John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  But as it is an error, on the one side, to make too great a disproportion betwixt the imaginary time of the play, and the real time of its representation; so, on the other side, it is an oversight to compress the accidents of a play into a narrower compass than that in which they could naturally be produced. Of this last error the French are seldom guilty, because the thinness of their plots prevents them from it; but few Englishmen, except Ben Jonson, have ever made a plot, with variety of design in it, included in twenty-four hours, which was altogether natural. For this reason, I prefer the “Silent Woman” before all other plays, I think justly, as I do its author, in judgment, above all other poets. Yet, of the two, I think that error the most pardonable, which in too strait a compass crowds together many accidents, since it produces more variety, and, consequently, more pleasure to the audience; and, because the nearness of proportion betwixt the imaginary and real time, does speciously cover the compression of the accidents.

  Thus I have endeavoured to answer the meaning of his argument; for, as he drew it, I humbly conceive that it was none, — as will appear by his proposition, and the proof of it. His proposition was this:

  “If strictly and duly weighed, it is as impossible for one stage to present two rooms, or houses, as two countries, or kingdoms,” &c. And his proof this: “For all being impossible, they are none of them nearest the truth or nature of what they present.”

  Here you see, instead of proof or reason, there is only petitio principii. For, in plain words, his sense is this: Two things are as impossible as one another, because they are both equally impossible: But he takes those two things to be granted as impossible, which he ought to have proved such, before he had proceeded to prove them equally impossible: He should have made out first, that it was impossible for one stage to represent two houses, and then have gone forward to prove, that it was as equally impossible for a stage to present two houses, as two countries.

  After all this, the very absurdity, to which he would reduce me, is none at all: For he only drives at this, that, if his argument be true, I must then acknowledge that there are degrees in impossibilities, which I easily grant him without dispute; and, if I mistake not, Aristotle and the School are of my opinion. For there are some things which are absolutely impossible, and others which are only so ex parte; as it is absolutely impossible for a thing to be, and not to be at the same time: But for a stone to move naturally upward, is only impossible ex parte materiae; but it is not impossible for the first mover to alter the nature of it.

  His last assault, like that of a Frenchman, is most feeble; for whereas I have observed, that none have been violent against verse, but such only as have not attempted it, or have succeeded ill in their attempt, he will needs, according to his usual custom, improve my observation to an argument, that he might have the glory to confute it, But I lay my observation at his feet, as I do my pen, which I have often employed willingly in his deserved commendations, and now most unwillingly against his judgment. For his person and parts, I honour them as much as any man living, and have had so many particular obligations to him, that I should be very ungrateful, if I did not acknowledge them to the world. But I gave not the first occasion of this difference in opinions. In my epistle dedicatory, before my “Rival Ladies,” I had said somewhat in behalf of verse, which he was pleased to answer in his preface to his plays. That occasioned my reply in my essay; and that reply begot this rejoinder of his, in his preface to the “Duke of Lenna.” But as I was the last who took up arms, I will be the first to lay them down. For what I have here written, I submit it wholly to him; and if I do not hereafter answer what may be objected against this paper, I hope the world will not impute it to any other reason, than only the due respect which I have for so noble an opponent.

  THE INDIAN EMPEROR.

  The Indian Emperor is the first of Dryden’s plays which exhibited, in a marked degree, the peculiarity of his stile, and drew upon him the attention of the world. Without equalling the extravagancies of the Conquest of Granada, and the Royal Martyr, works produced when our author was emboldened, by public applause, to give full scope to his daring genius, the following may be considered as a model of the heroic drama, A few words, therefore, will not be here misplaced, on the nature of the kind of tragedies, in which, during the earlier part of his literary career, our author delighted and excelled.

  The heroic, or rhyming, plays, were borrowed from the French, to whose genius they are better suited than to the British. An analogy may be observed between all the different departments of the belles lettres; and none seem more closely allied, than the pursuits of the dramatic writer, and those of the composer of romances or novels. Both deal in fictitious adventure; both write for amusement; and address themselves nearly to the same class of admirers. Nay, although the pride of the dramatist may be offended by the assertion, it would seem, that the nature of his walk is often prescribed by the successful impression of a novel upon the public mind. If we laugh over low adventures in a novel, we soon see low comedy upon the stage: If we are horror-struck with a tale of robbers and murder in our closet, the dagger and the green carpet will not long remain unemployed in the theatre; and if ghosts haunt our novels, they soon stalk amongst our scenes. Under this persuasion, we have little doubt that the heroic tragedies were the legitimate offspring of the French romances of Calprenede and Scuderi. Such as may deign to open these venerable and neglected tomes, will be soon convinced of their extreme resemblance to the heroic drama. A remarkable feature in both, is the ideal world which they form for themselves. Every sentiment is lofty, splendid, and striking; and no apology is admitted for any departure from the dignity of character, however natural or impressive. The beauty of the heroine, and the valour of the hero, must be alike resistless; and the moving spring, through the whole action, is the overbearing passion of love. Their language and manners are as peculiar to themselves, as their prowess and susceptibility. The pastoral Arcadian does not differ more widely from an ordinary rustic, than these lofty persons do from the princes and kings of this world. Neither is any circumstance of national character, or manners, allowed as an apology for altering the established character, which must be invariably sustained by the persons of the heroic drama. The religion, and the state of society of the country where the scene is laid, may be occasionally alluded to as authority for varying a procession, or introducing new dresses and decorations; but, in all other respects, an Indian Inca, attired in feathers, must hold the same dignity of deportment, and display the same powers of declamation, and ingenuity of argument, with a Roman emperor in his purple, or a feudal warrior in his armour; for the rule and decorum of this species of composition is too peremptory, to give way either to the current of human passions, or to the usages of nations. Gibbon has remarked, that the kings of the Gepidae, and the Ostrogoths in Corneille’s tragedy of Attila, are profound politicians, and sentimental lovers; — a description which, with a varying portion of pride, courtesy, and heroism, will apply to almost all the characters in plays drawn upon this model.

  It is impossible to conceive any thing more different from the old English drama, than the heroic plays which were introduced by Charles II. The former, in labouring to exhibit a variety and contrast of passions, tempers, or humours, frequently altogether neglected the dignity of the scene. In the heroical tragedy, on the other hand, nothing was to be indecorous, nothing grotesque: The personages were to speak, not as men, but as heroes; to whom, as statuaries have assigned a superiority of stature, so these poets have given an uniform grandeur of feeling and of expression. It may be thought, that this monotonous splendour of diction would have palled upon an English audience, less pleased generally with refinement, however elegant, than with bursts of passion, and flights of novelty. But Dryden felt his force in the line which he chose to pursue and recommend. The indescribable charms of his versification gratified the ear of the public, while their attention was engaged by the splendour of his images, and the matchless ingenuity of his argume
nts. It must also be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators. We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor, according to his own taste, power, and inclination.

  The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant deformities. A modern audience would hardly have sate in patience to hear more than the first extravagant and ludicrous supposition of Cortez:

  As if our old world modestly withdrew;

  And here, in private, had brought forth a new.

  But had they condemned the piece for this uncommon case of parturition, they would have lost the beautiful and melodious verses, in which Cortez, and his followers, describe the advantages of the newly discovered world; and they would have lost the still more exquisite account, which, immediately after, Guyomar gives of the arrival of the Spanish fleet. Of the characters little need be said; they stalk on, in their own fairy land, in the same uniform livery, and with little peculiarity of discrimination. All the men, from Montezuma down to Pizarro, are brave warriors; and only vary, in proportion to the mitigating qualities which the poet has infused into their military ardour. The women are all beautiful, and all deeply in love; differing from each other only, as the haughty or tender predominates in their passion. But the charm of the poetry, and the ingenuity of the dialogue, render it impossible to peruse, without pleasure, a drama, the faults of which may be imputed to its structure, while its beauties are peculiar to Dryden.

  The plot of the Indian Emperor is certainly of our author’s own composition; since even the malignant assiduity of Langbaine has been unable to point out any author from whom it is borrowed. The play was first acted in 1665, and received with great applause.

  CONNECTION OF THE INDIAN EMPEROR TO THE INDIAN QUEEN.

  The conclusion of the Indian Queen (part of which poem was wrote by me) left little matter for another story to be built on, there remaining but two of the considerable characters alive, viz. Montezuma and Orazia. Thereupon the author of this thought it necessary to produce new persons from the old ones; and considering the late Indian Queen, before she loved Montezuma, lived in clandestine marriage with her general Traxalla, from those two he has raised a son and two daughters, supposed to be left young orphans at their death. On the other side, he has given to Montezuma and Orazia, two sons and a daughter; all now supposed to be grown up to mens’ and womens’ estate; and their mother, Orazia, (for whom there was no further use in the story,) lately dead.

  So that you are to imagine about twenty years elapsed since the coronation of Montezuma; who, in the truth of the history, was a great and glorious prince; and in whose time happened the discovery and invasion of Mexico, by the Spaniards, under the conduct of Hernando Cortez, who, joining with the Traxallan Indians, the inveterate enemies of Montezuma, wholly subverted that flourishing empire; — the conquest of which is the subject of this dramatic poem.

  I have neither wholly followed the story, nor varied from it; and, as near as I could, have traced the native simplicity and ignorance of the Indians, in relation to European customs; — the shipping, armour, horses, swords, and guns of the Spaniards, being as new to them, as their habits and their language were to the Christians.

  The difference of their religion from ours, I have taken from the story itself; and that which you find of it in the first and fifth acts, touching the sufferings and constancy of Montezuma in his opinions, I have only illustrated, not altered, from those who have written of it.

  PROLOGUE

  Almighty critics! whom our Indians here

  Worship, just as they do the devil — for fear;

  In reverence to your power, I come this day,

  To give you timely warning of our play.

  The scenes are old, the habits are the same

  We wore last year, before the Spaniards came.

  Now, if you stay, the blood, that shall be shed

  From this poor play, be all upon your head.

  We neither promise you one dance, or show;

  Then plot, and language, they are wanting too:

  But you, kind wits, will those light faults excuse,

  Those are the common frailties of the muse;

  Which, who observes, he buys his place too dear;

  For ’tis your business to be cozened here.

  These wretched spies of wit must then confess,

  They take more pains to please themselves the less.

  Grant us such judges, Phoebus, we request,

  As still mistake themselves into a jest;

  Such easy judges, that our poet may

  Himself admire the fortune of his play;

  And, arrogantly, as his fellows do,

  Think he writes well, because he pleases you.

  This he conceives not hard to bring about,

  If all of you would join to help him out:

  Would each man take but what he understands,

  And leave the rest upon the poet’s hands.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

  INDIAN MEN.

  MONTEZUMA, Emperor of Mexico.

  ODMAR, his eldest son.

  GUYOMAR, his younger son.

  ORBELLAN, son of the late Indian Queen by TRAXALLA.

  High Priest of the Sun.

  WOMEN.

  CYDARIA, MONTEZUMA’S daughter.

  ALMERIA, } Sisters; and daughters to the late

  ALIBECH, } Indian Queen.

  SPANIARDS.

  CORTEZ, the Spanish General.

  VASQUEZ, } Commanders under him.

  PIZARRO, }

  SCENE — Mexico, and two leagues about it.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I. — A pleasant Indian country.

  Enter CORTEZ, VASQUEZ, PIZARRO, with Spaniards and Indians of their party.

  Cort. On what new happy climate are we thrown,

  So long kept secret, and so lately known;

  As if our old world modestly withdrew,

  And here in private had brought forth a new?

  Vasq. Corn, oil, and wine, are wanting to this ground,

  In which our countries fruitfully abound;

  As if this infant world, yet unarrayed,

  Naked and bare in Nature’s lap were laid.

  No useful arts have yet found footing here,

  But all untaught and savage does appear.

  Cort. Wild and untaught are terms which we alone

  Invent, for fashions differing from our own;

  For all their customs are by nature wrought,

  But we, by art, unteach what nature taught.

  Piz. In Spain, our springs, like old men’s children, be

  Decayed and withered from their infancy:

  No kindly showers fall on our barren earth,

  To hatch the season in a timely birth:

  Our summer such a russet livery wears,

  As in a garment often dyed appears.

  Cort. Here nature spreads her fruitful sweetness round,

  Breathes on the air, and broods upon the ground:

  Here days and nights the only seasons be;

  The
sun no climate does so gladly see:

  When forced from hence, to view our parts, he mourns;

  Takes little journies, and makes quick returns.

  Vasq. Methinks, we walk in dreams on Fairy-land,

  Where golden ore lies mixt with common sand;

  Each downfal of a flood, the mountains pour

  From their rich bowels, rolls a silver shower.

  Cort. Heaven from all ages wisely did provide

  This wealth, and for the bravest nation hide,