RACINE,

AND THE

FRENCH CLASSICAL DRAMA.

INTRODUCTION.

BEFORE We attempt to make the English reader enter into the beauties and appreciate the merit of Racine, as a Dramatic poet, it is absolutely necessary to point out clearly the state of the Drama in France in the time of Louis XIV., and the marked and fundamental differences which exist between the theatrical school of this country, as represented by Shakspere, and the poets of Elizabeth's age, and that of the French nation as exhibited in Racine and Corneille.

The eternal oppositions of the ideal and the real manifest themselves in the conception and in the execution of a dramatic work, as much as they do in any other art; almost as much as in painting, in which we know they form two separate systems. If the reader be not alarmed at what may at first appear in the light of a needless digression, but which we are convinced is necessary to the entire comprehension of the subject that we have undertaken to treat, we will examine what were the earliest tendencies of the drama in those countries in which it is generally supposed to have taken its origin.

B

The dramatic art is of Grecian birth; and in the land of Homer rises to its highest pitch of idealism. The tragedy of the ancients in its primitive shape, is an ideal picture of human transactions, considered in an almost religiously serious light, whilst their comedy is an exhibition of manners taken in a ludicrous point of view; and, as was inevitable in so early an age, we find the entire predominance of tragedy over comedy limited only by one or two individual exceptions. The Epic qualities are always the foremost. The Epopea still reigns; and between the animated scenes of the Iliad, and the lofty conceptions of Eschylus and Sophocles, it is difficult to say whether the Bard be nearer the lively impersonation of character required upon the stage, or the dramatist more approaching to the continued heroic tone characteristic of the Epic verse. The object of the ancient tragic writers was to produce effects resulting, not (as with the moderns) from a more or less exact imitation of the accidents of life, but from the intensity of the idea which they should be able to stamp upon the minds of the spectators. To this system of dramatic conception corresponded a kind of execution, so different from our present theatrical customs, that it is almost impossible for us to form to ourselves a correct picture of it, notwithstanding the abundant detail, and the ingenious surmises furnished upon the subject by a host of learned men. A peculiar sort of musical education was considered necessary to fit an actor for the Grecian stage. This study was divided into two parts, both of which are classed under the name of music, although one only (that which is styled imitative music, or the art of theatrical recitation) has any reference to sound. The other (called orchestical music) comprises dancing, and the study of gesticulation,* being, according to Plato, a methodical imitation of every human gesture, and attitude, and to be termed so far a musical study, that its very

*The word gesticulation is used to denote everything that relates to motion, gesture, or the expression of internal feeling by external signs even when quiescent,

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essence was the just comprehension of Time, and Rhythm. This latter science was again subdivided into the three subdivisions of tragic, comic, and satirical, gesticulation. The strict prosody observed in the ancient languages, added to the vast space employed for the purposes of scenic representation, gave to dramatic diction so peculiar a character, that we require a certain degree of reflection before we can comprehend it.

Till the beginning of the eighteenth century, it was very generally supposed, that the Greek tragedies were chaunted to a species of air (melopea) composed expressly for that purpose by a musician. To a certain degree this opinion was inaccurate, although many singularities of the Greek drama may have easily given rise to it. In Grecian tragedy three distinct parts were to be remarked. The dialogue or drama itself; the canticles, separate pieces, in which the rhythm of song was observed, and which are introduced in moments of great lyrical enthusiasm; (Corneille has adopted_them in the Cid and Polyeucte, and Racine in the Frères ennemis ;) and lastly the chorus. Now, although the dialogue was not sung in the ancient drama, it was still very far from corresponding to our ideas of spoken declamation, and resembled more the recitative of our opera. The strict observance of the syllabic quantities was imperiously exacted upon the stage; and to prevent the uproar which would never have failed to ensue upon the least violation of the rules of prosody, a man was placed before the scena in front of the audience, whose sole occupation it was to beat time with his foot; making the tragic and comic actor no less slaves to rhythm in their diction, than were the singer and dancer in their gestures. Near the time-beater stood two flute players, one placed there to regulate the dialogue, the other to accompany the canticles and choruses.* A sentence of Apuleius

* This regard for harmony, or rather melody and rhythm, was extended to oratory. Cicero tells us of the extraordinary effects produced by the delivery of a simple sentence ending with the word comprobavit, owing to its felicitous sound. Quintilian is copious on the same subject. The

confirms us in the belief that a certain superhuman vociferation was thought to be a merit in a tragedian, as forming a contrast to the more familiar tone usual in comedy. Indeed we have the testimony of Cassiodorus, who tells us, that aided by the huge size of the masks they wore, in the monstrous mouths of which a kind of speaking trumpet was concealed, actors were enabled to form "sounds such as it was hard to imagine any mortal lungs could utter."

But it was not the diction alone of the ancient tragic actors which was subjected to these and similar rules. Their appearance, their gestures, were not less artificial than their speech. In order that the principal personages of a piece, placed at a much greater distance from the public than the chorus, should still preserve to the eye an heroic stature, they were forced to wear buskins formed so as to raise them considerably above the ground. The body and the limbs were also padded to bear a due proportion to the height, and the size of the mask exaggerated, to prevent the head from appearing too small for the rest of the person. The movements of the limbs, necessarily cramped by these strange accoutrements, could scarcely be sudden or natural. They were, on the contrary, regulated beforehand upon the prosody of the dialogue, and upon the accompaniment afforded by the musicians. The byeplay consisted solely in a succession of expressive attitudes prescribed by the well-known laws of the orchestral science, the exact signification of which the spectators perfectly understood. Instead of the different readings, instead of the elaborate interpretations, the play of countenance, and all the other ingenious devices, resorted to by the actors of our times, the actors of antiquity were reduced to display their talents, in the mere mechanical or executive branch of the drama; to give proofs of genius in the mere manner of producing an effect preanecdote of Gracchus speaking to a tibicen or fifer is known. In our times the Iambics in some passages of Lord Erskine and other speakers are admired; see particularly the passage of the Indian Warrior in the noble speech for Stockdale.