AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
As it is possible the mere English reader may have a
different idea of romance from the author of these little 1 volumes, and may
consequently expect a kind of entertainment not to be found, nor which was even
intended, in the following pages, it may not be improper to premise a few words
concerning this kind of writing, which I do not remember to have seen hitherto
attempted in our language.
The EPIC, as well as the DRAMA, is divided into tragedy and
comedy. HOMER, who was the father of this species of poetry, gave us a pattern
of both these, though that of the latter kind is entirely lost; which Aristotle
tells us, bore the same relation to comedy which his Iliad bears to tragedy.
And perhaps, that we have no more instances of it among the writers of
antiquity, is owing to the loss of this great pattern, which, had it survived,
would have found its imitators equally with the other poems of this great
original.
And farther, as this poetry may be tragic or comic, I will
not scruple to say it may be likewise either in verse or prose: for though it
wants one particular, which the critic enumerates in the constituent parts of
an epic poem, namely metre; yet, when any kind of writing contains all its
other parts, such as fable, action, characters, sentiments, and diction, and is
deficient in metre only, it seems, I think, reasonable to refer it to the epic;
at least, as no critic hath thought proper to range it under any other head, or
to assign it a particular name to itself.
Thus the Telemachus of the archbishop of Cambray appears to
me of the epic kind, as well as the Odyssey of Homer; indeed, it is much fairer
and more reasonable to give it a name common with that species from which it
differs only in a single instance, than to confound it with those which it
resembles in no other. Such are those voluminous works, commonly called
Romances, namely, Clelia, Cleopatra, Astraea, Cassandra, the Grand Cyrus, and
innumerable others, which contain, as I apprehend, very little instruction or
entertainment.
Now, a comic romance is a comic epic poem in prose;
differing from comedy, as the serious epic from tragedy: its action being more
extended and comprehensive; containing a much larger circle of incidents, and
introducing a greater variety of characters. It differs from the serious
romance in its fable and action, in this; that as in the one these are grave
and solemn, so in the other they are light and ridiculous: it differs in its
characters by introducing persons of inferior rank, and consequently, of
inferior manners, whereas the grave romance sets the highest before us: lastly,
in its sentiments and diction; by preserving the ludicrous instead of the
sublime. In the diction, I think, burlesque itself may be sometimes admitted;
of which many instances will occur in this work, as in the description of the
battles, and some other places, not necessary to be pointed out to the
classical reader, for whose entertainment those parodies or burlesque
imitations are chiefly calculated.
But though we have sometimes admitted this in our diction,
we have carefully excluded it from our sentiments and characters; for there it
is never properly introduced, unless in writings of the burlesque kind, which
this is not intended to be. Indeed, no two species of writing can differ more
widely than the comic and the burlesque; for as the latter is ever the
exhibition of what is monstrous and unnatural, and where our delight, if we
examine it, arises from the surprizing absurdity, as in appropriating the
manners of the highest to the lowest, or e converso; so in the former we should
ever confine ourselves strictly to nature, from the just imitation of which
will flow all the pleasure we can this way convey to a sensible reader. And
perhaps there is one reason why a comic writer should of all others be the
least excused for deviating from nature, since it may not be always so easy for
a serious poet to meet with the great and the admirable; but life everywhere
furnishes an accurate observer with the ridiculous.
I have hinted this little concerning burlesque, because I
have often heard that name given to performances which have been truly of the
comic kind, from the author's having sometimes admitted it in his diction only;
which, as it is the dress of poetry, doth, like the dress of men, establish
characters (the one of the whole poem, and the other of the whole man), in
vulgar opinion, beyond any of their greater excellences: but surely, a certain
drollery in stile, where characters and sentiments are perfectly natural, no
more constitutes the burlesque, than an empty pomp and dignity of words, where
everything else is mean and low, can entitle any performance to the appellation
of the true sublime.
And I apprehend my Lord Shaftesbury's opinion of mere
burlesque agrees with mine, when he asserts, There is no such thing to be found
in the writings of the ancients. But perhaps I have less abhorrence than he
professes for it; and that, not because I have had some little success on the
stage this way, but rather as it contributes more to exquisite mirth and laughter
than any other; and these are probably more wholesome physic for the mind, and
conduce better to purge away spleen, melancholy, and ill affections, than is
generally imagined. Nay, I will appeal to common observation, whether the same
companies are not found more full of good-humour and benevolence, after they
have been sweetened for two or three hours with entertainments of this kind,
than when soured by a tragedy or a grave lecture.
But to illustrate all this by another science, in which,
perhaps, we shall see the distinction more clearly and plainly, let us examine
The Worksof a comic history painter, with those performances which the Italians
call Caricatura, where we shall find the true excellence of the former to
consist in the exactest copying of nature; insomuch that a judicious eye
instantly rejects anything outre, any liberty which the painter hath taken with
the features of that alma mater; whereas in the Caricatura we allow all
licence—its aim is to exhibit monsters, not men; and all distortions and
exaggerations whatever are within its proper province.
Now, what Caricatura is in painting, Burlesque is in
writing; and in the same manner the comic writer and painter correlate to each
other. And here I shall observe, that, as in the former the painter seems to
have the advantage; so it is in the latter infinitely on the side of the
writer; for the Monstrous is much easier to paint than describe, and the
Ridiculous to describe than paint.
And though perhaps this latter species doth not in either
science so strongly affect and agitate the muscles as the other; yet it will be
owned, I believe, that a more rational and useful pleasure arises to us from
it. He who should call the ingenious Hogarth a burlesque painter, would, in my
opinion, do him very little honour; for sure it is much easier, much less the
subject of admiration, to paint a man with a nose, or any other feature, of a
preposterous size, or to expose him in some absurd or monstrous attitude, than
to express the affections of men on canvas. It hath been thought a vast
commendation of a painter to say his figures seem to breathe; but surely it is
a much greater and nobler applause, that they appear to think.
But to return. The Ridiculous only, as I have before said,
falls within my province in the present work. Nor will some explanation of this
word be thought impertinent by the reader, if he considers how wonderfully it
hath been mistaken, even by writers who have professed it: for to what but such
a mistake can we attribute the many attempts to ridicule the blackest
villanies, and, what is yet worse, the most dreadful calamities? What could
exceed the absurdity of an author, who should write the comedy of Nero, with
the merry incident of ripping up his mother's belly? or what would give a
greater shock to humanity than an attempt to expose the miseries of poverty and
distress to ridicule? And yet the reader will not want much learning to suggest
such instances to himself.
Besides, it may seem remarkable, that Aristotle, who is so
fond and free of definitions, hath not thought proper to define the Ridiculous.
Indeed, where he tells us it is proper to comedy, he hath remarked that villany
is not its object: but he hath not, as I remember, positively asserted what is.
Nor doth the Abbe Bellegarde, who hath written a treatise on this subject,
though he shows us many species of it, once trace it to its fountain.
The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me)
is affectation. But though it arises from one spring only, when we consider the
infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently cease to
admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now, affectation
proceeds from one of these two causes, vanity or hypocrisy: for as vanity puts
us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause; so hypocrisy
sets us on an endeavour to avoid censure, by concealing our vices under an
appearance of their opposite virtues. And though these two causes are often
confounded (for there is some difficulty in distinguishing them), yet, as they
proceed from very different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their
operations: for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to
truth than the other, as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature to
struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath. It may be likewise noted, that
affectation doth not imply an absolute negation of those qualities which are
affected; and, therefore, though, when it proceeds from hypocrisy, it be nearly
allied to deceit; yet when it comes from vanity only, it partakes of the nature
of ostentation: for instance, the affectation of liberality in a vain man
differs visibly from the same affectation in the avaricious; for though the
vain man is not what he would appear, or hath not the virtue he affects, to the
degree he would be thought to have it; yet it sits less awkwardly on him than
on the avaricious man, who is the very reverse of what he would seem to be.
From the discovery of this affectation arises the
Ridiculous, which always strikes the reader with surprize and pleasure; and
that in a higher and stronger degree when the affectation arises from
hypocrisy, than when from vanity; for to discover any one to be the exact
reverse of what he affects, is more surprizing, and consequently more
ridiculous, than to find him a little deficient in the quality he desires the
reputation of. I might observe that our Ben Jonson, who of all men understood
the Ridiculous the best, hath chiefly used the hypocritical affectation.
Now, from affectation only, the misfortunes and calamities
of life, or the imperfections of nature, may become the objects of ridicule.
Surely he hath a very ill-framed mind who can look on ugliness, infirmity, or
poverty, as ridiculous in themselves: nor do I believe any man living, who
meets a dirty fellow riding through the streets in a cart, is struck with an
idea of the Ridiculous from it; but if he should see the same figure descend
from his coach and six, or bolt from his chair with his hat under his arm, he
would then begin to laugh, and with justice. In the same manner, were we to
enter a poor house and behold a wretched family shivering with cold and
languishing with hunger, it would not incline us to laughter (at least we must
have very diabolical natures if it would); but should we discover there a
grate, instead of coals, adorned with flowers, empty plate or china dishes on
the sideboard, or any other affectation of riches and finery, either on their
persons or in their furniture, we might then indeed be excused for ridiculing
so fantastical an appearance. Much less are natural imperfections the object of
derision; but when ugliness aims at the applause of beauty, or lameness
endeavours to display agility, it is then that these unfortunate circumstances,
which at first moved our compassion, tend only to raise our mirth.
The poet carries this very far:—