Fortune has been often compared to the sea; but in a heroic play, her
course resembled an absolute Bay of Biscay, or Race of Portland,
disturbed by an hundred contending currents and eddies, and never
continuing a moment in one steady flow.
That no engine of romantic surprise might be wanting, Dryden contends,
that the dramatist, as he is not confined to the probable in character,
so he is not limited by the bounds of nature in the action, but may let
himself loose to visionary objects, and to the representation of such
things as, not depending upon sense, leave free exercise for the
imagination. Indeed, if ghosts, magicians, and demons, might with
propriety claim a place anywhere, it must be in plays which throughout
disclaim the common rules of nature, both in the incidents narrated, and
the agents interested.[3]
Lastly, the action of the heroic drama was to be laid, not merely in the
higher, but in the very highest walk of life. No one could with decorum
aspire to share the sublimities which it annexed to character, except
those made of the "porcelain clay of the earth," dukes, princes, kings,
and kaisars. The matters agitated must be of moment, proportioned to
their characters and elevated station, the fate of cities and the fall
of kingdoms.
That the language, as well as actions and character of the _dramatis
personae_, might be raised above the vulgar, their sentiments were
delivered in rhyme, the richest and most ornate kind of verse, and the
farthest removed from ordinary colloquial diction.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137