The Sun.
London, England, 1825-01-14 00:00:00

FOR I'HE SUN.

THE DRAnA.—(LETTER VII.)
Enuroa,—lt was at the era of the Re-
storation (with!:,ut being particular to a year)
that the English langutige ceased to be dramatic.
It is truly and strictly so,- and I entreat the
reader to attend to the fact, as a beacon, or land
mark, which may lead us to the right .understand-.
ing of some
.apparent discrepancies in the works
•
of cotemporary writers. .
. The proof of the assertion (restricted tb tragedy)
is to be found in the history of our Drama. •The
school of the " dramatic Proper," or Sha ksperiatt
age, affords us the testimony of language.—dra7
tnaticsuited to action,- and to the developement
of character. DRYDEN,as we-have arready seen,
was' the first who, with the countenance of the
Court, copied after other models, and succeeded
.but too well in banishing SUAKSPEARE from the
.stage as well as the closet. The tragedies er•
YOUNG. ROWE, ADDISON, PHILLIPS, and others,
were also bottomed more on the French school,
,than after -the fashion of the poets of the Eliza-
bethan age. Indeed, after the forced, hut suc-
cessful, run of Cato, the disease assumed a
,chronic: form : the constitutional symptoms be-
came fixed and inveterate, defying—down to, the
present day—the utmost art and skill, of the cri-
tic to alleviate or cure.— Let the reader who
doubts the truth of the assertion—that the Eng-
lish language has long ceased to be dramatic—
examine the history of the British Theatre from
the day of 'DIZYDEN to his own, anti if he finds
one tragedy, or the one half of it (thwAriis
hardly an exception), where the true language
of Drama exists, and is the medium through
which the dramatis persona' communicate (heir
'sentiments and speak to each other, I am con-
tent to bear the stigma of stupidity, or incur the
charge of wilful misrepresentation.
When SHAKSPEARE was laid on the shelf; when.l
Theatres filled, and audiences applauded such.
Plays as Cato, IJusiris, Tamerlane, Phaedra and
the Distrest Mother, and others of a
similar description, the writers of that time found
it easier to adopt the declamatory poetic style
of French-Tragedy, with an humble and
.distant
attempt at the preservation of the unities, than
boldly, like their predecessors, to sketch from
Nature-, 'with constant and fixed attention to the
delineation and preservation of character, general,
as well as indiVidual, the basis and foundation
of all true and legitimate• dramatic diction.
Hence, Was entailed on succeeding Dramatists,
—(rich and precious legacy !)—the solemn mea-
-sured step of the heroic line ; the descriptive
imagery—the. indiscriminate use—the dull mo-
notonous flow of epic numbers, to the exclusion
of the characteristic, ever-varying, and energetic
eXpression.,--fOunded on the just conception, and
developement of character, of the earlier writers.
We have only,- :in truth, .to open our SI! IK-
SPEA It ES. and read,.to feel assured, that Dramatic
language is. now one of the lost
.acts of a forgone
age, of which' the: specimens—objects equally of
our adiniratign and enyy, alone remain to us;,
or attempt to elucidate the truth
of'these-,rentarkS by apposite quotation, would
.be,f;:kin:a.fri:liii; Sir, to intrude too far on the
limits of periodical columns;—one- or two, there-
fore, shill' 'suffice.—.llow spirited, flowing, and
suited. to action, is the language of the conspira-
tors in " Julius Casar." .The Senate is convoked,
and. the,l-1-etilioo of Cimber (the signal of the as-
sault), is to be preferred ;
Dec.—Where is Metellus, Cimber ? Let him go,
And presently prefer his suit to Ctesar.
Bra.—He is addressed • press near, and second him.
Cint.—Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.
ems.—Are'we all ready ! what is now amiss?
That Ctesar, and his senate, must redress?
met.-=Most high, roost mighty, and most puissant Cmsar,
Metellus timber throws before thy seat
An humble heart (Kneeling)
Cces mustprevent thee, Cimber, &c.
U udismaYed by this first refusal, the conspira-
tors press close to their victim.
Met —.ls there no voice more worthy than my owip,
To sound more sweetly in great Cmsar's ear,
For the repealing of my banished brother?
Bru.—l kiss thy. hand, but not in flattery, Canal. :
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may •
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

C'its.—M7lutt,' Brutus !

Pardon, Oscar, Caesar, pardon ;

As low as to thy foot cloth Cassius fall,
To hes enfranchisement for Publius Umber.

CLe-sar, still 'resolute in refusal, yields not to
the prayers of the petitioners, but answers them,
ending--

That nvas constant Cimber should be banish'd,

And constant do remain to keep him so.

His fate is now at hand—,-the conspirators, on
every side, surround him.

Gear. •
Ctrs Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus ?
Dec.—Great CEesar.—

Cc's. Doth not Brutus boothless kneel ?
C'd.cca.-,-Speak, hand, for me.— ( C'asar is stabbed and the:.
The Senators and people retire in cottfitsion.
The picture that follow's is animated, and
Sketched with the hand of the master.
Cin.—Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyrany is dead.—
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
cas.—Some to the common pulpits, and cry out,
Liberty,' freedom, and enfranchisement 1
Brit.—People; and Senators ! be not affrighted ;
Fly not ; stand still :—ambition's debt is paid.
Casca.—Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
Dec.-------And Cassius too.
Brzi.-Where's Publius ?

C'b-/.-1-lere, quite confounded with this meeting,
Ilfct.—Stand fast together, lest some friend of ersar's
Should chance.-----

Bru.—Talk not of standing :7--Publius good cheer :
There is no harm intended to your person,
Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius.
Ca3.—And leave us, Publius; lest that the people,
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.
Brn.—D6 so; and let no man abide this deed,
But we the doers.
Re-enter Trebonius.

Car.—Where's Antony
Tre.--Fled to his house amaz'd.—(Julius Ccrsar,
Act 3, Scene 1.)
diniony, assured of his personal safety through
a es appears amongst the conspirators.
Ilmisgsreite
grief Calar's death, bursting, uncon-

scipusly' as. it were, from lain, in the midst of his
temporising conduct with the assassins, is finely
ponrtrayed
0 mighty •Ctesar dost thou lie so low ?
Are .all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
• shrunk .to this little measure ?,---Fare.thee well.--

I knolt not, gentlemen, whet you intend,
Who else Must be let blood— '
'The character of Brutus, too, is admirably
kept -and:_preserved tbrOughout. SHAKSPEAIt
appe'ars to have had Aniony's I)icfure of him cow-
staittry before his eyes :

This was the noblest Roman of them all t •
the conspirators stAVeonly he, .
Did that they did, in,envy ot. great Ciesar ;
He, onlk, in a general honest thought,
• And.conanon good to'all, made one Of;thern.
His life was gentle; and!the elements . .
So mixed in him,,that Nature might stand up,
And say' to all.the world, This was a man'!

. •
From this example of the " dramatic proper,
Arturtt with 'feelings of regret and hcmiliation
to " the Rhetoric or descending' school" Wd
open a miscellaneous volume, and quote at ran!.
dorn. The first that. meets our eyes is Theo-
dosius, or, The Force of Love;" by' N, LEE. It
has been said of this Author, " that he was born
to write for the ladies," and " that no poet ever
described the passion of rove more gracefully."
That description of grace, however, is not the
ladder by which the Dramatist can ascend to
the Temple of Fame, the works of more authors
than, LEE can sufficiently demonstrate. There
is beauty and harmony in the following lines,
but they are tarnished with the faults of that
school to which LEE unfortunately7 belonged.

Varanes.—"Tis strange, 0 Athenais,Wond'rousall !
Wond'rous the shrines, and wonderful the altars !
The martys, though but drawn in pointed flames,
Amaze me with the image of their sufrrings
Saints canoniz'd, that dared with Roman tyrants;
Hermits that liv'd in caves, and fed with angels ;
By Orosmadcs, it is wond'rous all !
That bloody cross, in yonder azure sky,
Above the head of kneeling Constantine,
Inscrib'd abole with golden characters,
Thou shalt o'ercome in this: If it be true,
I say again, by Heav'n, 'tis wond'rous strange.
The style of Li is cotemporaries cud SuCCES 2'
sors shares, snore or less, of the same blemishes ;
and, the rebuke of the Critic, is equally appli-
cable to the Dramatists of that, as well as to
those of the preseut day :—" they employ smodk
of phrase good in itself and suitable to excellent
purposes, where they ought to employ another
more appropriate to the stage."
That " TOM °TWAT," amongst the rest, was
at times, " a born devil at heroics," the lamen-
tation of Monimia (to her attendant), at the sup-
posed desertion of Castallo, is one testimony,
amongst .many :—Custalio departs, and the hitr,4
ricane commences—

Mon.—Help me to hold this yet lov'd cruel man.
Oh, my heart breaks—l'm dying, oh !—Stand off: .
I'll not indulge this woman's weakness; still
Chaf'd and fomented let my heart swell on,
'Till with its injuries it burst; and shake'
With the dire blow this prison to the earth.
Maid.—What sad mistake hays been Ihe cause of this
Mon.—Cast:di° ! Oh ! how often has he swore.
Nature should change, -the sun and stars grow dark,
Ere he would falsify his vows to me !
Make haste, confusion, then ; sun, lose thy light,
-And stars drop dead with sorrow to the earth ;
For my Castalio's false !
Maid.—Unhappy day !
,as the Wind the water, or the weather ;

Cruel as tygers o'er their trembling prey :
fcelhim in my breast, he tears my heart,
And at each sigh he drinks the gushing blood;
Must I be-long in pain." ( Orphan. Act 4. Scene 1.1
Unhappy day ! indeed, when the" rich mind"of
OTWAY could thus be led aside after strange
• gods, and bow at the altars of '
It would far exceed the limits I have pre.:
scribed to myself, to continue the task of pro.
gressive selection and quotation, from the Works
of our late Dramatists. Nor is •it necessary.
One error, one common fault (differing perhaps
a shade- in kind and degree) -pervades the
whole ;—natnely, the substitution of heroic or
common poetry to the entire dramatis personce---
with the consequent extinction•of all characterial
distinction—for the language of Drama. On this
topic, our critic on the right is clear, distinct,
and convincing. " This, this is the distinction,"
says he, addressing our Dramatists on the suh-
ject of ianeuage, 44 which 1 would force upon
".your minds ; this is the truth which .1 would
" burn into your memories ; this is the
" point to which I have repeatedly in the course
.of these Letters endeavoured to drag your at-
" tention ; being convinced, that until you per-
" ceive, acknowledge, and avoid this confusion
" of languages,, this .wrong-headed. and prepos-
-"- terous substitution of poetry for dramatic
"• phraseology, you will never produce .an
64 effective legitimate Tragedy. In compari.:
44 son. of this," continues, this " Dennis of the
" day," " meagreness of plot, or insignificancP
" of fable, is of small account in the Drama.
44 There may be little interest of story, yet the
" Play may not act well by the mere force of
" the language ; but if the phrase of the stage
" be supplanted by the mellifluous monotony. pf
" ultra-poesy, I would as soon hear it read in a
" dressing-gown and slippers, as recited in a toga
"or buskins."*

The cure, however, for this radical evil, (by
placing on the shoulders of living Dramatists too
heavy a responsibility,) he has not been so for-
tunate in discovering : It lies (if it can be found)
64 full fathom five" deeper, than he dreams of
digging for. At this point, Sir, the subject be-
comes one of overwhelming—almost hopeless
difficulty.—" And those who know it best, de-
plore it most."
In my nest, I shall compare, and contrast the
opinions of some modern writers on this import-
ant branch of our Drama.

PROTEUS.
* Fourth Letter to the " Dramatists &the day." •

Died at Worle (after having been:confined to
his bed for the, short s'page of three days only.)Aslomr.eJrsoeEtLsiii3iries,n4pe,dolfot3h.e-.parish 'of Banw 11'.
•