view of a number, by no means considerable, of elevated and creative minds.

Before, however, entering upon such a history as we have now described, it will be previously necessary to consider what is meant by dramatic, theatrical, tragic and comic.

What is dramatic? To many the answer will seem very easy: where various persons are introduced conversing together, and the poet does not speak in his own person. This is, however, merely the first external foundation of the form; it is dialogue. When the characters deliver thoughts and sentiments opposed to each other, but which operate no change, and which leave the minds of both in exactly the same state in which they were at the commencement; the conversation may indeed be deserving of attention, but can be productive of no dramatic interest. I shall make this clear by alluding to a more tranquil species of dialogue, not adapted for the stage, the philosophic. When, in Plato, Socrates asks the conceited sophist Hippias, what is the meaning of the beautiful, the latter is at once ready with a superficial answer, but is afterwards compelled by the disguised attacks of Socrates to give up his former definition, and to grope about him for other ideas, till, ashamed at last and irritated at the superiority of the sage who has convicted him of his ignorance, he is reduced to quit the field; this dialogue is not merely philosophically instructive, but arrests the attention like a little drama. And therefore this animation in the progress of the thoughts, the anxiety with which we look to the result, in a word, the dramatic nature of the dialogues of Plato has always been very justly celebrated.

From this we may conceive the great charm of dramatic poetry. Action is the true enjoyment of life, nay, life itself. Mere passive enjoyments may lull us into a state of obtuse satisfaction, but even then, when possessed of internal activity, we cannot avoid being soon wearied. The great bulk of mankind are merely from their incapacity for uncommon exertions, confined within a narrow circle of insignificant operations. Their days flow on in succession according to the drowsy laws of custom, their life is imperceptible in its progress, and the bursting torrent of the first passions of youth soon settles into a stagnant marsh. From the discontent which they feel with their situation they are compelled to have recourse to all sorts of diversions, which uniformly consist in a species of occupation that may be renounced at pleasure, and though a struggle with difficulties, yet with difficulties that are easily surmounted. But of all diversions the theatre is undoubtedly the most entertaining. We see important actions when we cannot act importantly ourselves. The highest object

of human activity is man, and in the drama we see men, from motives of friendship or hostility, measure their powers with each other, influence each other as intellectual and moral beings by their thoughts, sentiments, and passions, and decidedly determine' their reciprocal relations. The art of the poet is to separate from the fable whatever does not essentially belong to it, whatever, in the daily necessities of real life, and the petty occupations to which they give rise, interrupts the progress of important actions, and to concentrate within a narrow space a number of events calculated to fill the minds of the hearers with attention and expectation. In this manner it affords us a renovated picture of life; a compendium of whatever is animated and interesting in human existence.

This is not all.-Even in a lively verbal relation, it is frequently customary to introduce persons in conversation with each other, and to give a corresponding variety to the tone and language. But the gaps, which these conversations still leave in the story, are filled up with a description of the accompanying circumstances, or other particulars, by the person who relates in his own name. The dramatic poet must renounce all such assistance; but for this he is richly recompensed in the following invention. He requires each of the characters in his action to be represented by a real person; that this person in size, age, and figure, should resemble as much as possible the ideas which we are to form of his imaginary being, and even assume every peculiarity by which that being is distinguished; that every speech should be delivered in a suitable tone of voice, and accompanied by corresponding looks and motions; and that those external circumstances should be added which are necessary to give the hearers a clear idea of what is going forward. Moreover these representations of the creatures of his imagination must appear in the costume suitable to their assumed rank, age, and country; partly that they may bear a greater resemblance to them, and partly because there is something characteristic even in the dresses. Lastly, he must see them surrounded by a place which in some degree resembles that where, according to his fable, the action took place, because this also contributes to the resemblance: he places them on a scene. All this brings us to the idea of the theatre. It is evident that in the form of dramatic poetry, that is, in the representation of an action by dialogue without any relation, the ingredient of a theatre is essentially necessary. We allow that there are dramatic works which were not originally destined by their authors for the stage, and which would not produce any great effect on it, that still afford great pleasure in the perusal. I am however very much inclined to doubt whether they would produce the same strong impression upon a person

who had never seen a play, and never heard a description of one, which they do upon us. We are accustomed, in reading dramatic works, to supply the representation ourselves.

The invention of the dramatic art, and that of a theatre, seem to lie very near one another. Man has a great disposition to mimicry; when he enters vividly into the situation, sentiments, and passions of others, he even involuntarily puts on a resemblance to them in his gestures. Children are perpetually going out of themselves; it is one of their chief amusements to represent those grown people whom they have had an opportunity of observing, or whatever comes in their way; and with the happy flexibility of their imagination, they can exhibit all the characteristics of assumed dignity in a father, a schoolmaster, or a king. The sole step which is requisite for the invention of a drama, namely, the separating and extracting the mimetic elements and fragments from social life, and representing them collected together into one mass, has not however been taken in many na- / tions. In the very minute description of ancient Egypt in Herodotus and other writers, I do not recollect observing the smallest trace of it. The Etrurians again, who in many respects resembled the Egyptians, had their theatrical representations; and, what is singular enough, the Etruscan name for an actor, histrio, is preserved in living languages down to the present day. The Arabians and Persians, though possessed of a rich poetical literature, are unacquainted with any sort of drama. It was the same with Europe in the middle ages. On the introduction of Christianity, the plays handed down among the Greeks and Romans were abolished, partly from their reference to heathen ideas, and partly because they had degenerated into the most impudent and indecent immorality; and they were not again revived till after the lapse of nearly a thousand years. Even in the fourteenth century we do not find in Boccacio, who, however, gives us a most accurate picture of the whole constitution of social life, the smallest trace of plays. In place of them they had then only storytellers, minstrels, and jugglers, (conteurs, menestriers, jongleurs). On the other hand we are by no means entitled to assume, that the invention of the drama has only once taken place in the world, and that it has always been borrowed by one people from another. The English navigators mention that among the islanders of the South Seas, who in every mental qualification and acquirement are in such a low scale of civilization, they yet observed a rude drama, in which a common event in life was imitated for the sake of diversion. And to go to the other extreme: among the Indians, the people from whom perhaps all the cultivation of the human race has been derived, plays were

known long before they could have experienced any foreign influence. It has lately been made known to Europe, that they have a rich dramatic literature, which ascends back for more than two thousand years. The only specimen of their plays (nataks) hitherto known to us is the delightful Sakontala, which, notwithstanding the colouring of a foreign climate, bears in its general structure such a striking resemblance to our romantic drama, that we might be inclined to suspect we owe this resemblance to the predilection for Shakspeare entertained by Jones the English translator, if his fidelity were not confirmed by other learned orientalists. In the golden times of India, the representation of this natak served to delight the splendid Imperial court of Delhi; but it would appear that, from the misery of numberless oppressions, the dramatic art in that country is now entirely at an end. The Chinese again have their standing national theatre, stationary perhaps in every sense of the word; and I do not doubt that, in the establishment of arbitrary rules, and the delicate observance of insignificant points of decorum, they leave the most correcti Europeans very far behind them. When the new European stage in the fifteenth century had its origin in the allegorical and spiritual pieces called Moralities and Mysteries, this origin was not owing to the influence of the ancient dramatists, who did not come into circulation till some time afterwards. In those rude beginnings lay the germ of the romantic drama as a peculiar invention.

In this wide extent of theatrical entertainments, we may again remark how great the distance in dramatic talent between nations equally distinguished for intellect; so that theatrical talent, which is essentially different from a poetical gift in general, seems also to have this specific peculiarity. We are not to wonder at the contrast between the Greeks and Romans, for the Greeks were altogether a nation devoted to art, and the Romans a practical people. Among the latter the fine arts were introduced as a luxury, calculated to produce corruption and degeneracy. They carried this luxury so far with respect to the theatre itself, that the perfection of the essential part of the performance was soon forgot in the immensity of the decorations. Even among the Greeks the dramatic art was far from general. The theatre was invented in Athens, and in Athens alone it was carried to perfection. The Doric dramas of Epicharmus form only a slight exception. All the great creative dramatists of the Greeks were born and formed in Attica. Throughout the whole extent of the Grecian nation, with whatever success the fine arts were almost everywhere practised, in all other places but Athens they could only admire the productions of the Attic stage, without being able to rival them.

The difference in this respect is astonishing between the Spaniards and their neighbours the Portuguese, related to them by descent and by language. The Spaniards possess a dramatic literature of inexhaustible wealth; their dramatists in fertility resemble the Greeks, of whom more than a hundred pieces can frequently be named. Whatever judgment in other respects may be pronounced on their merits, the praise of invention has never yet been denied to them; this has in fact been but too well ascertained, as Italians, French, and English have all availed themselves of the ingenious inventions of the Spaniards, and often without pointing out the source from which they derived them. The Portuguese again, who in other branches of poetry rival the Spaniards, have hardly done anything in this department, and have never even had a national theatre; they were from time to time visited by strolling Spanish players; and they chose rather to listen to a foreign dialect, which if not taught them they could not always understand, than to invent, or at least to translate and imitate, for themselves.

Among the many talents for art and literature displayed by the Italians, the dramatic is by no means pre-eminent, and this defect they would almost seem to have inherited from the Romans, in the same manner as their great talent for mimicry and buffoonery ascends back to the most ancient times. The extemporary compositions called Fabulæ Atellana, the only original and national dramatic form of the Romans, in respect of plan, were not perhaps more perfect than what is called the Commedia dell' Arte, or extemporary comedy with masks. In the ancient Saturnalia we have probably the germ of the present carnival, which is entirely an Italian invention. The opera and ballet were also the invention of the Italians: a species of theatrical amusements, in which the dramatic interest is entirely subordinate to music and dancing.

If the German genius has not developed itself with the same fulness and ease in the dramatic branch as in other departments of literature, this deficiency arises perhaps from the peculiar character of the nation. The Germans are a speculative people, that is, a people who wish to become acquainted with the principle of whatever they are engaged in by reflection and meditation. On that very account they are not sufficiently practical; for if we wish to act with dexterity, vigour, and determination, we must some time or other believe that we have become masters of our subject, and not to be perpetually returning to demonstrate its theory; we must even have settled ourselves into a certain partiality of idea. In the invention and conduct of a drama the practical spirit must prevail: the dramatic poet is not allowed to

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