THE SPANISH FRIAR OR THE DOUBLE DISCOVERY Ut melius possis fallere, sume togam. -Alterna revisens Lusit, et in solido rursus fortuna locavit. VIRGIL, Eneid, xi. 426, 427. Written by John Dryden, servant to his Majesty. THE SPANISH FRIAR was first printed in 1681; other quarto editions followed in 1686, 1690, and 1695. These quartos are cited as Q1, Q2, Q3, Q4. Q1 furnishes the authoritative text; later variants, with exceptions noted below, are due merely to the printer. Q3 was printed from Q2 (see notes on p. 319, 1. 153; p. 322, 1. 256; p. 361, l. 173); Q4 was printed from Q3 (see notes on p. 316, 1. 57; p. 332, 1. 4; p. 362, 1. 198); and the Folio of 1701 (F) was printed from Q1 (see notes on p. 321, 1. 243; p. 345, 1. 23; p. 382, 1. 387). Q3 adds to the text four passages of some importance; see notes on p. 332, l. 4; p. 339, 1. 27; p. 345, 1. 23; p. 358, 1. 21. As the first two passages contain violent anti-Catholic satire, and Dryden was already a Catholic in 1690, the date of Q3, it is at least doubtful whether the lines were written by the poet himself. If they are by him, they were probably suppressed on the publication of Q1, and later restored from a stage copy. WHEN I first design'd this play, I found, or thought I found, somewhat so moving in the serious part of it, and so pleasant in the comic, as might deserve a more than ordinary care in both; accordingly I us'd the best of my endeavor in the management of two plots, so very different from each other, that it was not, perhaps, the talent of every writer to have made them of a piece. Neither have I attempted other plays of the same nature, in my opinion, with the same judgment, tho' with like success. And tho' many poets may suspect themselves for the fondness 10 and partiality of parents to their youngest children, yet I hope I may stand exempted from this rule, because I know myself too well to be ever satisfied with my own conceptions, which have seldom reach'd to those ideas that I had within me; and consequently, I presume I may have liberty to judge when I write more or less pardonably, as an ordinary marksman may know certainly when he shoots less wide at what he aims. Besides, the care and pains I have bestow'd on this, beyond my other tragi-comedies, may reasonably make the world conclude, that either I can do nothing tolerably, or that this poem is not much amiss. Few good pictures have been finish'd at one sitting; 20 neither can a true just play, which is to bear the test of ages, be produc'd at a heat, or by the force of fancy, without the maturity of judgment. For my own part, I have both so just a diffidence of myself, and so great a reverence for my audience, that I dare venture nothing without a strict examination; and am as much asham'd to put a loose indigested play upon the public, as I should be to offer brass money in a payment; for tho' it should be taken (as it is too often on the stage), yet it will be found in the second telling; and a judicious reader will discover, in his closet, that trashy stuff whose glittering deceiv'd him in the action. I have often heard the stationer sighing in his shop, and 30 wishing for those hands to take off his melancholy bargain which clapp'd its performance on the stage. In a playhouse everything contributes to impose upon the judgment; the lights, the scenes, the habits, and, above all, the grace of action, which is commonly the best where there is the most need of it, surprise the audience, and cast a mist upon their understandings; not unlike the cunning of a juggler, who is always staring us in the face, and overwhelming us with gibberish, only that he may gain the opportunity of making the cleaner conveyance of his trick. But these false beauties of the stage are no more lasting than a rainbow; when the actor ceases to shine upon them, when he gilds them no longer with his reflection, they vanish in a twinkling. I have sometimes wonder'd, in the reading, what was become of those glaring colors which amaz'd me in Bussy d'Ambois upon the theater; but when I had taken up what I suppos'd a fallen star, I found I had been cozen'd with a jelly; nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glitter'd no 10 longer than it was shooting; a dwarfish thought, dress'd up in gigantic words, repetition in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross hyperboles; the sense of one line expanded prodigiously into ten; and, to sum up all, uncorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry and true nonsense; or, at best, a scantling of wit, which lay gasping for life, and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish. A famous modern poet us'd to sacrifice every year a Statius to Virgil's manes; and I have indignation enough to burn a d'Ambois annually, to the memory of Jonson. But now, my Lord, I am sensible, perhaps too late, that I have gone too far; for I remember some verses of my own Maximin and 20 Almanzor which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance, and which I wish heartily in the same fire with Statius and Chapman. All I can say for those passages, which are, I hope, not many, is, that I knew they were bad enough to please, even when I writ them; but I repent of them amongst my sins; and, if any of their fellows intrude by chance into my present writings, I draw a stroke over all those Dalilahs of the theater; and am resolv'd I will settle myself no reputation by the applause of fools. "Tis not that I am mortified to all ambition, but I scorn as much to take it from half-witted judges, as I should to raise an estate by cheating of bubbles. Neither do I discom30 mend the lofty style in tragedy, which is naturally pompous and magnificent; but nothing is truly sublime that is not just and proper. If the ancients had judg'd by the same measures which a common reader takes, they had concluded Statius to have written higher than Virgil, for, Quæ superimposito moles geminata colosso carries a more thund'ring kind of sound than Tityre, tu patulæ recubans sub tegmine fagi: yet Virgil had all the majesty of a lawful prince, and Statius only the blust'ring of a tyrant. But when men affect a virtue which they cannot reach, they fall into a vice which bears the nearest resemblance to it. 40 Thus an injudicious poet who aims at loftiness runs easily into the swelling puffy style, because it looks like greatness. I remember, when I was a boy, I thought inimitable Spenser a mean poet, in comparison of Sylvester's Dubartas, and was rapt into an ecstasy when I read these lines: 38. 39. cannot reach] QqF. cannot easily reach SSMK, Now, when the winter's keener breath began To glaze the lakes, to bridle up the floods, And periwig with snow the baldpate woods. I am much deceiv'd if this be not abominable fustian, that is, thoughts and words ill-sorted, and without the least relation to each other; yet I dare not answer for an audience, that they would not clap it on the stage: so little value there is to be given to the common cry, that nothing but madness can please madmen, and a poet must be of a piece with 10 the spectators, to gain a reputation with them. But, as in a room contriv'd for state the height of the roof should bear a proportion to the area; so, in the height'nings of poetry, the strength and vehemence of figures should be suited to the occasion, the subject, and the persons. All beyond this is monstrous: 'tis out of nature, 'tis an excrescence, and not a living part of poetry. I had not said thus much, if some young gallants, who pretend to criticism, had not told me that this tragicomedy wanted the dignity of style; but, as a man who is charg'd with a crime of which he thinks himself innocent is apt to be too eager in his own defense; so perhaps I have vindicated my play with more partiality 20 than I ought, or than such a trifle can deserve. Yet, whatever beauties it may want, 'tis free at least from the grossness of those faults I mention'd: what credit it has gain'd upon the stage, I value no farther than in reference to my profit and the satisfaction I had in seeing it represented with all the justness and gracefulness of action. But, as 'tis my interest to please my audience, so 'tis my ambition to be read. That I am sure is the more lasting and the nobler design; for the propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confus'dly judg'd in the vehemence of action: all things are there beheld as in a hasty motion, where the objects only glide before the eye, and 30 disappear. The most discerning critic can judge no more of these silent graces in the action than he who rides post thro' an unknown country can distinguish the situation of places, and the nature of the soil. The purity of phrase, the clearness of conception and expression, the boldness maintain'd to majesty, the significancy and sound of words, not strain'd into bombast, but justly elevated; in short, those very words and thoughts which cannot be chang'd but for the worse, must of necessity escape our transient view upon the theater; and yet, without all these, a play may take. For, if either the story move us, or the actor help the lameness of it with his performance, or now and then a glittering beam 40 of wit or passion strike thro' the obscurity of the poem, any of these are sufficient to effect a present liking, but not to fix a lasting admiration; for nothing but truth can long continue; and time is the surest judge of truth. I am not vain enough to think I have left no faults in this which that touchstone will not discover; neither, indeed, is it possible to avoid them in a play of this nature. There are evidently two actions in it; but it will be clear to any judicious man that with half 44. will not] Q1F. wit not Q2. wit will not Q3Q4. |