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his fame. He is now in danger of incurring the fate of the heroes of the fabulous ages, on whom the vanity of their country, and the superstition of the times, bestowed an apotheosis founded on pretensions to achievements beyond human capacity, by which they lost in a more sceptical and critical age, she glory that was due to them for what they had really done; and all the veneration $hey had obtained, was ascribed to ignorant credulity, and national prepossession.—Our Shakespear, whose very faults pass here unquestioned, or are perhaps consecrated through the enthusiasm of his admirers, and the veneration paid to long-established fame* is by a great wit, a great critic, and a great poet of a neighbouring nation, treated as the writer of monstrous farces, called by him tragedies; and barbarism and ignorance are attributed to the nation by which he is admired. Yet if wits, poets, critics, could ever be charged with presumption, one might £xy there was some degree of it in pronouncing, that, in a country where Sophocles and Euripides are as well understood as in any 2 in in Europe, the perfections of dramatic poetry should be as little comprehended as among the Chinese.
Learning here is not confined to ecclesiastics, or a few lettered sages and academics i every English gentleman has an education, which gives him an early acquaintance with the writings of the ancients. His knowledge of polite literature does not begin with that period which Mr. de Voltaire calls Le Siecle de Louis quatorze. Before he is admitted as a spectator at the theatre at London, it is probable he has heard the tragic muse as me spoke at Athens, and as she now lpeaks at Paris, or in Italy and he can discern between the natural language in which she addressed the human heart, and the artificial dialect which she has acquired from the prejudices of a particular nation, or the jargon caught from the tone of a court. To please upon the French stage, every person of every age and nation was made to adopt their manners.
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The heroes of antiquity were not more disguised in the romances of Calprenede and Scuderi than in the tragedies of Corneille. In spite of the admonition given by that admirable critic Boileau to their dramatic writers in the following lines:
Gardez donc de donner, ainsi que dans Clelie,
The Horatii^are represented no less obsequious in their address to their king than the courtiers of the grand monarque. Theseus is made a mere sighing swain. Many of the greatest men of antiquity, and even the roughest heroes among the Goths and Vandals, were exhibited in this effeminate form. The poet dignified the piece, perhaps with the name of an Hercules, but, alas! it was always Hercules spinning that was shewn to the spectator. The editor of Corneille's works, in terms so gross as are hardly pardonable donable in such a master of fine raillery, frequently attacks our Shakespear for the want of delicacy and politeness in his pieces: it must be owned, that in some places they bear the marks of the unpolished times in which he wrote, but one cannot forbear smiling to hear a critic, who professes himself an admirer of the tragedies of Corneille, object to the barbarism of Shakespear's. There never was a more barbarous mode of writing than that of the French romances in the last age, nor which from its tediousness, languor, and want of truth of character is less fit to be copied on the stage: and what are most the parts of Corneille's boasted tragedies, but the romantic dialogue, its tedious soliloquy, and its extravagant sentiments in the true Gothic livery of rhyme?
The French poets assume a superiority" over Shakespear, on account of their more constant adherence to Aristotle's unities of time and place.
The pedant who bought at a great price
lamp of a famous philosopher, expecting that by its assistance his lucubrations would become equally celebrated, Was little more absurd than those poets who suppose their dramas will be excellent if they are regulated by Aristdtle's clock. To bring within a limited time and an assigned space certain series of conversations (and French plays afe little more) is no difficult matter; for that is the easiest part of every art perhaps, but in poetry without dispute, in which the connoifleur can direct the artist.
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I do not believe the critic imagined that a mere obedience to his laws of drama would make a good tragedy, tho' it might prevent a poet more bold than judicious, from writing a very absurd one. A painter can define the just proportion of the human body, and the anatomist knows what muscles constitute the strength of the limbs; but grace of motion, and exertion of strength, depend on the mind, which animates thfe form. The critic but fashions the body of a work; the poet must add the foul, which gives