DRAMA DRAUGHT. 



725 



"Tragedy and comedy bear the same relation to one another 

 i\6 earnestness and mirth. Both these states of mind bear the 

 stamp of our common nature ; but earnestness belongs more to 

 the moral, and mirth to the sensual side. The creatures des- 

 titute of reason are incapable of either. Earnestness, in the 

 most extensive signification, is the direction of our mental 

 powers to some aim. But as soon as we begin to call our. 

 selves to account for our actions, reason compels us to fix this 

 aim higher and higher, till we come at last to the highest end of 

 our existence: and here the desire for what is infinite, which 

 dwells in our being, is thwarted by the limits of the finite, by 

 which we are fettered. All that we do, all that we effect, in 

 vain and perisliable ; Death stands everywhere in the back 

 ground, and every u nod or ill -pent moment brings us in closer 

 contact with him. And even if a man has been so singularly suc- 

 cessful as to reach the utmost term of life without misfortune, 

 he must still submit to leave all that is dear to him on earth. 

 There is no bond of love without separation, no enjoyment 

 without grief for its loss. When we contemplate. ho ever, all 

 the relations of our existence ; when we reflect on its de- 

 pendence oo an endless chain of causes and effects; when we 

 consider that we are exposed in our weakness to struggle with 

 the immeasurable powers of nature, and with conflicting de- 

 sires on the shores of an unknown world ; that we are subject 

 to all manner of errors and deceptions, every one of which is 

 capable of undoing us : that, iu our passions, we carry our 

 own enemy in our bosoms ; that every moment demands from 

 us the sacrifice of our dearest inclinations, in the name of the 

 niost sacred duties, and that we may, at one blow, be robbed 

 of all that we hare acquired by toils and difficulties ; that, with 

 every extension of possession, the danger of loss is propor- 

 tionally increased, and we are the more exposed to the snares 

 of hostile attack, then every feeling mind must be filled by 

 melancholy, against which there is no other protection than the 

 consciousness <>f a destiny above this earthly life. This is the 

 tragic tone; and when the mind dwells on the consideration of 

 the possible, as an existing reality ; when that tone is inspired 

 by the most striking examples of violent revolutions in human 

 destiny, either from dejection of soul, or after powerful hut in- 

 effectual struggles, then tragic poetry has its origin. We thus 

 see that tragic poetry has its foundation in our nature, and, to 

 a certain extent, we have answered the question, why we 

 are fond of mournful representations, and even find some- 

 thing consoling and elevating iu them? As earnestness, in 

 the highest degree, is the essence of the tragic tone, tiie essence 

 of the comic is mirth. The disposition to mirth is a forgetful- 

 ness of all gloomy considerations, in the pleasant feeling of 

 present happiness. We are then inclined to view everything 

 in a sportive right, and to admit no impressions calculated to 

 disturb or ruffle us. The imperfections of men, and the in- 

 congruities iu their conduct and relations, are no lunger an ob- 

 ject of dislike and compassion, but serve to entertain the 

 mind. The comic poet must, therefore, carefully abstain from 

 whatever is calculated to excite moral disgust with the con- 

 duct of men, or sympathy with their situation, because this 

 would bring us back to a tone of earnest feeling. He must 

 paint their irregularities as arising out of the predominance of 

 the sensual part of their nature, and as constituting a mere 

 ludicrous infirmity, which can be attended with no ruinous 

 consequences. This is uniformly what takes place in what we 

 call comedy, in which, however, there is still a mixture of 

 seriousness, as I shall show in the sequel. 'Die oldest comedy 

 of the Greeks was, however, entirely gay, and, iiuthat respect, 

 formed the most complete contrast with their tragedy. Not 

 only the characters and situations of individuals were worked 

 up into a picture of the true domic, but the state, the constitu- 

 tion, the gods, and nature, were all fantastically painted, in 

 the most extravagantly ridiculous and laughable oolours." 



We shall now say a few words respecting the so 

 much talked of unities in the drama. In consequence 

 of a passage in the Poetics of Aristotle, the French, 

 principally through the influence of Boileau, adopted 

 the theory of the three unities in a drama, those ol 

 action, place, and time, and this theory has recom- 

 mended itself so strongly to the national taste, that 

 a strict observance of the unities is considered, by 

 the French, one of the chief merits of a dramatic 

 production. The reader who wishes to form a cor- 

 rect idea of the theory of Aristotle, may consult with 

 advantage .the work of Schlegel, above mentioned 

 The French have construed it to mean, in substance, 

 as follows : 1st, that the action of the drama musi 

 be one ; the interest or attention must not be dis- 

 tracted by several plots, but everything must be 

 subservient to the main action ; 2dly, all the action; 

 must take place on the same spot, or very nearly so 

 in order tliat the illusion may not be disturbed ; and 

 Sdly, everything ought to happen on the same day 

 for the same reason. These three rules are all true 

 to a certain degree. The unity of action is as neces- 

 sary in a drama iis in any production of the fine arts , 

 the whole must be essentially one ; but the Germans 

 and British think it absurd to confine unity of action 



within such narrow limits as the French do. On the 

 contrary, as in a picture of Raphael, many groups 

 exist, all interesting, yet all contributing to form one 

 great picture, and subservient to the main object of 

 ,he work ; so they think it not only allowable, but an 

 xcellence, to introduce a number of actions in a 

 drama, if they are so connected as all to make but 

 one whole. What a variety of character and action 

 s to be found in Romeo and Juliet ! and yet how 

 closely is everything connected ! how directly every 

 scene draws towards the great tragic end ! The 

 grandeur of a lofty dome is not diminished by the 

 statues and bas-reliefs which it may contain. 



The two other unities those of place and time 

 may also be too servilely followed. As for disturb- 

 ng the illusion, Schiller very truly says, that every- 

 thing on the stage is different from reality. Who 

 thinks that the light of the lamps is daylight ? Who, 

 we ask, ever found such a precise square as the 

 stage in a forest ? or who ever saw people in real 

 life turning their faces all to one point, as the actors 

 necessarily do, that their action may be seen. The 

 French consider it a great fault if an actor turns 

 Ids back towards the audience. Is not this incon- 

 sistent? Besides, is not the very theory of unity of 

 time, which requires all the events in a drama to 

 happen on one day, entirely at variance with nature ? 

 and which is easier, to consider all the events repre- 

 sented in a drama, all, the developments of the 

 actions as happening in one day, or to transport 

 ourselves, in imagination, from one place to another, 

 and suppose weeks and months to pass between the 

 falling and rising of the curtain? Yet there is no 

 doubt that the performance may make too great 

 claims on our imagination. It is impossible to settle 

 precisely the limits within which the dramatic writer 

 should confine himself. As long as he can avoid 

 offending the imagination by the abruptness of his 

 transitions, he may be considered as not having over- 

 stepped the just bounds. The liberties allowed in 

 the drama, as in all the higher branches of art, must 

 depend very much on the genius of the artist. Since 

 1814, a new dramatic school has been formed in 

 France, which, departing from the ancient strict 

 ness of the classic drama, so called, approaches 

 more and more to the German and British, or the 

 romantic drama, so called. Madame de Stael, in her 

 L'dllemagne, treats this subject at some length. 

 We must refer the reader, for further information 

 on this interesting subject, to Augustus William 

 SchlegeFs work, Ueber dramatische Kunst und Lit- 

 teratur, Heidelberg, 1809 (On dramatic Art and 

 Literature ; translated into English, by John Black, 

 London, 1815), which may be considered at once as 

 a model of the higher species of criticism, and a spe- 

 cimen of German erudition and philosophy. 



DRAMATURGY ; the science which treats of 

 the rules for composing a drama and representing it 

 on the stage, as far as the subject can be brought 

 under general rules. It comprehends the whole 

 poetry of the drama, and the theory of dramatic re- 

 presentation. Is'o work embracing the subject in 

 its whole extent has yet been published. The 

 splendid lectures of Schlegel on dramatic art and 

 literature approach nearest to it. The first who 

 published a work under this name was Lessing. 

 Tieck's Dramaturgical Essays deserve to be men- 

 tioned here. 



DRAPERY. See Costume. 

 DRAUGHT ; the depth of a body of water neces- 

 sary to float a ship ; hence a ship is said to draw so 

 many feet of water, when she is borne up by a 

 column of water of that particular depth ; for in- 

 stance, if it requires a body of water whose depth is 

 ! equal to twelve feet, to float or buoy up a ship on its 



