_Horatio"s_ earned Desire to die with the Prince, (_p. 365, and Sequel_,) thus not to survive his Friend, gives a stronger Idea of his Friendship for _Hamlet_ in the few Lines on that Occasion, than many Actions or Expressions could possibly have done. And _Hamlet"s_ begging him to _draw his Breath in this Harsh World_ a little longer, to clear his Reputation and manifest his Innocence, is very suitable to his virtuous Character, and the honest Regard that all Men should have not to be misrepresented to Posterity; that they may not let a bad Example, when in reality they have set a good one; which is the only Motive that can, in Reason, recommend the Love of Fame and Glory.
Page 366.
When the Amba.s.sadors from _England_ say,
_Where shall we have our Thanks?_
And _Horatio_ answers,
_Not from his Mouth, He never gave_, &c.
I wonder that Mr. _Theobalds_ should see any Difficulty in this; for it is but applying to the King what _Horatio_ says, who knew the whole Affair, and then his Answer is just and true; and indeed, I think it cannot well be understood in any other Sense from the whole Tenour of the Pa.s.sage.
Horatio"s Desire of having the Bodies carried to a Stage, &c. is very well imagined, and was the best way of satisfying the Request of his deceased Friend. And he acts in this, and in all Points, suitably to the manly, honest Character under which he is drawn throughout the whole Piece. Besides, it gives a sort of Content to the Audience, that tho"
their Favourite (which must be _Hamlet_) did not escape with Life, yet the greatest amends will be made him, which can be in this World, viz.
Justice done to his Memory.
Fortinbra.s.s comes in very naturally at the Close of this Play, and lays a very just Claim to the Throne of _Denmark_, as he had the dying Voice of the Prince. He in few Words gives a n.o.ble Character of _Hamlet_, and serves to carry off the deceased Hero from the Stage with the Honours due to his Birth and Merit.
I shall close these Remarks with some general Observations, and shall avoid (as I have hitherto done) repeating any Thing which has been said by others, at least as much as I possibly can: Nor do I think it necessary to make an ostentatious Shew of Learning, or to draw quaint Parallels between our Author and the great Tragic Writers of Antiquity; for in Truth, this is very little to the Purpose in reviewing _Shakespeare"s_ Dramatic Works; since most Men are I believe convinced, that he is very little indebted to any of them; and a remarkable Influence of this is to be observed in his Tragedy of _Troilus_ and _Cressida_, wherein it appears (as Mr. _Theobalds_ has evidently demonstrated it,) that he has chosen an old _English_ Romance concerning the _Trojan_ War, as a worthier Guide than even _Homer_ himself. Nature was our great Poet"s Mistress; her alone has he followed as his Conductress; and therefore it has been with regard to her only, that I have considered this Tragedy. It is not to be denied, but that _Shakespeare"s_ Dramatic Works are in general very much mix"d; his Gold is strangely mingled with Dross in most of his Pieces. He fell too much into the low Taste of the Age he liv"d in, which delighted in miserable Puns, low Wit, and affected sententious Maxims; and what is most unpardonable in him, he has interspersed his n.o.blest Productions with this Poorness of Thought. This I have shewn in my Remarks on this Play.
Yet, notwithstanding the Defects I have pointed out, it is, I think, beyond Dispute, that there is much less of this in _Hamlet_ than in any of his Plays; and that the Language in the Whole, is much more pure, and much more free from Obscurity or Bombast, than any of our Author"s Tragedies; for sometimes _Shakespeare_ may be justly tax"d with that Fault. And we may moreover take Notice, that the Conduct of this Piece is far from being bad; it is superior in that respect (in my Opinion) to many of those Performances in which the Rules are said to be exactly kept to. The Subject, which is of the nicest Kind, is managed with great Delicacy, much beyond that Piece wherein _Agamemnon"s_ Death is revenged by his Son _Orestes_, so much admired by all the Lovers of Antiquity; for the Punishment of the Murderer alone by the Son of the murdered Person, is sufficient; there is something too shocking in a Mother"s being put to Death by her Son, although she be never so guilty.
_Shakespeare"s_ Management in this Particular, has been much admired by one of our greatest Writers, who takes Notice of the beautiful Caution given by the Ghost to _Hamlet_,
_But howsoever thou pursuest this Act_, &c.
The making the Whole to turn upon the Appearance of a Spectre, is a great Improvement of the Plan he work"d upon; especially as he has conducted it in so sublime a Manner, and accompanied it with all the Circ.u.mstances that could make it most perfect in its kind.
I have observed in my Remarks, that the Poet has, with great Art, brought about the Punishment of the guilty Queen by the very Person who caused her Guilt, and this without Staining her Son"s Hands with her Blood.
There is less Time employ"d in this Tragedy, as I observed else where, than in most of our Author"s Pieces, and the Unity of Place is not much disturbed. But here give me leave to say, that the Critick"s Rules, in respect to these two Things, if they prove any Thing, prove too much; for if our Imagination will not bear a strong Imposition, surely no Play ought to be supposed to take more Time than is really employ"d in the Acting; nor should there be any Change of Place in the least. This shews the Absurdity of such Arbitrary Rules. For how would such a Genius as _Shakespeare"s_ have been cramped had he thus fettered himself! But there is (in Truth) no Necessity for it. No Rules are of any Service in Poetry, of any kind, unless they add Beauties, which consist (in Tragedy) in an exact Conformity to Nature in the Conduct of the Characters, and in a sublimity of Sentiments and n.o.bleness of Diction.
If these two Things be well observed, tho" often at the Expence of Unity of Time and Place, such Pieces will always please, and never suffer us to find out the little Defects in the Plot; nay it generally happens (at least Experience has shewn it frequently) that those Pieces wherein the fantastick Rules of Criticks have been kept strictly to, have been generally flat and low. We are to consider, that no Dramatick Piece can affect us but by the Delusion of our Imagination; which, to taste true and real Pleasures at such Representations, must undergo very great Impositions, even such as in Speculation seem very gross, but which are nevertheless allowed of by the strictest Criticks. In the first Place, our Understandings are never shocked at hearing all Nations, on our Stage, speak _English_; an Absurdity one would think that should immediately revolt us; but which is, however, absolutely necessary in all Countries where Dramatick Performances are resorted to, unless the Characters be always supposed to be of each respective Nation; as for instance, in all _Shakespeare"s_ Historical Plays. I say, this never shocks us nor do we find any Difficulty in believing the Stage to be _Rome_, (or _Denmark_, for instance, as in this Play;) or _Wilks_ to be _Hamlet_, or _Booth_ to be a Ghost, &c. These Things, I repeat it, appear difficult in Speculation; but we find, that in Reality they do go down; and must necessarily do so, or else farewel all Dramatick Performances; for unless the Distress and Woes appear to be real (which they never can, if we do not believe we actually see the Things that are represented) it is impossible our Pa.s.sions should be moved. Let any one fairly judge, if these do not seem as great Impositions on our Reason, as the Change of Place, or the Length of Time, which are found fault with in our Poet. I confess there are Bounds set to this Delusion of our Imaginations, (as there are to every Thing else in this World) for this Delusion is never perform"d in direct Defiance of our Reason; on the contrary, our Reason helps on the Deceit; but she will concur no farther in this Delusion, than to a certain Point which she will never pa.s.s, and that is, the Essential Difference between Plays which deceive us by the a.s.sistance of our Reason, and others which would impose upon our Imaginations in Despight of our Reason. It is evident by the Success our Author"s Pieces have always met with for so long a Course of Time; it is, I say, certain by this general Approbation, that his Pieces are of the former, not of the latter Sort.
But to go to the Bottom of this Matter, would lead me beyond what I propose.
Since therefore it is certain, that the strict Observance of the Critick"s Rules might take away Beauties, but not always add any, why should our Poet be so much blamed for giving a Loose to his Fancy? The Sublimity of Sentiments in his Pieces, and that exalted Diction which is so peculiarly his own, and in fine, all the Charms of his Poetry, far outweigh any little Absurdity in his Plots, which no ways disturb us in the Pleasures we reap from the above-mention"d Excellencies. And the more I read him, the more I am convinced, that as he knew his own particular Talent well, he study"d more to work up great and moving Circ.u.mstances to place his chief Characters in, so as to affect our Pa.s.sions strongly, he apply"d himself more to This than he did to the Means or Methods whereby he brought his Characters into those Circ.u.mstances. How far a general Vogue is the Test of the Merit of a Tragedy, has been often considered by eminent Writers, and is a Subject of too complicated a Nature to discuss in these few Sheets. But I shall just hint two or three of my own Thoughts on that Head. Nature is the Basis of all Tragick Performances, and no Play that is unnatural, i.e.
wherein the Characters act inconsistently with themselves, and in a Manner repugnant to our natural Ideas, can please at all. But a Play may be natural, and yet displease one Sett of People out of Two, of which all Audiences are composed. If a Play be built upon low Subjects, but yet carried on consistently, and has no Merit but Nature, it will please the Vulgar; by which I mean, all the unlearned and ill-educated, (as for Instance, _George Barnwell_, a Piece calculated for the Many) but it must be nauseous to the Learned, and to those of improved and exalted Understandings. So on the other Hand, a Piece which turns upon Pa.s.sions, which regard those of high Station chiefly, cannot be so pleasing to the Vulgar; for tho" all Men are born with the same Pa.s.sions, yet Education very much exalts and refines them. Thus the Loves of Boors and Peasants may delight the Populace, but those of better Sort must have Delicacy in that Pa.s.sion to see it represented with any tolerable Patience. The same is to be said of Jealousy and Revenge, which are indeed felt by all, but in b.r.e.a.s.t.s well educated are felt with sharper Pangs, and are combated with more Vehemence, and from more and greater Motives; therefore such People are fitter to judge, and more likely to be taken with n.o.ble and sublime Representations of such Incidents. I need not observe, that the Vulgar cannot judge of the Historical Propriety of a great Character, This is obvious to every one; nor can they judge of the Pa.s.sion of Ambition, as it has Power with Princes and great Men, because not being versed by Reading in parallel Stories, and not being in such a Situation of Life, as to feel the Torments of such Pa.s.sions, they cannot certainly tell whether such Things are represented with proper Circ.u.mstances, and proper Consequences drawn from them. And moreover, as all Men are by Nature more p.r.o.ne to some Pa.s.sions than to others, This must cause Variety of Sentiments in relation to the same Piece. Besides all this, we may be very certain that different Education, different Degrees of Understanding, and of the Pa.s.sions common to all Men, must cause a Variety of Sentiments concerning such Representations. To prove this, let us observe how the Tastes of Nations differ in relation to these Things; so much, that one would be tempted sometimes to think, that they did not all partake of the same Pa.s.sions; but certainly they vary in the Degrees of them; therefore by a Parity of Reason we may justly conclude, that Difference of Education among those of the same Nation must affect their Pa.s.sions and Sentiments. The better sort have (if one may so express it) some acquired Pa.s.sions which the lower sort are ignorant of.
Thus indeed it seems at first Sight; but on a nearer View they are found to be, as I said, the same Pa.s.sions augmented or refined, and turned upon other Objects. The different Manner in which one of _Corneille"s_ or _Racine"s_ Pieces would be received by an Audience of _Turks_ or _Russians_, and an Audience of _Frenchmen_, (supposing the former to understand the Language, and the latter to be free from any national Prejudices for the Authors) is a lively and strong Emblem of the Force of Education and Custom among Creatures, all cast in the same Mould, and endued with the same Faculties and Pa.s.sions with very little real Difference. Still farther, we may observe, that even good Acting will recommend some bad Pieces, as bad Acting will take away half the Merit of good Ones; and some National Subjects are pleasing (as the _Albion Queens_ and _Earl_ of _Ess.e.x_) to the Many, tho" they very little affect the Few. When I speak of Plays, I desire to be understood of Tragedies, in which I think the _English_ excell; for I can mention very few of our Comedies with any Approbation; since in the Latter, neither the Morals of the Inhabitants of this Nation are regarded, or Nature followed. In short, not to pursue a Subject, that would carry me great Lengths, I conclude from this, that a Piece which has no Merit in it but Nature, will please the Vulgar; whereas exalted Sentiments, and Purity and n.o.bleness of Diction, as well as Nature, are absolutely requisite to please those of a true Taste. And it is very possible, that a Play which turns upon some great Pa.s.sion, seldom felt by the Vulgar, and wherein that Pa.s.sion is treated with the greatest Delicacy and Justness; I say, it is very possible that such a Piece may please the Few, and displease the Many. And as a Proof of the bad Taste of the Mult.i.tude, we find in this Nation of ours, that a vile _Pantomime_ Piece, full of Machinery, or a lewd blasphemous Comedy, or wretched Farce, or an empty obscure low Ballad Opera, (in all which, to the scandal of our Nation and Age, we surpa.s.s all the World) shall draw together crowded Audiences, when there is full Elbow-Room at a n.o.ble Piece of _Shakespeare"s_ or _Rowe"s_.
Before I conclude, I must point out another Beauty in the Tragedy of _Hamlet_, besides those already mentioned, which does indeed arise from our Author"s conforming to a Rule which he followed, (probably, without knowing it,) only because it is agreeable to Nature; and this is, that there is not one Scene in this Play but what some way or other conduces towards the _Denouement_ of the Whole; and thus the Unity of Action is indisputably kept up by every Thing tending to what we may call the main Design, and it all hangs by Consequence so close together, that no Scene can be omitted, without Prejudice to the Whole. Even _Laertes_ going to _France_, and _Ophelia"s_ Madness, however trivial they may seem (and how much soever I dislike the Method of that last mentioned) are Incidents absolutely necessary towards the concluding of all; as will appear to any one upon due Consideration. This all holds good, notwithstanding it is my Opinion, that several of the Scenes might have been altered by our Author for the better; but as they all stand, it is, as I said, quite impossible to separate them, without a visible Prejudice to the Whole. I must add, that I am much in Doubt, whether Scenes of Prose are allowable, according to Nature and Reason, in Tragedies which are composed chiefly of Blank Verse; the Objection to them seems to be this, that as all Verse is not really in Nature, but yet Blank Verse is necessary in Tragedies, to enn.o.ble the Diction, and by Custom is become natural to us, Prose mixed with it serves only, methinks, to discover the Effects of Art, by the Contraste between Verse and Prose. Add to all this, That it is not suitable to the Dignity of such Performances.
In short, Vice is punished in this excellent Piece, and thereby the Moral Use of it is unquestionable. And if _Hamlet"s_ Virtue is not rewarded as we could wish, Mr. _Addison"s_ Maxim ought to satify us, which is this, "That no Man is so thoroughly Virtuous as to claim a Reward in Tragedy, or to have Reason to repine at the Dispensations of Providence; and it is besides more Instructive to the Audience, because it abates the Insolence of Human Nature, and teaches us not to judge of Men"s Merit by their Successes. And he proceeds farther, and says, that though a virtuous Man may prove unfortunate, yet a vicious Man cannot be happy in a well wrought Tragedy." This last Rule is well observed here.
Another Reason why we ought to bear with more Patience the Sufferings of a virtuous Character, is the Reflection on the future Rewards prepared for such, which is more suitable to the Moral Maxims established in a Christian Country. Besides, had it pleased our Author to have spared _Hamlet"s_ Life, we had been deprived of that pleasing Sensation which always (as I have else where observed) accompanies a Consciousness that we are moved as we ought to be; which we most a.s.suredly are, when we feel Compa.s.sion rise in us for the young Prince"s Death in the last Scene. I shall just touch upon one Thing more, and then I shall end these Reflections.
I am very sensible that our Nation has long been censur"d for delighting in b.l.o.o.d.y Scenes on the Stage, and our Poets have been found fault with for complying with this vicious Taste. I cannot but own, that there is a great deal of Justice in these Complaints; and must needs be of Opinion, that such Sights should never be exhibited but in order, visibly, to conduce to the Beauty of the Piece. This is sometimes so much the Case, that Action is often absolutely necessary. And to come more particularly to the Subject now in hand, I desire any unprejudiced Man, of any Nation whatever, (if such can be found) who understands our Language, to consider whether the Appearance of the Ghost, and the Deaths of the several princ.i.p.al Personages, (with whatever else may offend the Delicacy I mention) could possibly have that great, that n.o.ble Effect, by being told to the Audience, as they most undoubtedly have, by being brought on the Stage. If this Matter be well examined with all possible Candour, I am well perswaded that it would be found in the End, that this Piece would, by the Method I speak of, loose half its Beauty.
The _French_, (as has been often observ"d) by their Rules of Criticism, have voluntarily imposed on themselves an unnecessary Slavery; and when little Genius"s among them have written Tragedies with these Chains on, they have made most miserable work of it, and given Plays entirely void of Spirit. Even the great Genius"s in that Nation, such as _Corneille_ and _Racine_, and Mr. _De Voltaire_ (which last being capacitated by having liv"d among us, and by learning our Language, to judge of the Defects and Merits of both Nations, is highly sensible of the Truth of what I now say, as appears in his Preface to his _Brutus_) even they have been forced to damp their Fire, and keep their Spirit from soaring in almost all their Pieces; and all this is owing to the false Notions of Decency, and a Refinement of Taste among our Neighbours, which is getting now to such a Height, that so far from being able to bear the Representation of Tragical Actions, they are hardly able to bear any Subjects which turn upon the weightier Pa.s.sions; such as Ambition, Revenge, Jealousy, &c. The Form of their Government, indeed, is of such a Nature, that many Subjects cannot be treated as they ought, nor work"d up to that Height which they are here, and were formerly at _Athens_, &c. and Love, for that Reason among others is made to be the Basis of almost all their Tragedies. Nay, the Education of the People under such a Government, prevents their delighting in such Performances as pleased an _Athenian_ or a _Roman_, and now delight us _Britons_. Thus every Thing conduces to debase Tragedy among them, as every Thing here contributes to form good Tragick Writers; yet how few have we! And what is very remarkable, each Nation takes Delight in that, which, in the Main, they the least excel in, and are the least fit for. The Audience in _England_ is generally more crowded at a Comedy, and in _France_ at a Tragedy; yet I will venture to affirm, (and I shall be ready upon Occasion to support my a.s.sertion by good Reasons) that no Comick Writer has ever equal"d _Moliere_, nor no Tragick Writer ever came up to _Shakespeare_, _Rowe_, and Mr. _Addison_. Besides the many Reasons I have already given in Relation to the _French_, I might add, that their Language is less fit for Tragedy, and the Servitude of their Rhime enervates the Force of the Diction. And as for Our Comedies, they are so full of Lewdness, Impiety and Immorality, and of such complicated perplexed Plots, so stuffed with Comparisons and Similies, so replenished with Endeavours at Wit and Smartness, that I cannot forbear saying, that whoever sees or reads them for Improvement (I make some Exceptions in this Censure) will find a contrary Effect; and whatever Man of a True Taste expects to see Nature, either in the Sentiments or Characters, will (in general) find himself very much mistaken.
_FINIS_.