religious Action, which else would be weak and naked of all its Ornaments, without all these ingenious Circumstances.  
'Tis in the same manner, that a Dramatic Poem ought not to contain above one Action, but it must be brought upon the Stage entire, with all its Dependencies, and nothing must be forgot of those Circumstances, which naturally are appropriated to it: And of this I think I need not propose any Example; but it will not be amiss to give our Poet one Advertisement, which is, That if the principal Action be in the Story loaded with too many Incidents, he must reject the least important, and least pathetic ones; and on the contrary, if the Story want those Incidents, he must supply that want by his own Fancy, which he may do two ways.  
First, either by inventing some Intrigues, which naturally might make a part of the principal Action: Thus the Author of the Tragedy of the Horatius' has very well invented the Marriage of Sabina, Sister to the Curiatius', with the Eldest of their Enemies, that so he might introduce the Passions of a Wife, to mingle with those of Camilla, who was a Maid, and in love with one of the Curiatius'.  
Secondly, He may seek out in Story, things that have happened before or after the Action, which makes the Subject of his Play, and with Art join them to his Plot, saving still the differences of times and places, according as we shall show in the following Chapters. This has been observed by the Author of Cleopatra, who makes Octavia, Antony's Wife, come privately to Alexandria, and so has the pleasure of showing so great a Lady with all her generous Sentiments.  
But we are to observe here, that the Poet, as near as he can, aught to take his Action as single as possible; because he will still be so much the more Master of the Passions, and other Ornaments of his Play, which by that means he can show to the best advantage; whereas, if he meets with them in Story, they will still be clogged with some Circumstances, which will constrain the whole Design, and give him a great deal of trouble; and in short, little and single Subjects in the hands of an ingenious Poet, who knows how to work them, 
Argumentum brevissimum sumendum, idque▪ maxim varium multiplexque faciendum. l. 3. c. 97. Scal.  cannot miscarry. 'Tis Scaliger's advice, and we have seen the proof of it in Alcionea, a Play of Mr. Du Ryers, which though it had no fund in Story, nevertheless ravished the Audience, by the force of the Passions, and richness of the Style. And on the contrary, all those, who in the same Poem, have brought in divers illustrious important Actions, have stifled the Beauty of them all, in not giving room enough to the Passions, as we have experienced in some Plays, where all the Actions, though in some measure depending on a principal one, yet were so strong in themselves, that they hindered each other, and were every one of them capable of being the subject of a Play.   

CHAP. IU.  
Of the Continuity of the Action.  
AFter the Poet has chosen the Subject or Story, which he thinks capable of the Ornaments of Dramatic Poetry, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  and that he has fixed upon the point, 
Arist. Poet. cap. 11.  in which he will make the Unity of his Theatral Action consist; 
Govean. in Terent. Heaut.  he must remember, that his Action ought to be not only one, but continued, that is, 
Scalig. lib. 6. cap. 3. Poet.  That from the opening of the Stage, to the very closing of the Catastrophe, from the first Actor, that appears upon the Scene, to the last that goes off; the principal Persons of the Play must be always in Action; and the Theatre must carry continually, and without any interruption the face of some Designs, Expectations, Passions, Troubles, Disquiets, and other such like Agitations, which may keep the Spectators in a belief, that the Action of the Theatre is not ceased, but still going on. This is one of the Precepts of Aristotle, as well as of Reason; and his Interpreters have always observed the Cessation of Action for one of the greatest Faults of the Drama; 'tis of this fault, that some People, but impertinently, do accuse Terence in his Third Comedy, called Heautontimoreumenos; but I have sufficiently justified him elsewhere. The Ancient Tragedians could hardly fail in the observation of this Rule, because they had Choruses, and the business of those Choruses being to represent those who were present upon the Scene at the time of the Action, 'tis probable they would have gone off as soon as they should have seen the Action cease, as having no pretext to stay there any longer. 'Tis besides certain, that if upon our Stages the Action should cease in the middle of the Play, or about the Second or Third Act, all the Intrigues being finished, nor no preparation for any new Incident or Passion to come, the Spectators would be in the right to rise and be gone, since they would have reason to believe the Play done, and if they stayed any longer, knowing there were two or three Acts to come, it would be only by the knowledge they had of what the Poet ought to do, and not by any hint of his, to prepare them for it; as if a man happened to be there, who had never seen a Play, 'tis certain he would be lief it at an end, as soon as he had nothing new to expect; and in this case, I have seen sometimes Ladies ask, if the Play were done, though they had often been at Plays, and knew they were generally of greater length; so much does the Cessation of the Action upon the Stage surprise the Spectators, and persuades them that there is nothing more to come. If we seek the reason of it, it is because the Action would not be one, if it were not continued; for Moral Actions, such as are those of the Theatre, come to be divided and multiplied, whenever they break off; and are interrupted for then, if they begin again, they are two Theatral Actions, both of them Imperfect. 'Tis for this that the best Dramatic Poets always use to make their Actors say, where they are going, and what is their Design, when they go off of the Stage, that one may know, that they are not idle while they are absent, but are acting something of their part, though one sees them not.  
But when we say, that the chief Persons in the Play are always to be in Action, we do not mean by that, the Hero or Heroine of the Play, for they often Act the least, and yet suffer the most in the whole Business; for in regard to the Continuity of the Action, the Principal Actors are those who carry on the Intrigue or business of the Play, it may be a Slave, a waiting Woman, a Cheat, or some such Person; and for the Continuity, 'tis enough if the least Actor is but doing, provided it be necessarily, and that the Spectator from his working may naturally expect some important change or adventure in the Subject.  
'Tis worth observing too, that often in appearance the Action of the Stage ceases, though it be not really so; which happens when the Poet prepares an Incident, which is to appear afterwards, and of which one of the Actors speaks slightly, and en passant, which is an Artifice of the Poets.  
The Example is very ingenious in the Ajax of Sophocles, where the Action seems entirely to cease in the beginning of the Third Act, but is continued by a Messenger, who comes and tells of Teucer's Arrival in the Camp, and of all that had been done there since his coming, concerning his Brother's Fury, and the Cure of it, by which means the Action is not only well renewed, but continued; because in the precedent Acts, Ajax often speaks, and complains of the length of his Brother's absence, which makes all the Spectators wish his return, as a means to save Ajax himself, so that when the news of his Arrival is brought, it appears that the Action had not ceased at all, for Teucer was acting in the Camp for his Brother according to the expectation of the Audience; of all which nevertheless there comes nothing to pass of what they hoped, and 'tis in that that consists the Poets chief Art, to promise that which never comes to pass, and to bring that to pass which he does not promise.  
'Tis necessary to observe here besides, that the Theatral Action does not always cease, though all the Actors be in Repose, and as it were without Action; because that sometimes 'tis a necessary Action of the Play, that they all should be so; and the Spectator expects some Event from the Actors doing of nothing. This we shall make clear by Examples, and particularly by the Plutus of Aristophanes, where we see that after the Second Act, the Actors carry Plutus to the Temple of Aesculapius, to cure him of his Blindness, where they go to Bed to sleep, and remain without Action; for this Sleep and Repose was the Natural state, in which they were to be, to receive from that God, the favour of being cured, and is by consequent a necessary Action to the Stage. By which it appears, 
Resp. au discours sur l'Heautont. p. 7. ed. 2. p. 102.  how much Monsieur Menage has been mistaken, to believe that the Action of the Stage ceased as to those who were asleep, and was only continued in the Person of Carrion who was awake; for 'tis quite contrary, he that is awake is a Slave who eats and steals the remainder of the Sacrifice without any regard to the Subject of the Play; and they who sleep do that which Custom prescribed to those, who were to expect a Cure from Aesculapius, and as Plutus and his Companions did: One might say, perhaps, that the Action of Aesculapius, who cures Plutus and what Carrion saw, as he tells it afterwards, are enough to continue the Action; but still there would be a breach and some time lost in it, from that in which the Actors lie down to the time of Aesculapius' coming, if it were not true, that their very lying down and going to sleep, continues the Action of the Comedy.  
This Chapter may receive some more light by the Treatise I have made upon the third Comedy of Terence, where I have touched this matter, and by what I have done upon that Author, it will be easy to find, how to examine the Ancients, if one would discover the Artifices, which they use to observe in this Continuity of the Action of the Theatre.   

CHAP. V.  
Of the Subjects with two Walks, whereof one is by Modern Authors called Episode.  
OUR Modern Authors do now by an Episode mean a Second Story, which comes as it were cross the principal Subject of the Play, and some for this Reason call it a Play with two Walks; but the Ancient Poets have not known, or at least have not practised this Multiplicity of Subjects: Aristotle makes no mention of it, and I know no Example of it, except some will say that the Orestes of Euripides is of this kind, because there are two Marriages concluded in the Catastrophe; but there is not in the Body Body of the Play any mixture of Intrigues, to carry on those two Amours, and bring them to this Conclusion.  
Comedy has been otherwise managed, for having received many more Changes than Tragedy, from what they Both were at first; it has admitted of this mixture of two Stories in the same Play: And we have yet some in Plautus, and a great many in Terence, who may afford an Instruction how to compose with Art and Grace that sort of Plays better than Plautus.  
But however, not standing here upon the word Episode, which amongst the Ancients signified quite another thing. I am content the signification of the Word should be according to our Modern Authors; and do allow that Tragedy may have some Episodes, as well as the Epic Poems, and not unlike them; but in Tragedy there are two things to be observed. First, That these Episodes, or Second Stories be so incorporated into the chief Subject, that they cannot be separated from it, without spoiling the whole Play; for else the Episode would be looked upon as a superfluous and troublesome part, which would but hinder the Union of the chief Adventures, and slacken the motion of the Incidents, which tend to a Conclusion; as indeed in the Play, of our time the most applauded, the Episode of the Princess' love has been condemned by all, 
The Cid.  because it was absolutely useless. Therefore to avoid that Inconvenience, 'tis necessary that the Person engaged in the Episode, be not only concerned in the Success of the Affairs of the Stage; but besides, the Adventures of the Hero or Heroine ought to be of that concern to the Persons of the Episode, as that the Audience may rationally apprehend some mischief, or hope some good out of those Persons for the whole concern of the Stage; and for the interest of those who seem strangers, and are not then unusefully so.  
The other Observation to be made about these Episodes, is, That the second Story must not be equal in its Subject, nor in its Necessity, to that which is the foundation of the Play, but it must be subordinate to it, and so depend upon it, that the Events of the principal Subject cause the Passions of the Episode; and that the Catastrophe of the first produce naturally and of its self the Catastrophe of the second, or else the principal Action would be no longer so. These are the two Reflections, which I have made upon the Episodes of our Modern Poets, which may give hints to better understandings than mine, to make some more considerable ones.   

CHAP. VI  
Of the Unity of Place.  
AFter the Poet has ordered his Subject according to the Rules we have given, or it may be Better, which his own Industry and Study may furnish him with; he must reflect, that the best part of it must be represented by Actors, which must be upon a Stage fixed and determinated; for to make his Actors appear in different places, would render his Play ridiculous, by the want of Probability, which is to be the foundation of it.  
This Rule of Unity of Place begins now to be looked upon as certain; but yet the ignorant, and some others of weak judgement, do still imagine that it cannot but be repugnant to the Beauty of the Incidents of a Play; because that they, happening often in great distance of place, cannot but lose by this constraint; and therefore whatsoever Reason you oppose against their imaginations, they fancy a false impossibility in the Execution, and reject stubbornly all that's said to convince them; on the other side, those that are but half read in Antiquity, do well perceive the strength of what it alleged for this Rule, but yet they make Objections so unbecoming a literate thinking man, that they have often moved pity in me, though I had more mind to laugh at them. 'Tis the property of little Genius's not to be able to comprehend many things at the same time, so as to reduce them to a point; their judgement not being able to assemble so many images as they must have present all at once; and therefore they make so many difficulties, that 'tis easy to see, they would be glad that there were Reasons wanting to convince them.  
As for the truly Learned, they are thoroughly convinced of the necessity of this Rule, because they see clearly that Probability can no ways be preserved without it; but I may boldly say, that hitherto no one of them has explained this Rule, and made it intelligible, either because we do not take the Pains of making all the necessary reflections upon the Works of the Ancients, to discover the Art which is most commonly hid in them, and which always ought to be so, without an apparent necessity of the Subject or the Interest of the Actors; or else because no body strives to go beyond the first great Masters, and what They have neglected is given over most commonly by their Followers.  
Aristotle has said nothing of it, and I believe he omitted it, because that this Rule was in his time too well known; the Chorus', which ordinarily remained upon the Stage from one end of the Play to the other, marking the unity of the Scene too visibly to need a Rule for it; and indeed, would it not have been ridiculous, that in the Play called the Seven before Thebes, the young Women who make the Chorus, should have found themselves sometimes before the Palace of the King, and sometimes in the Camp of the Enemies, without ever stirring from the same place; and the Three famous Tragedians of the Greeks, whose Works we have, are so punctual in the Observation of this Rule, and do so often make their Actors say, where they are, and whence they come; that Aristotle must have supposed too much Ignorance in his Age, and in those who should read these Poets, if he had gone about to Explain so settled a Rule. But since the Ignorance and Barbarity of some past Ages have brought such disorder upon the Stage, to make people in the Play appear in different parts of the World on the same Stage, it will not be amiss to give here at length the Reason of this Rule, so well practised by the Ancients, and that in honour of some of our Modern Poets, who have very handsomely imitated them.  
To understand it then, we must have recourse to our ordinary Principle, which is, that the Stage is but a Representation of things; and yet we are not to imagine, that there is any thing of what we really see, but we must think the things themselves are there of which the Images are before us. 
Loci ficti vera Loca imitantur. Scal. l. 1. cap. 13.  So Floridor is much less Floridor, than the Horatius of whom he acts the Part, for his dress is Roman, he speaks, acts, and thinks as that Roman did at that time; but as that Roman could not but be in some place acting and speaking, the place where Floridor appears does represent that where Horatius was, or else the Representation would be imperfect in that Circumstance.  
This Truth, well understood, makes us to know that the place cannot change in the rest of the Play, since it cannot change in the Representation, for one and the same Image remaining in the same state, cannot represent two different things; now it is highly improbable, that the same space, and the same floor, which receive no change at all, should represent two different places; as for Example, France and Denmark; or within Paris itself, the Tueilleries and the Exchange; at least to do it with some sort of colour, one should have of that sort of Theatres which turn quite round and entire, that so the Place might change as well as the Persons acting; and to do this, the Subject of the Play ought to furnish some Reason for this change, and as that cannot well happen, but by the Power of God Almighty, who changes as he pleases the Face of Nature, I doubt it would be hard to make a reasonable Play without a dozen Miracles at least.  
Let it then be allowed for a certain truth, that the Place, where the first Actor, who opens the Play, is supposed to be, aught to be the same place to the end of the Play; and that, it not being in the ordinary course of Nature, that the place can receive any change, there can be none likewise in the Representation; and by consequent, that all your other Actors cannot rationally appear in any other place.  
But we must remember, that this Place, which cannot be supposed to change, is the Area or floor of the Stage, upon which the Actors walk, and which the Ancients called by the name of Proscenium; for as that represents that spot of ground, upon which the persons represented did actually walk and discourse, which could not turn about or change on a sudden, or without a Miracle, so when you have once chosen the place where you intent your Action to be begun, you must suppose it immovable in all the rest of the Play, as it was in effect and really.  
'Tis not the same with the sides and end of the Theatre, for as they do but represent those things which did actually environ the Persons acting, and which might receive some change, they may likewise receive some in the Representation, and 'tis in that that consists the changing of Scenes, and other Ornaments of Decoration, which always ravish the People, and please the best Judges, when they are well done; so we have seen upon our Stage a Temple adorned with a Noble Front of Architecture, which coming to be set open showed the inside of it, where in Perspective were descried Pillars and an Altar, and all the other Ornaments of a Church extremely well done; so that the place did not change, and yet had a fine Decoration.  
We are not nevertheless to imagine, that the Poets Capricio is to rule these Decorations; for he must find some colour and appearance for it in his Subject.  
So for Example, he might feign a Palace upon the Sea side, forsaken, and left to be inhabited by poor Fishermen; a Prince landing, or being cast away there, might adorn it with all the rich Furniture fit for it; after this by some Accident it might be set on fire; and then behind it the Sea might appear, upon which one might represent a Sea Fight; so that in all the five changes of the Stage, the unity of Place would still be ingeniously preserved; not but that the very floor or Proscenium may change too, provided it be superficially, as if some River should overflow it, as the Tiber did in the time of Augustus; or if Flames came out of the Earth and covered the face of it, in all these cases the unity of place would not be broke. But as I have said already, the Subject of the Play must furnish probable Reasons for these changes, which I repeat the oftener, because I am still afraid, that it will not make Impression enough in the Reader.  
'Tis not enough neither to say, that the Floor or Stage should represent a place immovable; it must besides be a place supposed open in the reality, as it appears in the Representation; for since the Actors are supposed to go and come from one end of it to the other, there cannot be any solid body between, to hinder either their sight or motion; therefore the Ancients did use to choose for the place of their Scene in Tragedies some public place, as that before the gate of a Palace; and in their Comedies some part of a Town, where different Streets met, and where the Houses of the principal Actors were supposed to be; because these places were most fitly represented by the empty Stage, adorned with the Figures of those Houses. Not that they always followed this, for in the Suppliants, and in the jon of Euripides, the Scene is before a Temple; and in the Ajax of Sophocles, the Scene is before his Tent, pitched in the Corner of a Forest; in the Rudens of Plautus, it is before the Temple, and some scattered Houses, from whence one sees the Sea. And indeed all this depends upon the Poet's Invention, who according to his Subject chooses the place, the most convenient for all that he has a mind to represent, and adorns it with some agreeable Appearance.  
One may judge from all this, how ridiculous was the Wall in the Thisbe of Poet Theophile, it being placed upon the Stage; and Pyramus and She whispering through it, and when they went out, the Wall sunk, that the other Actors might see one another: For besides that the two places on each side of the Wall represented the two Chambers of Pyramus and Thisbe; and that it was contrary to all appearance of Reason, that in the same place the King should come and talk with his Confidents, and much less that a Lion should come and fright Thisbe there; I would fain know, by what supposed means in the action itself, this Wall could become visible and invisible? and by what enchantment it was sometimes in being, and then ceased quite to be again? The fault is not less in those, who suppose things done upon the Stage, which have not been seen by the Spectators, it not being probable they could have been done without being seen, or else things must be supposed to have been invisible in the reality of the action; upon which I think one of our Modern Poets fell into a great Error of this kind, having placed a Bastion upon the Stage, and having afterwards caused the Town to be taken by that Bastion, which was never seen to be either attacked or defended.  
As for the Extent which the Poet may allow to the Scene he chooses, when it is not in a House but open, I believe it may be as far as a man can see another Walk, and yet not know perfectly that 'tis he; for to take a larger space would be ridiculous, it being improbable that two people being each of them at one end of the Stage, without any Object between, should look at one another, and yet not see one another; whereas this distance, which we allow often, contributes to the working of the Play by the mistakes and doubts which a man may make by seeing another at a distance; to which the Theatres of the Ancients do very well agree; for being, as they were, threescore yards in front among the Romans, and little less among the Grecians, it was pretty near the proportion we allow them.  
I desire the Reader besides to consider, that if the Poet did represent by his Stage all the Places and Rooms of a Palace, or all the Streets of a Town, he should make the Spectators see not only all that happened in his Story, but all that was done besides in that Palace, or in the Town; for there is no Reason to hinder the Spectators from seeing all that, nor why they should see one thing sooner than another, particularly considering, that since they can see at the same time into the Garden of the Palace, and into the King's Cabinet, according to the Subject of the Play, they must likewise hear and see all that is done there, besides the Theatral Action; except there were an Enchantment to show only that which the Poet had a mind to, and to hide all that was not of his Subject; besides the Stage would never be empty of any of the Actors, except they went out of the Palace or Town, for since the place represents the Palace with its Garden, Court, and other Apartments, one cannot forbear seeing any one who should go from any of those Apartments into the Court or Garden; and by consequent, as long as any of the Actors were in the Extent represented by the Stage, they cannot avoid being seen: To which it cannot be answered, that to mark the different Apartments, there may be Curtains to shut and draw; for these Curtains are fit for nothing, but to toss their Inventors in them, like Dogs in a Blanket.  
I have spoken so clearly of this in my Terence Justified, that I have nothing more to say against this gross Piece of Ignorance.  
If it be said besides, that the Poet has the liberty of showing and hiding what he pleases; I grant it, provided there be a probability that one thing be seen, and another not; but there would need a singular Invention to contrive, that ever and anon the same Persons, acting and speaking in a Palace, should be seen, and not be seen; for that would be making of the Walls to sink and rise, go backwards and forwards every moment. This may be enough to show the error of those, who upon the same Scene represent Spain and France, making their Stage, not only almost as big as the Earth, but likewise causing the same Floor to represent at the same time things so far distant from one another, and that without any apparent cause of so prodigious a change.  
We may likewise observe, how they are mistaken, that suppose in one side of the Stage one part of the Town, as for example, the Lovure, and on the other side another part, as the Place Royal; thinking by this fine Invention to preserve the unity of Place. Indeed if two Parts or Quarters of a Town, thus supposed, were not far from one another, and the space between were really empty of Houses, such a thing were not improper; but if between the two places, there are many Houses and solid bodies, I would then ask, how it comes to pass that those Houses do not fill up the empty place of the Stage; and how, if they do, an Actor can see another Place at the other end of the Stage, beyond all these Houses; 
Perparvam partem postulat Plautus loci devostris magnis atque amoenis moenibus, Athenas quo sine Architectis conferat. Prologue Trucul.  and in a word, how this Stage, which is but an Image, represents a thing of which it has no resemblance?  
Let it then be settled for a constant Maxim, That the Proscenium, or floor of the Stage, can represent nothing but some open place of an ordinary extent, where those, that are represented by the Actors, might naturally be in the truth of the Action; 
Ibi Samuel Petit.  and when we see it written, The Scene is at Aulis, Eleusis, or Argos, 
Non totas Athenas sed Athenarum regionem illam deformabat haec Plauti scena, in qua res istae quae hoc Dramate repraesentace bantur gestae dicebantur, etc.  'tis not that the place, where the Actors appear, is all that Town or Province, but only that all the Intrigues of the Play, as well what passes out of the sight of the Spectators, as what they see, are treated in that Town, of which the Stage takes up but the least part.  
Thus in the Prologue of the last Comedy of Plautus, the Poet, explaining the Place of the Scene, says, 
Et en suit id est Plotheensium regionem, eamque non totam, sed extremam illius partem in qua habitare fingitur Phronesion meretrix.  that he begs of the Romans a little space in the middle of their noble Buildings to transport thither the Town of Athens, without the help of Architects; upon which Samuel Petit observes, that we ought not to imagine that Plautus pretends to place all the City of Athens in that of Rome, but only a small part of it, where the things represented in the Play did come to pass, to wit, the Quarter of the Plotaeans, and of all that Quarter only the place, where Phronesion lived, 
Athenas arcto, ita ut hoc est proscenium tantisper dum transigimus hanc Comediam, hic habitat mulier nomine quae est Phronesion etc. Prologue. Truc.  and he confirms this by the mending of two Greek words, of which he pretends one Latin one was made by a mistake, and by a Verse, which he mends by some Manuscripts which he had seen, making the Prologue then speak thus, I abridge here the Town of Athens, upon this Stage, during this Play, and in this House lives Phronesion.  
These are the only Authorities of any either Ancient or Modern Authors, that I have found concerning the place of the Scene. Castelvetro indeed says, that Tragedy requires but a small space; but since he has not explained himself better, we are not bound to guests in his favour.  
These things then once settled for the Doctrine or Theory; I have thought of what follows for the Practical part. The Poet does not desire to represent to his Spectators all the particulars of his story, but the principal and most moving circumstances, and thus he is obliged to some part out of the sight of the Spectators; and indeed he ought not to do it, 
Paralipsis est, cum res omittitur, quae adeò necessaria est, ut etiam non relata intelligatur: & per annos decem quot partes quot arma ment restituenda sint: sic non semper legimus quoties cibum capiant aliáque naturae necessaria expediant. Id quod sanè sigura est, nam plebeia oratio, nihil omittere. Scal. lib. 3. c. 77.  there being many things fitter to be hid then showed, he must then first of all consider exactly, what persons he most wants and cannot well be without, then let him choose a place where they may probably meet; for as there are places which certain persons cannot leave without extraordinary motives; so there are others, where they cannot be without great Reason. A Nun cannot leave the place of her retreat but upon some pressing motive, and a woman of Honour cannot accompany Messalina to the place of her infamous debauches.  
Besides, he must observe, whether or no in his Subject there be not some Circumstances or notable Incident, which it will be necessary to preserve for the beauty of his Play, and which cannot happen but in a certain place, for than he must accommodate to that the rest of his parts; so he that would show Celadon half dead upon the Shore and found there by Galatea, must of necessity place his Scene upon the bank of a River, and accommodate to it the rest of the Theatral Action. Plautus followed this method in his Rudens, where he desired to show the relics of a Shipwreck, and therefore was forced to place his Scene on the Sea side, where all the rest of his Adventures are very dexterously brought to pass.  
The Poet, having chosen the place, must examine next, what things are fittest to be showed with delight to the Spectators, and be sure to represent them; as for the others not so fit to be seen, they must be told some way, that they may be supposed done, and that in places so near the Stage, that the Actor who tells them, may be supposed to have been there and back again, from the time he has been absent from the Stage, or else he must be supposed gone before the Play began, for than he may come as far off as you will. All which Terence hath observed in his third Comedy, where the two Slaves, Syrus, and Dromo, had been sent a great while before for Clitophon's Mistress; and by consequent, all that Syrus tells of their Negotiation is very credible, what time so ever there needed for the dressing of the Lady, and the doing of all the rest.  
And if the things or places to be spoke of in the Play, have been done too far from the Scene, or are in themselves too remote, 
Nunc adest ubi opus est Poetae: & vide hanc causam fuisse cur non ad villam diverter it, omnes villas comicas suburbanas esse, commoditatem ipsam nunc explicat & ostendit. Donat. in Euunch. Terent.  one must bring them nearer in the Representation; which may be done two ways; either by supposing that they happened in other places nearer, when 'tis all one to the Story, as Donatus observes, that in Plays, Country Houses are always supposed to be in the Suburbs: Or else by supposing the places nearer than they really are, when 'tis impossible to change them, but in this last, one must observe not to bring known places so near, that the Spectator cannot follow the Poet in his belief: As for example, if a man should bring the Alps, or Pyrenoean Mountains in the place of Mount Valerian, that so he might bring an Incident to Play, which else he could not; the Scene being at Paris; truly the rigour of the Rule would be followed, as to the Unity of the Scene and its Decencies, but the Beauty of the Art, which is to please and persuade, would be lost: 'Tis therefore that I cannot approve of this force upon Nature, as to the distance of places, which we see done in the Suppliants, and the Andromache of Euripides, in the Captives of Plautus and some other pieces of Antiquity. I speak not here of our Modern Poets, for all the World knows, there never was any thing so monstrous in this point, as the Plays we have seen in Italy, Spain, and France, and indeed except the Horatius of Corneille, I doubt whether we have one Play, where the unity of the Scene is rigorously observed, at least, I am sure I have not seen any.  
It is necessary to give one advertisement more to the Poet in this place, which is, that none of his Actors ought to come upon the Scene without some apparent Reason, since else it is not probable they should be there; and he must avoid to follow the Example of a Poet, who made a Princess come a purpose out of her Tent upon the Stage which was before it, to say some passionate complaints of a secret Misfortune of hers, for it was much more probable that she should make them in her Tent: Therefore he ought to have feigned either that the Company of some people in the Tent, was importunate and troublesome to her, and that to avoid them she came out, or else he ought to have given her some sudden impatience to look out, and then, as naturally upon reflections of our Misfortunes we are carried to expressions of them, he might have put in her mouth what words he had thought necessary for his Subject. Thus when the passion of some person upon the Scene is to be showed by some Narration, which the Spectator has had already, and which cannot be repeated without disgust, one must suppose the thing to have been told that Person in some place near the Scene, and make him come in near towards the end of it with words in his mouth, expressing the knowledge of the thing, and causing the passion he is to show afterwards upon the Stage. The Examples of this are frequent among the Ancients, and the imitation of them cannot but succeed well.   

CHAP. VII.  
The Extent of the Theatral Action, or of the time fit to be allowed a Dramatic Poem.  
THERE is no question more debated than This, which I am now treating. The Poets make it their discourse, and the Players scarce talk of any thing else, as well as those who frequent the Theatres; nay, the Ladies in their ruels undertake to decide it, and all this while the thing is so little understood, that I have a great deal of Reason to endeavour to explain it carefully. To talk with some knowledge then of this Matter, one must consider that a Dramatic Poem has two sorts of Time, each of which has a different and proper lasting.  
The first is the true Time of the Representation; for though this sort of Poem be but an Image, and so ought to be considered as having a representative Being; nevertheless one ought to consider, that there is a reality in the very Representation, for realy the Actors are seen and heard, the Verses are really pronounced, and one suffers really either pleasure or pain in assisting at these Representations, and there is a real time spent in amusing the Audience, that is from the opening of the Stage to the end of the Play: This time is called the lasting of the Representation.  
Of this time the measure can be no other, but so much time as will reasonably spend the patience of the Audience, for this sort of Poem being made for pleasure, it ought not to weary and fatigate the mind; and it must not likewise be so short, as that the Spectators go away with an opinion of not having been well nor enough diverted. In all this, Experience is the faithfullest Guide, and tells us most commonly, that a Play cannot last above three hours without wearying of us, nor less without coming short of pleasing us. I have seen a very learned Gentleman, who was present at the Representation of the Pastor Fido in Italy, who told me, that never was any thing so tedious, it having lasted too long, and that this Play, which ravishes the Reader, because he can lay it by when he will, had most horridly disgusted the Spectators.  
There is another observation to be made here, which is, that the time, which we allow the Representation, may be spent many other ways.  
The Ancients had in their Tragedies many different mixtures, as Mimes, Pantomimes, and other Buffoons. These Diversions pleased the people, and yet I do not believe they made the Representations longer than those of our time; for besides that these Interludes were short, their Tragedies themselves were not of above a thousand Verses, and those Verses much shorter than our Heroic ones. Therefore the Poet must take great care, that if his Play be of the ordinary length, his Interludes be not too long, for let them be never so pleasing they will disquiet the Spectator in the Impatience, which he will naturally have to know the Event and Success of the Story.  
The other Time of the Dramatic Poem, is that of the Action represented, so ●ar as it is considered as a true Action, and containing all that space which is necessary to the performing of those things, which are to be exposed to the knowledge of the Spectators, from the first to the last Act of the Play.  
Now this Time is the chief Time, not only because 'tis natural to the Poem, but because also it all depends on the Poet's Invention, and is made known by the Mouth of his Actors, according as his Ingenuity can suggest him the means of doing it, and this is the Time so much talked of in our days. The three Greek Tragicks, Aeschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles allow but a few hours to the lasting of the Theatral Action in their Poems; but their Example was not followed by the Poets who succeeded them; for Aristotle blames those of his time, for giving too long an Extent to the lasting of their Plays, which makes him set down the Rule, or rather renew it from the Model of the Ancients, saying, That Tragedy ought to be comprehended in the Revolution of one Sun. I do not know, whether this Rule was observed by those that came after him, as by the Authors of those Tragedies which carry the Name of Seneca, which are regular enough in this Circumstance: But for all those that I have seen, which were made at the re-establishment of Learning in Spain and France, they are not only irregular in this point, but in all the other most sensible Rules, insomuch that one would admire, that Men of Learning should be the Authors of them: When I first had the Honour to be near Cardinal Richelieu, I found the Stage in great esteem, but loaded with all these Errors, and particularly with that, of exceeding the Time, fit to be allowed in Tragedy; I spoke of it in those Plays which were acted at Court; but I was generally opposed, and most commonly turned into Ridicule both by the Poets, the Actors, and the Spectators; and when I, to defend myself, began to allege the Ancients, I was paid with this Answer, That what they had done was well for their time, but now a days they would be laughed at, if they were here: As if the general Reason of Mankind could grow old with time; and accordingly we see, that at last it has prevailed over Prejudice and Ignorance, to make all the World confess, that the Time of a Tragedy ought to be short and limited: But because, even in this, there are different Interpretations given to Aristotle, and that some Poets do believe, to circumscribe too narrowly the lasting of the Theatral Action would be to spoil most of the Incidents; I will here give the true Explanation of the Rule, and ways of practising it with Success. Aristotle has said, that one of the principal differences, which is between an Epic Poem and a Tragedy, is, That the First is not limited in any time, and that the Second is comprehended in the Revolution of one Sun. Now, though Aristotle does express himself in few words, yet I cannot understand, how there was ground for so much Dispute: For since he says, the Revolution of one Sun, it cannot be meant, the Annual Revolution, for that is the time generally allowed to an Epic Poem, and there is none of the most Indulgent, that have offered to extend the Rule to that excess in Tragedy. It remains then to say, he means the Diurnal Revolution; but as the day is considered two ways, the one with regard to the Primum mobile, which is called the Natural day, and is of twenty four Hours, and the other by the Sun's presence upon the Horizon, between his rising and setting, which is called the Artificial Day. It is necessary to observe, that Aristotle means only the Artificial Day, in the extent of which, he makes the Theatral Action to be comprehended. Castelvetro and Picolomini, upon Aristotle's Poetic, are of this Opinion against Seigni, who extends the Rule to the Natural day of 24 hours.  
The Reason of this is certain, and founded upon the Nature of Dramatic Poems; for this sort of Poem ought to carry a sensible Image of the Actions of Humane Life; now we do not see, that regularly men are busy before day▪ nor much after night, and accordingly, in all well governed places, there are Magistrates to watch those, who employ the night naturally designed for rest, in the Actions of the day.  
Besides, we have said, and it cannot be called in question; that the Theatral Action ought to be one, and not comprehend any other Actions, which are not necessary to the Intrigue of the Stage. Now how can that be observed in a Play of 24 hours? would it not be a necessity, that the Persons Acting should sleep, and eat, and busy themselves in many things, which would not be of the Subject of the Play, and though the Poet should say nothing of it, yet the Spectators must needs conceive it so.  
But besides, the Action of the Stage is to be continued, and not interrupted or broken. Now that could not be in a Play of twenty four hours; Nature could not, without some rest, endure so long an Action; since all that Men can commonly do, is to be in Action for the day time.  
Moreover, we cannot omit a Reason of the Ancients, which originally is Essential to Tragedy, which is, that the Choruses, which they used, did not regularly use to stir off the Stage for the whole Play, or at least from the time they first came on; and I do not know with what appearance of Probability, the Spectators could have been persuaded, that People, who were never out of their sight, should have stayed twenty four hours in that place; nor how in the truth of the Action, they could imagine, that those, whom they represented, had passed all that time without satisfying some necessities of Nature.  
After all, we can never better understand Aristotle, than by those three Excellent Tragic Poets, whom he always proposes for Examples, who have regularly observed, not to give above 12 hours to their Plays: And I do not think, that there are any of their Works which do comprehend the whole space between the rising and seeting of the Sun.  
It being most certain, that their Stage generally opens after Sun-rise, and is shut up before Sunset, as one may observe in the Comedies of Plautus and Terence. 
Scene cum negotium totum sex ●ctove horis peragitur l. 3. c. 97. Poet.  'Tis therefore that Rossi, an Italian, allows but eight or ten hours. And Scaliger, more rigorously but more reasonably, would have the whole Action performed in six hours. It were even to be wished, that the Action of the Poem did not take up more time, than that of the Representation, but that being hard, and almost impossible, in certain occasions the Poet has the Liberty to suppose a longer time by some hours, in which the Music that marks the Intervals of the Acts, and the Relations of the Actors upon the Stage, while the others are busy off of it, with the natural desire of the Spectators to see the Event, do all contribute very much, and help to deceive the Audience, so as to make them think, there has passed time enough for the performance of the things represented.  
What we have said hitherto of Aristotle's Rule might suffer some difficulty in those Plays, which represent Actions that happened in the Night, if we did not own, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  that he has foreseen the Objection, when he says, That Tragedy endeavours to comprehend its Action in the Revolution of one Sun, 
Poet. c. 5. aut parum variare. Vict p. 52.  or in changing that time a little; for by that means he lets us know, that the Poet is not always bound to place his Action between Sunrising and Sunsetting, 
Aut paulisper variare. Riccoboni in Poet Arist.  but may take a like time out of 24 hours, and place his Action in the night, as in the Rhesus of Euripides, and some other Plays of the Ancients, of which we have nothing but Fragments in Athenaeus. Nay, he may take some of his time in the day, and the rest in the night, as Euripides has done in his Electra, and Plautus in his Amphitryon; they that, upon this of Aristotle, have said, that he gave leave to exceed the Revolution of a Sun, and go some hours beyond, did not well understand him, having taken the word Changing for Exceeding.  
But without standing upon this scrupulous niceness, I must tell the Poet, that he need not fear to spoil his Play, by straightening his Incidents in so small a compass of time; for quite contrary, 'tis that, which shall make his Play agreeable and wonderful; 'tis that, which will afford him the means of introducing extraordinary surprises and passions, which he may carry, as far as he will; let him consider well Horatius, Cinna, Polyeuct, and Nicomedes, the latter works of Mounsieur Corneille, and I believe, he cannot but agree to it.  
Now to contribute for my share to the necessary means of practising this Rule, I here deliver my thoughts.  
First, Let the Poet be very careful in choosing the day, in which he will comprehend all the Intrigues of his Play, and that choice ought generally to be made from the most Noble Incident of the whole Story, that is, from that Incident, which is to make the Catastrophe, and to which all others do tend, like Lines to their Centre; and if he be free to take what day he will, his best will be to pitch upon that, which will most easily bear the Assemblage and Concurrence of all the Incidents of the Stage. So Corneille, being to represent the Death of Pompey, took the last day of his Life, because he could not do otherwise; but when he was to make his Cinna, he chose what day he pleased for to facilitate the bringing in of the Conspiration of Cinna, with the deliberation of Augustus, whether he should forsake the Empire or no.  
The choice being thus made, the next slight is, to open your Stage, as near, as 'tis possible, to the Catastrophe, that you may employ less time in the negotiation part, and have more Liberty in extending the Passions and Discourses which may please; but to Execute this luckily, the Incidents must be prepared by ingenious Contrivances, and that must appear upon occasion in the whole Conduct of the Action.  
This we may observe in the Jo● of Euripides, the Amphytrion of Plautus, and the Andria of Terence. Corneille practices it likewise well in Horatius and Cinna. The Stage in Horatius is opened but a moment before the Combat of the three Horatius' against the three Curiatius', who are told of their being chosen to fight against each other, as soon as they come upon the Stage. And Cinna had already made his Conspiracy, before the opening of the Stage, which opens just before the Sacrifice, which was to be the pretext of the Execution of it.  
Things being thus disposed, the Poet must next study to bring together the Incidents all in one day, so Artfully, that there appear no Force nor Constraint in the effecting of it: And to succeed in this, he must rectify the time of those things, that happened before the opening of the Stage; and suppose, some of them to come to pass that day, though they really happened before; but he must join them with so much Art, as they may seem to be naturally connexed, and not put together by the Poet's Invention.  
Thus Sophocles makes, that Creon, who was sent to Delphos to consult the Oracle, comes back just at the same time that the news comes to Thebes, of the Death of Polybius King of Corinth, though these two things did not happen on the same day. So Plautus makes Amphitryon return victorious that very night that Alcmene is brought to Bed of Hercules. But that which one must particularly have a care of, is, not to conjoin the time of the Incidents with so much ●●…cipitation, that Probability be destroyed by it, as in the Suppliants of Euripides, the Captiv's of Plautus and some other pieces of the Ancients, which I cannot approve of, though for some other Considerations they are not unexcusable. They are indeed according to the Rule of time, but without any of the Graces of the Art. In a word, we must still remember, that Aristotle in giving his Rule of the confining Tragedy to the Revolution of one Sun, means, that the Poet ought so to press his imagination, as to order all the Events of his Theatre in that time, but so, as not to offend Probability, which is always the principal Rule, and without which all the others become no Rules at all.   

CHAP. VIII.  
Of the Preparation of the Incidents.  
IT may be some may Imagine, that the Instruction we are going to give the Poet in this Discourse, will be injurious to him, and, contrary to our promise, destroy all the Graces of the Stage: for say they, if the Incidents must be prepared some time before they happen, without doubt they will likewise be prevented, and so be no longer surprising, in which consists all their beauty, and without which the Spectator has no pleasure, nor can the Poet pretend to any glory in his Art.  
To this I answer, That there is a great deal of difference between preparing an Incident, and preventing it, for an Incident is then prevented, when it is foreseen, but it ought not to be foreseen though it be prepared.  
To explain ourselves better upon this matter, we are to understand that there are some things in the Composition of a Theatral Action, which do carry the minds of the Spectators naturally and almost necessarily, to the knowledge of some others; so that as soon as the first are either said or done, one may conclude easily those that depend upon them, and that is called an Incident prevented; and we do allow all these Preventions to be faulty in a Dramatic Poem, because they spoil the Events, and make them of no effect in the Imagination of the Spectators, who most commonly expect things contrary to what they see, and seem to be promised.  
But there are another sort of things, which are to be laid as a foundation to build others upon, 
Arist. c. x. poet.  according to the Rules of Probability, 
In multis oeconomia Comicormn Poetarum ita se habet, ut casu putet Spectator venisse quod consilio Scriptorum factum sit. Donat. in Terent. Andr. & in Eunuch. Idem aliis verbis.  and yet nevertheless do not at all discover these second ones, which they are to produce; not only because there is no necessity they should come to pass in consequence of the first; but also because the first are showed with colours and pretexts so probable, according to the state of the Affairs of the Stage, that the Minds of the Spectators pass them over, not thinking that from thence there can spring any new Incident, so that the preparation of an Incident, is not to tell or do any thing that can discover it, but rather that may give occasion to it without discovering it; and all the Art of the Poet consists in finding Colorus and Pretexts to settle these Preparations, 
Vbique verò aliquid jacit seminum ad futuram messem, ut auditorem quasi praegustatione alliciat ad epulas. Similis praeparatio in prime, cum enim recipiendus esset Aeneas proponit hoc intelligendum ex pictura, in ea namque ipse quoque pictus erat. lib. 4. c. 26.  so, that the Spectator may be convinced, that that is not thrown into the Body of the Play for any other design, than what appears to him. Scaliger has owned this to be necessary, even in the Epic Poems, and calls it, The, Seeds of a future Harvest; as if he would say, that just as the Grain or Seed contains in itself the force and virtue of producing in its time Flowers and Fruit; and yet Nature has so framed it, as that one cannot discover any likelihood of such a Production, by the sight of the Seed; so must the Discourses and other considerations to prepare an Incident, enclose it so secretly, and hide it so well, as nothing can be guessed of the Event from them. This Excellent Man brings divers Examples of this, and particularly, that taken from the Aeneid of Virgil: For he observes, that to make way for the kind reception, which Dido gives to Aeneas and his Trojans, Virgil tells us, how Queen Dido had caused the Story of the War of Troy to be painted in a Temple, where Aeneas himself was represented, fight in the midst of the Greeks; for then this painting seems only an Object for the admiration of Aeneas, to see that the Trojans misfortunes were already known all the World over; but the secret is, that it serves to give a foundation in the Mind of Dido to the kind welcome she makes to those, to whose ill fortune in all probability she had already given some compassion.  
As for the Dramatic Poem, 
Reprehensus est Poeta, quia semina nulla hujus fabulae exitus antea iacta erant, nec quicquam ipsum adiwant superi●●res partes Tragoediae. Victor. in Arist. Poet. p. 149.  I have not met with any Examples in all the Authors that I have seen, except in one Victorius in his Commentaries upon Aristotle's Poetic; and neither there does he do it by way of Instruction, but simply by way of Remark upon the Tragedy of Medea, made by Euripides, of which he says, that the Catastrophe is defective, because the Poet unfolds the Plot by the flight of Medea in an Enchanted Chariot, of which before hand he had not given the least hint or preparation, the preceding Events contributing no ways to this last. These two passages of Scaliger and Victorius came not to my knowledge, till after I had made all the necessary Observations upon this Subject; but as I never affected to be thought the Inventor of any thing, so am I never better pleased, than when having by my Meditations attained to a certain knowledge, I discover that others more able, and of greater reputation, had said the same things before I thought them; and for that very reason I have not dissembled these two passages which make to our Subject, and if the esteem due to these Excellent Authors deprives me of the honour of having said the first thing, of which I thought I was the only Inventor, I shall draw that advantage at least from them, that they give Authority to my thoughts; and the Poet cannot refuse the Counsel I give him, of preparing ingeniously his Incidents, when Scaliger esteems Virgil for having done it with prudence, and Victorius condemns Euripides for having failed in it. I shall give two Examples of both these out of Monsieur Corneille, the first is in Rhodogune, and the other in his Theodora.  
In the first Example, he kills Cleopatra by the violence of a Poison, so strong, that Rhodogune discovers the effect of it, before Antiochus has pronounced ten Verses. Indeed, that Cleopatra was wicked and enraged enough to poison herself, that she might poison her Son and Rhodogune, That is very well prepared in all the precedent Acts, where her hatred, ambition, and fury appear to the height, having killed her husband with her own hand, and destroyed one of her Sons to preserve herself upon the Throne; but that the effect of the poison should be so sudden, as to be discovered in so small a space of time, That is not prepared enough, because, the thing being rare in itself, Cleopatra should have said, when she hopes by it to destroy Antiochus and Rhodogune, how strong a Poison she had prepared, and how sudden its Effect would be, and should have expressed joy at it; by which means, she would have prepared the Incident, without preventing it. The Event, I say, would have been prepared; for so sudden a Poison, as she had mentioned, would have been expected to work that Effect it did upon herself; but withal it would not have been prevented, because the Audience would have thought, that she had said it as designing it for the destruction of the Innocent, and so there would not have been any means of foreseeing, that she should have suffered by it herself.  
The other Example is in all the Exactness that a Dramatic Poem can wish, which must needs make us confess, that when Monsieur Corneille has well meditated upon the conduct of an Incident, there is no Author, either among the Ancient or Modern Poets, that executes it better.  
In his Theodora, there are five notable Incidents, to wit the death of Flavia; the deliverance of Theodora from that infamous place, to which she had been condemned; the death of Didymus and Theodora by the hands of Marcelia; the death of Marcelia by her own hand; and the wound of Placidus endeavouring to kill himself; all these Incidents are so well prepared, that there is not one, which might not probably come to pass in consequence of those things which preceded it.  
That Flavia should die that day, is not strange; since 'tis often said that she is desperately ill; but when that is said, 'tis only to give a pretext to the fury of Marcelia, and to those violent means she uses of being revenged of Theodora, without giving an Impression that her Daughter should really die so soon,  
That Didymus should expose himself to save Theodora, in giving her his Clothes; that might well be, since he appears very passionately in love with her, and that Theodora did not reject his love but only out of Religion; but when this passion is talked of upon the Stage, it seems in appearance to be, to foment the Jealousy of Placidius, without any likelihood of foreseeing so Extraordinary an Action.  
That Marcelia should with her own hands kill Didymus and Theodora, that is probable, she knew the love of Placidius, and the resolution he had taken to save the two Lovers, she saw him armed, and followed by a great number of his Friends, all these are preparations enough to make that Woman revenge the death of her Daughter, and all the injuries she had received by one furious transport in an occasion so precipitated; and nevertheless, though one could not from all these things expect this Event, yet they have all their necessary Colours, when they appear upon the Stage.  
The same happens in the death of Marcelia; she had persecuted Placidius, and injured him in the person he most tenderly loved; she sees him with his Sword drawn, and being animated with nothing but furious Sentiments, she was resolved not to fall under the power of her Enemy, from these Circumstances it follows, that probably she might kill herself, and that she was pressed to make that desperate end.  
As for Placidius, who endeavours to kill himself, after having seen his Mistress murdered by the hand of his Enemy, 'tis an Incident well prepared, because of the Excessive love he bore her, and by the disposition he appears to be in, to forsake all the Grandeur of the World to possess her, who was his Sovereign felicity; and nevertheless, of all these Considerations one could presume naturally nothing more, than that he would do all he could to save her. Thus so many different Events arise from one another, and without any precipitation in the Body of the Story. I know not how Mr. Corneille may value this Play, but I say that in my mind it is his Masterpiece, for though in the Subject, the punishment, to which Theodora is condemned, does something ossend the modesty of the Spectators; yet all the rest is in so much regularity, and there is so much Art and Conduct showed by the Poet, that if the choice of the Subject had answered the skill of the Author, I believe we might propose this Play as a most perfect Model.  
He that would cite here all the Plays of the Ancients, where the Incidents are well prepared, would be obliged to copy whole Poems, for they have always done it with great Art and Judgement. See the Curculion of Plautus, there is a Ring, which serves to find out Planasion, to be a freeborn Woman and the Sister of Terapontigonus, when 'twas no ways possible to foresee this Event; but it is so well prepared in all the Play, where this Ring is employed in a great many other Intrigues, that it is not at all forced, though much against the Expectation of the Spectators: And when this Ring is stolen from the Soldier, and that from thence it runs through a great many hands, 'tis for some present action, which has no regard to the Catastrophe, the event of which could not thence be foreseen.  
And when in the 4th Act, Cappadore says, that he had paid but ten Mines of Silver for that Maid, 'tis probably, only to explain the profit the makes by selling her for thirty; but 'tis in effect to prepare the Narration which Planesion makes herself of her own Adventure.  
So in his Trinummus, Carmides arrives at a nick of time, from a long Voyage, for a very diverting Incident, meeting with a Cheat which was supposed to come from him, but That is very well prepared by the discourse of Calicles in the first Act, and by that of his Slave in the second. And nevertheless when Calicles speaks of the absence of his Friend, 'tis only to make known the fidelity he owes him; and that which the Slave says of his return, is only to make his Son Telesbonicus be afraid of his Father's just severity.  
In a word, I deliver here all that I can say of this matter, which is, that the Events are always precipitated, when there has been nothing said before, from whence they might probably proceed, as when a man appears expressly in the end of the Play, of whom there has not been one word said all along, and yet this man comes to make the winding up of the Plot. Or when towards the end, there is some important Action done, which has no coherence with all that passed before; for though the Spectators love to be surprised, yet 'tis still with probability; and they are not bound to suppose any thing, but what follows naturally these things which the Poet shows. The Theatre is a world by itself, where all is comprehended in the notions and extent of the Action represented, and has no communication with the great World, only so far as the Poet himself extends it, by the knowledge which with Art he dispenses abroad. But the main thing to be remembered, is, that all that is said or done as a Preparative or Seed for things to come, must have so apparent a Reason, and so powerful a Colour to be said and done in that place, that it may seem to have been introduced only for that, and that it never give a hint to prevent those Incidents, which it is to prepare.   

CHAP. IX.  
Of the Catastrophe or Issue of the Dramatic Poem.  
I Do not think it necessary here to trouble myself much about the explication of this word Catastrophe. 'Tis taken ordinarily, I know, for some sad calamitous disaster, which terminates some great design, for my part I understand by this word a sudden change of the first Dispositions of the Stage, 
Catastrophe conversio negotij exagitati in tranquillitatem non expectatam. Scal. l. 1. c. 9  and the return of Events, which change all the Appearances of the former Intrigues, quite contrary to the expectation of the Audience. Comedies have generally happy Catastrophes, or at least they end in some buffonery or fooling, as the Stichus of Plautus; but as for serious Tragedies, they always end either by the Misfortune of the Principal Actors, or by a Prosperity such as they could wish for; we have Examples of both in the Poems of the Ancients, though that latter way, of terminating their Tragedies, was not so common with them, as it has been in our time. But now, I come to the Observations, which may be useful in all sorts of Poems, as they are common to all sorts of Catastrophes.  
The principal Observation has a dependence on what has been said in the last Chapter, which was, that Incidents, not prepared, offended against Probability, by being too much hastened at last: For this fault appears no where so much as in the Catastophe. First, the Catastrophe is the term of all the Affairs of the Stage, by consequent they must be disposed by times, that they may arrive there easily. Secondly, 'tis the Centre of the Poem, therefore all the other parts, like lines, cannot be drawn strait to any other point. Thirdly, 'tis the last expectation of the Audience therefore all things ought to be so well ordered, that when they fall out, it may not be asked, by which way they came to pass, and therefore there needs for it, as for the most considerable Event, the greatest and most judicious Preparations. Aristotle, and all his Followers, would have the Catastrophe drawn from the very middle of all the business of the Stage, and that the very knots, which seem to embarrass the whole Subject, should at last serve for the opening of it, as if they were laid for that purpose. Therefore they always valued this way of ending a Tragedy, much more than That which was founded upon the presence or favour of some God; and when they did make use of Gods in Machine's, they always desired, that in the Body of the Play, there should be reasonable Dispositions for it, either by the particular care that That God took of that Hero, or by the interest the God might take in the Theatral Action, or by a natural and rational expectation of the assistance of some God, or some such Inventions.  
Yet this first Rule may seem useless in those Plays, where the Catastrophe is known either by the Story or Title, as the Death of Caesar, and such like, Therefore in this Case, without omitting any of the necessary preparations we have mentioned, one may do thus.  
The Poet must so manage all the Affairs of the Stage, that the Spectators may be inwardly persuaded, that That person, whose life and fortune are threatened, ought not to die: For by this Art he keeps them in sentiments of pity and commiseration, which increase and become very tender at the last point of his Misfortune, and the more one finds motives to believe, he should not die, the more one is concerned, when one knows he must, the injustice of his Enemies raises a stronger aversion in us for them, and his disgrace is pitied even with tears. We have seen the Examples of this in Mariam, and the Earl of Essex, though, in many other things, they were very defective Plays.  
But if the Catastrophe be not known, and that the Poet designs, that, for the greater Ornament of his Play, it should unfold all the Intrigues of it by a suprizing Novelty; he must be very careful not to discover it too soon, and particularly order it so that none of his preparations do prevent it, for not only then it would become useless and disagreeable, but as soon as ever it should be known, the Theatre would grow dull, and be without Charms for the Audience: And we are not in this Circumstance to govern ourselves by what happens in a Play, that we have seen, or of which the Catastrophe is known; for they do still please, because the Spectators in that case consider things only as they pass, and give them no greater extent, than the Poet would have them. They confine all their understanding to the pretexts and colours, which he advances, without going any further, and being all along satisfied of the Motives of the chief Actions, they do not prevent those, which are not made known to them, so that, their imagination being deceived by the art of the Poet, their pleasure lasts still. Whereas in the other Case, when the Catastrophe is prevented by the want of Art in the Poet, the Spectators are disgusted, not so much that they know the thing, as because they are persuaded, that they ought not to know it, and their discontent in these occasions proceeds less from their knowledge, though certain, than from the imprudence and ill conduct of the Poet.  
The last Rule is, that the Catastrophe do entirely finish the Dramatic Poem, that is, that there be nothing left of what the Spectators ought to know, for if they have reason to ask, What became of such a one concerned in the Intrigues of the Stage? or if they have just Subject to inquire, What are the Sentiments of one of the chief Actors, after the last event which makes the Catastrophe? Then, I say, the Play is not well finished, and wanted yet a stroke or two, and if the Spectators are not yet fully satisfied, the Poet certainly has not done his duty. 'Twas a considerable fault in Panthea, who by her death leaves a reasonable desire to the Spectators, to know what became of Araspes, who was so passionately in love with her: Whereas on the contrary, in the Earl of Essex, Queen Elizabeth speaks as she ought, after the death of the Earl, and so finishes the Catastrophe perfectly.  
But to avoid this inconvenience, the Poet must not fall into another, that is, to add to the Catastrophe superfluous Discourses and Actions, of no use as to the concluding the Play, which the Spectators neither look for, nor are willing to hear; such is the Complaint of the Wife of Alexander, Son of Herod, after the death of her Husband, of which I shall speak in the Chapter of Pathetic Discourses; and such is likewise the Explication of the Oracle in Horatius, for that having had nothing to do with the Plot, the Spectators never think on't, nor care to have it interpreted.  
I might lengthen this Discourse with many more Remarks, as well upon the Tragedies as the Comedies of the Ancients; but since all Catastrophes turn upon these Principles, which I have laid down, it will be easy in reading their Works to see which are well or ill finished. The Tragic Poets have generally taken more care than the Comic, and amongst the Comic, Terence is the most exact; for Aristophanes and Plautus have left the best part of theirs unfinished. I leave our Modern Authors to themselves, they generally are willing to be believed infallible, and when any body shows them that they might have done better, they are so much the more angry, as they find themselves convinced, and not able to oppose the strength of reason.   
The End of the second Book.   

THE ART OF THE STAGE. Book the Third.  

Chapter the First.  
Of the Actors or Persons to be brought upon the Stage, and what the Poet is to observe about them.  
I Do not design here to instruct the Players, but the Poet, who will find in this Chapter some Observations for the better disposing of the Dramatic Poem, as to the persons that are to appear upon the Stage.  
But before we begin them, it will not be amiss to observe to the Reader a thing which will make us make a wish in favour of our Stage, when we reflect upon the Magnificency of the Representations of the Ancients, which is, that in many places of their Poems, where we see but one Actor named, he did not appear alone upon the Stage; but on the contrary, when it was a Prince, or Princess, or some Person of Eminent Quality, he was followed by a very great Retinue, suitable to his Dignity; sometimes of Courtiers, sometimes of Soldiers, and always of Persons proper to the Subject of the Play: Nay, a rich Citizen appeared with a great many Servants, and a public Courtesan, if she were of free condition, and Mistress of her own actions, had always a great many Maids and Servants about her; and in short, Persons of Quality were always well accompanied, except some particular reason required they should be alone, which may be easily perceived by the Verses, or the Nature of the Action. So Ajax in Sophocles is alone when he kills himself; and this the Ancients did for two Reasons; first to fill their Stage, which was much bigger than ours, and the other to make their Representation more magnificent; whereas now five or six People fill our Stage, and besides, the Players cannot be at the charge of more for pure Ornament sake.  
The truth of this appears in most of the Ancients Plays, but particularly in the seven before Thebes, where Eteocles, who opens the Scene, seems to be alone, because there is no body speaks but he, but it is clear that he was followed by a very great number of Persons, to whom he addresses himself, and gives them different Orders for the Defence of the Town.  
Orestes seems to be alone in the Electra of Euripides, and yet one may see that he speaks to a great many Servants who followed him, whom he commands to enter his Sister's house, who did not know him, and is angry with her Husband for letting so many People of Quality come into his house. I cannot omit here the mistake that some Authors have made in interpreting Euripides; for having not observed that Hippolytus is followed by a company of Hunters, with whom he comes back singing a Hymn in the honour of Diana, they have taken him to be alone, and that they who sung were the Chorus of the Tragedy; whereas the Chorus in that Play is composed of Women, followers of Phoedra, who only come upon the Stage after Hippolytus and his Company have sung their Hymn, and one of them Entertains him some time about the respect due to Venus; after which Dialogue Hippolytus commands his People to go and prepare his Dinner at his own house, out of which they follow him again, when by his Father's command he is forced to withdraw.  
But Plutarch affords us a proof of the state with which the chief Actors used to appear upon the Stage, in a pleasant Story he tells in the life of Photion; for a Player being to represent a Queen and his Attendance, which was to be numerous, not being ready, he refused to come upon the Stage, whereupon Melanthius Choragus, whose Office it was to see all things well in order, thrust him by force upon the Stage, with these words, Dost not thou see that Photion 's Wife, whose Husband governs us all, is seen every day in the Street attended but with one Maid: At which all the People fell a laughing, and by that Raillery he excused the defect of the Representation; which by the by may serve our Poets for an Advertisement, to Read carefully the Works of the Ancients, and not trust to the Printed Glosses or Interpreters; but now let us come to our other more necessary Observations.  
And to begin, it has been often asked how many Actors may be brought on at once, speaking and acting upon the Stage, in the same Scene. Some have confined us to Three, taking their Rule from Horace's Art of Poetry; but Experience is the best Judge in these Cases; and Horace, I believe, is not so well understood as he should be. 'Tis true, that the Stage having attained to have Three Actors in the time of Sophocles, who brought Dramatic Poetry to its perfection; the Greeks seldom bring any more than Three Actors at a time upon the Stage, if there be a Fourth, he generally is silent; and indeed a Scene is not ill filled when Three chief Actors are discoursing at once upon the Scene. But the Answer to this Question depends not so much upon the number of Persons, as upon the order or confusion that would follow if too many were speaking in the same Scene; and therefore I am of Opinion, that the Poet may bring on as many as he pleases, provided neither their number, nor their discourses do confound the Spectators Attention; and there will be no confusion if the Actors Names, and their Concerns be so known as to give a true understanding of what is in Action: Three Actors indeed seldom bring any confusion, because there is no Spectator so simple, but he can easily distinguish their words and designs; but still the Poet must consider what necessity he lies under; for if his Subject requires that Four or Five should appear and discourse in the same Scene, if he performs it with distinction, and without obscurity, I don't believe any body will say he goes against the Rules, there being nothing there against probability. The Examples of this are frequent in the Comic Poets, both Greek and Latin; and as for Horace, 
Ne quarta laboret.  his Advice is only that the Poet do not bring a Fourth Person upon the Stage so as to embarass or confound the business in hand, or perplex the Discourse of the other Three.  
Our second Observation is, that the Poet must bring no Actor upon the Stage that is not known to the Spectators as soon as he appears, and that not only as to his Name and Person, but also as to the Sentiments he brings upon the Stage, else the Spectator will be puzzled, and the Poets fine Discourses will be lost, because the Audience will not know how to apply them; and I have seen often 20 or 30 noble Verses thrown away because the Spectator knew not him that spoke them, nor how to apply them. The Ancients never failed in this, to which the Choruses were a great help to them; for they never leaving the Stage, generally as soon as a new Actor came on, they named him with some expressions of fear, astonishment or joy, according as the Subject required; but if he were a stranger, and unknown to the Chorus, than he named himself, giving some account of his good or bad Fortune, or some confident of his, declared it without affectation, either by pitying him, or seeming to be concerned for the doubtful success of his Enterprise.  
As for us who have no Choruses, we must, instead of them, make some of those Actors speak who are already upon the Stage, and known; and if we open an Act with Persons unknown, they must themselves declare their condition, or some of their Followers must by the by, and without affectation insinuate it: But if it be necessary that an Actor should be incognito both as to his Name and Quality, in order to his being known with more pleasure towards the end of the Play, than the Spectators must at least know that he is incognito; and in a word all confusion must be avoided, and it will be well if the Spectators conceive something in general concerning the Inteterests of this new Actor; not indeed so far as to discover or prevent an Incident, but so much as is necessary to facilitate their easier comprehending all that is to be said afterwards.  
The Third Observation is, That the Actors do always come on, and go off of the Scene with some probable reason, which makes it more proper for them to do so than otherwise, and yet that must not be done grossly, but by nice and natural pretexts. For any Art that discovers itself too much, loses its grace; and yet it is not necessary that the reason which makes the Actors go on and off should always take effect; quite contrary, the less things succeed according to their first appearance, the more pleasing and surprising they are. 'Tis one of the beauties of the Stage, that things cross one another, and so produce unforeseen Events; and when an Actor is upon the Stage, his good or bad Fortune is in the Poet's hands, though the reason that brought him on be not at all conformable to what he meets with there.  
As for the Practice of this Rule, I must desire our Poets to have recourse to the Ancients, and to observe with what Art they govern themselves; for the Reading of one Poem of theirs, particularly of Sophocles, will give them more light in this matter, than all the Allegations with which I might swell this Treatise.  
The Fourth Observation is about a Dispute which I have often been witness to, which is, Whether or no in the same Act the same Actor may appear more than once? First, To answer this Question right, it is necessary to distinguish the Plays; for in a Comedy, the Subject whereof is taken from the meaner sort of People, it would not be amiss that the Persons concerned should appear more than once in an Act, because they are People whose business is not weighty, their actions quick, and the manner of their life unquiet, and their Intrigues, most of them happening in the Neighbourhood, so that they need but a little time to go and come; but in a Tragedy, where they are most commonly Kings and Princes, where their manner of living is very different, their actions all full of gravity and weight, it does not appear easy nor reasonable to make them appear more than once in an Act; for their Intrigues are generally with Persons remote, their Designs great, and which are not to be brought to pass but by slow means, and with great circumspection, so that more time is regularly required to move all the Springs of their Affairs.  
Secondly, In both these sorts of Poems, one must consider the condition of the Persons; for in a Slave or Servant it would be nothing to see him often in an Act, but it would be something strange in a Man or Woman of Quality, if some very extraordinary reason did not oblige them to precipitate their Actions.  
Thirdly, We are to consider how far an Actor went, and if the thing he went about required much time; or if he had some reason to return so soon; for the place he went to being near, and having but a short business, and being obliged to return immediately, all these are circumstances which may bring an Actor upon the Stage twice in an Act, without offending against the Rules. Plautus does it very ingeniously in many of his Comedys, but I know no Example of it in any Tragedys of the Ancients. Monsieur Corneille indeed in his Horatius brings his Hero twice on in the same Act, because he went but from the Hall of his Palace to his Father's Chamber, to take his leave of him before he engaged in the Combat between the Six Brothers. But for my part, I should counsel the Poet to do it as little as possible, and with great circumspection; for, methinks, it is a little undecent to see a Person of Quality go and come so suddenly, and Act with so much appearance of precipitation.  
The Fifth Observation is about a thing which the Ancients never failed in, and the Modern Writers often have, which is, to bring their Principal Actors on, upon the opening of the Stage, and indeed with a great deal of reason, because their Persons being considered as the Principal Subject of all the Adventures of the Play, and as the Centre to which all the other Lines are to be drawn, the Spectators desire to see them at first, and all that is said or done before their Arrival gives them more impatience than pleasure, and is often reckoned for nothing: And besides, they often take the first Actor of Quality for the Hero of the Play, and when they are undeceived, find themselves in confusion and perplexed; therefore those Authors who bring not on their Chief Actor till the Third or Fourth Act, are much to blame, for that causes in the Audience so much impatience and uncertainty, that it is afterwards very hard to satisfy them; not but that in some occasions one may luckily defer the bringing on a chief Actor for a while, but then that must give some extraordinary grace to the Play, and be ordered so, as not to confound the Spectators Application.  
The Sixth Observation is, That the chief Actors ought to appear as often, ans stay as long as possible upon the Stage; First, because they are always the best Actors, and so satisfy most; then they are the best clothed, and so please the Spectators, who are taken with their Dress: And lastly, because they have the finest things to say, and the noblest passions to show; in which, to say truth, consists the greatest charm of the Stage; and besides, the whole Event being to turn upon them, the Spectator rejoices and grieves with them, fears and hopes as they do, and always has some inward concern according to the present state of their Affairs. This makes me not approve of Seneca, who in a Play where Agamemnon is the chief Hero, and is killed, makes him say not above two and twenty Verses in all. The best Advice I can give the Poet in this matter, is not to have any thing told by way of Narrative, which may be any ways decently performed by the chief Actors themselves; but if the Subject cannot suffer that the chief Actors should appear every Act, he must endeavour that that Act where they do not appear, be filled with some great circumstance of the Story, and that the second Parts may repair the want of the first by some noble and majestic Adventure, else it is certain the Play will palls and languish.  
The Seventh and last Observation of this Chapter is particular enough, and it may be at first will not be relished by all our Poets; but I desire them to examine it in the practice, before they judge of it here upon the Paper. To explain myself rightly, we must observe, that where an Actor appears first upon the Stage, he may come on in one of these Three Dispositions, either in a moderate, calm temper, or in a violent passion, or in a disposition something moved, but not raised to the high pitch of Transport; and that may be called a half-passion. Now in the first case an Actor may easily acquit himself, for it comes so near our natural temper, that few fail to personate it well. In the second case likewise of violent Transport, good Actors seldom fail to represent it well, because Experience has taught them how far their Voice and Action is to be strained in such a case; but as it is much easier to go from one Extremity to another, than to stop with discretion in the middle; so the Actors, though they can easily represent these two Sentiments directly opposite, they do not always succeed when they are to come upon the Stage with the Sentiment of a half-passion, which passes a little our natural Tranquillity, and yet rises not to the extremest violence; and the reason is, that not being stirred of themselves, and yet not daring to rise to the highest pitch of violence, 'tis hard for them to find that just temper to enter into this half passion; from hence it comes, that they often provoke the laughter of the Audience, by delivering with an ill grace, and unconcernedly, that which requires some Emotion, or appearing overallarmed at that which does not in its nature so highly affect the Spectators. Therefore my Observation to the Poet is, that he first put some more moderate words in his Actor's mouth, before he raises him to that half-passion, that he may grow warm by little and little, and that his Voice may rise by degrees, and all his gestures acquire more and more motion with his Discourse; and as for the Actor, I will tell him what in this case I have seen Mondory, the best Actor of our days do, which was, that in these occasions having taken a turn or two upon the Stage, and with some posture suitable to his Part, as lifting up his Hands and Eyes, or the like; having begun to move himself, he brought himself to the true point of a half-passion, and so came sensibly out of the natural state of Indifferency in which he came on upon the Stage; withal, retaining his motions so as they should not go too far. All this will be better understood by both Poets and Actors, if they please to make some Reflections at Reheasals, and have the Comedians own Opinions who are best Judges, having often experienced this, and other Methods of performing a half-passion.   

Chapter the Second.  
Of Discourses in general.  
IF we consider Tragedy in its own nature, it implies so much Action, that it seems not to have any room left for Discourse: 'Tis called a Drama, which signifies an Action, and the Persons concerned are called Actors, as those that are present are named Spectators, or Looker's on, not Hearers. And indeed all the Discourses of Tragedy ought to be as the Actions of those that appear upon the Stage; for there to speak, is to act, there being not there any Speeches invented by the Poet to show his Eloquence. So we see that the Narration of the Death of Hippolytus in Seneca, is rather the action of a Man frighted at the Monster that he saw come out of the Sea, and at the sad Adventure which befell Hippolytus. In a word, all Discourses upon the Stage are but the Accessaries of Action, though the whole Play in its Representation consists in Discourses. 'Tis they that are the chief work of the Poet, and in which he Employs all the strength of his wit; all that he invents, is in order to have it well delivered upon the Stage, and he supposes many actions that they may serve for Subject of those Discourses. Thus he seeks all ways to make love, joy, hatred, grief, and the rest of our passions speak upon the Stage; and yet if we examine rightly this Poem, the best part of the actions are but in the imagination of the Spectator, to whom the Poet by his Art makes them as it were visible, though there be nothing sensible but the Discourses. And we may observe in two of the Greek Poets, that though Euripides' Tragedys are filled with more Incidents and Actions than those of Sophocles, yet they had not so good success upon the Stage of Athens; neither are they now so pleasant to read; the reason whereof is, that the Discourses of Sophocles are more Eloquent, and more Judicious than those of Euripides. Nay, those Drammas which carry the name of Seneca, howsoever irregular and defective they are in other things, do nevertheless pass very well, by reason of the sense and force of some Discourses that are in them. And we have still a greater proof of this in the Works of our Corneille; for that which has so clearly set him above all the Poets of his time has not been the Plot, or Regularity of his Plays, but the Discourses, and the noble ways of Expressing those violent passions which he introduces, even so far, that we see very irregular actions in them so accompapanied with ingenious and pathetic Expressions, that the fault could not be perceived but by the Learned Observers, the beauty of the Thoughts and Language dazzling the understanding of all the rest of the Audience, and taking away from them the liberty of judging of any thing else. For Example, it was not very probable that Rodrigues, all bloody with the Murder of his Mistress' Father, should go and make her a Visit, nor that she should receive it, and yet their conversation is so pleasing and full of such noble Sentiments, that few have observed that Indecency, and they that did were willing to suffer it. Again, when Don Sanche brings his Sword to Chimene, he ought not to let her run on in those mistaken Complaints, since with one word he could undeceive her; but that which she says is so agreeable, that the Spectator cannot wish Don Sanche had been more prudent.  
All the Learned men in the Dramatic Art tell us, that those Plays which they call Polymythes, that is, loaded with many Incidents, either are bad, or at lest none of the best; but they have not given the reason, which in my judgement is, because they are all taken up in action, and so leaving no room for Discourses, the Subject is as it were stifled for want of Air; and on the contrary, a Play which has but few Incidents, and a small Intrigue, but filled with Excellent Language, and thought, can seldom fail of pleasing.  
We must nevertheless observe some difference in this Point between Comedy and Tragedy; for Comedy, whose business lies among the common sort of People, not so capable of gravity and thought, as the Tragic Actors, is much more in action than in Discourses; there is required there little Eloquence, and much Intrigue. Terence is pleasanter to read than Plautus, because he is more Elegant, but Plautus took better with the Romans, because he is fuller of action. Terence has many serious Moral sayings, which is not the proper work of Comedy, where the Spectators design is to laugh. Plautus is full of Intrigues, from which many Jests, and ingenious Raileries are created, and that's the thing we wish for in Comedy.  
I could wish therefore that our Poets would excel in the Art of Rhetoric, and study Oratory and Eloquence to the bottom; for we are not to imagine, that it consists in some puns and quibbles, to make the Citizens and Country Gentlemen laugh, nor in some Antitheses, or other Figures often ill employed; no, the Poet ought to know all the passions, the springs, that bring them on, and the way of expressing them with Order, Energy, and Judgement.  
He may see many Examples of this amongst the Ancient Poets, who best can show him the way of pleasing, and acquiring Reputation. ay, for my part, pretend to nothing here, but to give him my particular Observations, which at least may serve him to make better of his own. But to do this with order, I consider there are generally in a Play Four sorts of Discourses, Narrations, Deliberations, Didactic Discourses or Instructions, and Pathetic Discourses, or the motions of passions. This is the Method which I establish to explain myself, to which any body may add what they think necessary, and take away all that they shall judge superfluous; and in a word, change all that shall not please them, and have my free consent to do it.   

Chapter the Third.  
Of Narrations.  
THese Narrations which happen in a Dramatic Poem, do generally regard two sorts of things; either those which have happened before the opening of the Stage, wheresoever they came to pass; nay, though it be long before; or else they regard those things which happen off of the Scene in the Contexture of the Theatral action, after once the Stage is open, and within the Extent of time that it requires. As to the first sort which are brought into the body of the Poem, for the better understanding of things which happened before the opening of the Stage, they may regularly be used in the beginning of the Play, that they may give a Foundation to the whole Action, and prepare the Incidents, and by that means facilitate to the Spectator the understanding of all the rest; or else they may be made use of toward the end of the Poem, and serve to the Catastrophe, or the untying and opening of all the Plot.  
Not but that they may be made in other parts of the Play, as we see it done in a Play called Virginia, where the chiefest Narration is in the Fourth Act, and is performed with great grace▪ and equal success; but in that part of the Play 'tis very dangerous to use them; for they run a hazard of either discovering the Catastrophe, which is near at hand, or else they leave the Stage in some obscurity, and the Spectators ill informed of many circumstances, for having too long delayed the opening of them; so that to avoid both these Inconveniences, the Poet must have a very steady hand, since he must order it so as his Narration do not in the least prevent the beauty of the Catastrophe; nor his first acts be less intelligible for having kept back his Narration.  
As for those things which happen in the course of the Action, the recital of them is to be made as they happen; or if it be thought necessary, or more pleasing to delay them, there must be used some Art to feed the Spectators desire of knowing them without impatience; or else you must quite stifle his Expectation, that he may be the better surprised when they come to pass. But we must remember besides, that these Recitals or Narrations are introduced only to instruct the Spectator about what passes off of the Scene; for to relate either those things that have been seen, or might have been seen, as being supposed to have been done upon the Stage, would certainly be very ridiculous; and besides, those things that give ground to these Incident Narrations, aught to be very considerable, or else they are to be avoided, and the thing to be insinuated into the Audience by some words scattered here and there either before or after.  
Now all these Narrations do enter into the Composition of the Dramatic Poem, for two ends, either to make it clear and intelligible, or to adorn and set it out; but against both these ends the Poet often falls into Errors, which destroy his first Intention.  
The first is, when his Narration is obscure, and loaded with circumstances hard for the Audience to retain distinctly; such are Genealogical ones (which Scaliger blames in Homer; or a great number of Names, with a Chain of actions embroylued one in in another; for the Spectator will not give himself the trouble to observe and retain all these different Idaea's, he coming to the Stage only for his pleasure, and in the mean time for want of remembering all this, he remains in the dark as to the rest of the Play, and is disgusted for all the time he stays. Such a Story might be that of the three Brothers, and three Sisters, which is described in Astraea, and that of the two Children born of two Women, who had each of them married one another's Sons; if any body should upon such Stories found the whole Intrigue of a Play, he might be sure no body would understand it, and by consequent it would have few Spectators.  
The Second fault of Narrations is when they are tedious, and they are always tedious when they do not contain things necessary or agreeable; as also when they are made with weak and faint Expressions, such as do not captivate the Spectators favour or attention, which by consequent must palls, and make him give over minding the Play; and this happens likewise when they are too long; for variety being the life of the Stage, and that being wanting, the best things grow dull, and weigh upon the Spectator, who takes it ill to be fixed to one Subject without diversity for so long a time; and though it may be the capacity of some would carry them thorough to comprehend it all, yet being come for diversion, they will not take the pains to do it, which joined with the incapacity of others to hearken to so long a Story, causes at last a general disgust in the whole Audience.  
We may moreover make this distinction upon the length of Narrations, for they may be so either for the matter, when they are filled with too great a number of Incidents, and Persons, of Names and Places; or they may be so out of the form for the many words they contain, as when the circumstances of an Action are too much exaggerated and particularised in minute and insignificant things; and when the Expressions are too full of Epithets, Adverbs▪ or other unnecessary terms, with Repetitions of the same thing, though in a different way.  
And indeed, to examine the difference of these two sorts of lengths in Narrations, we may say, that the first is vicious in any place of the Play wheresoever it is placed: For first, at the opening of the Stage, the Spectator, who thinks all that Recital necessary for the understanding of the Play, endeavours to retain it all in his memory; but finding his Imagination confounded, and his Memory distracted with so many things, he is first vexed with himself, and then with the Poet, and at last gives out, without minding any more of the whole Poem.  
These long Narrations are not better placed in the course of the Action, for those things which come to pass after the opening of the Stage, because it will never be thought probable that so many things should have come to pass in so little a time; (as for Example, the Interval of an Act seems to be) not but that it is ordinary to suppose in that time a Battle, a Conspiracy, or some such other Event; but to do it with probability, the Poet deceives the Spectator, and busies him with something else that is agreeable, that so he may be insensibly persuaded that there has been time enough for all the rest; but that which is particularly to be heeded in that place is, that at that time the Stage is in all the hurry of Action, and in the turns of Incidents, which these long Narrations do cool and palls, whereas a true Narration ought to quicken the Stage, and lay the foundation of some new passion, which to obtain, it must be short, pithy, and full of life and warmth. The contrary of this appears in that Narration, which the Rich in Imagination makes in the Play called the Visionaires.  
When these long Narrations happen towards the Catastrophe, they are then absolutely insupportable; for the Spectator, who is impatient to see which way the Intrigue turns, has all his pleasure spoiled just in the time when he ought to receive the most, which is so much the more dangerous for the success of the Play, because the Audience is already tired and disposed to give out.  
In a word, I think it may be a kind of General Rule, that Narrations may be longer at the opening of the Stage than any where else, because the Spectator is fresh, and willing to give attention, and his memory receives agreeably all those new Idaa's, in hopes they are to contribute to the pleasure which is prepared for him; and also that they are as much to be avoided at the Catastrophe, where they do so chock the Audience, who is then impatient to know the Event, that no Figures of Rhetoric can make him amends. See, amongst others, how dexterous Plautus is in the Narration of the knowing of Planesia, at the end of the Curculio; 'tis one of the most regular Narrations that he has.  
Besides these Cautions, it will not be amiss to observe, that these Narrations may be made in two manners; either all of a piece, where a Story is told that is to give a foundation to all the Plot of the Play; (though they that among the Poets do it best, have some Pathetic or other ingenious Interruptions) as the Orestes of Euripides, and in the Comical kind, the Hecyra of Terence, and the Pseudolus of Plautus in the first Acts do sufficiently illustrate: Or else, these Narrations are made by piece-meals, according as the Poet thinks fit to hide or discover any part of his Subject, to frame the different Acts with more Ornament, as one may see in the Sphigenia of Euripides, and in the Oedypus Tyrannus of Sophocles, where the Story is told by different Persons, and at different times; which may be performed, when he that makes part of a Narration knows not all the Story, or when for some other necessary reason which must appear so to the Audience, he will not tell all he knows; or when he is interrupted by some body else (which must be done with great Art, and not by bringing on a purpose a man who has nothing else to do in the rest of the Play, but to interrupt that Actor;) Or last, when those things that are necessary to be known, are not yet come to pass, as Corneille has most ingeniously practised in his Horatius; for by opening his Stage after the Truce concluded, he has found a way to bring (uriatius to Rome, and there has reserved to himself to make different Narrations of the Combat of the three Brothers in such places of his Play as he thinks the fittest to change the state of Affairs upon his Stage.  
I may assure our Poets, that a Narration thus ingeniously divided, requires great Art and Meditatution to consider how far one may carry each part of it, and to give all the necessary grounds and colours to the Audience, for leaving off in such a place, and beginning again in such another; and indeed such a Narration well managed, produces an admirable Effect; for leaving the Spectator always in the expectation of some Novelty, it warms his desire, and entertains his impatience; and then the new discoveries that are made in the rest of the Narration furnish the Stage with Subjects to vary all the Motions and Passions of the Actors.  
Narrations may besides be considered as simply and plainly telling the Tale, or as exaggerating pathetically the circumstances of the Adventure. In the first case they ought to be short, because they are without motion or ornament, and yet they are often necessary, as when some important Advice is to be given to obviate some pressing mischief.  
Pathetic Narrations are always the finest, and the only indeed fit to come upon the Stage, when they are contained within the bounds of a reasonable Exaggeration; then the mixture of fear, astonishment, imprecations, and the like, according to the circumstances of the Story is fit, and produces a good Effect. But particularly, these passions ought to be mingled in the Narration, when the person to whom it is made is not at all ignorant of the whole Story, and yet there is a necessity of informing the Audience by him; and I believe that I first found out this sleight, to avoid absurdity in doing of it; for in this case it would be ridiculous to make to him a plain Story which he knows already; therefore to avoid that one must bring in natural passions growing from the Story itself, and the present state of the Affairs of the Stage, either by Complaints, or Sentiments of joy, or fear; for by this means the Story is told▪ and yet no affected cold Narration brought on against all the Rules of probability. Such is the Narration of the Death of Clytaemnestra in the Electra of Euripides, and such is the discourse of Tecmessa in Sophocles in his Ajax, where the Poet makes her make an ingenious Narration of all that the Spectators were ignorant of under pretext of complaining of her own misfortunes, and the Narration of Sosias. In Amphytrio is one of the most ingenious ones, where the Poet, that he may instruct the Audience about Amphytrio's Voyage, and the War, makes that Slave meditate to himself what News he shall tell his Mistress, for by that means, though the Narration be made to himself, and very pleasant things in it, fit for a Slave's wit to say, yet at the same time the Spectator is informed of every thing, without any apparent affectation. But in these Narrations the Poet must be very careful to keep up the humour, so as nothing of a studied Recital do appear, for then 'tis faulty, as done on purpose for the Spectators. Therefore I can never advise him to use a certain way, common enough now adays, which is when an Actor knows some part of the Story, though the Spectators are not informed of any part of it; in this case I say Poets do often make another Repeat that which the Actor knows already, saying only, You know such a thing, and then adding, 
☞ p. 393. the middle.  Now here is the rest which you do not know. To say truth, this appears to me very gross, and it were better to let that which the Actor knows already, be expressed to the Audience by some motions of passion, and then find some ingenious pretext to tell the rest in an ordinary Narration.  
That which remains now to be done upon this Subject, is to explain some Rules, from which, without absurdity the Poet cannot depart.  
The first is, that he who makes the Narration be rationally supposed to know perfectly the thing he tells, or else he cannot be thought to tell it with any probability.  
Secondly, That on his side, there be some apparent and powerful reason for him to tell it, either by the necessity of giving notice to some other person, or by some well-grounded curiosity, or by the Authority he has over the person that speaks with him, or some such considerations.  
Thirdly, He that hears him must have some just Subject to be informed of the thing that is told him, and I for my part cannot bear that a Varlet should out of simple curiosity be entertained with the Adventures of a great Prince, as the Poet has done in Rhodogune; for Narrations are always flat that are not made to a person concerned for want of passions to animate both the Audience, and the Man that makes the Recital.  
Besides, a Narration ought to be made in a fit place, where probably both he that hears, and he that speaks, might be supposed to meet; wherefore I cannot approve that in the Hall of a Palace, where probably People go and come continually, there should be a long Narration made of secret Adventures which ought not to be discovered without great precaution for the danger that attends their being revealed; and therefore I never could conceive how Mr. Corneille▪ can bring to pass with decency that. In the same place Cinna tells Aemilia all the circumstances of a great Conspiracy against Augustus, and yet in that very place Augustus holds a secret counsel of his two intimate Favourites; for if it be a public place, as it seems to be, since Augustus sends away all his Courtiers and Attendance to talk alone with his friends, what probability is there that Cinna should there visit Aemilia, with a Discourse of about 130 Verses, and a discovery of the most dangerous Affairs in the World, which might be overheard by some body going or coming; and if the place be private, and supposed the Emperor's Closet, who dismisses those he would not have participant of his secret, how is it possible that Cinna should come there to talk all that to Aemilia? And how is it probable that Aemilia should break out into outrageous Complaints and Invectives against Augustus? This is my Objection, to which Monsieur Corneille may be pleased to give an Answer when he thinks fit.  
'Tis not less necessary to choose a fit time to make a Narration probable; for there are some times which will not bear a long Discourse: 
☞ p. 398.  'Tis a fault which Scaliger does not scruple to charge Homer himself with, when he makes his Hero's make long Narrations in the middle of a Battle or Engagement. A Poet of ours has committed the same fault in the Scipio, while in the midst of the storming of a Town, a victorious Army is abandoned to all Licence, and the People in the disorder of a place taken by assault. A young Maid disguised, makes a long Narration to discover herself, whereas in such a time she ought not at most to have spoke above four Verses.  
But I do not take heed that insensibly I am discovering the faults of our Modern Writers, who, it may be, will not allow them to be so, or at least will not be pleased with the discovery; let the Poet then seek out of himself Examples of ill Narrations, and not expect from me that I should discredit the best part of our Plays, many of which have been so favourably received either by the too much complaisance, or the ignorance of those who did not understand their faults.   

Chapter the Fourth.  
Of Deliberations.  
MY design is not here to teach that part of Rhetoric which they call the genus deliberativum, by which is showed the Art of saying one's Opinion floridly in all matters, in which counsel is asked. Our Poet ought not to stay till he be upon the Stage to be instructed in those Principles which are all comprehended under the name of the Theory of the Stage.  
Dramatic Poetry is a kind of Quintessence of all the Precepts of Eloquence that are found in Authors, because they must be used in it, but with so much Judgement and Art, and so nicely, that it must often seem that one has quite laid them aside, the genius of the Stage being such, that a thing that does not appear, contains in it very often the greatest Artifice, and a Sentiment that shall imperceptibly have been conveyed into the mind of the Audience, an imperfect Narration, an Adventure, begun in appearance without design, are capable alone of making a Play take, by giving a foundation secretly to the strongest passions, and by that means preparing a noble Catastrophe; and without doubt there is much skill required for any body to perform this, without which one cannot pretend to true glory in the Art.  
I begin therefore with this Advertisement, which I think very considerable in matter of Deliberations, which is, that they in their own nature are not fit for the Stage, because the Theatre being a place of Action, all things ought to be in agitation, either by Events which cross one another, or by Passions born out of those Incidents, as Lightning and Thunder from the Clouds. In a word, 'tis a place where every body is disquieted and in disorder; and as soon as ever the calm and quiet succeed, the Play is at an end, or grows very dull all the while that the Action is suspended; how is it possible than that Deliberations should have any part in the business? They are sedate and quiet things where Moderation and Temper ought chiefly to appear. He that asks counsel does it with tranquillity, at least in appearance, and they that are called to counsel aught less to be troubled either with Passion or Interest, they must speak with all the clearness of Reason, and argue upon the discovery, and not in the Clouds, and darkness of Passion; and if they grow but warm, they are presently suspected of some secret Interest; so that without very great Art, it will be hard to reconcile them to the Scene, without making the Stage lose its grace, and grow dull.  
It may be answered, that the Stage abounds in Deliberations, and that the Ancients have them in most Acts of their Plays; and for the Moderns, Monsieur Corneille excels in them, and has scarce any thing in his Poems so moving, and so much admired, witness his Stanzas in the mouth of Rodrigues in the Cid. Aemilia in Cinna deliberates pleasingly between the danger she exposes Cinna to, and the revenge she covets. Cinna deliberates between the Obligations he has to Augustus, and the love he bears his Mistress; and Augustus deliberates what to do in this last Conjuration, in which his Favourite was the chief man to murder him.  
To all this I answer, That these are not the true sort of Deliberations which I am treating of, though they do show Irresolution, and a dispute between opposite Considerations; they are rather to be placed in the rank of Pathetic Discourses, which make the best Actions of the Stage. You see minds agitated by different Passions, and still carried into extremes, of which the Spectator cannot foresee the Event; all their Discourses have the true Theatral Character, they are impetuous and figurative, and show you rather the Image of a Soul tormented in the midst of his Executioners, than one consulting in the midst of his Friends.  
'Tis not therefore this sort of Deliberations that I exclude; on the contrary, I exhort all our Poets to bring them upon the Stage, as much as the Subject will afford, and to examine carefully with what variety and Art they are managed by the Ancients, and in the Works of Monsieur Corneille, for if he be well considered, 'twill be found that 'tis in that principally that consists that which in him is called Admirable, and the thing which has made him so famous.  
I only speak then of those Deliberations which are made designedly, and are Representations of the like Consults made in Courts upon some important Affair. We have two Examples remarkable in Corneille, that in the Play called Cinna, where Augustus deliberates whether he shall leave the Empire or no; and the other in a Play called The Death of Pompey, where King Ptolomeus deliberates what he shall do with so great a Man, newly arrived in his Country; and these two Deliberations have succeeded likewise very differently, for that of Augustus pleased the Audience to a wonder, and the other of Ptolomaeus passes for a very common, ordinary Discourse; and that very difference of the success of these two Deliberations, confirms me in my Opinion, that they are dangerous upon the Stage, and have afforded me likewise the occasion of making some Reflections which may contribute to make them please.  
The first is, That the Subject of the Deliberation ought to be great, noble, and extraordinary, and not of such things as fall every day in debate in Princes Councils, and 'tis in this for one, that the Deliberation of Augustus carries it from that of Ptolomaeus, for it is not ordinary that a Monarch should have the thought of laying down the Sovereignty, and bring so important a Point to be debated by two Friends. There was but one Example of such a thing before Augustus' time, and we have had but three since, of which the Queen of Sweden makes still an Illustrious Remembrance. But it was not a thing so rare to see Ptolomaeus deliberate about the Life and Liberty of Pompey; 'twas an important Affair, but no extraordinary one, which made the difference in the success of the thing. Ptolemy might deliberate upon such a Subject, but the Spectators receive no pleasure from the thing, being done in their hearing▪ because it contributes nothing to their Intrigues, nor the untying of the knot of the Play.  
Secondly, The Motive of a Deliberation that is brought upon the Stage, aught to be necessary and urgent, not only in the Person of him that deliberates, but in relation also to all the Persons concerned in the Action. The Deliberation of Augustus in Cinna may serve here for an Example: For it seems necessary that it should be brought upon the Stage, that the Audience might see the goodness of the Emperor, and the passionate transports of Fury that Cinna was guilty of, and all that happens afterwards between Cinna, Aemilia, and Maximus, has its force and beauty from what Cinna himself had given in counsel to Augustus.  
Thirdly, In these Deliberations the Discourses must be noble and proportionable to the greatness of the Subject, that is, that they come from a profound meditation, and be expressed with great strength of thought, for not being capable of any great figures, they must be upheld by strong sense and reasoning. This likewise is observed in the Deliberation of Augustus, where Maximus and Cinna do say very surprising things.  
Fourthly, One must observe never to stay till the Stage is in the heat of Action, and the depth of Intrigues, to bring on these Deliberations, because they cool the Stage, and so defeat the Expectations of the Audience, and yet I would not place them in the beginning neither, as that of Ptolemy is in Corneille, because then there has not been any passion agitated which might produce such a Deliberation; but I would place them in the beginning of the second or third Act, that they may have some foundation upon what is already done, and some influence upon what remains to do.  
They ought likewise not to be made all of a breath, without interruption from some of the Counsellors, for that gives at least a little warmth to the coolness of the Stage. But above all, I think they ought to be as short as possible, for they cannot be long without being tedious in prolix reasonings void of figures, which nevertheless I would have the Poet strive to bring in as Apostrophes, Prosopopoeas, Hypotyposes, and such like; in which much Art must be used, because regularly these figures do not enter into Deliberations.  
But that which above all things I think necessary is, that the Persons advised with, be concerned in the thing proposed, because then 'tis not a plain Advice, but it has something of the Theatral Action; then the Spectator too is much more concerned, as appears very well in the case of Augustus, who being made to advise about the most important thing of his Life, with two treacherous Friends, and the Audience being already informed of the hatred of Aemilia, and the love of Cinna, they are all attentive to what they say, every Spectator having a curiosity to know how they will come off, so that all that they say is harkened to, and not a word of it lost; and when after all the Emperor is yet kind to both these Traitors, the Spectators begin to think they will relent of their Treason, and particularly when they see Maximus and Cinna afterwards a little in suspense, and then when at last they see them persevere in their design, they cannot imagine how the thing will turn, nor what will be the Event; so that this Deliberation is upheld by the Interest of those who advise, and does itself influence all the other Affairs of the Stage.  
I have nothing more upon this Subject, but one general Observation, which is, That few People that go to Plays do approve of the Examining and Condemning of Criminals upon the Stage, which nevertheless we see frequently represented there, and the reason is, because that when it comes to that formality, 'tis generally performed by the worst Actors, who being seated and out of action, and having a few scurvy Verses (which in such an occasion can hardly be made better) to recite. The Audience can hardly forbear laughing, so far are they from being concerned. I know no remedy for this but to endeavour to order the Story so, as it shall not require such a dull piece of Pageantry, so little capable of deserving any applause from the Audience.   

Chapter the Fifth.  
Of Didactic Discourses or Instructions.  
THis is a new Subject in our Dramatic Art, I not having found any thing in those Authors who have composed great Volumes about it; and I am the first that have made observations upon it, such as I may boldly say ought not to be despised by our Poets.  
I understand then by Didactic Discourses those Maxims and general Propositions which contain known Truths, and are only applied in the Play, according as the Subject will allow, tending more to instruct the Audience in the Rules of Morality, than to explain any part of the Intrigue a foot. An Example may illustrate the thing better. Suppose then the Poet had a mind to treat this Proposition.  The Gods are just, and were they not so, they would cease to be Gods. 
Or this; A general Instinct cannot be suspected of Error.  
Or this; A Subject that Rebels against his Prince is Criminal.  
I say, That a Poet often endeavours to set out some of these Maxims by a great number of Verses, upon which he demurs a great while, leaving all that time his Subject, and the Intrigue of the Stage, and keeping himself still upon general Notions.  
Now as to these Didactic Discourses, I distinguish them into two sorts, some I call Physical, and the others Moral ones.  
I call those Physical or Natural, which make a deduction or description of the Nature, Qualities, or Effects of any thing without distinction, whether it be in the rank of natural or supernatural things; or of the number of Artificial Compounds.  
Under the notion of Moral Discourses, I comprehend all those Instructions which contain any Maxim of Religion, or Politics, or Economics, or that any ways regard humane Life  
To come after this to my Observations, we must lay it down as a Maxim, That all these Didactic Discourses are of their own nature unfit for the Stage, because they are cold, and without motion, being general things which only tend to Instruct the mind, but not to move the heart, so that the action of the Stage, which ought to warm our affections, becomes by them dull and indifferent. Young People who come to read Euripides and Sophocles, admire the first much more than the latter, and yet Sophocles almost always carried the prize from Euripides upon the Stage, and that by the Judgement of all the Athenians. This mistake of the young Reader proceeds from this, that they being themselves not throughly instructed in those Maxims, and finding a great many of them in Euripides, as well about Religion, as Politics and Moral ones, they are charmed to see such Truths so nobly expressed, and the things themselves being new to them, please them beyond measure. 'Tis for this that Quintilian in his Precepts of Rhetoric advises young People to the Lecture of Euripides before Sophocles. In all which they do not observe that Sophocles makes the groundwork of his Plays, of those very Truths, as well as Euripides; but he does it with so much Art, that he utters them in a Pathetic manner, as well as in a Didactic one, whereby the People of Athens departed almost always pleased and charmed by the high passions which Sophocles fills his Stage with, but were more used to Euripides' Maxims, which he so often beats over to them, and by that means did not consider them as any thing rare and extraordinary: And from thence it proceeds, that in our Modern Plays, those very places in which the Poets have laboured by noble Verses, and high words to express, some great Maxim, have least succeeded, because that falling into the Didactic way, they forsake the business of the Stage, and let the action cool. From thence it comes likewise that all Actors that appear with the Pedantic Character of teaching, such as are the Governor of a young Prince, a Doctor, a Governess, or the like, are still ill received by the Audience; the very presence of them displeases and imprints the Character of Ridicule upon the most serious Piece. I am confident that if the Linco in Pastor sido appeared upon our Stage, he would be hissed off of it, notwithstanding all the good counsel he gives Sylvio; and that which makes me believe it the sooner, is that one of our best Modern Plays lost half its due applause, by there being a Governor to a young Prince, who was giving him Advice in the midst of most violent passions, with which he was tormented, that being neither the Time, nor the Stage the Place for such Instructions.  
We do not see neither that either Astrologers, Conjurers, High Priests, or any of that Character, do much take, for the very reason that they can hardly speak without pretending to teach, or else talk in generals of the power of the Gods, the wonderful Effects of Nature, and such things which cannot fail of being tedious, when they are prolixely expressed. Scaliger will not allow them in the very Epic Poems, much less can they be received in the Dramatic, but aught to be quite banished the Stage.  
We must observe besides, that Physical Instructions about Nature, and its Effects, are yet less welcome than Moral ones, because that 'tis hard an Actor should speak so long as to explain the nature of a thing, without disgusting the Audience, which soon grows weary of being ill taught the thing the Poet would have him learn; which, together with the little concern the no passion of the Stage raises in him, makes the whole very disagreeable. We have a notable Example of this in Mariam, where a long Discourse is made of the Nature of Dreams, the thing is very fine, and the nature of them well explained; but it interrupts an agitation of the Stage, begun by Herode's trouble at his waking; the Audience would fain know the cause of his disturbance, and the particulars of his Dream: But instead of that, there is a long Discourse of the Nature of Dreams in general, to which the Spectator gives but little attention, as being thereby disappointed of his chief expectation.  
To all this it may be objected, That the Stage is a place of public Instruction, and that the Dramatic Poet is to instruct, as well as please; and therefore that Didactic Discourses may be proper enough, or at least ought not to be condemned.  
I confess that the Stage is a place of Instruction▪ but we must well understand how that is meant. The Poet ought to bring his whole Action before the Spectator, which ought to be so represented with all its circumstances, that the Audience be fully Instructed; for as Dramatic Poetry does but imitate humane actions, it does it only to instruct us by them, and that it does directly, and properly: But for Moral Maxims, which may incite us either to the love of Virtue, or stir us up to hate Vice; it does it indirectly, and by the Entermise of the Actions themselves; 
☞ p. 418.  of which Sentiment Scaliger is so much, as I dare quote him for my Warrantee in this Opinion. Now this may be done two ways; the first, when the Action of the Stage is so judiciously managed, that it shows the force of Virtue triumphing in the midst of Persecutions, after which it is often happily rewarded; but if it is totally overwhelmed by them, it remains glorious even in its death. By this all the deformities of Vice are discovered; it is often punished, but when even it triumphs and overcomes, it is in abomination with the Audience, who thereupon are apt to conclude with themselves, That 'tis better to embrace Virtue through the hazard of Persecution, than to follow Vice even with hopes of Impunity▪  
'Tis thus principally that the Stage ought to be Instructive to the Public by the knowledge of things represented; and I have always observed, that it is not agreeable to the Audience, that a Man who swerves from the way of Virtue, should be set right, and repent, by the strength of Precepts and Sentences: We rather desire it should be by some Adventure that presses him, and forces him to take up reasonable and virtuous Sentiments. We should hardly endure that Herode should recall his Sentence against Mariam, upon a Remonstrance of one of the seven Wise Men of Greece; but we are pleased to see, that after the Death of the Queen, his Love becomes his Tormentor; and having opened his Eyes, drives him into so sincere a Repentance, that he is ready to sacrifice his Life to the regret he has for his Crime.  
As for the other way of Teaching Morality, it depends much on the ingeniousness of the Poet, when he strengthens his Theatral Action with divers pithy and bold Truths, which being imperceptibly worked into his Play, are as it were the nerves and strength of it. For, in a word, that which I condemn in common Didacticks, is their stile and manner of expression, not the things themselves, since those great Truths which are as it were the foundation of the conduct of humane actions, I am so far from banishing them off the Stage, that quite contrary, I think them very necessary and ornamental, which to attain, I give these following Observations.  
First, These general Maxims must be so fastened to the Subject, and linked by many circumstances with the Persons acting, that the Actor may seem to think more of that concern of his, he is about, than of saying fine things, that is, to speak in terms of Rhetoric, he must reduce the Thesis to the Hypothesis, and of universal Propositions, make particular Applications; for by this means the Poet avoids the suspicion of aiming to Instruct pedantickly, since his Actors do not leave their business which they are about. For Example, I would not have an Actor spend many words to prove that,  
Virtue is always persecuted; but he may say to the Party concerned,  
Do you think to have better measure than Virtue has always had? and can you expect to be privileged from Persecution more than Socrates or Cato?  
And so continue a little speaking still to the Party present, and upon the Subject in hand, by which means these Discourses seem a little to keep off from being too general Precepts, and so disgust the less.  
Secondly, In all these occasions the Poet must use figurative Speech, either by Interrogation, Irony, or others that his fancy shall suggest; for these Figures, by not circumstancing minutely the general Propositions, make them more florid, and so by ornaments free them from the Didactic Character. As for Example, if there be a design of advising a young Woman to obey her Parents; instead of Preaching downright obedience to her, I think an Irony would do better▪ As thus;  
That's a fine way indeed, for a virtuous young Lady to attain the reputation of a good Daughter, to be carried away by her own passions, and neglect not only the censure of the best sort of People, but break through all the fences of duty and honour.  
My third Observation is, That when any of these great Maxims are to be proposed bluntly and in plain words, it be done in as few as may be; by that means they do not cool the Stage, but add something to the variety of it; but there must be care taken that this do not happen in the midst of a violent passion; for besides that in those cases men do not naturally speak sentences, the Actor cannot then appear with that moderation which those reflections require. Seneca is very guilty of this fault in all his tragedies where most commonly in the heat of passion all his fine Common places are bestowed upon the Audience.  
We have nevertheless some Examples of Didactic, Propositions made in direct terms, and at length not without some success in Corneille, which to attain as well as he, requires the same Ingenuity and Art▪ The Expressions must be strong, and seem to have been said only for that particular Subject to which they are applied, and that requires a particular genius, and much study to accomplish.  
I have observed besides, that common Truths, though in a Didactic stile, yet do very well upon the Stage in the mouth of a Rogue or a Cheat▪ when his Character is known; for the Spectator is delighted to see him cunningly use all the Maxims and Discourses of a good man to intents and purposes quite contrary, so that by that means 'tis all figurative, and moves the Attention of the Audience.  
One may likewise successfully enough burlesque all these common Truths, but that can be performed no where but in Comedy, where by that means they forsake their natural state, and are disguised under a new appearance, which causes both variety and ornament. But Tragedy in its own nature is too grave to admit of any thing so low and buffoon as this would be; neither do I remember to have met with any thing of that kind in any serious Tragedy; I say serious Tragedy, because that in Satyrical Tragedy there was admitted a mixture of Heroic Actions, and low Buffooneries; and therefore this disguizing of serious Precepts might have room among the rest in them.   

Chapter the Sixth.  
Of Pathetic Discourses; or of the Passions and Motions of the Mind.  
I Do not undertake in this Chapter to teach the Nature of Passions, nor their different Species, nor their extraordinary Effects; all Moral Authors do that sufficiently. I do not think neither that it is necessary to show here the Art of using them in order to persuade, after all that Aristotle has said upon that Subject in his second Book of Rhetoric; so that I will avoid all Repetitions of that nature, and not so much as touch upon any thing that is contained in his Poeticks, or his Interpreters Commentaries, where may be seen which are the Passions fittest for the Stage, and how they are to be managed. Monsieur de la Menardiere had made two Chapters in his Poeticks on this Subject, so learned and so proper, that they alone would silence me, if I offered at this matter, they being able to satisfy the most curious in that Subject.  
I consider therefore here the Passions, as they are placed in Discourse, and thereupon I bring my Observations towards employing of them with conduct upon the Stage. In a word, I only intent to show with what Art a Pathetic or Moving Discourse ought to be regulated so as to make it agreeable to the Spectators, by the impression it is to make on them.  
First then, The Cause which is to produce a Motion in the Actors themselves, and then in the Audience, aught to be something true, or believed to be so, not only by the Actor who speaks (who would be ridiculous to make a great Discourse of Grief or Joy for a thing he should know to be false) but also by the Spectators, who probably would not be concerned if they knew that the Subject he had to complain or rejoice were fictitious; and if it so fall out, that by the rest of the Story, the Spectator must know a thing contrary to the belief of the Actor: As for Example, that a Princess is alive, though a Lover believe her dead: I say, if in that case one would have the Passion take with the Audience, there must not be a long Complaint mingled with Sentiments of kindness and grief; but the Actor must be presently transported into Rage, that the Spectators may be touched by his violent despair, and feel a great deal of compassion, if in that Error he happens to kill himself, as we see it falls out in Pyramus and Thisbe in both kinds; for the long Discourse he makes upon the suspicion he is in, that a Lion has killed his Mistress, does not much affect the Audience; but when he draws his Sword to sacrifice his Life to the Manes of his dead Mistress, and so expiate his negligence in his own blood, there is hardly one of the Audience that does not shake with horror; and upon this occasion I remember I saw a young Lady, who had never been at a Play before, cry out to her Mother, that Pyramus ought to be told that his Mistress was not dead, which made me make this Judgement, that the Poet ought not to have deferred so long bringing his Actor to the moving part; three or four Lines had been enough to have explained his belief of her death, and then all the rest ought to have been pronounced, his Sword drawn, and in the nearest disposition to death, which would certainly have produced immediate horror and compassion in the Audience.  
Not but that it happens often that the Actor may lament or rejoice at something he thinks true, while the Audience nevertheless must know that it is false. As for Example, if the Story requires that in the Person of that Actor there be feigned a Passion, of which the Cause is false, with a design to have it believed true by another, and by that means discover some secret; 'tis good that the Spectators should be informed that he who feigns the Passion has no true Subject for it, because than they have the pleasure of the Contrivance, to see the Disguise well acted; but he that is deceived, ought not to make any long Pathetic Discourses, because that would not move the Spectators. It will suffice that in few words he show the impression the fiction has made upon him, and what Event may be from thence expected. In a word, in all such cases the Poet is to examine which of the two will best please the Audience to see a circumventing design well Executed, or to be concerned for the Complaint made by an innocent, unwary person; for if they are pleased in the Cheat, they must be informed of it, if in the Complaint, the falseness of the Grief must be concealed from him, that they may believe as well as the Party grieved, that he has reason to be afflicted.  
Secondly, 'Tis not enough that the Cause of some extraordinary Motion of the Mind be true, but it must also (to be agreeably represented upon the Stage) be reasonable and probable, according to the received Opinions of Mankind; for if any Actor should fly into a passion of Anger, without reason, he would be looked upon as a Madman, instead of being pitied; not but that there are some passions whose Subject is false, which nevertheless are very agreeable, though they are not reasonable in their grounds, for Example Jealousy; but the nature of this passion is to be without any foundation in truth or reason, for else it would not be Jealousy, but a just Indignation which would inspire the Spectators with hatred against the Woman, and compassion for the Husband; whereas quite contrary, we have naturally aversion for a jealous Man, and compassion for a poor Woman innocently persecuted by him. The same may be said of Covetousness, which will still be so much the more diverting, if the cares and fears in keeping of a Treasure, with distrust of all sorts of People, be without grounds; or rather, we may say that the Discourses which are made to express these passions, do not so much please the Spectator, by making him concerned for those that speak, as they do it by giving him a sort of compassion mingled with Sentiments of scorn and derision for the misery and folly of those that are tyrannised over by them; at least those are the thoughts which I had in reading the second Comedy of Plautus, called Aulularia.  
Thirdly, To make a Complaint that shall touch and concern the Audience, the cause of it must be just, for else no body will enter into the Sentiments of the grieved Person. For Example, if an Actor should express great affliction for not having been able to Execute a Conspiracy against a good Prince, or some great piece of Treachery against his Country, he would be looked upon as a wicked, and not an unhappy Person, and all that he could say would but increase the People's aversion to him.  
Besides all these Considerations, if the Pathetic Discourse be not necessary, that is to say, expected and desired by the Spectators, it will be very nauseous to them, let the Poet's Art be what it will. That a Husband should be grieved for the loss of his Wife, is so natural, that we need not be brought to the Stage to see Examples of it; but that Herode should first condemn his Wife in a transport of Rage, in spite of all the tender thoughts inspired by his love; it excites our curiosity to know what his thoughts are after such an Action. That Masinissa, forced by the Romans, should send his Wife Poison, though passionately in love with her, and she die of it, one cannot but desire to know what that unfortunate Prince can say or do after so desperate an Adventure. But that for Example. The Wife of Alexander, Son to Mariam, should come and make great lamentations upon the Body of her Husband, whom Herode had put to death without any other motive, that because she was his Wife, that was very superfluous, and did not prove very agreeable to the Audience, who knew well enough that she had reason to grieve, but not upon the Stage, the Spectators knowing already all that she could say upon that Subject; and from thence we must likewise infer, that all Confidents and Attendants of Princes, though they are very necessary Persons upon the Stage, for the union of all the Intrigues, yet they cannot be supposed to carry their lamentations and reflections on their Master's misfortunes very far, because every body knows that they are things of course in true Friends, and faithful Servants, and so not extraordinary enough for the Stage.  
The same thing may be said of the chief Actors, when their Interests are not grounded upon sensible Motives. For Example; If a Rival having sought his Mistress only for her Fortune, and not out of any Inclination from his heart, should complain of having lost her, it would produce no Effect in the Minds of the Audience, his lamentations having no ground in nature or reason.  
But one of the chiefest Observations of all is this, That all passions that are not founded upon Opinions and Customs conformable to those of the Spectators, are sure to be cold, and of no effect, because they being already possessed with an Opinion contrary to the Action of the Player, cannot approve of any thing he says or does in another sense. For Example; The grief of one who had undertaken to kill a Tyrant, and failed in his design, would not move us in France, so much as it would have done the People at Athens, because we living in a Monarchy, look upon the Persons of Kings as Sacred, be they never so unjust; whereas the Athenians, bred up in a popular State, hated all Monarches, and could not endure the name of them.  
Thus, for the same reason, those Pathetic Discourses, which we read in the Greek and Latin Comedys, will never take with us, as they did upon the Stages of the Ancients, because we have but little Conformity to the Rules of their Lives, in many things more abominably licentious than ours; and in others, their Customs were so various; as that which was a Jest and a Concern to them, can be none to us, who have not so much as the same things, to wit, the Cheats of their Slaves, nor the Hunger of their Parasites; which made Rotron, one of our Poets, miscarry in a Play of Plautus', where his Parasite talks of nothing but eating, and is so horrible a Glutton, that we could not bear him, having no such People amongst us; all our Debauche lying rather in drinking than eating; and in that too we mingle Songs and Catches.  
'Tis for this reason too I imagine that Tragedys taken out of the Stories of Scripture, are not so agreeable, for all the Pathetic Motions are founded upon Virtues that have not much Conformity with the Rules of our Life, to which may be added, that being scarce pious enough to suffer Devotion in the Churches themselves, it cannot be expected we should love it upon the Stage; and none do but those who are touched with a true Christian Piety, and they are infinitely pleased at such Representations.  
Having thus observed what concerns the Cause and Motive of Theatral Passions, I have likewise made some Reflections upon the manner of managing of them in a Pathetic Discourse.  
The first Observation is, That it is not enough to raise a passion upon a good Incident, and to begin with strong Lines, but it must be carried to the point of its fullness. 'Tis not enough to have shaken the Minds of the Audience, you must ravish them; and to do it, you must seek matter, either in the greatness of your Subject, or in the different Motives and Colours which environ it; but particularly in the strength and richness of your own Imagination, which ought to be warmed, and elevated, and as it were, be in labour to bring forth something worthy of admiration. In this particularly Monsieur Corneille does excel, for he has a most discerning Judgement to distinguish between rich passions, and the common ones, and then he drives them to their just period, with the greatest felicity imaginable, but which cannot be but the Effect of strong and lasting Meditations. The difficulty here lies in the exactness of measure; for as you are not to starve your Hearers appetite, so you must have as great a care not to cloy him; you must give him the height of satisfaction, without overpowering him with satiety. He that in this case will do more than he can, does often less than he should.  
This is a fault observed not only in Lucan's Pharsalia, but in most of Seneca's Tragedys, and particularly in his Hercules Oeteus, where the Author has given up himself to the fecundity of his own wit, not considering that the excess of it might sometimes be insupportable; and yet I could wish our Poets rather guilty of this noble fault, than of that mean one of sterility: For we have seen often upon our Stages, passions begun and forsaken half way, or at least pursued with so little Art and warmth, that they had been less defectuous if they had stopped in the beginning of their career. To give this measure exactly, is impossible; the Poet must examine what his Subject, the force of his Discourse, and the beauty of the Passion will afford; let him consult his Friends, and use all his Judgement in so nice a point.  
But he must be very careful not to spend all the strength of a passion at first; he must reserve some thoughts for the continuation of it; for the same passion continued and held up by divers Incidents, with a change of appearances, must certainly be much more agreeable than a new passion in every Scene; and 'tis in that Monsieur Corneille is admirable in the Cid, for being to show the state of a generous Mind distracted by the Sentiments of Honour, and the tendernesses of a violent Love, he produces the Monuments of these passions by degrees, keeping still, till the end many of his noblest Thoughts and Expressions, which if he had not been very judicious, he might have used at first; he has done the same thing in Horatius, and most of his Plays. 'Tis true, that to imitate him requires a great deal of felicity and conduct; but whosoever shall carefully study the Ancient Drammaticks, and apply himself to a diligent understanding of the Morals of Life, will always be rich enough to answer these Intellectual Expenses.  
Secondly, To guide these Pathetic Motions to the point of their true Extent, it must be done with order, and by following the Motions of Nature, with a regard to the quality of the things that are said. The order of Nature is very different, for sometimes the Mind breaks out into violent Transports, which not being able to hold, it returns to some Moderation, or rather some Relaxation of its own Excess, the passion remaining still very sensible at other times, the Soul moves slowly, and agitating itself by degrees, arrives to the highest Transport, even to sounding away. Now to regulate a Pathetic Discourse upon these different orders, there is no Advice can be given, the Poet's prudence must guide him according to the Characters of the persons, and the present state of the Stage.  
Yet he must always remember that Pathetic Discourses are not to end just as they begin; but after the greatest violence he may bring the passion to some moderation, so far as to doubt and debate; and as those who understand suiting of Colours, never place two Extremes together, because that would be too harsh. One must not likewise in the passions of the Stage fall from one extremity to another; nor of a sudden calm into some great agitation, without some precedent reason to arrive at that Tranquillity. Yet it may happen that even in those Extremes some very ornamental passage may be placed, but great circumspection is requisite. As to the order of the nature of the things that are to be said, the Mind is not to be hurried from one Motion to another, without connexion or dependence upon what has been said; nor is it to leap from one consideration to another, and then back again to the first; the Subject of which the Actor is to speak, aught to be carefully considered; the place, time, and other particulars, which may contribute to the passion, and then of all that make up the most judicious and moving discourse that may be: For Example, if an Actor is to make imprecations against any one, he ought to observe the order in which they naturally may happen, for it would be absurd to see him wish to his Enemy at last a curse which would be but the consequent of his first imprecation.  
To order must be added Figures, I mean those great Figures which express the things themselves, not those little boyish ones which play in words, such as Antitheses, which always spoil a pathetic discourse because they seem affected and Scholar like, showing rather a quiet then a troubled mind.  
The Figures too aught to be very various, and not stayed too long upon, because a mind that is in agitation cannot talk long the same way; the Figures of tenderness and grief ought to be mingled with those of fury and rage: a man is to complain and sigh, and not to roar or scold, and he is seldom to break out into the highest violence, but when there is enough to make him rave, for that agitation of the mind has no limits and goes much further, than the motions of grief, anger or despair.  
To all this may be objected, that a pathetic discourse thus managed and governed by rules cannot fail of appearing affected, and show the very art it is made by not representing naturally by consequent the state of the humane mind, which acts according to its Ideas and motives without any rule but confusion and disorder. To Answer this we must say, that this disorder in the words of a man is a fault which weakens even the impression which else his passion would make, and therefore aught to be reformed upon the Stage, which suffers nothing imperfect; but in doing of it there ought to be a mixture of the greatest figures, that still the Image of the Motions of a troubled Mind may remain. Thus by an orderly Method one reforms the defect of Nature in her Transports, and by a sensible variety of figures, one keeps some resemblance of the disorder of Nature. This is all that I can say, that is any ways singular upon so common a Subject.   

Chapter the Seventh.  
Of the Figures.  
ALL those ingenious Varieties of Speech which the Learned have invented, whereby to express their thoughts in a nobler way than the vulgar, and which are called Figures of Rhetoric, are without doubt the most notable ornaments of Discourse; for by them every thing appears to a greater advantage: 'Tis they that give the grace to Narrations, probability to all other reasonings, and strength to the passions, and without them all our Discourses are low, mean, and popular, disagreeable, and without effect. Therefore the best Advice one can give to a Poet, is, that he should be perfect in the knowledge of the Figures, by studying carefully what the Professors of Rhetoric have writ on that Subject, and which we shall not here repeat: Yet let him remember, that 'tis not enough to read and know their names and distinctions, but let him diligently examine their Energy, and what Effect they are like to produce upon the Stage: Neither aught that to suffice without knowing, and that particularly, how to apply them, and vary them, to produce the Effect we have observed in the precedent Chapter; he must know when to use the impetuous ones, and when to employ the milder, such as Ironies, according to the diversity of his Subject, and the Effect he desires they should produce. For Example; If it be necessary that an Actor should leave the Stage in a great rage, than he must be moved by degrees, beginning by the softer Figures, and at last be raised to the highest Transports a Soul is capable of; but if on the contrary an Actor is to grow calm before he goes off, then 'tis best beginning with violent Figures, and such as most express the impetuosity of a disturbed Mind, till by little and little he becomes more moderate, and gives room to use gentler Expressions. To make our Poet expert in this, he ought, besides reading of the Ancients, to frequent the Stage much; for there, much better than in Books, he may observe good or ill Figures, and when they are well or ill placed, and to help him a little, I will communicate those Observations I myself have made.  
First, He will discover that which I have said elsewhere, which is, that nothing is to be expressed without Figures upon the Stage: And if the simplest Shepherds are clothed in Silk, and wear Silver Sheephooks, every thing they say aught likewise to be adorned, and have its grace, even so much, that those very things which seem least capable of that Embellishment, must be ordered with so much imperceptible Art, that no Figures appear, and yet be there secretly and nicely applied; for if Poetry is the Kingdom of Figures, the Stage is its Throne, from whence it conveys by appearances well managed by him that speaks, Sentiments into the Soul of the hearers, which are not really in his.  
But let him observe likewise, that as there is great difference between Tragedy and Comedy, they have also their different Figures. Tragedy, as it is always serious and great, employs none but noble Figures, which draw their force from the Sentiments of the Stage, and when we mingle Allusions, or Antitheses, or Equivocal, Proverbial ways of speaking, it degenerates immediately, and loses all its Majesty. 'Tis quite otherwise with Comedy, which having none but vulgar Sentiments, it rejects not Proverbs, nor any thing that may contribute to make a Jest, that being its Character, and the best part of its Ornaments; nay, 'tis hard Comedy should rise without a fall, for no sooner does it aim at solid Discourses, or Figures fit for Tragedy, but we laugh it out of doors, as we would do a Chambermaid that should talk nothing but Romance; therefore 'tis hard that the Figures for one of these Poems should be aptly used in the other without great wariness, and that Plautus has done in some of his Plays with success.  
Besides, among those Figures which are great and serious, the Poet may observe some to be fitter for the Stage than others. For Example, Apostrophes, which I have always observed to do very well; for they suppose either a true person who is absent to be present, or some feigned person which is but in the Idea of Fiction, such as Virtue, ones Country; and thereupon the Actor talks to them as present, which is extremely Theatral, because it makes two persons where there is but one; and though the deceit is visible enough, yet being an effect of the passion of the Actor, it carries along with it the Imagination of the Audience, and that particularly when he that speaks is alone; for then there can be no mistake in the Mind of the Spectators; for 'tis plain, that the person to whom the Actor speaks, is a Fiction of his own brain, his Discourse not being applicable to any other. Monsieur Corneille uses this Figure frequently, and Stiblinus esteems extremely the complaints of Hecuba in the Troades of Euripides, by reason of this Figure, which is there frequently and beautifully made use of. But in the practice of this there are two faults to be avoided; the first is not to have it too often, for then, besides the want of variety, which argues want of Invention to please; it grows likewise troublesome, by making too many imaginary persons, and in this kind one of our Authors was faulty, who in the same Play, and that a piece of no great length made an Actor speak at least a dozen times to Heaven. The other fault to be avoided is, that an Actor speaking to a King, a Father, a Judge, or some person to whom respect is due, ought not to fall into a long Apostrophe to an Imaginary person, because it is against the Rules of decency, that a man should leave addressing to a person of Authority, to talk to a thing absent, or a Chimaera of his own brain; not but that if it were extreme short, and the Discourse presently continued to the person present, it might very well pass; as in this Example.  
O Nature! who knowest how true I have always been to thy Sentiments, speak here in my defence.  
And then continuing and addressing to his Father, say,  
'Tis she, O my Father, that must justify what I have done, etc.  
By this slight the Figure brings force and variety to the Discourse, and yet does nothing against the Laws of Respect, so small a Transport being very allowable to a man passionate and innocent, and the quick return brings all things in order again.  
Prosopopaea's quite contrary are very unlucky upon the Stage; for though, as well as Apostrophes, that Figure supposes persons that are not, and makes dumb things speak, yet it generally creates confusion, because the Actor already represents a person that is not, and this person represented makes another feigned person speak by his mouth, which makes a double Fiction, and much obscurity; for very few of the Audience are either able, or attentive enough to observe the Actors passing from his own Discourse, to that of the supposed person in this Figure, the least noise, or other diversion at that time being enough to make them lose the Chain, and so confound the Discourses attributed to the feigned person by Prosopopaea, with those that the Actor makes in his own person.  
I dare affirm besides, that to the people the beauty of this Figure is not sensible upon the Stage, but rather troublesome, because of their want of skill and application to distinguish things. For Example; They see an Actor who acts the King, and are possessed that all that he says is the Discourse of the King he represents; so that if he comes to make a Prosopopaea, by supposing that either Virtue, or Love, or such like things speak to him, they are mightily puzzled; for, though they have sense enough to know that this speech of Love or Virtue does not properly belong to the King, yet they penetrate not the Mystery of that double Fiction of a King represented, and speaking by the mouth of an Actor, and of Virtue likewise speaking by the mouth of the same King; therefore this Figure is to be avoided, and cannot well be brought upon the Stage, or if it is sometimes, it must be in Narrations, and then it must be very short, or in Soliloques, otherwise called Monologues, where the Poet must use much Industry to show what the thing is he feigns, and makes speak in the Prosopopaea, that so there may be no obscurity nor room for mistake, neither is he to judge of the use of this Figure by its being employed in Epic Poems and Orations; for they being generally designed to be read at leisure, it is easy upon any obscurity to look back and discover where the difficulty lies; but in the Stage where the best part of the Audience is made up of the unlearned, and where the thing passes in Discourse of a sudden without repeal, there is no remedy for those who are once fallen into obscurity, but to remain in it; and in Orations, the obscurity cannot be so great, because there the person that speaks makes no double Fiction, and so is easily understood.  
Irony is a Dramatic Figure, and of its own nature very Theatral; for by saying in jest or scorn the contrary of that which it really means, it carries a kind of disguise, and makes an agreeable Effect.  
Exclamations are extreme proper for the Stage, as being the marks of a Mind much moved with passion.  
Hyperbole is of the same rank, because the words there carrying one's Imagination further than their natural sense, it is fittest for the Stage where all things are to be magnified, as if it were continual Enchantment and Illusion.  
Interrogation, which Scaliger says is only a Figure by use, and not of its own nature, is likewise the mark of an agitated Mind, and by consequent Theatral.  
And amongst them all, certainly Imprecation will be judged Theatral, as being the Effect of a violent Transport, and its Discourse aught to be impetuous, with bold expressions, and words full of Extremes.  
This I think may suffice for our Poet, without making an unnecessary repetition of what the Rhetoricians may have taught him, and which he may read with great profit in Scaliger's Poeticks.   

Chapter the Eighth.  
Of Monologues, or Discourses made by a single Person.  
THough I have not met with the word Monologue amongst Ancient Authors, who have treated of the Stage; and that Scaliger himself, who has not forgot any curiosity upon this Subject, has nothing of it; I shall not nevertheless forbear to say something of it according to the meaning of our Modern Poets.  
To being therefore by a necessary Observation we must not confound the Monodia of the Ancients with that which we call now Monologue; for though the first is some piece of Poetry, sung or recited by one man alone, yet custom has fixed its signification to those Funeral Songs which were sung by one of the Choir, in honour of the Dead; and 'tis thought that the Musician Olympus was the first that used it, in memory and favour of Python, as Aristoxenes affirms; which makes me wonder at one of our Modern Authors, who says, that the Monodia was a Poem composed under the name of one person, such as the Cassandra of Lycophron.  
Besides, there are among the Learned some who will not receive the Greek word for a Discourse made by one man by himself, but say it means a Discourse in every thing one and like its self without variety.  
For my part I believe that in our time we have called Monologues that which the Ancients called the Discourse of a single person Monoprosωpon, as many Eclogues both Greek and Latin, and many Discourses of the Chorus's in Plays, which Stiblinus calls Monodias, as the Discourse of Electra alone in Euripides, and another of the same in Sophocles, though she speaks in the presence of the Quire.  
I confess that it is sometimes very pleasant to see a man upon the Stage lay open his heart, and speak boldly of his most secret thoughts, explain his designs, and give a vent to all that his passion suggests; but without doubt it is very hard to make an Actor do it with probability.  
The Ancients could not bring in these Monologues, because of the Chorus, which never, or very seldom left the Stage; and except that Monologue which Ajax in Sophocles makes at the corner of a Wood upon the point of killing himself while the Chorus was gone out to look for him; I do not believe there is any other in the Five and thirty Greek Tragedies which are left. I know very well that in many Scenes there is but one Actor named; but if we observe narrowly, we shall always find that he is not alone upon the Stage, and that his Discourse is directed to some that follow him, though they are not set down at the beginning of the Scenes.  
As for Prologues, they are indeed made by one single Actor, but not in the nature of Monologues; 'tis a thing by itself, which indeed among the Ancients was one part of the Dramatic Poem, but not of the Theatral Action; 'tis a Discourse made to the Spectators, to instruct them of the Story which begun amongst the Ancients as soon as the Chorus came on.  
The two Latin Comic Poets have many Monologues in all their Plays, some of them are brought in properly and according to reason, others not. I shall not here make any Criticism upon them, but give my Opinion what Rules are to be observed to make a Monologue with probability.  
First of all, an Actor must never make a Monologue, while he addresses himself to the Audience, with a design to inform them of something they are to know; but there must be found out something in the Truth of the Action that may be colourable to make him speak in that manner. Else 'Tis a fault in the Representation, of which both Plautus and Terence are guilty.  
Secondly, When he that thinks he speaks alone is over heard by chance, by some other he must then be reputed to speak softly, because it is not probable that a man by himself should speak so loud as Players must do to be heard by the Audience. I confess indeed with Scaliger, that this is one of the faults of the Stage, which must be excused only by the necessity of Representation, it being impossible to represent the thoughts of a man otherwise than by his words; but that which makes this fault the more apparent, is, when another Actor hears all that that man says, who speaks alone; and though it may happen that a man may speak aloud of that which he ought only to think, and which he intends only to say to himself, yet that being a gross Imprudence, ought not to be represented upon the Stage.  
Therefore in these Cases one must either find out a probable reason to make the Actor speak aloud, which is very hard to do, or else the Poet ought to use such Art in the Composition of the Monologue, as that the Actor should sometimes raise his voice in saying certain words only, and speak with a low voice in others, that so the Actor who is within hearing might be supposed to hear some spoke with passion, and not the others, as being spoke softly, and in the mean time the other Actor upon what he does hear might make some Exclamations, and seem concerned that he could not hear the rest. Nay, when the Actor, who should speak the Monologue, should speak softly, than the other Actor should observe all his Actions, as of a man much taken up with his own thoughts, and in a deep study; and it may be this way the probability of the Stage might be preserved with some addition of ornament to the Scene in hand; but to execute this well, one must not meet with proud, impertinent Players, who taking no Advice but from their own Ignorance and presumption, think they perform all things admirably well; for a Scene of this nature would hardly succeed, except as docile Actors as those of the new Company of the Marest were wont to be, undertook it.  
The third Observation about Monologues, is to make them so, as not to chock the probability of the circumstances of time & place: For Example; It would be absurd to put a Monologue in the mouth of a General of an Army, who should be in the middle of a Town just stormed by his Army. There would be likewise little probability if a Lover should hear of some great danger his Mistress were in, and instead of running to her relief, should stand still and make a long complaint against the Stars, he would be as little forgiven in the Representation, as in the Reality; so that in a word, all that can be done, is still to keep to the Rules of probability and decency as the only Guide of the Stage.   

Chapter the Ninth.  
Of a Parts, or Discourses made to one's self in the presence of others.  
IT often happens upon the Stage, that one Party speaks in the presence of another who hears and sees him, and that nevertheless his words represent some thought known to no body but himself.  
There are very few of those to be met with in the Greek Poets, and except a Verse or two that the Chorus speaks after some long Discourse of an Actor; or when a new Actor comes upon the Stage, I do not know of any other Example, and this may serve to give us a hint how cautious we are to be in observing the probability of the Stage, since in a matter of forty Poems they have so rarely taken the liberty of representing a man's secret thoughts by words spoke aloud.  
The Romans have taken much more licence in this kind; Terence not quite so much as Plautus, who makes a parts very frequently, and often intolerably absurd. Seneca the Tragedian is not more regular in this, than in any other of the Rules of the Stage; for in his Agamemnon, Clytaemnestra makes an a part of seventeen Verses. Our Moderns, who have imitated the Ancients much more in their faults, than in their Excellencies, make likewise such absurd a parts, that the most gross among the common people can hardly bear them.  
I know that those a parts do sometimes make very good sport upon the Stage, and 'tis often necessary to introduce them to make known to the Spectators some secret thought of some Actor, without which they would be in the dark: As for Example; When an Actor dissembles, but at the same time it seems a little hard to conceive (though Scaliger by a great Indulgence for the Stage allows it) that an Actor shall speak loud enough to be heard by the Audience, and yet not be overheard by another Actor who stands by him; and that which is worse is, that to feign he does not hear him, he is forced to make twenty ridiculous Grimaces. Let us see therefore if by Art we can any ways render these a parts, if not entirely probable, at least supportable to the Stage.  
In order to this I divide them into three sorts; the first, when two Actors, each of them at one corner of the Stage speak as it were to themselves of their own concerns, making as if they did neither see nor hear one another.  
The second sort is, when one Actor speaks, supposing the other Actor whom he sees and hears, not to see nor hear him.  
The third sort is, when both Actors hearing and seeing one another, one of them for some sudden consideration, speaks as if he were not heard by the other.  
Now, to order it so in all these occasions, that the Spectators Judgement shall not be chocked by any improbability, I have bethought myself what might be done.  
First then, an a part ought to be very short, and contain very few words; particularly, when in all the rest of the Action both Actors see and hear one another; and indeed about half a score, or a dozen words, or one Verse, are the measure of a just a part; the best of all is an a part of one word, because even in the nature of things, one word may slip from us, and not be overheard by him that speaks to us: But long a parts, such as Plautus makes, are unexcusable, because they put the other Actor quite out of countenance, and make him, that he knows not at last what posture to be in, to make the Audience believe he does not hear the other, who speaks aloud so long, and so near him.  
Besides, one must take one's time very well to make an a part. An Actor who is serious in talking, not being lightly to be interrupted by another, without some probable colour for his stopping in the middle of a Discourse, which must give the other who is to make the a part, an opportunity to make it handsomely; and if he that is speaking does as it were interrupt himself, by saying something softly, which ought not to be overheard, he that hearkens must wonder at his ceasing to speak, and either know or think he ghesses the true reason of it, for else it would be unnatural that a man should speak and be silent by fits, and they that stand by, neither be surprised at it, nor guess at the cause. The Poet therefore must take either the time of an Exclamation, or some such other Figure, whereby an Actor may be supposed to be in a condition not to speak for some moments, nor to hearken to what another says, and at that time a few words, or half a Verse may be put in another Actor's mouth, to make a reasonable a part. If it happens so that the time in which one Actor makes his a part, is sensible to the other, he must say some word that marks his astonishment of the others distractfulness, either feigning that he did not hear him well, or mistook him, or so. We have an Example of this in Plautus' Mostellaria, where Tranion having made an a part, Theuropides asks him what it is he mumbles to himself, which shows the Slave to have spoke softly. The same Poet does the like in his Aulularia, 
☞ p. 337.  where Staphila having said aside, that she had rather be hanged than serve any longer such a covetous, mad Fellow as Euclio: Euclio answers, See how this Jade murmurs something to herself.  
When two Actors see not one another, and each of them make an a part, one of them must still be supposed to be sometimes silent. For Example; If a Lover be to make a complaint in some solitary place, where another Lady comes to look something she has lost, I think the Lover ought to be in some great Extacy of grief to give the Lady time to speak, and then the Lady ought to be employed in looking what she came for, to give the Lover time to continue his complaint, and then these a parts may be longer than the ordinary ones.  
There are some occasions where they may be yet longer; as if one of the Actors does not see the other, and is doing something which requires some time, he that sees him, without being seen, may make a Discourse that shall last as long as his Action. For Example; If a covetous man tell his money, the Thief that sees him may make an a part, that shall last all that time; nay it is necessary there should be one then, there being no greater fault upon the Stage than to have it silent; and whatsoever is doing, some body or other must speak, and there is to be no cessation of that, but in the Intervals of the Acts; nay, if something falls out in the Play, that may seem naturally to strike them all dumb, yet one Actor ought to be kept on purpose to say something of their silence, lest the Action should cease in the middle of an Act or Scene.  
From these general Observations, the Poet may easily govern himself so as to make a judicious a part; but if he desires more light upon this Subject, let him read Monsieur de la Menardiere, in his sixth Chapter of his Poeticks, where he makes many judicious Remarks; only I cannot agree to two Observations he makes; the first is, when he says that Poets might make more reasonable a parts, if it were written on one side of the Stage. For Example; This is the Lovure, and on the other side, This is the Palace Royal; for the Stage cannot comprehend two places so far distant from one another. I thought at my first reading him, that it was a raillery he made upon our Modern Poet's absurdities, but having afterwards observed that in the eighth Chapter he makes his Stage contain a whole City, I saw he was in earnest. The other thing in which we disagree is, that he citys Scaliger in the one and twentieth Book of his Poeticks, to show that he condemns all a parts upon the Stage; for Scaliger in that place does not say one word of it; he describes in that Chapter the Theatre of the Ancients, and having spoke of the Scene, which represented the Actors Houses, and of the Proscenion, or Forescene, where they appeared; and of the Orchestra designed for the Music and Dancers, he reproaches the French Nation with so gross an Ignorance in his time, that they had not so much as a Painted Cloth or Hanging to hide those Things and Actors which were not to be seen: 
Nunc in Galliâ ita agunt fabulas, ut omnia▪ in conspectu sint, universus apparatus dispositis sublimibus sedibus; Personae ipsae nunquam discedunt, qui silent pro absentibus habentur. At enim verò perridiculum ibi spectatorem videre te audire, & te videre, teipsum non audire quae alius coram te de te loquatur: quasi ibi non sis ubi es. cum tamen maxima Poetae vis sit suspendere animos, atque eos facere semper expectantes. At hîc tibi novum fit nihil, ut prius satietas subrepat, quam obrepat fames. Scal. l. 1. c. 21. Poet.  And these are his Words.  
In France, says he, they Act Plays so, that all things are exposed to the Eyes of the Spectators; all the Decorations appear upon the Stage, the Actors never disappear; only those that are silent, are reputed absent: But certainly it must be very ridiculous, that the Spectators should know that you hear and see, and yet you yourself should not hear nor see what is said of you in your own presence, as if you were not where you are: Whereas the true Art of the Poet is to suspend the Attention of the Audience, and make them always expect some Novelty; but there, far from that, Satiety is upon one, before ones Appetite is raised.  
Thus it is that Scaliger describes the old French Stage; which I have alleged elsewhere, to prove the difference between that and our Stage, as it is brought to Perfection at this time, and to what Splendour it might be brought, by following the Example of the Ancients. But Scaliger's Design, as it appears, was not here to speak of ill Apartes, as may appear to any who shall carefully read what he writes there of the Fabric of the Ancient Theatres.   

Chapter the Tenth.  
Of the Acts.  
WE call Act that Fifth part of a Dramatic Poem which is begun and ended with Music, and consists, in our Plays, of about Three hundred Verses, or thereabouts. The ancient Greek Poets knew not the Name, though they had the Thing; for their Episodes (which, according to Aristotle, were that which was contained between two Sing of the Chorus) was the same thing, and our Music answers their Chorus. The Romans have had the Word, (as we from them) but not, I believe, always; for at first it signified a whole Play, as the Word Drama did among the Greeks: but, I believe, when Comedy came to lose its Choruses, and had nothing left but Dancing, Music, and Buffooning, for Interludes, than the Poets bethought themselves to distinguish their Plays by Acts, for to take off the Confusion that must else have been in reading of them. And this, I think, happened but late neither; for we see nothing of it in those who were Contemporaries with Terence. 
Neve minor, n●ve sit quinto productior actu Fabula, quae pósci vult & spectata reponi.  Horace is, I think, the first that has given us any Precepts about it, as well for the Distinction as Number; and 'tis wonderful that Athenaeus, who citys so many Greek Dramatic Poets, does not give us the least hint, from which we might conjecture, that this Distinction was known in his time. But since the Greeks have had the Thing, I will treat of it under the name of Acts, without examining in what time, or how it came by that Name.  
First then, we must know, that Poets have generally agreed, that all Drammas regularly should have neither more nor less than Five Acts: And the Proof of this is in the general Observation of it; but for the Reason, I do not know whether there be any founded in Nature. Rhetoric has this advantage over Poetry in the Parts of Oration, that the Exord, Narration, Confirmation, and Peroration, are founded upon a way of Discoursing natural to all Men; for every one always makes some little Preface, then passes to the thing he has to say, which he confirms by Reason, and, as he makes an end, endeavours to gain the Favour of those that hear him. But for the Five Acts of the Dramatic Poem, they have not been framed upon any such ground; only they owe their being to the many Observations of the Poets, who have studied to find out what would be most agreeable to their Spectators. First then, having perceived that it was not possible for their Spectators to have a continued Attention to the Reciting of Fifteen or Sixteen hundred Verses, without interruption, they used Choruses, whose Singing and Dancing eased the Impatience of the Spectators, and put them in good humour to hear the Remainder of the Drama: and for the same reason they divided it into Five Parts, which happened so well, that whether it be that that is a Proportion that just hits the Weakness of the Audience, or that by Custom we are made Friends to it, 'tis certain, that we do not naturally like a Play that has more or less than Five Acts, which divide the Time of so many Hours as we can well spare to a Diversion, without making it a Toil. We see by experience, that the Italian Comedians, who fail in this, by making only Three Acts, according to their ill-received Custom, make the First Act so very long, that it is most importunately tedious. I should therefore advise the Poet to make Five Acts, and each of them of about Three hundred Verses, or little more, having always observed, that the Patience of the Audience seldom reaches beyond Sixteen hundred Verses; and every body knows, that two of the most Ingenious and Magnificent of our Plays have miscarried for having been too long: For 'tis an ordinary thing to see the Spectators applaud a Play of a good just Length, though with some Faults, rather than admire an exact accomplished one, that is too long. We can find Excuses for the Poet in any thing else; but Weariness and Satiety have that particular to them, that they make even the best things insupportable to us.  
Let the Poet then seek among the Ancients the Observation of this Rule. The Greeks have both known and practised this Division of the Dramatic Poem, but not all alike. It is pretty apparent in Sophocles: Aeschylus had not attained in his time the exactness of the Rules; and as for Euripides, he always does so embarass himself with Prologues, that his Plays seem often to have Six Acts, and sometimes Seven. Besides, it seems that in some Plays the Chorus sings in the middle of an Act, and so interrupts the Sequel; which is confirmed by Horace, who gives it for a Rule, That the Chorus should sing nothing in the middle of the Acts, that is not proper to the Subject. But this regards a Criticism not useful in our days, by which perhaps we might doubt of the Choruses singing in the middle of an Act: For either the Chorus did not sing, or the Verses are ill placed in our Impressions, as we can make appear by divers Plays of Aristophanes, and in the Bacchants of Euripides.  
As for the Latin Tragedies, which we have under the Name of Seneca, I think our Poet may forbear imitating them in the Structure, as in all the rest, except in the Refinedness of the Thoughts? for to me nothing seems so ridiculous, and withal so tedious, as to see one Man alone make an Act, without any Variety; and that a Ghost, a God, or some Hero, shall make at the same time the Prologue, and, according to Euripides, an Act too.  
It is not so easy to give Advice about Aristophanes' Comedies; for they have all of them a Prologue, after the way of the Greek Tragedy; but the Plays are not all alike: some of them are very regular, and others so full of confusion, that it is very hard to name the Acts distinctly; as in that called The Birds, where it is hard to say which is the first Singing of the Chorus, nor how many Acts there is, nor where the Second begins: And we see that the Interpreters have not marked the Acts in our Impressions, finding them too much out of order to be easily methodised. Though, I think, the greatest difficulty has been, either out of the Licence of old or middle Comedy, or by the Corruption of the Copies, which Time partly dispersed, and the Ignorance of the Compilers and Printers has ill re-established.  
Plautus' Comedies have been liable to the same Misfortunes in many places, where there are whole Scenes lost, others added, and Acts confounded, as in the Mostellaria, of which the Scene which is reckoned the Third of the First Act, aught to be the First of the Fourth: For after the Second Scene of the Third Act, the Stage is empty, and without Action, Theuropides and Tranion entering into Simon's House to visit him, and no other Actor remains upon the Stage; so that the Music or the Mimes ought to have marked the Interval of an Act in this place: but the Scene which is counted for the Second of the Fourth Act, aught to be added to this, which is put for the First of the Third Act; for there is no distinction neither of Time nor Action between them, the Stage having still the same Persons present, and the same Discourses going on; and so these two together must make the First of the Fourth Act, since between that which is put for the last of the Third Act, and these two, there is no separation; for Theuropides is still upon the Stage, being neither gone off, nor come on again: so that the Interludes have no time wherein they may be inserted to distinguish the Acts.  
As for Terence's Comedies, they may be a Model for a great many things, to those who have a mind to gain Reputation, and excel in this Art.  
It has been asked sometimes, When one may say properly, that an Act is finished? And it has been answered by Donatus, 
Est igitur attente animadvertendum, Vbi, & quando Scena vacua sit ab omnibus personis ut in eâ Chorus vel tibicen audiri possit, quod cum viderimus, ibi actum finitum esse debemus agnoscere, etc.  That it is when the Stage is empty, and without any Actor. But if it were so, we might object, That it would be in the power of the Players to shorten or lengthen any Act at their pleasure; for if they did but take away the Music, they might appear one after another, without ever leaving the Stage empty: And besides, when the Scenes are broken, as they are frequently enough in our Plays, the Music might play, since the Stage would be empty. 
Donat. in Andr. Terent.  Therefore, I think, that the Act ends not when the Stage is without an Actor, but when it is without Action. And that which makes me say so, is, that I have observed, that among the Ancients the Chorus does both sing and dance, and the Music play, though there be an Actor upon the Stage, which happens two ways; the one, when an Actor remains upon the Stage, but incapable of Action, as Hecuba in Euripides, who falls in a swoon between the First and Second Act; and the Amphytrio of Plautus, surprised by a Thunderbolt, between the Fourth and Fifth Act. The other Case is, when the Actor which appears at the end of an Act does mingle with the Chorus, as Electra in the Intervals of the Acts of the Orestes of Euripides; and other Actors in the second Iphigenia, and in the Bacchants; this being common enough to Tragedy, Now in the first Case, the Actor which remained upon the Stage without Action, stopped the Course of the Theatral Action, and so finished the Act: And in the second Case, the Actor making part of the Chorus, gave easily to understand, that the Theatral Action was ceased, and by consequent the Act ended. Therefore I am not of Donatus' Opinion, when he writes, That the Reason which obliged Menander to take away the Chorus from Comedy, and likewise forced Poets to confound their Acts, so as no body could distinguish them, was, that the Spectators were grown so impatient, that they withdrew as soon as the Actors disappeared from off the Stage, to make room for the Music, which was to mark the Interval of the Acts. For, I think, he spoke as a Man not thoroughly instructed in the Matters of the Stage. For the Impatience of the Spectators must needs be greater, if their Attention had no ease; and still more, if the Acts were not broken, nor distinguished, as that must be, if the last Scene of an Act was immediately racked to the first of the next; for then the Theatre being never without Actor or Action, you could not naturally part that, which was not separated by any Interval of Time. Besides, the Music among the Ancients was very agreeable, and did not, as now a days, consist of two or three scurvy Violins, but was one of the greatest Diversions of their Comedies; and the Masters of those Musical Compositions had their Names graven in all Public Inscriptions, with those of the Poet, and Chief Histrio or Player.  
To which, if we add the other Interludes, of Mimes, Dances, and Buffooning, we may easily judge, that there was less reason to be impatient in the Intervals of the Acts, than in the Acts themselves; particularly, if some scurvy Actor were to come on to spoil a Part, such as formerly was Pellio, who acted so ill in Plautus' Epidicus, that the Poet affronted him publicly the next day, when the Bacchides was represented.  
Besides, we do not see any where but in Plautus, that the Acts are not well distinguished; (and in him too 'tis the fault of the Printers.) Neither do I think that his Plays were so little diverting, as to need such a scurvy Contrivance to fix the Spectators Attention; for his Plays have more Action, and are not so serious as Terence's, and always succeeded better in the Representation, though Terence's pleased the Reader better, as having Passions better governed, more elegant Expressions, and modester Characters. But to come to Donatus; he shows himself that he was not very sure of what he writ, when he adds, That the Learned were not all agreed, that it was for this reason that Menander took away the Chorus from Comedy, and confounded the Acts. Besides, that which makes me think that he speaks as a man that did not very well understand the Stage, is what he says of Terence's Eunuchus, That the Acts are there more confounded, than in any other of his Plays, and that none but the Learned can distinguish them well. In which (says he) the Poet has made but one Act of all five, that the Spectator might scarce have the time to breathe, and to hinder him by the continuation of the Events from rising before the Scenes were taken away: For 'tis most certain, that this Comedy is one of those in which the Acts are best distinguished, though the Scenes are also best knit together; for at the end of every Act the Actors say precisely where they are going, and what they are going to do; and they that begin the next Act tell whence they come, and why they come on upon the Stage; so that there is not the least suspicion of that imaginary confusion, of which Donatus speaks. Nay, the Latins are generally so careful to make the distinction remarkable, that Plautus having made Pseudolus go out the last man in the first Act, and come in the first man in the second, because that is against the Rules, and that it might cause some confusion, he makes him say these words as he goes out; While I retire to my house there to call the great Council of all my Cheats, the Music will divert you. And for this reason in the Heautontimorumenos of Terence, Menedemus, who makes an end of the fourth Act, and begins the fifth, says precisely, That he had been some time absent, that he had been in the remotest part of his house, where he had seen Clitipho shut himself up with Bacchide; so that there is no room to believe that confusion of Acts, as Donatus would have it, and indeed may say, that in most of the Latin Comicks, it is only by the ignorance of those who have marked the Acts, that there is any confusion, as in the Amphytrio of Plautus, where the fourth Act ought to begin by that Scene which is put for the last of the third Act; and in the Heautontimorumenos of Terence, where the fourth Act should begin at the Scene cited for the second, that which is marked for the first belonging properly to the third Act, it is then much more reasonable to believe what we have said, which is, that the Actor in these occasions where he seems to continue an Act, did mingle with the Mimes, and other Interlude Actors, as in Tragedy with the Chorus, or that the Copies are corrupted, and Scenes lost; or at least some Verses which might have justified the Poet's Art; as it has happened to Plautus in many places, of which I speak more at length in my Observations. But let us come now to the Instruction of the Poet about the division and structure of his Acts.  
Having then chosen his Subject, he must remember to take the Action he has a mind to represent in its last point, 
Perspecto argumento, scire debemus hanc esse virtutem poeticam ut à novissimis argumenti rebus incipiens, etc. Donat. in Terent. And.  and he must believe, if he be not very sterile indeed, that the less matter he shall borrow, the more liberty he shall have for agreeable Invention; therefore let him so strengthen himself, as in appearance not to have wherewithal to make above one Act; things passed will furnish him with matter to fill up the others, either by bringing the Events of the Story somewhat nearer, or by Recitals, or other ingenious Inventions. Thus Furipides in his Orestes opens his Stage with the very moment in which those that were guilty of Clytaemnestra's death, were to be judged. One would think that there were not matter for one Act, and that the Catastrophe must presently follow; but he prepares all so dextrously by the coming of Menelaus, and Hermiones absenting herself from the Palace, that this Tragedy is one of the most Noble and Excellent ones of all Antiquity. Corneille does so in his Horatius; he begins his Story just after the Truce agreed upon by both Armies, and the Gombat of the three against three resolved upon for the decision of the Cause; then he furnishes his Stage with those passions which he draws from Sabina's Marriage.  
After this, he must consider that which Aristotle says of Episodes; for the Dramatic Poem has three things differing from each other, which are the Constitution of the Fable or Story, the Composition of the Tragedy, which is properly, the disposing of the Acts and Scenes, and the versification or Poetry.  
The constitution of the Fable is the Invention and Order of the Subject, whether from Story, or received Fables, or the Imagination of the Poet. Aristotle, by the Constitution of the Fable, means only that part of the Story or Subject which comprehends the Theatral Action, that is, which happens after the opening of the Stage, and is of Opinion, that all that is done before, is out of the Constitution of the Fable; and for this reason, speaking of probability, he says, That it is lawful for the Poet to suppose something against probability, provided it be without the Fable, that is, in those things which are done before the opening of the Stage, and are to be made known afterwards by some Actor; and he brings for Example Sophocles in his Oedypus, in which he supposes in the part which happens before the overture of the Stage, that Oedypus did not know how King Laius died, which was not at all probable.  
But for my part, I am of Opinion that the Constitution of the Fable ought to comprehend the whole Story of the Stage; for that which happens before the opening, is as much of the Subject, as that which happens when the Stage is open; and I cannot consent that the Poet should suppose any Incidents against probability in those Adventures which precede the Action represented, because that they being a foundation for things which happen afterwards upon the Stage, it breaks all the Chain of Events, it being against all order that a thing probable should be built upon an improbable one; and the Poet is less to be excused in this, than in any thing; for the Incidents which are before the opening of the Stage, are in his power, whereas often in the sequel of the Play the Events constrain each other, and take away some of the Author's liberty.  
The Composition of the Tragedy is the disposition of the Acts and Scenes, that is, of the Episodes, which are to be added to the Constitution of the Fable, to give it its just proportion, in which often consists the greatest beauty of the Poem, as it is the greatest Art of the Poet; for the same Subject, that is, the same Constitution of Fable, without altering the Fund or the Events, may have a Disposition of Acts and Scenes so differing, that is, the Episodes so diversely ordered, that there may be a very good, and a very bad Tragedy made of it. For Example, that Cinna had resolved to kill Augustus, and engaged divers of his Friends in the Design, is of the Constitution of the Fable, but that he comes and tells the Design to Emilia, repeating to her the very words he had used to excite the Conspirators, that is of the Composition of the Tragedy, or Disposition of the Acts; for without changing either the Fund of the Events of the Fable, another besides Cinna might have related the Conspiracy, and to another person than Emilia; but such a Narration would not have had the same Effect; and 'tis in that that Mr. Corneille does particularly excel; for he has an Art of placing in his distribution of the Acts and Scenes, such Incidents as afford him most lively, moving passions, and another man, without changing any thing in the Subject, would place the same Incidents so as to draw little of beauty from them. This has made me often wonder at some Learned men, and well read in Aristotle, who have confounded the Constitution of the Fable with the Disposition of the Tragedy. For the Philosopher says in express words, That after having constituted the Fable, you must insert the Episodes, that is, all the Pathetic Discourses, Narrations, Descriptions, etc. and take care that they naturally flow from the Fable or Subject. As to the versification, which is the last part, that depends upon the Talon the Poet has received, and his study in the Art, which will help him to cultivate and polish Nature. To come then again to our Subject, the Poet must examine if the Constitution of his Fable can suffer Episodes; and if so, of what kind, which will be the most taking, and in what place they will appear, and have their best Effect; and after this he must divide his Acts so, as if possible, they may not be very unequal, and that the last Acts have still something of strength and ornament more than the first, either by the greatness of the Passions, the singularity of the Events, or the rarity of the Show and Decoration.  
To do this well, we must have a full Idaea or Prospect of his whole Subject, and have it entire before him; for he that comprehends the whole, can easily examine the parts, and range them; but he that knows his Subject only as he divides it, runs the hazard of dividing it very unequally.  
Some have maintained, that every Act is to be opened by a new Actor that has not appeared before. I should not dislike this if it could be done so as that the new Actor brought no confusion upon the Stage, and that his coming on be so prepared, as that this variety may seem natural to the Subject, and not appear to be the bare Invention of the Poet, for Art that discovers itself, is against the Rules of Art upon the Stage. Yet I do not think it necessary to be always thus practised, the Poet having other ways of diversifying his Acts by Incidents, Passions, or some such thing; not that I would confine the Poet neither to one Episode in an Act, but if he produce more, he must be careful that they do naturally, and without affectation, create one another; and one of our best Plays was condemned for being too richly various in this kind, so as the Audience had not time to breathe after the impression of a moving Passion; the Graces of the Stage must have time to be relished, and like other humane pleasures, we lose the Enjoyment of them, if we are either cloyed with them, or have not the leisure to taste them thoroughly.  
Sometimes it happens that there are in a Story such circumstances, that they are not agreeable, nor decent in the Representation, and yet they might give rise to noble Narrations, and produce Sentiments, of which the Expressions would be admirable. In these occasions there is nothing to be done, but to use the Ancients Artifice, which is to suppose the things done. For Example; It would have been hard and ridiculous to represent Ajax upon the Stage killing of Sheep, which he mistook for the Greeks in his rage, and whipping a great Ram whom he thought to be Ulysses, and yet it was fitting to give some Image of this to the Spectators; therefore Sophocles does not only make the recital of it, but supposing this Massacre, arrived in the night, he opens Ajax's Tent, where appear these creatures slaughtered, and that poor Prince overwhelmed with grief and madness. Where we may take notice, that the Poet avoided to open the Stage by the beginning of Ajax's fury; for he could not so well have governed his Subject, neither would he let it quite pass over, because than he should not have raised compassion in the minds of his Spectators. Euripides likewise is very ingenious, when he avoids making Phaedra's Nurse corrupt Hippolytus upon the Stage (as Seneca and our French Poet Garnier have done) because he must either have made her say things weak, and of no effect to her design, or have made her use expressions against the Decency and Majesty of Tragedy; therefore by making that young Prince appear angry at the old Woman's Discourse to him, he preserves to the Stage all its Sentiments of Virtue, and yet informs the Audienee of the thing that was necessary for them to know.  
In a word, the most general Precept is so to cast your Subject, as to throw between the Acts all that can be troublesome to the Poet, or disagreeable to the Spectators. That which I have said before, that the same Actor ought not to finish one Act, and begin the next, in strict regularity is true, because that the Actor that goes off, is supposed to do it upon some important business, which requires some reasonable time, for the Execution of it; and if he come in immediately upon the playing of a Tune or two, the Spectators are surprised to see him come back so soon; but yet there are some Exceptions; for if the Actor have but little to do, or go but a little way, he may begin the next Act; and 'tis ordinary for Plautus so to do; and Terence does it sometimes: But Comedy suffers this better than Tragedy, because that the Actors in the first being but of mean condition, they may do any thing hastily, without indecency; but in Tragedy, the persons being all Ladies, and great Men, their Actions must be more grave and serious. If the Ancient Tragic Poets begun an Act by the Actor, that had just ended the preceding Act, it was when he stayed upon the Scene, being mingled with the Chorus; a thing pretty ordinary with the Women, and of which the Examples are frequent.  
Above all things, 
Principium debet esse illustre.  methinks the first opening of the Stage ought to be magnificent, either by the number, the Majesty of the Actors, or by the Pomp of the Decoration. 
Voss. lib. 1. cap. 7. Poet.   
The Greek Tragedys begun generally by a Machine, 
Sumendum principium ex illustri re, eaque tùm cognata, tùm proxama.  which brought on a God or Goddess; that is very noble, but must be but seldom practised amongst us, they had a veneration for their Gods, and Plays were a part of their Religion; 
Scal. lib. 3. cap. 95. Poet.  but we are ignorant of those Mysteries, and despise them; and I for my part should rather approve of any other Invention or Contrivance, which should raise some great Expectation, or a strong desire of knowing something that were passed.  
The Orestes of Euripides begins very finely, by exposing that unhappy Prince lying upon a Couch, wrapped up in his Cloak, sleeping with disquiet and starts; his Sister at his Feet weeping, the Chorus scarce daring to tread for fear of waking him, and so raise his Fury: all that is pleasing, and raises an expectation of something extraordinary. The waking of Herode in the Mariam, is a fine opening of the Stage. These are things not to be neglected; for they are to the Poet what an Exordium is to the Orator, to gain the Attention of the Audience, and the goodwill of his Judges.   

Chapter the Eleventh.  
Of the Intervals of the Acts.  
PAinting and Dramatic Poesy, besides many other Points that they meet in, do also agree in this, that they cannot possibly give the entire Image of that which they design to represent, and can comprehend but the least part of their Design. A Picture cannot show any Person entire, nor any Story but by halves, and by the visible Parts only. So the Stage cannot represent an Action in all its Circumstances: Battles of Armies must be supposed, which cannot be seen; and many other things, either undecent, or frightful. But likewise as the Excellence of the Painter consists in finishing so rarely well all that he does show, that by that the Spectator may judge of what he hides; so the Poet must work with so much Industry, that those things which he shows upon the Stage, may lead the Spectator to an easy comprehending of those which he either cannot or ought not to show. 'Tis for this reason that the Dramatic Poets have made use of the Intervals of the Acts, to perform those things which could not so well be done upon the Stage: And the Ancients filled up that space of time with Choruses, and other Interludes, as we do now with Music. Some may say, perhaps, That these Intervals are not so very necessary, because one might so continue the Scenes of a Play without Interludes or Music, that the Actors who should disappear, should be reputed to do off of the Stage, all that either could not, or ought not to be done there, while other Actors should appear and act their Parts. This in itself may be true; but Experience teaches, that Mankind has not Attention enough to support the reading of one entire Play, without interruption: for even one Act too long is a most insupportable trouble; and, as Cicero says, That no Man would make an Oration of one Period, though he had Breath enough to recite it; so no Auditor would be content with a Drama without any pause or stop, though he had an Attention strong enough to mind it. Variety is our greatest Charm; and by that means Beauties will pass upon us more agreeably, than a great and excellent one, always the same. But besides, it happens sometimes, that all the Actors are to be busied for some time off of the Stage, which then remains empty; and so that time must be filled up, that the Audience may not expect with disgust and tediousness. Moreover, if there were always some Actor present upon the Stage, the Spectators could not naturally imagine that an Actor had employed any more time in what he had been about, than while the other Actor was speaking; and yet, it may be, that first Actor must be supposed to need two or three Hours to do his business in, which cannot be thought to have passed away in half a quarter of an Hours Talking by another, whom the Audience has seen all the while. But the Intervals make this probable enough; for the absence of all the Actors, with the Music's playing, and the cessation of the Audiences attention, do all contribute to deceive the Imagination; so as we may take a few Moment's for whole Hours: and then when the Actors return, and say what they have been doing, we do not wonder that they have performed so much in so little a time. Besides, the impatience we are in to see the Continuation of the Story, makes us think we have stayed a great while, and so give the more allowance for the things we hear have been done in that time.  
The Poet then must consider well in his Subject what things cannot well be exposed to view, and throw them in the Intervals; but if they are to afford Matter to any great Passion or Narration, there the Poet's whole Art will be necessary, and the Reading of the Ancients to boot, who will afford him great light in managing those Contrivances.  
Sometimes the Beauty of an Action lies in its beginning only, and then you must show the first Strokes and Preparations of it, and finish it in the Intervals, and behind the Stage: So we see that Eteocles and Polynices dispute their Pretensions before their Mother; but they do not fight and kill one another before her. Otherwhile it happens, that an action has nothing but the latter part of it fit for Representation, and then the beginning must be supposed to be done in the Intervals, and the last Touches only made sensible, and present to the Spectators. Sophocles, as we have observed in the preceding Chapter, has done this in his Ajax; not that the Poet is bound to do this always at the end of an Act; for sometimes the thing may come to pass somewhere further than the Place represented by the Stage, and then the Business may be related in the next Scene.  
The greatest Advantage the Poet has from the Intervals of the Acts, is, that by that means he can throw off all the troublesome Superfluities of his Subject. But he must have a care not to fall into one Error, common enough among our Poets, which is to suppose a thing done in the Interval of an Act, which in all probability could not have been done without having been seen by the Audience. And this must happen when it is supposed to have come to pass upon the Place represented by the Stage; for that being open and exposed to the Spectators Eyes, nothing can probably be performed there, that shall not be seen. I remember, upon this Subject, that I was once at a I lay, which otherwise was no ill Dramatic Poem, in which there was a Bastion of a besieged Town, upon which were armed Men for its defence; and then in the Interval of an Act this Town was supposed to be taken by Assault, and yet this Bastion was neither attacked nor defended upon the Stage; and so the Spectators remained with an imagination that the Town was not taken. Whereas the Poet might at least have said something of the probability, if he had found a way to let the Audience know that the Town had been carried by an Assault in another Place, and so there had been no need of defending it there.  
I shall not here enter into a particular deduction of the Kind's of Interludes with which the Romans marked the Intervals of the Acts in new Comedy, after having taken away the Chorus'. I shall not neither say at what time it was that the Mimes and the Embolarii took possession of the Stage, nor what their Dancing, Music, and Buffooning was; why they made use of Flutes, and of what sort they were that are named in ancient Inscriptions of Comedy equal and unequal, right or left: all that concerns only the understanding the Stage of the Ancients, and not the Art of making a Dramatic Poem. I had undertaken to treat of all this in a Book which I should have called The Restoring of the Theatre in France, to show what Ornaments might be added to ours from Antiquity; but I should here go too far from my Subject, if I should launch into this Matter. I will only say, That much of it may be learned out of Scaliger, Vitruvius, Julius Pollux, Vossius, and others, though they speak of these Matters with ill Methods, and not much Application.   

Chapter the Twelfth.  
Of the Scenes.  
I Was in some doubt whether I should explain here all the different Significations of the Word Scene, because the Learned will meet with nothing but what they know already; however, having considered, that others may have by it some Instruction about the Matters of the Stage, I thought it not amiss to do it,  
First then, the Word Scene, in its original and proper Signification, is taken for a Covering of Boughs made by Art, from whence the Feast of the Tabernacles of the Jews was called Scenopegia; and from thence too some People of Arabia were called Scenites. Sometimes too it signifies a natural Shade of some Grotto, or solitary place; so Virgil has it, 
Tum Sylvis Scena coruscis—  
Desuper horrentíque atrum nemus imminet umbra.   
But because the first Comedies, or rather the first Buffooning, was under some green Shade, the name of Scene was given to all Places where Comedy was represented; and Tragedy too, though transferred into great Cities, yet preserved the name of Scene, with that of Theatre, which signifies a place for Spectacles. But then the Word Scene, even in Dramatic Poetry, was taken in different Significations; for sometimes it signified the Place of Acting, as we say, to be upon the Scene; and Pliny has it, That Lucia, an old buffooning Woman, recited upon the Scene at the Age of a hundred years.  
Sometimes it signifies that which we call the Decoration of the Stage; that is, all the Ornaments of painted Cloth which represent the Place where the thing is acted; and according to the three kinds of Dramatic Poetry, Vitruvius teaches how to make three sorts of Scenes or Decorations of the Stage, fit for Tragedy, Comedy, and Pastoral; and from this Signification is come the Word Proscenion, or Forescene, attributed by the Greeks to that part of the Stage where the Histrions or Actors did both act and speak. At last its Signification became so extended, as to express at once the Place where the Actors acted, and that where the Spectators were. And it is in this sense that the Jurisconsult Labeo defines the Scene, according to Ulpian. Sometimes likewise it signified all that pompous Structure of Buildings, Galleries, Walks, Seats, and other places, where the Romans used to represent their Games.  
From these different Significations have proceeded many Mistakes amongst the Modern Writers, because they did not rightly understand the Ancients, and so have confounded the Proscenion with the Decoration, and that again with the whole Building.  
The last sense in which the Word Scene has been taken, and which we particularly need here, is, when it signifies that part of an Act which brings any Change upon the Stage, by the change of Actors.  
The Greeks never used it in this Signification, 
Fabulae quidem in Actus divisio vetus est & à Poetis ipsis: Actus autem in Scenas distributio est à Grammaticis & à vet. T●rentii & Plauti cod. abest. Vossius, l 2. c. 5. Poet.  though they had the same distinction of Acts which we have. The Latins first brought it in use, with the Word Act, in New Comedy, having taken away the Choruses. I do not find any thing about this, in any Author ancienter than Donatus; but since we have received it, it will not be amiss to put here some Instructions to correct the Irregularities of Scenes.  
The Ancients, who had no Division of their Acts into Parts, have always very exactly observed the Union or Dependence of Scenes upon one another; for knowing that the whole Act could not contain above one sensible Action upon the Stage, they judged very reasonably, that there was no need of separating the Parts that should compose it. But when our Poets begun to write for the Stage, they hardly knew what an Act or a Scene was; they placed a Man upon the Stage, to recite there what they had composed for him, and they took him away again when the Capricio of their Muse pleased, and then brought on one or more, which went off too with as little reason; so that one might have transposed any of their Scenes, without any injury to the Play, every one of them making as it were an Act by itself. We have seen upon our Stage a Captain, a Poet, and a Visionary Lover, all without having any thing to do with one another; and what they said, was more like so many Scholars Declamations, without any dependency upon each other.  
Now I have observed, that there are four ways of uniting the Scenes together; to wit, an Union of Presence, another of Seeking, a third of Noise, and a fourth of Time.  
The Union of Presence is, when in the following Scene there remains upon the Stage an Actor of the preceding Scene; which may be done three ways: Either by bringing on at once all those that are to be employed in that Act, and make them retire one after another, according to the diversity of their Interests; for still those who remain make a new Scene, which is united to the precedent Scenes by the Presence of those who rest. And this is a noble manner for a First Act. The second is, when the Actors come upon the Stage one after another, and none of the first go off; for then all the new Actors make new Scenes, which are united to the preceding ones by the Presence of those who were already upon the Stage. And this manner is very good for a last Act. The Third Way is, when the Actors go and come according to their Interests and Business: As when two Actors meet upon the Stage, if there goes off but one, the second who remains makes a new Scene, and knits it with the first, by other Actors who are to appear; and this way is capable of as much variety as the Poet pleases.  
The Second Way of uniting the Scenes is, by seeking when an Actor who comes upon the Stage, looks for him who went off; and the Examples are very frequent among the Latin Comic Poets; but one must be very careful that the reason for which one Actor looks after the other, be a reason taken from the Subject in hand, and sensible to the Spectators, or else it would be a false Colour affected, and of no effect; and we must remember besides, that if the Actor who was upon the Stage goes off, for fear of being seen by him that comes on, that does not make an union of Scenes, except he that comes on, comes with an Intention to look for him that goes off. Some of our Moderns have failed in this, in withdrawing their Actors for fear of being seen by the comers on, when the New Actor had no Intention to look for him that went off; for in this, far from being an union of Seeking, it is rather one of avoiding, and so the Scenes would be united by the very Actor who broke them.  
The Union of Noise is, when upon some Noise which is made upon the Stage, an Actor, who probably might hear it, comes to know the cause, and finds no body upon the Stage, that Scene made by him is very well united to that which was made by those who went off, since the Stage does not remain without Action, and that a Chorus or Music could not be brought in without interrupting the Sequel of the Story. Plautus has many Examples of that.  
As for the last which is made by Time, 'tis when an Actor, who has nothing to do with those who go off the Stage, comes on, but in such a nick of time, that he could not reasonably be supposed to do it sooner or later. We have a precise Example of this in the Eunuchus of Terence, in the third Act where Antipho, who has nothing to do with Chremes, nor those who go off the Stage, says, That he is in much trouble not to find Chaerea, who was that day to take care of the Dinner for a Club of young men, that the hour of the Assignation was passed, and that he is going to look him, and so popped upon him. Now 'tis most certain Antipho comes on naturally at the due time, and that Chaerea had failed by being taken up in the Intrigue, in which Parmeno had engaged him by making him pass for an Eunuch, with a young Woman that he was in love with. Yet I must say this, that this Union of Scenes, except it be done with very natural Colours, and great Exactness, is not to be much practised.  
Some have put the Question, What ought to be the number of Scenes in each Act? The Poet must use in that his own Judgement; if there be very few, the Act will want variety; if there be many, and short, the Act will be perplexed; there will be little said, and much confusion. But we must observe that Comedy endures many more Scenes than Tragedy, as being more active, and less engaged in great passions which take up time. The Ancients have sometimes made up an Act of one single Scene, but I do think that tedious, and much more when as in Seneca there is but one Actor for that Scene. I think in Tragedy there ought to be at least three Scenes in an Act, and that if there be above eight, it cannot please; I believe experience will justify this guess of mine.  
I shall now add here a thing, which it would be difficult for me to place any where else with more order, which is a difficulty which has often puzzled our best Poets; and I shall at the same time show them how to avoid it. It happens then very ordinarily in Dramatic Poems, that to give a foundation to some things which are to be spoke, or to clear some others which have been said already, there is a necessity of doing it in a Theatral way, and by consequent by an Actor, but as often some other of the Actors are not to know or hear of it; it is then necessary to make a new Scene, to drive off those who are to be ignorant of the thing, and to bring on others who may speak of it; and this I call a Scene of Necessity, when it precedes what is to be done; and a Scene of Esclaircissement, or clearing, when it follows, and takes away any mistake or confusion that might have been: But it is good to observe, that such Scenes, being as it were independent and loose, they break the Union of the others, and often make the Stage dull; both which to avoid, I think we may take this Method.  
First, To choose the person that is to speak upon this occasion, and the place where the Speech shall be; all that depends on the Poet's Judgement, who to gain Observations, may read Plautus and Terence; both which have many of these Scenes; and for those of Necessity, sometimes they are in the beginning of the Play, as Sosia in Andria, and Geta in Hecyra, where both these Slaves are of those Actors whom we call Protatick, who appear only at the opening of the Stage, to give intelligence about the Subject of the Play; and this way is not to be used without great dexterity.  
As for that dulness which such Scenes bring along with them when they are not in the beginning, but in the body of the Poem, it must be corrected, by making the Discourse of him that speaks eager and quick, which cannot be done but by great Figures, such as Admiration, Exclamation, etc. or by some motions of fear or joy strongly expressed; for else, though the thing which is expressed be necessary, yet it will be cold and dull, without any grace, because there will be a plain affectation, which is the greatest fault a Poet can fall into. As for the coming off of such Scenes, which is often very troublesome, he may avoid it by introducing in the beginning of an Act the person whom he intends to employ in any such Scene, provided that may appear probable, and consist with the following Scenes; or else he may retain at the end of an Act one or two persons to this end. But the most refined way of performing this is, to do it in the middle of an Act by some body retained on purpose to unite the following Scene; and who in that interval of time makes alone a Scene of Necessity, or of Esclaircissement, by taking occasion to speak of the different concerns of the Actors, who are gone off, or of those who are to come on; for this way neither the person, nor the thing, are affected, and the Scenes are not broken, and the Stage being warmed by the passions of those who are gone off, is kept so easily by those who are to come on next. In all this nevertheless I leave the Judicious Poet his liberty, only I have thought fit to warn him of these Inconveniencies.   

Chapter the Thirteenth.  
Of Spectacles, Machine's, and Decorations of the Stage.  
HAving treated at length in my Terence justified about the construction of the Theatres of the Ancients; together with the Decorations, Ornaments and Machine's, which were employed in the Representation of their Dramatic Poems, I can say little here that's new upon that Subject; therefore I shall not repeat any of it here, my design being only to instruct the Poet, and not the Decorator; but some Advertisements may not be amiss to the first, to teach him some ways how to add some external Ornaments to the Inventions of his Brain, to make them appear with more grace and perfection.  
'Tis certain that the Ornaments of the Stage with the Scenes. Machine's, and Decorations, make the most sensible delight of that ingenious Magic which seems to make Hero's live again in the world after so many Ages; it sets before us a new Heaven, and a new Earth, and many other wonderful appearances of things which we imagine present, though we know at the same time that they are not so, and that we are agreeably deceived: These Ornaments make the Poems themselves more illustrious; the people takes them for Enchantments, and the men of understanding are pleased to see the dexterity of the Artists (who deservedly attract admiration) with the concurrence of so many Arts and Professions employed in the Execution of these contrivances, to which all run with joy and delight. It was for this that the People of Greece and Rome, though as Martial as Learned and Ingenious, did bestow the richest Decorations upon their Theatres; there one might see the Heaven's open, where appeared their Imaginary Gods descending to converse with Men; the Air was often full of the noise of Thunder and Lightning; the Sea showed Tempests, Shipwrecks, Men of War, Galleys, and Battles: The Earth did not only produce Gardens, Deserts, and Forests, with magnificent Temples and Palaces, but it often opened, and showed flaming Abyssus', Mountains came out of its bosom, Furies, Daemons, and all the Prodigies of their fabulous Hell: In a word, the Objects of the diversion of these People were taken from all the supernatural Effects of the Divinity, the Miracles of Nature, the Masterpieces of Art, and all the beautiful contrivances that Imagination could form for the adorning their Theatre. Their Magistrates always strove to surpass one another in these magnificencies, and the People gave the highest dignities of their Government at this price: therefore the Poets, who saw that in the fortune of great Men there always was, and would be a fund for these Illustrious Expenses, did not spare to fill their Poems with Incidents, where the richest Artifices were employed; and the Workmen were pleased in adding their labour and contrivance to acquire those riches and fame which certainly attended the success of their undertake.  
But for our times, though the Court does not dislike these Ornaments, and that the People crowd to see them, yet I would not advise our Poet to busy himself much in these machine Plays; our Players are neither Rich, nor Generous enough to make the Expense of them, and their Decorators want ability in the performance; I must add that our Authors themselves have been so negligent in acquiring the knowledge of the Ancients ways in this matter, and in their means of Execution, that we need not wonder if we see so many ill Invented Embellishments of this kind. Yet one would think that our Age, as soon as any might recover the pristine glory of the Theatre, considering the Liberality of our Princes, the Application of our Poets, the Ingenuity of our Workmen, and the Care of our Comedians, and that which we have seen already performed in this Kingdom, is, it may be, but a pattern of what we may expect in the plenty of Peace. Therefore that we may not be wanting to any thing that may contribute to the accomplishment of so great a work, I shall here communicate some Observations upon public Spectacles and Machine's, which I hope will be of some use. I consider all public Spectacles and Decorations of the Scene three ways.  
Some are of things; when the Spectacles are permanent and immovable; as a Heaven open, a stormy Sea, a Palace, or the like Ornaments.  
Others are of Actions; when the Spectacle depends principally upon some extraordinary Fact; as that one should throw himself headlong from a Tower, or from a Rock in the Sea.  
The Third sort is of those that are mingled with Things and Actions, as a Sea-fight, where at the same time is the Sea and Ships, and Men acting upon it.  
These may be all further distinguished into natural, artificial, and marvellous.  
The Natural ones are those which represent the most agreeable things in Nature, as a Desert, a Mountain on fire, etc.  
The Artificial are those which show us the most magnificent works of Art, as a Temple, a Palace.  
The Marvellous are those which suppose some Divine Power or Magic Production, as the descent of some God from Heaven, or the rising of some Fury from Hell.  
And of all these, the least considerable are the last, because there goes little contrivance to the inventing of them, there being hardly any wit so mean, who by this may not bring in, or carry off a great Intrigue. I saw once a Play, in which the Author having brought on a Rival, and concerned him so deeply in his Subject, that he did not well know how to bring him off, bethought himself to kill him with a Thunderbolt; the contrivance was pretty sure; but if this sort of Invention be admitted in Drammas, we need not much trouble ourselves to wind up the Plot any other way; therefore all these Machine's of Gods and Devils are to be used with great discretion, and great care to be taken that in the Execution they play easily, for else the people are apt to laugh, and make Railleries of a God hanging in the Air, or coming down too fast.  
I should not likewise advise our Poet to use frequently those, where Actions are to make the greatest Effect, because that all the success depends upon the Exactness of the Comedians, who are often so negligent in the performance, that they will neither study the manner, nor time necessary; or else they are so possessed with an Opinion of their Abilities, that they think it beneath them to be informed; so that either their Idleness, or their Vanity, most commonly spoils that which was well invented, and aught to have made the beauty of the Play. That which remains then is the permanent Decorations, of what nature soever they are; and to these I would confine the Poet, but still with many Precautions: For,  
First, They are to be necessary, insomuch as the Play cannot be acted without these Ornaments; or else they will not take, though never so ingenious. And in this, I think, our Andromeda has not all its Regularity; for in the First and Fourth Act there are two noble Buildings, of different Architecture, and no mention made of them in the Play; since these two Acts might be represented with any of the Decorations of the other three, without offending the Poet, or spoiling any Incident of his Drama.  
Secondly, These Ornaments must be agreeable to the Sight; for 'tis for that, that the People flock to them. Not that I would absolutely forbid the Poet to put in things monstrous or horrible; but at least than the Painting must be exquisite, that the Art may be admired.  
They must likewise be modest, and not against that Pudour which the most dissolute love the appearances of. I believe that the showing of Mars and Venus surprised in a Net by Vulcan, would not be allowed for a fine Decoration.  
They must, besides, be easy to put in execution; that is, that the Machinists do dispose their Machines' to play so well, that there may be no need of great numbers of Hands, but they do of themselves perform to a Minute; for the People cannot endure to expect long the Effect of a Machine, and when they do not hit the Minute, they do not agree with the Motion and Pretence of the Actor upon the Stage, and so spoil his Part.  
It will likewise be reasonable to consider, whether the Place represented by the Scene, will bear in truth that which is to be showed in Image; for else it would be a gross Fault against Probability: For example, If the place of the Scene were a Palace, and that close to it were a Prison, or some noisome place; for Princes and Great People do not live near such places.  
There must not likewise be any Decorations made which are not agreeable to the Unity of Place; as to suppose the Scene the Palace or Chamber of a Prince, out of which there should be an immediate Passage to a great Forest: For all these Fictions, though pleasing to the Eye, yet are otherwise, to our Reason, which knows them to be false, impossible, and ridiculous.  
But particularly, the Poet must so order it, as that out of this Show and Decoration some notable Event may result in the Body of the Play; that is, something that may contribute either to the perplexing of the Plot, or the easier unweaving of it; for if all this Show is only for show, and not of the Essence of the Piece, the Men of Understanding will value the Decorator for executing, but not the Poet for inventing so useless an Ornament. In the Rudens of Plautus, the Shipwreck that is there represented, makes both the Knot and the Unweaving of the Intrigue. The Frogs of Aristophanes have a vast Decoration, which serves to all the Acts, and almost to all the Scenes. And we shall find few among the Ancients, but what agree with our Rules.  
I cannot omit here to advertise the Poet of two important Considerations: The first that regards himself, which is, That when the Spectacles are of Things, that is, of Permanent Objects, they must, if possible, appear at the first opening of the Stage, to the end that the Surprise and Applause of the People, which generally attends such Sights, may be over, before the Actors begin to speak: or, that if there be any necessity of changing the Decorations, let it be done in the Interval of an Act, that the Workmen may have the time necessary for their Machines' moving, and the Actor that is to appear, that of dressing himself at leisure. But if, by the necessity of his Subject, some great Change is to be in the middle of an Act, let him contrive his Actors Part so, as he have but little to say at that time, and those too Words of Admiration, Grief, or Astonishment, to give some time to the Murmur of the Spectators, which is always raised upon some such new Appearance.  
The other Consideration regards the Comedians; which is, when the Spectacles consist of Actions: that is, when the Actors are to be in some posture extraordinary: The Actor, I say, must study this Posture with care, before he comes to act it upon the Stage; or else 'tis odds but he performs it very ill and not without danger sometimes to himself: all which does not a little trouble the Beauty of the whole Piece.    

THE ART OF THE STAGE. Book the Fourth.  

Chapter the First.  
Of the Quantitative Parts of the Dramatic Poem, and particularly of the Prologue.  
THE Drammatiek Poem is so changed since the time of Aristotle, that though we should make an Allowance for his Translators and Intepreters Errors, yet we think we have great reason not to be altogether of his mind, particularly in the Matter of which we are going to treat.  
He writes, That Tragedy has Four parts of Quantity, to wit, the Prologue, the Chorus, the Episode, and the Exode; and to make them the more intelligible, he defines three of them thus. The Prologue (says he) is that part of the Tragedy which is before the Entrance of the Chorus. The Episode is all that is between the two Cantos of the Chorus. And the Exode is that part after which the Chorus sings no more. This I cannot conceive to be true, according to the present state of the Greek Tragedies; neither can I allow, that Aristotle has well distinguished the parts of Tragedy as it was in his time, at least according to the Works of those three excellent Tragic Poets which have been transmitted to us.  
To understand this aright, let us begin with the Prologue, and consider how many sorts of Prologues there were among the Ancients.  
The first sort was of those which were made for the Interest of the Poet, either in answering the Invectives of his Adversaries, or in expounding his Proceeding in the Play. Many of this kind are to be found in Plautus and Terence, particularly in the last; which made some say, as he himself relates, That without the Reproaches and Cavils of the old Poet, 
Vetus si Poeta non lacessisset prior, nullum invenire Prologum potuisset novus. Prologue. in Phorm.  the new one would not have known what Subject to have taken for his Prologues.  
There were other Prologues that regarded the Interest of the Comedians, either to obtain the Judges or the People's Favour, or to bespeak their Attention. Such is that of the Pseudolus of Plautus, and some others.  
There are some likewise which make a Mixture of the Subject of the Play, with the Poets or Comedians Interest; and this was indeed the most ordinary one with Plautus, as appears in his Captives, his Paenulus, and his Menechmes.  
Now these three sorts of Prologues were particular to Comedy; for we meet with none such among the Tragic Poets; neither do I think, that if they had used them, that Aristotle would have reckoned these sort of Prologues amongst the Parts of Quantity of a Tragedy; for they are things by themselves which may be omitted, without injuring the Poem, or otherwise lessening its true Proportion. 'Tis for this reason that the Learned Vossius says, That the Prologues of Comedy and Tragedy are very different, because in Comedy the Prologue is as it were alien to the Subject; but in Tragedy it is incorporated with it, and makes a part of it. And yet I must say, That I think he is mistaken in both; for sometimes in Comedy the Prologue is fixed to the Body of the Poem, as in the Cistellaria of Plautus, where it contains three Scenes: and, on the other side, the Tragedian Prologues are not always so twisted with the Subject, as to make a part of it.  
The first and most ordinary Prologues of the Greek Tragedies were made by one of the Chief Actors, who came and explained to the Spectators all that had passed in the Story before the opening of the Stage. We have of this sort divers in Euripides, where the Actor having done this, ends with some Verses which give a beginning to the Action of the Poem.  
But it cannot be said, that these Prologues make a part of the Tragedy; first, because they are Discourses made to the Spectators, and by consequent, faulty, by mingling the Representation with the Theatral Action: Neither are they necessary, because those things which precede the beginning of the Play, aught to be dexterously told in the Play, in different parts of it; and this Aeschylus and Sophocles always observe. So that it is most certain, that these Prologues, which contain the Argument of the Play, are useless, defective, and may be easily separated from it. And therefore we do not see that Monsieur Corneille, whom I always cite as a great Master for the Stage, has ever used so ill an Artifice; and I cannot but condemn those French and Italians who have had recourse to it.  
Euripides makes another sort of Prologue, more faulty and defective still; to wit, when he employs some of the Gods to explain, by his Omniscience, not only all that was passed, but things to come in the Play, even to the Catastrophe; by which means all the Events were forestalled, than which there could not be a greater Fault, since it destroys all that Expectation and Suspension which makes the Surprise and Novelty of the Play. Now I do not think that Aristotle means this sort of Prologue neither, when he says 'tis a Quantitative part of the Drama.  
The two sorts of Prologue which remain for us to consider, seem to agree better with Aristotle's Definition: The Prologue, says he, is that part of the Tragedy which precedes the arrival of the Chorus upon the Stage: By which he seems rather to teach us the Place of the Prologue, than its Nature: And according to this Definition, those Tragedies that begin with the Chorus, have no Prologue: Such are the Rhaesas, the Persians, and the Suppliants of Euripides; and by consequent, according to this Doctrine, they have not their due Proportion, being deprived of their first Quantitative part: (And by the by, we may by this discover the Mistakes of those who have given us Arguments and Preambles upon these Greek Tragedies) for they say at the beginning of these three Plays which I now mentioned, That the Chorus makes the Prologue; for since the Prologue, according to Aristotle, aught to contain all that is said before the Chorus comes on; 'tis impossible for the Chorus to make the Prologue; or if the Chorus could make the Prologue, than Aristotle's definition is good for nothing: But now let us come to these two last sorts of Prologues.  
One of them did use to contain in three or four Scenes made before the coming on of the Chorus, some things which concerned the Theatral Action, but which in truth were not necessary parts of the Poem. We have two Examples of this in the Phoenicians, and in the Medea of Euripides. In the first Antigone appears upon the Walls of Thebes, with her Governor, who shows her the Army of the besieging Princes, with some Discourses about the Commanders of it, and this in some sort does regard the Drama, but does not in rigour make a part of it; and the Author of the Argument says expressly, that all that Antigonus does upon the Walls of the Town, is absolutely out of the Theatral Action.  
In the other Tragedy Medaea's Children appear with their Governor, to whom Medaea's Nurse recommends them, expressing some fear for them in the fury and rage of Medea against Joson their Father; and this at first seems to belong to the Subject, but yet it makes no part of the Drama; for if you begin the Play just after the first Chorus, you will not miss any thing in it; and therefore in both these Plays the Prologues are not inseparable from the body of the Drama; and that which may still contribute to convince us of this is, that in these Prologues the Poets often put things which were inconsistent with the Rules of the Stage; as in the Agamemnon of Aeschylus, where one of the Guard that speaks the Prologue seems to see things which could not come to pass in the time prescribed by the Dramatic Poem; and if this Prologue were to be supposed part of the Play, it would make it defective, and against all the Rules.  
The other sort of Prologue placed before the Chorus, contained not only such things as regarded the Poem, but such also as were proper, and incorporated with its Subject, making a true part of it; as in the Sphigenia in Aulide, where the disquiet of Agamemnon, and the Narration he makes to an old Man, whom he sends his Letters by, to his Wife, do certainly begin the Play, and make an inseparable part of the Subject; and if the definition that Aristotle gives of Prologues can be reduced to any rational meaning, it must be to this sort of Prologue; but yet I cannot understand neither why this must be called a Prologue sooner than any other part of the Play; 'tis properly an Episode, and its being before or after the Chorus changes nothing in its nature, but only altars its place; and this, in my Judgement, is not enough to make a just and true distinction of the parts of a Drama, who ought to have more Essential difference between each other. My Conclusion then is, that that which is properly Prologue, cannot be reckoned a part of the Play; and that which is a part of the Play can no more be named a Prologue, than the other Episodes that compose the Play.  
If in opposition to this any one shall say, that in the beginning of all the Tragedys of Sophocles and Aeschylus, we meet with the same word that is in Euripides (and which signifies to speak a Prologue) though neither of these Poets designed a Prologue, except Sophocles in his Electra, and Aeschylus in his Agamemnon) I say, that is not so much to be minded, because the words signify likewise to speak first, and are so translated in the Latin Version; and this may serve to avoid a mistake upon this Subject.  
As for the Chorus, of which Aristotle makes the second part of Tragedy, it must be considered in two different states; the first is, when the Chorus speaks with the other Actors in an Episode, or the continuation of an Act, for then the Chorus is perfectly an Actor concerned, and working in the Intrigues of the Stage, according to the Doctrine of Aristotle and Horace; and in this sense the Chorus can in no wise be counted a distinct part of the Play.  
The other state in which we are to consider the Chorus is, 
Chorus pars fabulae post actum vel inter actum & actum. Voss. l. 2. c. 5. Inst. Poet.  when it sings to mark the Intervals of the Acts, and therefore is defined by Vessius a part of the Fable after an Act, or between two Acts. Now I will not deny but Chorus' may have been true parts of Tragedy, as long as they sung things concerning the true Subject of the Poem upon the Theatre; but they were not necessary parts, since they have been so easily omitted, no more than our Music that plays between the Acts can be said to be an Essential part of our Plays.  
Aristotle's Exodus, or last part of Tragedy, is not, in my Opinion, any whit better distinguished; for if the Exodus contains all that is said after the Chorus gives over, 
L. 2. cap. 5. Inst. Poet.  it is no more than our fifth Act; and therefore Vossius would have the Catastrophe and the Exodus to be the same thing; but in that he does not agree with Aristotle, for according to him the Catastrophe often begins towards the end of the fourth Act, and sometimes it does not begin till towards the middle of the fifth Act, so that then you would be obliged to cut off from the Exodus all that should be said after the Chorus gives over, or else according to Vossius it would be cut in two by a Chorus; both which are against Aristotle's Doctrine. But besides, what will become of this Exodus in those Tragedys that end with a Chorus, as all Euripides, and the best of Sophocles and Aeschylus' do; for the last Verses of their Tragedys were according to the most received Opinion sung by the Chorus, and so there could be no Exodus in those Plays, who by consequence, according to Aristotle, must want that part of quantity. It will not be amiss to observe here by the by, that Exodus, and Exodion are not the same things; for the Exodus is the last part of the Play, and the Exodion was a piece of Buffoonery, as the Mimes and Embolimes were and were acted when the Play was done, by those they called Exodiarii, which may prevent a mistake, apt else to be made in reading the Ancients.  
From all this that we have said, it appears that either Aristotle did not explain himself well in his Definitions, or that those Plays which we have of the Greek Poets, did not serve him for the Rules of his Poeticks; so that of those four parts of quantity of Tragedy, of which Aristotle makes mention, we have but one left, which alone makes up our whole Tragedy, and that is the Episode; for since the Episode contained all that was between the Ancient Chorus', and that our music with which we begin and end our plays is to us in the place of the Ancient Chorus', it is manifest, that five Episodes make our five Acts; but because we divide our Acts into Scenes, and that we separate our Acts by a considerable distance of time, necessary to the Theatral Action, I therefore think that a Dramatic Poem can be properly said to have but two parts of quantity, to wit, Five Acts subdivided into Scenes, without any limited number; and the four Intervals of those Acts. If any one else has more light to show us other parts, I shall easily subscribe to this Opinion.   

Chapter the Second.  
Of Episodes according to the Doctrine of Aristotle.  
TO understand this matter well, 
Hygin. l. 2.  we must look back to some things that have been said already, 
Astronom. in Actoph. Ex Eratostene.  and know that Tragedy & Comedy begun thus. 
Virg. Georg. 2.   
Bacchus' having found out the Art of cultivating the Vine, and making Wine, taught it Icarius, who then was Master of a little Territory in Attica, to which he gave his name. Icarius having presently put his Skill to trial, met with a Goat in the Vintage time, that was eating his Grapes, therefore looking upon him as an Enemy to Bacchus, sacrificed him to him; and having called his neighbours to this Sacrifice, they all together fell a dancing and singing something in the honour of Bacchus, 
Cassiod. li. 4.  whom they had thus revenged of his Foe. 
Var. Varr. l. 1. de vit. pop.  This appeared to them both so religious, 
Rom. Plutar.  and so pleasant, 
Symposion. 19 qu. 1.  that they continued it every year at the same time, and called it Tragoedia, that is, a Vintage-song.  
The Athenians having in process of time transferred this Ceremony to their Town; their best Poets began to be concerned in the Hymn to Bacchus, and to strive with one another for the honour of excelling in it. They brought in besides great Chorus' of Music and Dances, with many turnings and windings, and so transferred it from the Temples to the Theatres, without any irreverence; nevertheless, because those very Theatres were dedicated to Bacchus, and the Victim that was sacrificed to him, was a Goat, as destructor of the Vine; from whence this Hymn was called Tragedy, 
Athen. l. 2.  as who should say, the Goat-Song, 
Cassiodor. l. 1.  and so much of it as remained among the Country people in Villages, 
Plut. Sympos. l. 1. q. 1. Suidas.  was called Comedy, as who should say a Country Song: 
Initium Tragaediae & Comedy à rebus Divinis Incensis Altaribus, & admoto hirco id genus carminis quod sacer Chorus libero patri reddebat Tragedia dicebatur. Donat. in Terentium.  All this appears clearly from many famous Authors of Antiquity.  
Thus were distinguished these two Poems, though they had the same beginning in the same Country of Icaria, and by the same adventure, according to Athenaeus, of whose Opinion are Donatus Maximus of Tyr, and Eustathius.  
Now it happening that by little and little the Subjects that the Poets took to praise Bacchus, being exhausted, they were forced to add little Stories or Fables, which they handled merrily at first, in honour of Bacchus. To confirm this, Aristotle writes, that from little Fables made with mirth and fooling, Tragedy rose by degrees to that perfection it acquired in Sophocles time. Some are of Opinion that Epigenes the Sycionian was the Author of Tragedy, whether it were that he first brought the Song from the Vintage to the Town, or that he first instituted the Dispute between the Poets, in which the Conqueror received for reward the Goat that was sacrificed to Bacchus, after a formal Procession; the Ceremony of which described by Plutarch, was simple enough at first, though much altered in his time: However, Tragedy remained a great while in the same state; for between this Epigenes and Thespis, who first added an Act to this Hymn, there are reckoned fourteen famous Tragic Poets, almost all Successors to one another; and 'tis of the Tragedies of that time that Diogenes Laertius is to be understood, when he writes in the Life of Plato, that the Chorus formerly acted the whole Tragedy. These words at first did extremely puzzle me, because the neglect of Chorus' in our days, hindered me from penetrating the true sense of the Author. I considered Tragedy as I found it in Sophocles, and there I could not see any conformity with Laertius' mind; and all I could then imagine in order to make something of it was, that they that made the Chorus were likewise the Histrions and Actors of the Tragedy: But besides that thereby I made no distinction between the Histrions who were Actors, and the Thymelicks, who were Musicians, against all truth of Antiquity. I found the difficulty still grow upon me, when I read in Athenaeus, That anciently all sort of Tragedy was composed only of the Chorus, and had no Histrions or Actors at all: For these last words did entirely destroy all my first thought, neither could I any ways relieve myself by any of the Interpreters of these two Authors, though so many Learned men have commented them, without saying one word of this; therefore I began to go back to the first Original of things, and considering that Tragedy at first was nothing but an Hymn of the Pagan Religion, danced and sung by Chorus' of Music, I easily found the solution of all my difficulties; for 'tis most certain, that in that time, and for almost six hundred years after Tragedy was represented only by the Chorus, as Laertius has it, and had no Actors, as Athenaeus truly affirms.  
At last Thespis bethought himself of putting in an Actor, who should recite without singing, that the Chorus might take breath, and rest themselves; not that I think that Actor spoke alone, but he made a Dialogue with the Coryphoeus, or some other person of the Chorus, who answered him something to the purpose, to give him Subject to continue his Discourse, as we may yet see in some fragments of Epicharmus, who lived in that time. We must not think nevertheless, that Thespis was the Inventor of Tragedy, as Horace seems to believe, but only that he introduced the first Actor without singing. And Plato tells us, that Tragedy was in great credit in Athens long before Thespis' time. And as for what is said also of him, That he carried his Actors about in a Cart, from whence they spoke many Railleries and witty Jests against passengers, that must not be understood of serious Tragedy, for which there were already public theatres, but of Satyrical Tragedy, in which they represented the Dances, and grossest postures of Satyrs and Silenes, who were supposed to have accompanied Bacchus in his Voyages, (for this Satirical Tragedy was at first without Actors, as well as the serious one, according to Athenaeus) and came at last to that perfection, that it was one of the four Poems which made the Tetralogy of Drammas, in which the Poets of Athens disputed the Prize at their four great Holidays.  
Thespis likewise added to his Jests and Railleries the daubing of his Actors with Lees of Wine, as Horace has it; 
Quae canerent agerentque peruncti facibus ora. Horat. de art. Poet.  or with Ceruse and Vermilion, as Suidas reports: And this was done to imitate so much the better the Satyrs, who were always represented with red Faces, 
Virgil in Silen.  as Virgil paints Silenus', daubed with the Juice of Elder berries and Mulberries. 
Sanguineis frontem moris & tempora pingit.   
At last Tragedy having received a total alteration, by Recitals in the Intervals of the Music, it acquired shortly after its utmost Perfection; for Aeschylus, who lived fifty years, or thereabouts, after Thespis, added one Actor more, and so made up two Actors: and indeed we never see more than two, in any Scene of his, talking together, except it be for a word or two put in by a third, and that too very seldom, whatever Scaliger says to the contrary; 
Diogen. in Plat. & Philost. in Sophist. Et de vit. Apollón. l. 6. c. 6.  he invented likewise a convenient Dress for his Actors with Cothurnes, or High Shoes to make them appear tall like Heroes. Sophocles who was born Ten or Twelve years after the Death of Aeschylus, increased the number of the Chief Actors to Three, and caused the Scenes to be painted with Decorations fitting for his Subject. So that in less than Fourscore years' Tragedy attained to its highest perfection, with all the Glory of which it was capable.  
As for Comedy, Donatus seems to think it was invented by Shepherds and Country People, who used to dance about the Altars of Apollo surnamed Nomian, and sing at the same time some Hymns in honour of him; but I had rather believe Athenaeus, who makes it take its rise with Tragedy, and they were both consecrated to Bacchus, and not to Apollo: Except Donatus would judge of all Theatral Actions by the Apollinary Games, which indeed were Scenick, and celebrated in the Honour of Apollo.  
I say then, That Comedy and Tragedy were born together; 
Clem. Alexand. Stromat. lib. 1. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  and accordingly we find in Clemens Alexandrinus, that the Invention of Comedy was attributed to one Sisarion of Icaria; it may be, because he was the first that composed the Hymns of Bacchus, after the Sacrifice of the Goat by Icarius. And this may suffice to appease the Quarrels of the Learned upon the Origine of Comedy, since they are not agreed neither in Times, Places, nor Persons.  
But Comedy had not the same progress with Tragedy, it being long detained in Confusion and Disorder: Nay, even in Aristophanes' time, which was after Sophocles and Euripides, it was full of satirical Reflections and scandalous Slanders. It will be hard for us to mark the degrees of its progress, from the time that it was a Rural Hymn, to that of its perfection upon the Stage; because, as Aristotle says, it being not so noble as Tragedy, there has been less care to make Observations upon it; and the Magistrates were a great while before they concerned themselves in giving the Choruses, but used to leave them to the Discretion of those who made the Comedy. Nevertheless, if I may venture to bring to light things buried in so long an Obscurity, I think that it begun to have Actors about the same time as Tragedy did, that is, under Epicharmus the Sicilian, the Contemporary of Thespis; and before that time I have not observed any Speakers. And 'tis from this, that the Sicilians do maintain, That Comedy was invented at Syracuse, because Epicharmus was that Countryman: not that they can pretend that there was no Comedy before him, (for we have yet the Fragments of Alcaea, a Comedy two hundred years before his time) but because he first introduced an Actor with the Chorus. We may say as much of Sannyrion, who was the first that added Masks and Buffoons, according to Athenaeus; and the same of Cratinus, who settled three Actors, and made the whole Composition regular; the same of Aristophanes, who gave Comedy a further perfection; and so of all those whom Diomedes calls the first Comic Poets, though they came a great while after Comedy was invented.  
Now we are to take notice, that the Recital of that Actor or Player introduced by Thespis in Tragedy, and the number of which was since increased by other Poets, received the name of Episode, as who should say, an additional Discourse, thrown as it were across another; therefore Suidas says expressly, that Episode signifies a thing which is besides the Subject of another, and to which nevertheless it is joined. So when Aeschylus and others did insert into their Tragedies Actors that recited a Story which was nothing to the Praises of Bacchus, the Priests of Bacchus began to complain of that neglect, and said, that in those Episodes there was nothing that was proper either to the Actions or Mysteries of their God; which gave occasion to that Greek Proverb, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Nothing to Bacchus. And this Explication of the Proverb, which is according to all the Ancients, seems most reasonable: For to think, as some do, that in Dramatic Poetry they called Episodes all the Descriptions, Narrations, and pathetic Discourses, as things not belonging to the Subject, seems very absurd, since without those things the Episodes themselves could not be.  
These Complaints of Bacchus' Priests did not at all stop the Progress of Tragedy, which by little and little went its Course, and at last grew to such a distance from its Originals, as that the Episodes became the Tragedy itself. Therefore now all the Doctrine and Precepts of Aristotle about the Episodes, how to make them successfully, is no more than the Art how to make a Dramatic Poem; for we have neither Prologue, Chorus, nor Exode to make the Parts of our Tragedy: so that having none but the Episode left, that alone must be called the Drama; and when we read in Athenaeus, That Alexander, at the last Feast he made before his death, recited an Episode of the Andromeda of Euripides, we must not understand it as Natalis Comes does in his Marginal Note, calling it a Piece added to make Mirth; but rather in the sense of Aristotle, that it was some part of that Tragedy, either a fine Description, or some pathetic Expression in some Act of the Play.  
It being then agreed, that the Episodes contain all that is between the Choruses, that is to say, Five Acts, distinguished by five Concerts of Music, Aristotle gives three principal Instructions in composing of these Episodes.  
The first is, That having chosen your Story, and resolved how much of it you will bring upon the Stage, you must then cast your Episodes, that is, the Descriptions, Discourses, Passions, and other things that are to entertain the Stage. And this is one of the greatest Dexterities of the Poet.  
The second is, That the Episodes be proper and natural to the Story or Fable; that is to say, drawn from the very Essence of the Subject, and s fit, as to seem to jump naturally, and of themselves, with the whole Concourse of other Events. And 'tis out of the secret Knowledge Men have of this Precept, that we have often seen them blame upon the Stage Narrations that were not necessary, superfluous and vain Descriptions, Complaints, and other Passions, introduced out of order, and without which the Drama might not only have been, but have been better.  
The third Rule is, That the Episodes ought not to be too long. And that is it which even the Common people every day condemn upon our Stages; for the finest Discourses, and the most necessary ones, have a Measure, after which they become tedious.  
To these three Precepts of Aristotle, I add two Observations of my own; That the Dramatic Poet must have a care in these Episodes not to enter too much and too strongly into the particular of things; but he must only touch the beautiful places of his Subject, by some strong Thoughts; because else there will appear an Affectation, and be too unlike a Natural Discourse, which in all things he is to imitate.  
The other Observation is, That often the Business of the Stage does not suffer that the Actors should make long Discourses, not even of a thing necessary; as if they were to go in haste to succour some afflicted Person, or to avoid their Enemies. I should therefore advise the Poet, in sch occasions, to use some other Means to instruct the Spectators of that which they are not to be ignorant of, or to do it at least in very few Words, so as to keep the Rules of Probability. One great slight in these sudden Occasions, is to explain some Circumstance of the Story, which may serve for the understanding of the nearest Events, and so reserve to ones self the Liberty of explaining the rest at leisure.  
As for the other general Instructions that Aristotle gives about the Episodes, they are to be found in his Interpreters; but the Poet must still remember, that they are to be applied to the Acts and Disposition of Tragedy, as it is now treated amongst us it being most certain, that Dramatic Poems which comprehend the Events of two Stories in the unity of one Theatral Action, were never called by the Ancients. Episodick Fables; because those Drammas which contain but one Story, are as much Episodick as the others; that is, they have as many Acts or Recitals between the Choruses, as we have already sufficiently explained.   

Chapter the Third.  
Of the Choruses of the Ancients.  
WE have said already, That Tragedy in its first Original was nothing but a Sacred Hymn sung and danced to the Honour of Bacchus; and that by little and little the Episodes, which we call Acts, were added between each Chorus. And we know likewise, that now adays Tragedy has quite lost its Choruses, as Comedy had lost his, even before the Age of Plautus. So that it may seem to some, that a Discourse of Choruses may be now an unnecessary thing for the Practice of our Stage. But besides that they may one day be re-established upon our Theatres, when we are well informed what they were amongst the Ancients, I think it very necessary for me to explain here my Thoughts about them, and which will scarce be found any where else.  
To take the Chorus not as it was at first, when alone it made the whole Tragedy; but as it was in the time of Sophocles and Euripides, that is to say, in its perfection among the Grecians, I think we may define the Chorus thus.  
The Chorus is a Troop of Actors, representing the Assembly or Body of those Persons who either were present, or probably might be so, upon that Place or Scene where the Action is supposed to be transacted.  
These Words are of importance, and we are not to proceed without well weighing of them. Thus we see, that in the Hecuba of Euripides, the Chorus is of Trojan Women who were Slaves in the Camp, it being most probable that they were at the Tents of Hecuba, who was under the same Captivity with them. And in the Cyclops the Chorus is of Satyrs, and that very ingeniously contrived; for no other sort of Men could venture to stay before the Den of cruel Polyphemus. In the Antigone of Sophocles the Chorus is of the Old Men of Thebes, because being sent for by Creon to Council, none could more reasonably be thought to be before his Palace. In the Ajax the Chorus is of Seamen of Salamis, who come very naturally before the Tent of their Prince, to endeavour to do him some Service, upon the noise of his being furious and mad. In the Prometheus of Aeschylus the Nymphs of the Ocean make the Chorus, because in probability hardly any other Persons could be supposed near that unfortunate Man, who was fastened to a Rock far from the commerce of the rest of Mankind; and also in the Seven before Thebes, the Young Women of the Town make the Chorus, because it was more reasonable to assemble them before the Palace, and make them stay there full of fears and apprehensions, lamenting the Calamity of the War, than to have placed Men there, who are supposed necessary to the defence of their Country. And from this we may judge likewise with what Industry and Ingenuity Aristophanes, in his Play against Socrates, makes a Chorus of Clouds, because he supposes Socrates to invoke them to appear at his Sophisms; as in another place he has made a Chorus of Birds, which two Athenians come and entertain in a place full of Trees, and out of the way, talking to them about building a Town in the Air. I make no Citations here out of those Tragedies which go under the name of Seneca, because they are very ill Models to imitate; and particularly, the Choruses are very faulty: for sometimes they see all that's done upon the Scene, hear all that's said, and speak very properly to all; and at other times one would think they were blind, deaf, and dumb. In many of those Drammas one can hardly tell who they represent, how they were dressed, nor what Reason brings them upon the Stage, nor why they are of one Sex, more than of another. Indeed the Verses are fine, full of Thoughts, and overloaded with Conceit; but may in most places be very well spared, without spoiling any thing either in the Sense, or in the Representation of the Poem. Besides, the Thebaida has none at all, whether it be lost by the fault of the Copyists and our Printers, which I can hardly believe, because there would at least have remained some fragments, considering that they were pieces inserted into the very body of the Poem in many places; so that I am apt to believe that the Author made none at all for that Play; and this with some other conjectures, has given me occasion to doubt of the truth of what Scaliger affirms so positively; to wit, that Tragedy never was without Chorus'; for I incline to think that in the time of the debauched and loose Emperors, where Mimes, Embolimes, and Buffoons came in for Interludes in Tragedy, as well as in Comedy, the Chorus ceased by little and little to be a part of the Dramatic Poem, and became only a Troup of Musicians and Dancers, to mark the Intervals of the Acts; but those four Greek Poets, whose works we have, have been much more exact in their Chorus' than the Author of Seneca's Tragedys, as understanding a great deal better than he, the Art of composing such Poems; and out of them likewise it is that we learn that the Chorus might be composed of all sorts of persons, without distinction either of Age or Sex, nay of living creatures. or insensible things, as Aristophanes has done, from which we may likewise observe, that they who thought the Chorus represented the people were something out; for we see that in his Knights the people of Athens is acting, speaking and judging the contest between Cleo and Agoracritus, and that the Chorus is of Athenian Knights, perfectly distinguished from those who represent the people.  
And when Aristotle and Scaliger after him name the Chorus a kind of idle Client, which gives but small assistance to those he pretends to help. It must be understood only in comparison of the other Actors, who are generally more busy; as also because the Chorus never forsakes the place of the Scene; whereas the other Actors often perform great things off of the Stage; but yet the Greek Poets have never chosen for their Chorus either idle people (though they might be easily supposed present) or those who had no concern in the business in hand, because all that they could have said or done would have been weak and languishing, of small, or no effect upon the Spectators, who do not willingly hear unconcerned persons in a Tragedy. Besides, according to the Art of Poetry, both of Aristotle and Horace, the Chorus, besides its singing, aught to act a part of some concern, and advance and forward the Affairs of the Stage, as other Actors do; and therefore it is observable, that when the Subject did naturally furnish the Poet with a Chorus, he never borrowed it any where else: as in the Rhaesus of Euripides, where the Scene is before the Tents of the Generals of the Trojan Army, and all things coming to pass in the night. The Guard makes the Chorus, because it would have been against probability that any other persons should have been assembled there at that time. Nay, if the Principal Actors themselves were enough in number, they made the Chorus of them, as in the Suppliants of Euripides, where the seven Princes of Argos, that implore Theseus' help to bury the dead bodies of their Husbands before Thebes, make the Chorus themselves.  
But if they were put to invent a Chorus, they always did it conformably to the nature of their Subject, and to the Rules of probability. This Aristophanes has ingeniously enough observed in Comedy, as where he makes a Chorus of Frogs to sing while Bacchus passing the Styx in Charon's Bark; and another of Wasps in the house of Philocleon, whose Son would hinder him from going abroad; for though those are very ridiculous Imaginations, yet they are Comical; well enough invented in mirth, and are not against the Rules of his Art.  
From hence we may likewise judge why the Chorus was at last left out in new Comedy, and of this I think no body hitherto has given a true reason. Horace thinks that the malignity and satirical humour of the Poets was the cause of it; for they made the Chorus's abuse people so severely, that the Magistrates forbid them at last to use any at all; but I think, that if the Rules of probability had not likewise seconded this prohibition, the Poets would have preserved their Chorus still, with conformity to their Subject, and that without too much satire; therefore I imagine the thing came to pass thus.  
Comedy took its model and constitution from Tragedy; and when the downright abusing of living persons was prohibited, they generally invented feigned Subjects, which they governed according to the Rules of Tragedy; but as they were necessitated to draw Pictures of the life of the Vulgar, and were confined by consequent to mean Events, they generally chose the place of their Scene in some Streets before the houses of those whom they supposed concerned in the Story; and it was not very probable that there should be a Troup of people in such a place managing an Intrigue of inconsiderable persons from morning to night. Comedy lost of its self insensibly the Chorus, which it could not preserve with any probability.  
Comedy therefore having lost its Chorus long before Tragedy, that which was called new Comedy received Dances, Music, and Buffoons, in the room of the Chorus, as more proper for the genius of Comical Poetry.  
Since therefore we are now fully informed what the Chorus was, let us see how it acted upon the Stage.  
At first it was placed a little lower than the Theatre, and was seated by itself, from whence it rose to sing and dance; afterwards it was placed upon the Stage itself, and at last it came upon the very Scene, that is, behind the Hangings or Decoration, as may be seen in Scaliger, Castelvetro, and other Authors, with many other things which I forbear to repeat here.  
But we may observe besides, that the Chorus did not ordinarily appear upon the Stage, till after the Prologue, that is, as we have explained it, till after one or many Scenes, which opened the Play, and were preparatives to the better understanding of the piece, not being reckoned among the Acts or Episods. This too is to be understood only in strictness; for sometimes there was no Prologue, and all that passed before the coming on of the Chorus was the first Act, and to be reckoned of the body of the Tragedy, as in the Ajax of Sophocles; at other times the Chorus its self opened the Stage, as in the Rhaesus of Euripides, because being composed of the Guards, which had watched all night, 'twas not probable any should be there before them.  
We must observe besides, that when the Chorus once came on in regularity, they were not supposed to go off till the end of the Play; and this appears by all the Greek Tragedys, where the Chorus often shows the Palace or House to strangers, complains, or seems astonished at sudden noises made within; by all which it may be concluded, it stayed all along upon the Stage. 'Tis true, that sometimes we may observe it to come in and out, but that is extraordinarily, and by some remarkable Artifice of the Poet, who has a mind that some Action or other should be performed upon the Stage without witness: As when Sophocles has a mind that Ajax should kill himself upon the Stage, he sends out the Chorus under pretext of assisting Tecmessa, who is endeavouring to find out Ajax, to prevent the Effects of his fury (he having just left her with a Sword in his hand▪)  
Another reason the Poets have of sending out the Chorus is, when 'tis probable that they who represent the Chorus have done an action which could not naturally have been performed upon the Stage: So in the Oratrices, or pleading Women of Aristophanes, the Women which compose the Chorus, go out at the end of the first Act in men's disguise, to go to the Council to have it there decreed, that the Government of Athens shall be put into their hands; and at the end of the second Act, they come back upon the Scene to bring their Husband's clothes which they had stolen in the night: Where by the by we may take notice of the Ignorance of some of our Pedants in their Latin Tragedys, when at the end of each Act they bring on a single Actor to represent the Chorus, and declaim some scurvy Verses of Morality, bringing him on, and driving him off as they please, thinking thereby to fulfil Aristotle's Rules, and perfectly imitate the Ancients; whereas their Chorus was composed of many persons, who sung and danced with great Art, and were always brought upon the Stage for some good reason; nor are we to imagine, as some have done, that the Chorus sung and danced always; for that was only when there was need to mark the Intervals of the Acts. In other places the Chorus was considered as any other Actor, and the Corypheus', or chief of them used to hold Discourse for all the rest; or else being divided in two (as sometimes it was half on one side of the Stage, and half on the other) the Chiefs of each side discoursed together of the Affairs of the Stage, as is to be seen in the Agamemnon of Aeschylus upon the death of that King.  
We see likewise sometimes that the Chorus after some Discourses falls a singing, or is commanded to do it, by which it appears, it did not sing before; The Example is precise in the seven before Thebes, where Prince Eteocles, after having discoursed with the Chorus a good while, bids him at last leave off talking, and sing, to know now whether they all danced, and whether the same persons danced that sung, and if they danced and played on Instruments together, and of what sort is that great diversity of Song we find among the Ancients, all this I say cannot contribute any thing to the composition of a Dramatic Poem; and therefore need not be examined, but in order to instruct our Music, in case we should have a mind to bring the Chorus's upon our Theatres.  
But we must not forget here, that the chief Actors did frequently mingle with the Chorus, as Electra in Euripides and Sophocles. Queen Aethra, with King Adrastus in the Supplicants of Euripides; and in these cases I am of Opinion, that those Actors were the Coryphaei's.  
Sometimes there was divers Chorus', when it was not probable that the same persons could be twice upon the Stage, as in Christophanes, when Bacchus passes the River Styx, to go to the Palace of Pluto, the Chorus is made by Frogs; but when he is at the Gate of the Palace, the Chorus is made by the Priests, and the fraternity of his Mysteries.  
Sometimes likewise the Chorus did not come back time enough at the end of an Act, being engaged somewhere else, and then that Act was marked by some Mime, Music Dance or buffooning, taken from the Subject, as in the Oratrices of Aristophanes, the Women being all elsewhere at the end of the fourth Act, the Poet makes a farce of two old Women, and a young Girl, who sing and dance to Instruments, in expectation of some Man to come by, and are already disputing who shall have him to make him obey the women's Laws.  
From all these Observations it is most apparent, that the Chorus is nothing but what we have described it to be; and that we have much reason to wonder that the Learned, who have afforded us so many curiosities upon the Dramatic Poem, have not nevertheless discovered any thing like this to us, though very important, to understand ancient Tragedy, and justify the probability of all the Rules of the Theatre.  
For first, if the Ancient Greek Poets have made but few Monologues upon the Stage, it is because it was not always easy to find a pretext to send out the Chorus, and to have it come in again; and on the other side, a man could not in probability be supposed to speak aloud of secret things, without being heard by persons who were so near him.  
Secondly, The Ancient Poets seldom make any of their Actors die upon the Stage, because it was not probable, that so many Persons as composed the Chorus, should see such a thing done, and not endeavour to hinder it. Thus Aeschylus makes Agamemnon be killed in his Palace, and his Cries and dying Groans to be heard without by the Chorus, which deliberates whether they shall call the People, or break in to his Relief; when Clytaemnestra herself comes out, and owns the Murder, and its manner, showing them likewise her Husbands dead Body; which has made some imagine, that Agamemnon was killed upon the Stage. On the other side, Sophocles makes the Chorus leave the Stage, and brings on Ajax in a sedate, calm Resolution of dying; where after having spoke a most passionate Monologue, he kills himself with his own Sword, from which none could hinder him, he being alone upon the Stage. And by the by, that may serve to oppose to those who so peremptorily maintain, that the Ancients never shed any Blood upon the Stage; for they have both done it, and avoided it, and still with decency and probability.  
Thirdly, The Chorus obliged a Poet to a Continuity of Action; for if the Action ceased, it was not probable the Chorus should stay there any longer, its Business being only depending upon the Action. Thus we see, that as soon as Ajax's Fury seemed to be a little over, the Chorus, which was made up of his Subjects, who came to inquire of his Condition, has a design to be gone; but is stopped by a Messenger, who tells them the Arrival of Teucer, Ajax's Brother, and the danger that Minerva had put Ajax in all that day.  
Moreover, we may here conclude, That the Chorus obliged the Poet insensibly to a necessity of keeping the Unity of the Scene; for since it was regularly to stay from the beginning of the Drama to the end, without going out, 'tis most undoubted, that the Place could not change: for it would have been most ridiculous, that Persons who never stirred, should have been transported from Europe to Asia, or from Athens to Thebes, without ever having disappeared from the Spectators Eyes; and therefore those Poets, whenever they did make the Chorus go off from the Stage, were very careful to make them tell where they went, that it might not be imagined that in carrying off the Chorus, they meant to transport the Scene too.  
And not only the Unity of Place, but likewise the Measure of Time convenient to the Dramatic Poem, may be learned from the Choruses▪ for if the Poet had comprehended in his Play a Year, a Month, or a Week, how could he make the Spectators believe, that People who had always been in their Eye, should have passed so long a time without either eating, drinking, or sleeping. I know it will be answered, That there is an Illusion to be allowed upon the Stage; and I own it. But the Spectators must still be deceived, so as not to perceive that they are so; and though they know before hand that they are to be deceived, yet it must not be done so grossly as to be perceived without reflection, and at first sight. Therefore that which in our days has helped these irregular Plays to pass upon us, was the Intervals of the Acts, where none remaining upon the Stage, and our Music not being looked upon as a Continuation of the Action, the Spectator's Imagination was at liberty to help the Poet, and to shorten Years and Months into Moment's, the Eyes having nothing before them to contradict this Imagination.  
From hence then it results naturally, That the time of the Drama ought to be very short, as we have showed in a Chapter on purpose.  
To make an end of this Matter, we must observe, That the Choruses made all the Grandeur and Magnificence of the ancient Tragedies; not only because the Stage was always full, but because there was need of making a vast Expense: for there was a great number of Actors, Musicians, Dancers, Clothes, and often very costly Machines', as in the Clouds of Aristophanes; and it was among the Grecians an honourable Profession to instruct and direct the Choruses, as appears by Plato the Philosopher, who followed that Employment the best part of his Youth; and Aristophanes, we find, had the direction of his Choruses, particularly of that of the Clouds. The Richest of the Nobility often bore the Charge; as Dio, in favour of Plato, who at first was one of the Tragic Poets. The Magistrates likewise, to make the time of their Administration more Solemn, did the same thing. Sometimes the State itself, when they would do an extraordinary Honour to some of their Tragic Poets, ordered, that the Charges of the Chorus should be allowed by the Public Treasury: And this the Athenians have often done. And I believe, that when the Great Men forsook the Care of the Stage, it soon fell into Contempt, the Choruses being retrenched, by the impossibility that the Players and Poets were in to answer such an Expense; and afterwards, the Ignorance of following Ages thought fit to look upon them as useless, and unfit to be put in practice. New Comedy itself lost its Choruses, even in the most flourishing Dramatic Age; but that was rather because it was much harder to give Choruses their due Probability in Comedy, than in Tragedy, though its Mimes, Musicians, Embolaires, and such like, were not of a less Magnificence than the Choruses of Tragedy itself; and those who were the Masters and Directors in them, had as much Fame when they succeeded, as either Aesopus, or Roscius, or any of the Chief Actors of the Age. This may be seen by some ancient Inscriptions of Terence's Comedies, and other very considerable Proofs in Antiquity.  
If then our Age could suffer the re-establishment of the Chorus, as being the most glorious and magnificent Ornament of Tragedy, our Poets ought in the first place to study the Art of the Ancients in that point, how ingeniously they invented them, how necessarily they brought them on, and how agreeably they made them speak and act; and then the King or our Great Lords, should be at the Expense: Which I think not the hardest to compass, considering the Profusion we have seen in Ballets, Balls, and Tragedies in this Kingdom.  
And lastly, It would be necessary to have Musicians and Dancers capable of executing the Inventions of the Poets, after the way of those lively speaking Dances of the Ancients, which, to say truth, I think impossible for us Frenchmen to attain to, and I believe it very hard for the Italians. Therefore I shall not expatiate here upon the Method of adding Choruses to our Tragedies, nor say what might be left out, and what taken from the Ancients, in conformity to our Customs; for that would deserve a particular Treatise, I pass now to things more necessary to the true Understanding of the Dramatic Poem, and the Practice of the Stage.   

Chapter the Fourth.  
Of the ancient Actors or first Reciters of Episodes, against the Opinion of some Modern Writers.  
THough in all this Work I have had no other Design than to instruct the Poet in many Particulars which I thought very important for the making of a Drama; yet being carried, by my own Study and Inquiries, into the Discovery of an Error of some of our Moderns, about the ancient Reciters of Tragedy, I could do no less than endeavour to rectify that Mistake, though it do not perfectly regard my first Design, which was only to deliver Precepts about Dramatic Poetry. But if my Readers are curious enough to be willing to know some Circumstances about the progress of Tragedy, I suppose this Discourse may not be disagreeable to them.  
We have laid down, as a most constant Truth, That for many Years Tragedy was nothing but a Pagan Religious Hymn, sung and danced in the Honour of Bacchus; That Thespis introduced an Actor to recite something Foreign to that Subject, which was called an Episode; That Aeschylus brought on two Actors, and Sophocles three, with other Ornaments, which brought Tragedy to its perfection. And this we have justified by the Testimonies of Aristotle, Diogenes Laertius, Athenoeus, Plutarch, Donatus, and many other ancient Writers; to whom I may add all those who since have writ of Dramatic Poesy. But Castelvetro, Ricoboni, and some others, are of opinion, that the Chorus signifies sometimes the Band of Comedians or Tragedians, and that 'tis in that sense that we must understand that Passage of Diogenes Laertius, in the Life of Plato, which says, That formerly the Chorus alone acted the whole Tragedy: By which, says Castelvetro, it appears, that the Histrions acted formerly without Music or Dancing. And as one Absurdity generally engages us in another, to maintain this Error, he commits a greater, when he adds, That the Actor introduced by Thespis was a Buffoon who used to Sing, and Dance, and play upon some Instrument, and that Aeschilus after him brought on two such, separating Dancing from the Singing, and playing upon Instruments, and that Sophocles at last brought on three Actors for these three things. So that he pretends, that before Thespis the Chorus was a Troop of Players or Actors, and that those brought on by Thespis, Aeschilus, and Sophocles were not so, but Singers and Dancers which certainly is both false and ridiculous. First, there is no passage in any of the Ancients that can be cited to prove, that they who associated themselves to Act Plays were ever called by the Word Chorus, but by that of Company: We have many Examples of this in Plautus, who very often makes them appear under this Name at the end of his Plays to thank the Spectators, and in Terence▪ Ambivius Turpio complains, That the Poets carried to other Companies those Plays that were easy to represent; besides, it is so far from being true, that anciently the Plays were acted by Histrions without Dancing or Music; that on the contrary 'tis most certain, that they were originally danced and sung by a Chorus of Musicians without Actors or Histrions.  
To Illustrate fully the truth, I think that it is a strange mistake to say that the Chorus of which Diogenes, Athenoeus, and Donatus do speak, when they say, That Tragedy was at first acted by the Chorus was a Company of Comedians, or reciting Representatours without either Dance or Music, for one need only read those Authors to be convinced of the contrary; and when Athenoeus says, That Tragedy had none of those Histrions which the Greeks call Hypocrites, or, Representers of other Men; he cannot be understood of Buffooning, Dancing or Singing Actors, because the Greeks had a great many of them, in Tragedy; particularly in that which was called Satyrical Tragedy. Besides, in the time, and before the time of Thespis, they used a little sort of Stage called Eileos', where was placed a Musician to answer the rest of the Chorus, and as Tragedy was then nothing but a Sacred Hymn in the honour of Bacchus, the Chorus was composed of those who were Ministers to his Ceremonies, and who were hired for Money often to Sing and Dance in great Feasts, so that if the Actor brought on by Thespis, had done nothing but Sing and Dance without reciting, he had done nothing new, and the Priests of Bacchus would not have had reason to complain of it, but there is more in it still, for even in the time of Thespis the Choruses were composed of Dancers and Singers, and Athenaeus says, that he and Pratinas, and Phrinicus with other Poets of that time, were Nicknamed Dancers, because they fitted their Poetry to the Dance of the Choruses whom they used to teach with care themselves, to represent well in Dancing, that which they had expressed in Verse.  
This Pratinas was a Tragic Poet who lived a little after Thespis, and was contemporary with Aeschylus, and as Athenoeus tells us, he writ as an observation of his time, That when the People saw the Players of Instruments come upon the Stage without Dancing with the rest of the Chorus, and the Chorus sing and dance without playing upon Instruments, they were angry at it, as a piece of Novelty against a received custom. By which it appears, that the Division of Music from Dancing, which was then made by the Poets, was a change in the Chorus, and not an Introducing of new Interludes; these Choruses were composed of such great numbers, that Aeschylus was forced to lessen them, as we have it from Aristotle, and this he did after the representation of his Eumenideses, and that Chorus is well distinguished from the Persons who recited. If then it were or could be true, that in the time of Thespis the Chorus was the company of Comedians, or Histrions, we must be told how that Name was transferred from the Reciters to the Musicians, and who first brought into Tragedy that great number of Dancers and Singers of which we could not be ignorant, the Greeks having been pretty well informed of their own History ever since the settling of the Olympiads, which was near three hundred years before that time.  
To this we may add as very considerable, that which Aristotle, and Diogenes Laertius say, That by the means of the three Actors introduced by those three lights of the Stage, Thespis, Aeschylus, and Sophocles, Tragedy received all its splendour, and its last perfection; for if before them there were companies of Players that represented reciting, as they have done since, and that these three Actors added, were only to sing, dance, or play upon the Instruments; sure these Authors would not have judged that so great a thing as to make the perfection of Tragedy consist in it; and when in these latter times, Tragedy having recovered its glory without all this Music, Mimiking, and Dancing; did ever any one yet object the want of that for a fault, and that its true splendour consisted in those ridiculous Interludes? Besides Thespis brought so great a change upon Ancient Tragedy, that he was called the Inventor of it, and if there had been before his time, whole companies of reciting Comedians, I doubt whether he would have deserved that name for only adding a Buffooning Actor to the rest.  
There is yet another thing to confirm this, which in my opinion is important enough, which is, That if before Thespis' time there had been Stage Players, or Histrions, they must have acted without a Stage, and without Clothes conformable to their parts, and without any decoration, for all these things were most certainly brought in by those three Poets, and in different times.  
And it is moreover true, that Aeschylus having Introduced the Second Actor, divided the recitals of his Actors upon the Stage, and Aristotle for this reason calls the First Actor's part, The Principal Discourse, or the Principal Canto; and Philostrates speaking of this Second Actor of Aeschylus writes, That by this means he took off from the Stage those long and tedious Monodias of a single Actor, putting in their room a Dialogue of Discourse of different Actors. So Scaliger writes, that at the beginning Tragedy was Monoprosope, that is, of One Actor, and that Aeschilus brought in the Discourse of two, by which it appears that these Actors were Reciters and not Singers or Dancers, but to finish the proof of this matter we must know that by the general Interpretation of all the Greek and Latin Authors that writ since these three Poets; the Histrion, or Player introduced by Thespis is named Protagonist, that introduced by Aeschylus Deuteragonist, and the Third added by Sophocles Tritagonist; that is, First, Second, and Third Actor, and not Dancer or Musician. By the First they understood that Actor who in Tragedy represented the chief Person of the Drama, and had the chiefest part, as appearing most upon the Scene, and by the two others they understood those who acted the second and third parts of the Stage. Upon this Cicero writes, That amongst the Greeks he that has the second or third part, though he happen to have a stronger voice than the first Actor, yet he moderates it that he may not drown the first. And Porphyrius says, That the Tritagonists always acted with a low voice; and 'tis in that sense that these names have in other cases been applied to those Persons who had the first, second, and third parts, which made Demosthenes to affront Aeschynes call him Tritagonist, insinuating thereby, that he had been a Player, and that only of the third rank, and no body will say, that in all these comparisons there was any thought of these Actors being Musicians or Dancers.  
Indeed something like the imagination of Castelvetro has happened in Comedy: for where it was first received in Rome, it had no Chorus but Interludes of Singers, Dancers, and Players upon Instruments, who altogether marked the intervals of the Acts, and according to my opinion, were translated to the Stage from the Ludi Scenici, or Scenical Games.  
That they sung, danced, and played upon Instruments all at once, appears by Livius Andronicus, who being grown old took an occasion from the weakness of his voice to have a youth sing for him, which made his dancing so much the more agreeable, as being freed from the constraint of managing his motions to his voice: Some while after he laid aside his Instruments likewise, and then having his Arms at liberty to give the full grace to his dancing, he brought that Art to great perfection. This he did in Imitation of the Greeks, for we see in Lucian, that in Tragedy these three Actions were formerly united and performed by the same Person of which the surprisal of the people mentioned by Pratinas, and which we have already alleged, is a sufficient proof.  
Not but that there are some passages in Ancient Authors which seem to say, that formerly Tragedies and Comedies were sung and danced, and that so Artificially that the Music and the postures gave sensible Images of the things expressed by the Verses; but this was either because the Musical Games (even in Plato) comprehended under them all the Exercises of Poetry even to the Dramatic; or else, because the Hymns of Bacchus which were originally at first both Tragedy and Comedy, were always accompanied with Music and Dances, or because in the intervals of the Acts they had people who represented by their dancing; these things which had been spoken in the Act, as is to be seen in Plutarch and Lucian, or rather, most probably, because not only they had at the same time, and in the same places, Actors who recited Tragedy, but likewise Choruses for Tragedy; and Mimes for Comedy, who sung and danced to the sound of Instruments with postures which represented the Persons both of Men and Gods.  
Let us then conclude, that before the Age of Thespis the Chorus was nothing but a company of Musicians singing and dancing Tragedy as a Hymn in the honour of Bacchus, and that Thespis brought on the First Actor, who by reciting, divided the singing of the Chorus, and gave a beginning to the Episodes, and of this truth besides Ancient Authors we have for Guarantees many modern ones, as Robortel, Piccolomini, Bernardo Segni, Scaliger, Benius, Eugubinus, Vossius, Heinsius, Victorius, and other Interpreters of Aristotle who have all proved this Assertion, though by reasons differing from those which we have here declared.   

Chapter the Fifth.  
Of Tragicomedy.  
THis New Word which seems to have been introduced to signify some new sort of Dramatic Poem, obliges me to explain it more clearly, and at length, than any of our Modern Authors have done, and to that end I must show all that in our Plays is different from, or conformable to the Works of the Ancients.  
The Stage by little and little being come to its last perfection, became a sensible and moving Image of all humane life: Now there being three sorts of conditions or ways of living, that of Great persons in the Courts of Kings, that of Citizens, and Gentry in Towns, and that of the Country people in the Country, the Stage has likewise received three kinds of Dramatic Poems, to wit, Tragedy, Comedy, and Pastoral.  
Tragedy represented the Life of Princes and great People full of disquiets, suspicions, troubles, rebellions, wars, murders, and all sorts of violent passions, and mighty adventures; whence it was well called by Theophrastus, The State of an Heroic Fortune.  
Now to distinguish Tragedys by their Catastrophe, they were of two sorts; the one were calamitous and bloody in their Events, ending generally by the death, or some great misfortune of the Hero; the others were more happy, and concluded by the felicity of the chief persons upon the Stage, and yet because the Poets out of complaisance to the Athenians, who loved spectacles of horror, ended often their Tragedys by unfortunate Catastrophes; many people have thought that the word Tragical never signified any thing but some sad, bloody Event; and that a Dramatic Poem could not be called a Tragedy, if the Catastrophe did not contain the death of the chief persons in the Play; but they are mistaken, that word, in its true signification, meaning nothing else but a Magnificent, serious, grave Poem, conformable to the Agitations and sudden turns of the fortune of great people. And accordingly in the nineteen Tragedys of Euripides, many of them have a happy conclusion; and which is very remarkable is, that the Orestes, which begins with fury and rage, and runs upon such strong Passions and Incidents, that they seem to promise nothing but a fatal, bloody Event; it nevertheless terminated by the entire content and satisfaction of all the Actors, Helena being placed among the Gods, and Apollo obliging Orestes and Pylades to marry Hermione and Electra, which made one of the Ancients say, that that Play had a Comical Catastrophe; but in that he is much mistaken, as well as Victorius and Stiblinus, who say the same thing of the Electra and Alceste.  
Comedy was the picture of the Actions of the people, in which were generally represented the Debaucheries of young people, with the tricks and acts of Slaves and Courtesans, full of Railleries and Jests, and ending in Marriages, or some other pleasant Adventure of common life; and this Poem was so much confined to represent a popular life, that the style of it was to be low and mean, the expressions taken out of the mouths of ordinary people; the passions were to be short, and without violence. In a word, all the Intrigues were to be upheld by slight and cunning, and not by the sublime and marvellous part of humane life; therefore Scaliger is in the right to find fault with Plautus for making Aleesimark appear with a Dagger, and a design to kill himself, because that is an undertaking too generous for the Comic Theatre. Donatus likewise blames Terence for making his passions too strong and lasting, with expressions something too noble for his Art, and Comedy its self does not always in Plautus' end happily as may be seen in divers of his Plays.  
Pastoral or satire had a mixture of serious and pleasant; Hero's and Satyrs were its Actors; and this sort of Poem ought to be considered two ways; at first it was nothing but a little Poem called Idyllium, or Eclogue, sung or recited by one man alone, and seldom by two or more; and they were generally Shepherds, Gardeners, Husbandmen, Satyrs, Nymphs, and all sorts of Country people; there was nothing but complaints of Lovers, cruelties of Shepherdesses, disputes for Singing▪ Embuscadoes of Satyrs, and ravishing of Nymphs, with such like diverting, easy Adventures; but the Poems were all loose pieces, without any story, or necessity of Action. We have many Examples in Theocritus and Virgil, and many Modern Poets have imitated them in Latin. In the Reign of Henry the Second in France, divers French Poets made Eclogues in their own Language, of which we have some Examples in Ronsard.  
The other sort was a Dramatic Poem, carried on according to the Rules of the Stage, where Hero's and Satyrs were mingled together, representing both grave and pleasant, ridiculous things; and for that reason this Poem had the name of Satyrical Tragedy.  
This sort of Poem had not any course among the Romans, at least that ever I could observe either in their Historians or Poets; that which they called satire, being only a Copy of Verses made to slander or reprove, and never used for the Stage, but with the Mimes, and by way of Interlude.  
But among the Grecians, Satirical Tragedy was highly valued; for at the Feasts of Bacchus, called Chytres, the Poets used to vie with each other, and dispute for the Prize by this sort of Poem. Athenaeus, Plato, Plutarch, and Suidas, allege many Examples of this kind, and we have some fragments, but no entire Poem of this kind, except the Polyphemus of Euripides: And I incline to think that his Alceste is one of that kind too, by reason that Hercules is very pleasant there with a Slave, and does very Comical Actions; but I shall wait the Opinion of the Learned, before I shall determine any thing in that Point.  
These three sorts of Poems are not now upon the Stage, in the same manner as they were anciently; for to begin with Pastorals, they are now a Dramatic Poem, according to the Rules of all other Drammas, composed of five Acts, and many agreeable Events and Intrigues, but all regarding a Country life; so that we have borrowed the matter of the Eclogues from the Ancients, and applied it to the Rules of Satyrical Tragedy.  
Comedy among us has remained long, not only in meanness and obscurity, but looked upon as infamous, being changed into that sort of Farce, which we still retain at the end of some of our Tragedys; though they are certainly things without Art, or Grace, and only recommendable to the Rascally sort of Mankind, who delight in obscene, infamous words and actions. I know indeed that sometimes our Poets have endeavoured to restore the Comedy of the Ancients, either by translating their Works, or by otherwise imitating them, but that has seldom happened, and then without success too, for many reasons; but particularly, for not having chosen Subjects that had any conformity with our manners and customs; or for not having changed in the Works of the Ancients, that which was not so conformable to our Sentiments: Neither can we say that the Comedy of the Italians has succeeded to those of Plautus and Terence, for they have observed neither the matter nor form of them; their Subjects are always mingled with serious Adventures, and burlesque ones, Hero's and Harlequins; and generally they consist but of three Acts, without any order of Scenes, nor any thing of the Conduct of the Ancients. And indeed I cannot but admire how it comes to pass, that the Descendants of the Romans should be so unlearned in the Art of their Fathers.  
As for Tragedy, it has been preserved a little better among us, because the manners of our Nobility being serious and heroic, they have with more pleasure been upon the Stage the Adventures of such persons, and have showed no disposition at all to that mixture of serious and burlesque which we blame in the Italians. But besides the Niceties of the Art, which as well as the Italians, we have long been ignorant of; we have done two things, one of which is very reasonable, and the other without any good grounds. The first is, that we have rejected all those Stories full of horror and cruelty, which made the pleasure of the Roman and Athenian Stages; and for this very reason one of the noblest Tragedys that we have, 
Alboin.  and the most worthy of a Grecian Theatre, could never succeed well upon ours, but gave always some disgust both at Court, and to the people. I have already given a reason for it in another place. But the second thing which we do without any ground at all is, that we have taken away the name of Tragedy from all those Plays where the Catastrophe is happy, and without blood, though both the Subject and Persons are heroic, and have given them the name of Tragicomedys. I do not well know whether our Poet Garnier was the first that brought it up, but he gave that name of his Bradamante, which many since that have imitated.  
I shall not absolutely fall out with this name, but I shall show that it is at least superfluous, since the word Tragedy signifies as well those Plays that end in joy, as those that end in blood; provided still the Adventures be of Illustrious persons. And besides, the signification of the word Tragicomedy is not true in the sense we use it; for in those Plays that we apply it to, there is nothing at all Comical, all is grave and heroic, nothing popular and burlesque.  
But moreover, this title alone may destroy all the beauty of a Play, which consisting particularly in the Peripetia, or return of Affairs, it may discover that too soon; since the most agreeable thing in a Drama is, that out of many sad and Tragic appearances, the Event should at last be happy, against the Expectation of the whole Audience; but when once the word Tragicomedy is prefixed, the Catastrophe is presently known, and the Audience the less concerned with all the Incidents that trouble the designs of the chief Actors; so that all their Pathetic complaints do but weakly move the Spectator, who is prepossessed with an Opinion that all will end well; whereas if we were ignorant of the Event, we should tremble for them, and be likewise more delighted with the return of good Fortune that should deliver them.  
One thing which surprises me the most in this occasion is, that there are men of Learning and Parts, who out of complaisance to popular Errors, do maintain that this was a word used by the Romans; for, for my part I cannot imagine where they can find that a Drama, containing the Adventures of heroic persons, and ending in a happy Catastrophe, had the name of Tragicomedy. We see nothing of this in what remains of the Works of the Ancients, nor in those who have compiled fragments, or written their own sense about the Art and Maxims of the Stage. 'Tis true that Plautus in the Prologue to his Amphytrio, uses the word Tragicomedy; but as he is the only Roman that has used it, so has he done it in a sense very remote from the use we make of it. That he is the only Poet of the Ancients that has used this word, is out of dispute; and our Moderns cannot allege any other Roman Author, while the Roman Tongue was a living Language; so that Plautus was the Coiner of this word, which also fell with him, and died in its Cradle long before the Roman Language; but if others after him had made use of it in the sense he employs it, that could not authorise the word Tragicomedy, as it is now employed; and quite contrary, 'tis by Plautus, that we will show the mistake of its signification, and the ill use that is made of it.  
To understand this well, we must repeat here, that Tragedy and Comedy were two Poems so distinct, that not only the Adventures, Persons, and Style of the one, had nothing common with the other; but even the Tragedians never acted Comedys, nor the Comedians Tragedy: They were as it were two different Trades or Professions; and accordingly Story gives us the names of divers Actors, who excelled in the one or the other, but never, or at least very rarely of any that excelled in both.  
We are to take notice besides, that the Mimes, Pantomimes, Embolarii, the Buffoons, the Dancers, Musicians, Players of Instruments, nay even the Actors of the Atellane Fables (which were the modestest of all) were not admitted among those who acted Tragedys, nor likewise among the Comedians, or those who acted Comedy; both these being reputed much more honourable than the Actors of those Farces and Interludes; but the chief distinctive mark of these two Poems was the matter of their Incidents, and the condition of the persons in each Poem; for where Gods and Kings acted according to their gravity and dignity, that was called Tragedy; but when the Intrigues of the Stage were founded upon the tricks and behaviour of young Debauchees, Women and Slaves, that was Comedy. And if we seek a further reason for this, it will appear that the Hymn or Song of Bacchus, which was sung and danced before his Altars, having been transferred from the Country, to Towns and Cities, the Subject of it was always taken by the Poets out of illustrious and serious Stories and Fables, and treated in a grave and sublime style; but the very same Hymn remaining in the Country Villages, took its Subject from the common people, and their actions; and being treated in a low, familiar style, was called Comedy, though that name too at first was common to both sorts of Poems, till their Characters being so very different, made them be distinguished by different names. Now let us see in what sense it is that Plautus employs the word Tragicomedy in the Prologue of his Amphytrion, where Mercury speaks; and having desired from the people a favourable Audience, continues in these words. After this I will explain to you the Subject of this Tragedy, What, you frown, because I have called this Play a Tragedy? but I am a God, and therefore can change it presently if you will, and without altering a Verse of it make it a Comedy. Then having jested a little, he goes on; I will by a mixture make it a Tragicomedy; for I do not think it reasonable that a Play should be called all Comedy, where Gods and Kings come and act; how shall we do then since a Slave too is one of the chief Actors? why, as I told you, we will make it a Tragicomedy.  
After such plain and intelligible words, I cannot imagine how any body can say, that Plautus had used the word Tragicomedy, as we use it; for he never dreamt of that signification; all that he says is a jest, wherein he joins the names of those two Poems, as he had done the persons by which the great distinction that was between them does more evidently appear; and that therefore we have very ill applied that name to a Poem, where all the Persons and Adventures are heroic. 'Tis for this that Plautus never called his Amphytrio a Tragicomedy, but because his Gods and Kings do not act according to their dignity, but rather very far from it, playing the fool almost continually, insomuch that Jupiter and Amphytrío go to Fisticuffs; he therefore often boldly calls it Comedy, in many places of his Prologue. Jupiter, says he, will act himself in this Comedy, and by and by, Harken now to the Argument of this Comedy; so that his Interpreters and Commentators have not also called it by any other name, no more than such Ancients as speak of Plautus and his Works; as Cicero, Quintilian, Varro, Aulus Gellius, Volcatius in his Treatise of the Comic Poets, Servius, Sextus, Pompeius, Macrobius, Rufinus, Donatus, Petrus Crinitus, Lilius Geraldus, in his History of Poets, Scaliger in his Poetica; none of these▪ I say, have called his Amphytrio, no more than all his other Plays any thing else but a Comedy. And when Vossius explains this word of Tragicomedy, he says, Plautus gives it to his Amphytrio, because he in that Play mingles the dignity of persons with the lowness of Comical Discourses; and Festus making a division of the Fables among the Romans, says, that the Tabernariae, were such as admitted of persons of Quality, mingled with people of mean Extraction, upon which Vossius adds, that the Amphytrio of Plautus is of that sort, and that such a Play may be called Tragicomedy, or Hilaro-Comedy, which is a new word invented by that Author. And Scaliger before him, speaking of the name of Tragicomedy given to this Play, says, It is done in Raillery, because the Poet had made a mixture of the meanness of Comedy, with the dignity of great persons; let us not therefore affirm any longer, that this word Tragicomedy was used by the Ancients in our sense; for Plautus is the only one that has it, and that in a quite different sense from ours, who by that word do mean a Dramatic Poem, of which the Subject is Heroic, and the End or Catastrophe happy; and that indeed is a noble and agreeable sort of Tragedy much used by the Ancients.  
The same fault, in my Opinion, is committed by those who would have the Hilaro-Tragedia to be a Drama, or Theatral piece in use among the Greeks, and of the nature of that which we call Tragicomedy, which seems not to be very probable. Suidas indeed does say, that Rintho, a Comic Poet, invented a sort of Poetry called by him Hilaro-Tragedia; but to conclude from thence, that it was a regular Dramatic Poem, of which the Subject was Heroic, and the End happy, seems against all appearance, first, because that it was a Comic Poet that invented it, and they seldom or never undertook to treat any grave Subjects; or when they did, it was always to turn them into Ridicule, as this Amphytrio of Plautus, and the Comedys of Aristophanes. Suidas calls this Play of his a Farce. Hesichius calls the Author Jester and Laugher; and Varro puts the name of Riortho for a Jester. Besides, this Invention of his had no progress, and we have not heard ever since, of any regular Drama that has carried this title, nor of any Poet that succeeded him in this kind.  
What I should think then of this Hilaro-Tragedia is, that it was a little piece of Poetry, of the number of those called Mimes, wherein were mingled serious and pleasant things, sung with Voices and Instruments, and danced upon the Stage with gestures, expressing the sense of each word, according to that wonderful way of the Ancients, so little known in our days; and this seems to be so much the more probable, because Vossius says, that the Hilaroedia is the same with the Hilaro-Tragedia; and 'tis certain, that that, and the Magedia, were two Poems of that sort, sung and danced upon the Stage by those who were thence called Hilaroedians, and Magedians; and they were not Dramatic Poems represented by Tragedians or Comedians, as some by mistake have imagined, for the Hilaroedians (who were likewise called Simoedians from one Simon Mages, who excelled in that Art) did dance and sing a piece of Poetry agreeable, but serious; and though not so serious as Tragedy, yet much of the same nature and as for the Magedians, they at first recited only Discourses of Magic or natural Causes, such as is the Pharmaceutra of Theocritus and Virgil; but in process of time they came to act all sort of lascivious Farces in the Comic Character, but much below it. The Magedians represented Men in women's clothes; but there were another sort who represented only Women in men's clothes, and those were called the Lisoedians Athenaeus remarks many more particulars about them not proper to our Subject.  
But that none may have cause to wonder at what I say about Hilaro-Tragedy, we must observe that most of the Poems of the Ancients were sung and danced with ingenious Gestures, either in their Temples, or upon the Theatres, or at their Feasts In a word, in all public Pomps and Shows, either sacred or profane. Sometimes they took Odes and Idylliums', and other small pieces of Poetry, as Mnasion did by the Iambics of Simonides, and some others by the Verses of Phocilides, and other Poets. The Lacedæmonians did the same thing by the Songs of Thaletas and Aleman, and the Paeans of Dionisiodorus, at the celebration of the Feast for the Tyrean Victory. Sometimes they took a Cento out of some great work, as out of Hesiod or Homer; and these reciters were called Homeristes, being first brought upon the Stage by Demetrius Phalereus; and one Hermodorus was famous among them.  
We find also by a certain Jason, cited by Athenaeus, that in the great Theatre of Alexandria, Hegesias the Comedian was a famous Actor of those Poems, written by Herodotus Logominus, a noted Poet of those times, different from the Historian of that name.  
Nay, there were people who used to sing and dance some parts of Tragedys and Comedys at Feasts, and great Entertainments; and sometimes the entire Plays were thus sung and danced, not only in the time when Tragedys and Comedys consisted of the Hymn of Bacchus, (of which we have spoke in its proper place) but even since they were reduced into Rules, and made up of many Episodes inserted between the Chorus's, as we have them now.  
From whence we see Aristotle calls Aeschylus' Dancer Divine, for having so rarely danced a Play of his called the Seven before Thebes; and we see Seneca makes use of Pylades, a rare Tragedian Dancer: and Batyllus as rare a one for Comedy, to insinuate, that no one ought to undertake any thing but what they are excellent in, if they mean to succeed. 'Twas this Pylades who raised a Dispute before the people of Rome against Hylus his own Scholar, which of them two represented Agamemnon best, either Hylus, who to make him great, raised himself upon his Toes, or Pylades, who made him pensive and thoughtful, as being the best Idea of a Prince that was to take care of his Subjects good. Plutarch likewise in his Table Conversations makes two great Discourses about this ingenious way of representing by motions and postures, persons and actions, insinuating that Poetry is nothing but a speaking Dance, and Dancing a dumb kind of Poetry, and condemning at the same time the Dances of Pylades in public Feasts, as being too serious and passionate.  
But, though these Discourses about the Ancients may be agreeable and useful, they carry me too far from my Subject, upon which I have already been too tedious to explain only the word Tragicomedy, our Poets may reflect whether they think fit to use it still in its vulgar acceptation, or whether according to the tr●e notion of Tragedy, they will use this word indifferently in all those Drammas, of which the persons are Heroic, whether the Catastrophes be happy or fatal, that so they may hinder the Spectator from discovering the Event of their Plays beforehand.  

An Analysis, or Examen of the first Tragedy of Sophocles, entitled Ajax, upon the Rules delivered for the practice of the Stage.  
IF the Curious that have read these Remarks, are willing to receive some satisfaction for their pains, and to judge equitably of the labour I have undergone, it will be necessary for them to read in the Original this Drama, which I am going to examine, and till then, if they condemn or praise me any where, I must except against them as unfit either to censure or applaud my Endeavours. All Criticisms have this property, that they oblige the Readers to view the piece they criticise; for if they have not present in their minds all those particulars, upon which the Rules are to be applied, they are subject to doubt of the beauties and faults that are showed, and of the truth of all the Critics Observations. I am not ignorant that such a Discourse is none of the most agreeable of its self, and therefore ought not to impose the reading of another Book; but there is no way to make this Lecture easy, but by taking in both. It may be a bolder man than myself would tell you, that these Remarks, though by the crabbedness of their Criticism they may fail of pleasing one way, yet they will in some measure atone for that, by showing the hidden graces, and the great dexterity of those great Masters which have hitherto been little taken notice of, or at least regarded as casual beauties.  
Supposing therefore that my Reader has just read Sophocles Ajax, I begin to examine it by the Subject; for 'tis there that the Poet himself ought always to begin.  
The subject of this Poem is nothing but the just Indignation of Ajax against his Country men the Grecians, for preferring Ulysses before himself in their dispute about the armour of Achilles. This affront in the person of a King and the bravest man of the whole army unjustly and basely used by those whom he had so valiantly defended, and that by those Generals who could not be ignorant of his great Actions done in their presence, could not but be most highly resented and therefore afforded a noble Theme for great passions. The fund, I confess, seems to be sterile, and to promise little; but there lies the greatest art of choosing such improvable subjects, to give the Poet's Imagination the greater Play; who it may be upon this Anger alone Invented both his rage and manner of dying, for I do not find History to have positively determined either of them: Ovid speaks only of his Anger, and some have said that he was killed by Paris; others that he was stifled in mud by the Trojans, because he was Invulnerable, otherwise; for my part, I believe that those who tell his death Sophocles' way, have had it from him, which is no new thing in Theatral stories, the very Fables, from thence having by the Poet's Inventions passed at last for Authentic Histories.  
These two Incidents than I think to be the Poet's Invention, who in that has with great Art, followed the Rules of probability, for a Soul as fierce and passionate for Glory as that of Ajax, might well entertain the resolution of being revenged upon his Judges and his Competitour, and thereupon run mad; After which coming to himself again, and seeing the extravagant and fruitless Effects of his transport, he might well kill himself out of shame and some remainder of rage. That which makes this still seem to be the Poet's Invention, is the prohibition that Menelaus and Agamemnon lay upon Teucer Ajax's Brother, that he should not bury Ajax's dead body, for 'tis very probable that those two Princes were not so inhuman; but Sophocles added that to create the greater compassion for Ajax's calamity, seeing his brother hardly permitted to pay him those funeral rites which were due to so great a man and a King; in this indeed he makes something bold with the generosity of Menelaus and Agamemnon, but Ajax is his Hero to whom he Sacrifices all things; and this refusal of theirs to let him be solemnly Interred against the law of all Civilised Nations, contributes not a little to persuade that they had used him Unjustly in the point of Achilles' Armour, all which, makes him still be the more pitied; not but that those princes might have some shadow of reason for their severity, considering Ajax as one who had meditated the ruin of the chief Captains of the Grecian Army, and made himself as it were a public Rebel whose punishment among them was to be prohibited the solemnity of sepulture. I am not Ignorant, That Cointus Calaber, an Epic Poet, makes them much more generous and with him they perform honourable obsequies to his body. And in that he aims at preserving the dignity of his Poem and Hero's, as Sophocles does of his, besides this Ingenious Fiction in his Subject he brings in Tecmessa Ajax's Wife whence he draws three or four very passionate Scenes; now let us see what other changes he makes to adjust the time and place necessary for the composition of his Poem.  
As for the time, he shows that indeed there needs no longer a one for the representation than for the real action. Since in the third Act 'tis said, That Minerva 's Anger against Ajax is to last but a day, and that if they could but watch him for one day, he might avoid destroying himself. Now Ajax after this is all alone, and kills himself, by which we may naturally conjecture, that the Play ends the same day that his madness began; for all that's done after his death, is nothing but a contestation about his being buried, which is soon over, as happening near the dead body; and to show that he does not employ the whole day upon his Stage, he opens his Theatre in the morning, after Ajax had already run through the whole Grecian Camp, exercised his fury upon the Flocks of Sheep, and carried some of those Animals bound into his Tent, which takes up naturally more time than is spent from the hour that Ulysses comes to spy what Ajax did, to the time that Teucer carries away his dead body to have it buried; so that a small part of the day is taken up by his Actors.  
The only Incidents in this piece is the return of Teucer, who was in Mysia with an Army; and that this coming of his might not appear affected, he makes Ajax complain of the long stay of his Brother, who should have been back long before, and who was expected by him with great impatience; so that when Teucer comes at last, that does not appear so much a contrivance of the Poets to make him be there to dispute about his Brother's Obsequies, as a natural effect; the Spectators being so prepared that they are wishing for his return of themselves before he comes, that he might save Ajax's life, in which we may observe another change that Sophocles makes in the Story by this absence of Teucer, the reason of which change is, that if Teucer had been present in the Camp during his brother's Madness, the Scene being before Ajax's Tent, 'tis very probable that Teucer would have taken care to secure him, whereas all other Authors who speak of this adventure, as Cointus Calaber particularly, leave Teucer in the Army, but not able to save his brother, because he was gone out of his Tent to kill and Massacre the Flocks of Sheep, and no body knew what was become of him.  
Observe moreover with what art he chooses the place of his Theatre. In following the Fable as it is generally received, none of the Actors have any Stable or particular place. Ajax is abroad in the Fields; Teucer, Ulysses, Menelaus, and Agamemnon are in the Camp; his Wife Tecmessa laments with her little Son in his Tents, and his Subjects the Salaminians are either upon their Ships, or abroad to seek out their Prince. There was nevertheless a necessity of bringing all these people together, and to make them appear in one and the same place with probability, and thus he brings it to pass.  
He places his Stage before Ajax's Tent as being the most probable place where all things should come to pass; particularly considering that there was a necessity of making an afflicted Lady appear before the Audience, it would nor have been decent to place her any where else, nor to make her run about the Fields after a Madman; but because likewise he was resolved to bring the body of Ajax upon the Stage, that he might the better show the Passions of Tecmessa and Teucer, and the contestation about his burial; he supposes that there was a Wood Close by the Tent, and to make that supposition the more likely, he places Ajax's Tent the last of all the Camp, which is very artificially intimated in the first Verses that Minerva speaks, and to show that the Wood is hard by his Tent, he makes the Salaminians hear from the Camp, the voice of Tecmessa, when she falls into loud complaints in the Wood upon finding the Dead Body: Then to bring Ajax, who was the chief Actor, to his Tent, he supposes against the received Fable, that he did not immediately kill himself after the slaughter of the Sheep; but that he brought into his Tent, a great Ram which he took for Ulysses, and other Creatures which he took for the Chief Captains among the Grecians with an intent to make them linger under the torment of his Stripes.  
But let us see in particular how each Actor is brought upon the Stage, and goes off according to reason. Ulysses comes to spy what Ajax was doing, and Minerva to assist him against the fury of Ajax, Ajax appears by the command of Minerva to give Ulysses the content of seeing his Enemy in the condition that she had put him; Ajax returns to his Tent to whip the Ram that he took for Ulysses, than Minerva and Ulysses go off of the Stage where they have nothing more to do, and that's the First Act. In the Second Act Tecmessa comes out of her Tent to desire succour from the Salaminians, who are the Chorus in this Tragedy, and then opens her Tent to go in again, where appears Ajax in the midst of the slaughtered Beasts, but somewhat come to himself, which gives subject to very fine Discourses between him, his Wife, and his Friends. In the Third Act he comes out of his Tent feigning to go wash himself in the Sea to purify himself; but indeed to hide the Sword that Hector gave him: his Wife comes out to follow him, but by his command retires into her Tent again, and he goes on. Then appears a Messenger, who bringing the news of the return of Teucer, orders from him that Ajax be carefully kept; upon this news Tecmessa goes out again, and desires the Salaminians to help her to look Ajax, which they do very willingly, and so ends the third Act. In the Fourth Act Ajax appears in the Wood near his Tent, making complaints of his misfortunes, and so falling upon his Sword, the Hilt whereof he had put into the ground, which circumstance shows that his Death was at the same time an effect of shame for what he had done, and some remainder of the rage he was possessed with; at the very moment that he expires the Salaminians come upon the Stage from different parts weary, and vexed that they had sought him in vain, and Tecmessa who alone had gone towards the Wood, finds Ajax just expiring, and cries out, which being heard by the Salaminians they go to her: In the mean time the seeking of him with so much noise had easily made every body think that he was gone out of the way on purpose to kill himself, and fame which ordinarily foreruns great events, having carried the news of his death to Teucer obliges him to leave the Greeks with whom he was wrangling about his Brother, and come to his Tent to hear some news of him; and at the same time almost Menelaus who had likewise heard the news of his death comes thither to forbid his being buried; then goes back to tell Agamemnon of Teucer's disobedience to his Commands; who at the same time goes out to find a burying place for his Brother, having first shut up Tecmessa with her Maids▪ In the Fifth Act Agamemnon comes himself to put his Orders in execution; and Teucer who sees him afar off, comes back to be near his Brother's dead Body, to defend it; Ulysses arrives to appease Agamemnon, who at last yields and goes out; Teucer desires Ulysses to withdraw, lest his presence trouble the deceased Ghost or Manes of Ajax who had been his Enemy; he does so, and Teucer carries off his Brother's Body: Now all these pretexts and colours for the going off, and coming on of all the Actors, are without doubt very natural and probable; but the Art with which the Poet brings all to pass, is so fine, and so ingenious, that one cannot say that he affects so much as a word in it all, every thing being so well contrived, that all appears necessary, and therein lies the secret of the Art.  
You do not neither see any Actor upon the Stage whose name you do not presently know, or at least their quality or concern as much as is necessary to prepare the Attention of the Spectators. At the opening of the Stage Minerva (easily known to the Ancients by the marks of her Divinity) discovers Vlysses' name who comes to her, and the design he has to spy what Ajax does; and when Ajax appears, one sees in what condition he is, for Minerva declares it, and calls him by his name. The Chorus in its first Verses shows, that it is made up of Ajax's Friends, the chief of them saying, That he had been always partner of the good and ill Fortune of that Prince, hardly has Tecmessa spoke three lines, but the Chorus ask her about Ajax, she tells them that she can best inform them, being from his Mistress and Slave become his lawful Wife. The Messenger is presently known by his Dress, and by the first words he speaks. When Teucer comes in the Fourth Act, the Chorus says they hear his voice, and his name alone is enough to raise the expectation of some generous Sentiment from him, and the Chorus bids him consider what to say to Menelaus who draws near, and by that prepares an incident of some new trouble. When Agamemnon arrives, Teucer says, That he came back quickly, because he had seen Agamemnon at a distance with the marks of Anger in his Countenance. Thus by the Poets most agreeable Artifice, the spectators are not uncertain in the knowledge of the Actors, and their designs, which always ought to be; except where the ignorance of their Names and Interests is to produce some rare effect in the incidents of the Drama.  
Could these Acts have been more judiciously divided? The first contains Ajax's fury, the second his repentance, the third the preparations for his death, the fourth his death, and the fifth the Dispute about his burial, not that these Actions are merely single, for they are accompanied with many circumstances which much embellish, and altogether compose the Acts; and as for the Scenes they are extremely well knit together, as because there always remains some body of the precedent Scene in that which follows except in the Third Act, where the Messenger who brings the Order to watch Ajax, and not to abandon him, arrives upon the Stage just as Ajax goes off, which is one way of uniting a Scene, when he that comes on seeks him that gois off. And in the Fourth Act, though Ajax talks no longer with the Chorus which comes back just upon the point he kills himself, yet those two Scenes are united by the time, and the spectacle of his dead body, which remains as an Actor to whom the others arrive. As for the Intervals of the Acts, they are so necessary and so well filled by what is done off of the Stage, that the continuity of the Action is most manifest; for in the first Interval, Ulysses tells the Greeks what he has learned concerning Ajax, and Ajax continues his Madness in his Tent: In the Second Ajax seeks for Hector's Sword; and in the same Interval Teucer comes to the Camp and sends a Messenger according to Calchas' advice. Between the Third and Fourth Act there is no Interval, because the Chorus is gone off of the Stage which remaining empty, makes very well the distinction of those two Acts; not that Ajax had been doing of nothing all that while, for he says himself that he had been fitting his Sword to kill himself: The Fourth Interval contains the return of Menelaus to Agamemnon, with their Discourse about Teucers' disobedience, and the care that Teucer takes to find a fit place to bury his Brother in; so that from the first opening of the Stage there is not one moment that the Actors are not busy each according to their Designs.  
Consider besides how well he has chosen the Chorus in this piece, and how industriously he makes him Act. He makes his Chorus of Salaminians, who more probably than any others might be supposed to come to Ajax, their Prince's Tent upon the news of his madness, as also to pity his distraction with their own ill fortune; nevertheless he does not bring them upon the Stage at the beginning, as he does his Chorus in other Plays, because they were not to hear the Discourse between Minerva and Ulysses, and besides too they could not without fear have been in Ajax's presence since Ulysses himself thinks himself not safe near him, though under the protection of Minerva; but he brings them on at the end of the First Act, and makes them go off again at the end of the Third Act under pretext of looking after Ajax; but indeed because that having a design to make Ajax kill himself upon the Stage, it would not have been probable that his Subjects should have seen him undertake such a thing and not hinder him.  
To take this Tragedy according to the truth of the Action It seems not that the Poet has done any thing in favour of the Spectators, so naturally do all things fall out, and are depending of each other, and yet his making the Chorus go out that Ajax may kill himself upon the Stage, is contrived on purpose to show the Audience a generous Action worthy their compassion, and to move them yet to more tenderness, the very body of so great a Hero is denied burial.  
We cannot but admire besides, the Art of his Narrations, for he makes Minerva tell the Design which Ajax had secretly resolved upon the Night before against all the Grecian Princes, and how she had made him run mad to hinder the execution of it, which are things that Minerva alone could know; and then he makes Tecmessa tell the remainder of what he had done when he was in his Tent. This division produces two different effects upon the Stage; the first a Sentiment of Admiration for the care that Minerva takes of Ulysses, but with surprise for so great a misfortune in the Person of Ajax. The other is a Sentiment of Pity, when the Spectators see a Lady beautiful and well beloved sitting near a Madman her Husband. We must not neither let slip the Narration which Tecmessa makes summarily of the ruin of her Family, and the death of her Parents, her Captivity, and then happy Marriage with Ajax; nor that of Teucer about the exchange that Ajax made of a Belt with Hector for a Sword which he received from him; the first having served to fasten the Body of Hector to the Chariot of Achilles, and the other having been the Instrument of Ajax's Death, for though both these Narrations are inserted in the most lively passions of the persons that make them yet are they touched with so much Art, that they do not at all weaken the Passions, but quite contrary heighten them by giving an Image of some new misfortunes; besides that all the story of Ajax's Country, his Family, and his Warlike Exploits are industriously told in different places without any affectation, and only for a more perfect understanding of the Subject.  
I do not knew whether the Contestation of Ajax's Sepulture would be agreeable and pathetic in our age, but I make no question but that in Sophocles' time it must have taken extremely; for than it was a mark of the highest Infamy, and the extremest misfortune that could befall any body to be forbid burial, and without doubt the Spectators were moved with great compassion seeing the body of so great a Prince ready to receive such unworthy usage by the effect of Minervas' anger and as the Discourses of the two Princes, Agamemnon and Menelaus seem well grounded upon reasons of State to deprive him of the honour of Sepulture; and on the other side, the reasons of Teucer have Piety and Generosity on their side, I believe that this debate which was conformable to the manners and customs of the Ancients must needs have been very agreeable to them, particularly considering that Euripides has founded the Tragedy of the Suppliants in honour of the Athenians upon that sole consideration; and that it is not probable that so great a Poet would have taken a weak Subject to establish the glory of his Country.  
As for the show or spectacle he might have made Ajax appear in all his Madness; but besides that it is a Passion below a Hero, except some great cause excite it, and that the effects of it are Illustrious; I believe he avoided doing of it, because it would have been hard to represent him making a great slaughter among the Sheep and Goats without making him ridiculous and so deprive the Hero of that compassion due to so great a Calamity; therefore to show the deplorable condition of so great a Prince, and yet not to rob the Stage of any thing of ornament, he makes him appear in his frenzy indeed, but something abated by the presence of Minerva (which is a Figure of the rage of Great Men, which ought not to be quite abandoned by prudence, as the madness of the vulgar is) and so shows him sitting in his Tent in the first abatement of his fury, having those slaughtered Animals all about him with his Wife, his little Son, and his Friends in a mournful posture near him; all which does in my opinion afford a well invented spectacle, apt to raise compassion; when Ajax comes alittle to himself, and that all his looks, words, and actions have the character of shame, courage, and fury painted in them, the better to manifest the excess of his misery; add to this the tears and complaints of his Wife, the presence of a little Infant who cannot speak itself, but whose presence gives occasion to many tender expressions; and lastly, the heavy consolations of his Friends, I say, that it is hard, but all this must produce a very pathetic and moving show. After this the Poet brings him to his Senses entirely, but then the prophetic words of Calchas which threaten him that day particularly with death, bring new terror upon the Stage, and that so much the stronger, because the Spectators thought him safe by being returned to his Senses. After this he dies by his own hand and his very Sepulture becomes a Subject of contestation; all these are new Objects of Compassion which show us the mastery of the Poet in supplying his Stage with variety by changing continually the Face of things.   

A Project for Re-establishing the French Theatre.  
THe Causes which hinder the French Theatre, from continuing the Progress it had made some years ago in Cardinal Richelieu's time may be reduced to six.  
1. The common belief that to frequent Plays is a sin against the Rules of Christianity.  
2. The Infamy with which the Laws have noted those who make an open profession of being Players.  
3. The failings and errors committed in the representation of Plays.  
4. The Ill Plays which are indifferently acted with the good.  
5. Ill Decorations.  
6. Disorders committed by the Spectators.  
To begin by that Generally received Opinion. 'Tis true that the Ancient Fathers of the Church always forbid Christians to frequent the theatres for two reasons.  
The first, (which few have taken notice of) was because that the representation of Plays was Anciently an Act of Religion, making a part of the Cult and Worship performed to the Gods of the Heathens; this is out of dispute, and may be easily proved, if need were, by a thousand Testimonies of the Ancient Writers of Antiquity; the First Fathers of the Church condemned therefore the Christians that assisted at those Spectacles as being participant of Idolatry, which they had renounced by their Baptism, as we may see in the writings of Minutius Felix, Tertullian, St. Cyprian, St. Austin, Lactantius, and others.  
The second Reason was founded upon the Indecencies and obscenities said and committed there by the Mimes, Pantomimes, Dancers, and others who acted their Dyth●rambes, Phales', Itiphales', Priapeas' and other impure representations which were proper to the Cult of Bacchus, to whom the Theatre was Consecrated as to its Author, and to Venus as the companion of Bacchus. As to the first Reason then of the Pagan Religion, that ceases now, since Plays are no longer a piece of Worship, but rather an Innocent Recreation without any Impious Ceremonies in honour of the Idols, but the Public must be well informed of this.  
As for the second Reason, though in Cardinal Richelieu's time all Obscenity was banished from the Stage in his presence, yet the Public theatres do retain something of those Indecencies in Farces and other Poems where the Authors endeavouring to please the rabble represent Impudent Stories, and set them out with filthy jests; which is a thing that Christian Religion justly condemns, and which all good Men abhor; and till that be taken away, and the Public Theatre as pure as it was in Cardinal Richelieu's presence, Plays will be looked upon to be against good Manners and the strictness of the Gospel  
As to the Infamy of those who take up the profession of Players, it was justly inflicted upon them formerly, but now is no longer so.  
To understand this point, we must know that there was two sorts of Actors among the Ancients, the Mimes, and Dancers, and the Comedians or Players, who are those that now act among us, and as these two sorts of people were very different in the things that they represented as well as in the manner, places, and habits of representing, so were they very differently esteemed.  
The first in the later end of the Roman Empire were declared Infamous though at first they were not so, neither among them nor amongst the Grecians.  
But the Comedians and Tragedians never were so disgraced, but on the contrary, always used with civility and kindness by all persons of worth and quality, which may be made out by many proofs, but particularly by this▪ that the Dramatic Poets themselves acted often the chief parts in their own Plays, though some of them have been Generals of Arms, and had other noble employments in the State; and if it has happened that the Actors have in some Reigns at Rome been used somewhat severely, it was by Maxim of State, for having sided openly with Princes reputed Tyrants, but not at all for being Enemies to good Morals.  
In France our first Acting begun in Churches, representing then only holy Stories, but it soon degenerated into buffooning and satire, both of them as opposite to good Government, as to the purity of the Christian Religion. Amongst these Actors who were named Basochiens and Bastelours, Comedy remained with as much shame as ignorance for many Ages; the Libertinism of that sort of life drawing away many young men of good Families, our Princes very justly noted them with infamy, to hinder by that means young Debauchees from continuing in a Society which was made incapable of keeping company with any other honourable sort of men; and from this likewise followed, that persons of quality scorned to contribute any thing to so mean a diversion, and were far from imitating the Ancients in their generous liberality to Comedians.  
From these two Considerations arises a third, which still stops the progress of Dramatic Poesy, which is the fault of Representation.  
The Esteem that the Ancients had Plays in, made many of the most excellent Wits apply themselves that way, and the Glory of the Magistrates, as well as the Fortune of the Choragues or Undertakers being depending upon the success of the Play, they did take great care in choosing their Actors, and instructing of them in the perfect performance of their parts, so that they attained to have many rare Actors in all kinds; whereas with us very few ingenuously bred, have mounted the Stage, being hindered from so doing, either by the fear of committing a sin, or by the apprehension of incurring the Infamy affixed to the profession by the Laws, from whence it has followed, that those who did undertake it, being ignorant of their duty, performed it very ill in all its parts; nay, so little knowing they were in their own Tongue, that they often expressed very imperfectly, what they were to say; and if there did sometimes rise up an Actor worthy of the Ancient Theatre, he was so ill seconded, that upon his failing any way, the Stage was ready to sink, and that even in our days has brought Plays towards their decay.  
The fourth Cause is founded upon ill Drammas or Plays, and this does not so much regard our Modern Poets, who, to say truth▪ have gained a very just applause by many excellent pieces of theirs; but yet something may be said, which is this;  
The Ancients could not leave us any store of ill Drammas, because all their Plays were seen and examined by the Magistrates; and besides, their Poets were not mercenary, but wrought for glory as much as for gain, there being a solemn Prize appointed for their reward, which was delivered with great Ceremony at their greatest Festivals, to those who had best satisfied the Judges, and the Spectators; but we are far enough from that Method.  
In the beginning of our Plays, as our Poetry was bad, so was the rest of the Play, as to the Rules of the Stage; I have seen some of eight and forty Acts or Scenes, without any other distinction. In the time of Ronsard, Comedy was a little more regular, being cultivated by Jodelle, Garnier, Belleau, and some others, who contented themselves with making fine Discourses, but without Art, nor any contrivance in the Representation. Hardy did quite contrary, endeavouring to please the people by the variety of things represented, but without any knowledge of the Rules, which his Poverty did not give him leave to spend any time to study. At last Cardinal Richelieu encouraging by his noble generosity the Industry and Labour of our Poets, brought Plays to the State, where we now see them far enough from their true perfection, nay, and something decayed since his time.  
For, as every day there appears new Poets animated either by the desire of glory or reward, and that they cannot all be excellent, we see often such Plays as ought not to be acted, which proceeds from the little experience and presumption of those new Poets, as also from the ignorance of the Actors, who being capable of judging only of some things, are nevertheless the only Judges of all Drammas, whether they shall be acted or no; add to that the little care they take to have their Plays reviewed and repeated in the presence of intelligent persons, before they come to be acted publicly. For there is no small difficulty to judge of the success of a Play, by the reading of it alone; for very often those Plays which read worst, are the best, when they come to be represented; and on the contrary, likewise those which seem admirable to the Reader, are often very defective upon the Stage, and the reason of this is, the difference that there is between conceiving an Action as you read, and seeing the same thing represented to your Eyes. Things fine to say are not always so to see; and the pleasure of Reading makes some things agreeable, which the vehemency of Action makes otherwise; as likewise some that appear weak in reading, are strengthened by Action; all which faults in the representation, as they lessen the Excellency of the Plays, so they discredit both Poets and Actors, and keep the people in the Opinion that the Stage is not capable of much improvement.  
The fifth Cause about the Decorations is likewise important among the Ancients, the Magistrates, and other great Men, who used to give public Spectacles to the people, either by the obligation of their place, or to gain public favour, used to be at the charge of the Decorations, the Players contributing nothing towards it, and by that means those Ornaments were not only magnificent, but perfectly answered the Poet's Intentions. But now, that our Players, though not very well in their Affairs, nevertheless must undergo all the charge; they cannot be blamed if they endeavour to do it as cheap as may be; but then the Decorations must be imperfect, and altogether below the dignity of the Poet's Invention.  
As for the Disorders of the Spectators, we may consider, that nothing was more safe and quiet, than the Ancient Theatres, the Magistrates being always present, and every thing done by their orders; but amongst us there is no order at all, but any sorts of people wear Swords in the Pit, and other places, and therewith attack very often many peaceable Spectators, who have no other defence than the Authority of the Laws. Among the Greeks and Romans, the Women were so safe in the public Theatres, that they often brought their Children with them; but with us a company of young Debauchees come in, and commit a hundred Insolences, frighting the Women, and often killing those who take their protection.  
We may add to that, that the Seats of the Spectators were so conveniently placed among the Ancients, that every one was placed conveniently, and there could be no disorder in changing of place; whereas now the Pit and Boxes are equally inconvenient; the Pit having no rising, nor no Seat, and the Boxes being too far off, and ill situated; so that what with the disorders of the Pit, and inconvenience of the Boxes, the Theatres are much forsaken by the better sort of people.  
To remedy all these Disorders, it will be necessary first, that the King be pleased to set forth a Declaration, which shall show on one hand how that Plays being no longer an Act of Religion and Idolatry, as they were formerly, but only a public diversion; and on the other hand, that the Representations being now performed with decency, and the Players themselves living sober, and not of debauched lives, (as they were when the Edicts were made, by which they are declared infamous) His Majesty doth upon these considerations make void all those former Laws, forbidding them still nevertheless to do or say any thing upon the Stage against decency or good manners, under such and such penalties, as of being driven from the Stage, and reputed infamous again. And to preserve that Modesty which is necessary, it shall be likewise ordered, that no single Woman shall act, if they have not their Father or Mother in the Company, and that all Widows shall be obliged to marry within six months after their year is out for mourning; and in that year shall not act except they are married again.  
And for the Execution of these orders his Majesty may be pleased to settle a person of probity and capacity to be as it were an Overseer, Intendant or great Master of the Theatres and other public Entertainments in France who shall take care that the Stage be free from all Scandal, and shall likewise give an Account of the life and actions of the Players. By this means the two first causes which hinder the Re-establishment of the Stage must cease; for all scandal and obscenities being banished, there will be no scruple of Conscience in assisting at Plays; and the Players will besides be in so good a reputation, as not to fear any reproaches from the sober sort of people. It was by such a declaration as this that the Roman Emperors re-established the Theatre when it was fallen into Corruption.  
The third cause must likewise cease, for the profession of Actor being once made reputable, all those who have any Inclination that way will the easilyer take to it; and besides, the Overseer may himself select out of the Schools, and the Companies of Country Players such as shall be fitting, and oblige them to study the representation of spectacles as well as the Recitals and Expressions of the Poet, that so the whole action may be perfect; and to this end none shall be admitted but by the King's Letters Patents delivered to the Actor by the Intendant General of the Theatres, who shall give a certificate of his capacity and probity, after having tried him in many ways. By this means there will always be excellent Actors, and the Representations will no longer be defective.  
The 4th cause which regards the Poets themselves does require some distinction for those of them who have already the approbation of the public by the Excellency and number of their works, shall be obliged only to show their Plays to the Overseer General to see that there be no Obscenities nor any thing against decency in them, all the rest to remain untouched, at the hazard of the reputation they have already acquired.  
But as for the new Poets, their plays shall be throughly Examined by the Overseer and reform according to his orders, by which means the Stage will not be loaded with ill Drammas, nor the Players burdened with rewarding such as afterwards can be of no use to them.  
As for the Decorations, they shall be performed by the care of the same Overseer, who shall employ understanding and able Workmen at the public charge, and not at the Player's costs, who shall have no Expense to bear but that of their clothes, and the reward they shall give the Authors.  
As for the sixth Cause, which concerns the conveniency and safety of the Spectators, the King shall forbid all Pages and Footmen to enter the Playhouse upon pain of death, and prohibit likewise all other persons, of what quality soever, to wear their Swords there, nor any offensive Arms▪ upon the same penalty, it being reasonable that that safety which cannot be had here, out of respect to the place, as it is in Churches and Palaces, be obtained by the equality of the Assistants; and for this reason some of the King's Guards shall be placed at the doors of the Playhouse, to take notice of any that shall go about to contravene this Order.  
And for the greater conveniency of the Spectators, the Pit shall be raised, and filled with Seats, that shall overlook the Stage, which will hinder the quarrelling of the Hectors, there being not room for them to fight.  
But to perfect the magnificence of the Stage, the Overseer shall look out a spot of ground, spacious and convenient to build one according to the Model of the Ancients, so that it be capable of the noblest Representations, and the Seats so distinguished, as that the common people need not mingle with those of the best fashion; and round about which shall be built houses to lodge two Troops or Companies of Players gratis, which I suppose may be enough for the City of Paris.  
And for the buying of the place, construction of the Theatre, lodging the Players, charge of the Decorations, and the Pensions of the two Houses, as the King now gives them, with a Salary For the Overseer, and other such charges, there will a Fund be provided, without touching any of the Kings standing Revenue.  
Thus there will be Remedys sound for all the defects of the Theatre, which will be magnificent in all its parts, and worthy of the greatness of the Court of France, and the City of Paris, and the people will likewise have some Idea of those marvellous Representations which have been upon the Stage of the Palais Cardinal▪ and that of the little Bourbon, and by consequent will be less envious and discontented at the magnificent pleasures of the Court, and the great people.    
FINIS.