Dennis objects to the characters, that they are not natural, or reasonable; but as heroes and heroines are not beings that are seen every day, it is hard to find upon what principles their conduct shall be tried. It is, however, not useless to consider what he says of the manner in which Cato receives the account of his son’s death.
“Nor is the grief of Cato, in the fourth act, one jot more in nature than that of his son and Lucia in the third. Cato receives the news of his son’s death not only with dry eyes, but with a sort of satisfaction; and, in the same page, sheds tears for the calamity of his country, and does the same thing in the next page upon the bare apprehension of the danger of his friends. Now, since the love of one’s country is the love of one’s countrymen, as I have shown upon another occasion, I desire to ask these questions: Of all our countrymen, which do we love most, those whom we know, or those whom we know not? And of those whom we know, which do we cherish most, our friends or our enemies? And of our friends, which are the dearest to us, those who are related to us, or those who are not? And of all our relations, for which have we most tenderness, for those who are near to us, or for those who are remote? And of our near relations, which are the nearest, and, consequently, the dearest to us, our offspring, or others? Our offspring most certainly; as nature, or, in other words, providence, has wisely contrived for the preservation of mankind. Now, does it not follow, from what has been said, that for a man to receive the news of his son’s death with dry eyes, and to weep at the same time for the calamities of his country, is a wretched affectation, and a miserable inconsistency? Is not that, in plain English, to receive with dry eyes the news of the deaths of those for whose sake our country is a name so dear to us, and, at the same time, to shed tears for those for whose sake our country is not a name so dear to us?”
But this formidable assailant is least resistible when he attacks the probability of the action, and the reasonableness of the plan. Every critical reader must remark, that Addison has, with a scrupulosity almost unexampled on the English stage, confined himself in time to a single day, and in place to rigorous unity. The scene never changes, and the whole action of the play passes in the great hall of Cato’s house at Utica. Much, therefore, is done in the hall, for which any other place had been more fit; and this impropriety affords Dennis many hints of merriment, and opportunities of triumph. The passage is long; but as such disquisitions are not common, and the objections are skilfully formed and vigorously urged, those who delight in critical controversy will not think it tedious.
“Upon the departure of Portius, Sempronius makes but one soliloquy, and immediately in comes Syphax, and then the two politicians are at it immediately. They lay their heads together, with their snuffboxes in their hands, as Mr. Bayes has it, and league it away. But in the midst of that wise scene, Syphax seems to give a seasonable caution to Sempronius:
‘Syph.
But is it true, Sempronius, that your senate
Is call’d together? Gods! thou must be cautious;
Cato has piercing eyes.’
“There is a great deal of caution shown indeed, in meeting in a governor’s own hall to carry on their plot against him. Whatever opinion they have of his eyes, I suppose they had none of his ears, or they would never have talked at this foolish rate so near:
‘Gods! thou must be cautious.’
Oh! yes, very cautious, for if Cato should overhear you, and turn you off for politicians, Caesar would never take you; no, Caesar would never take you.
“When Cato, act the second, turns the senators out of the hall, upon pretence of acquainting Juba with the result of their debates, he appears to me to do a thing which is neither reasonable nor civil. Juba might certainly have better been made acquainted with the result of that debate in some private apartment of the palace. But the poet was driven upon this absurdity to make way for another; and that is, to give Juba an opportunity to demand Marcia of her father. But the quarrel and rage of Juba and Syphax, in the same act; the invectives of Syphax against the Romans and Cato; the advice that he gives Juba, in her father’s hall, to bear away Marcia by force; and his brutal and clamorous rage upon his refusal, and at a time when Cato was scarcely out of sight, and, perhaps, not out of hearing, at least some of his guards or domesticks must necessarily be supposed to be within hearing; is a thing that is so far from being probable, that it is hardly possible.
“Sempronius, in the second act, comes back once more in the same morning to the governor’s hall, to carry on the conspiracy with Syphax against the governor, his country, and his family; which is so stupid, that it is below the wisdom of the O— ‘s, the Mac’s, and the Teague’s; even Eustace Cummins himself would never have gone to Justice-hall to have conspired against the government. If officers at Portsmouth should lay their heads together, in order to the carrying off J —— G — — ‘s niece or daughter, would they meet in J — G— ‘s hall, to carry on that conspiracy? There would be no necessity for their meeting there, at least till they came to the execution of their plot, because there would be other places to meet in. There would be no probability that they should meet there, because there would be places more private and more commodious. Now there ought to be nothing in a tragical action but what is necessary or probable.
“But treason is not the only thing that is carried on in this hall; that, and love, and philosophy, take their turns in it, without any manner of necessity or probability occasioned by the action, as duly and as regularly, without interrupting one another, as if there were a triple league between them, and a mutual agreement that each should give place to, and make way for the other, in a due and orderly succession.
“We now come to the third act. Sempronius, in this act, comes into the governor’s hall, with the leaders of the mutiny; but, as soon as Cato is gone, Sempronius, who but just before had acted like an unparalleled knave, discovers himself, like an egregious fool, to be an accomplice in the conspiracy.
‘Semp.
Know, villains, when such paltry slaves presume
To mix in treason, if the plot succeeds,
They’re thrown neglected by; but, if it fails,
They’re sure to die like dogs, as you shall do.
Here, take these factious monsters, drag them forth
To sudden death.’ —
“’Tis true, indeed, the second leader says, there are none there but friends; but is that possible at such a juncture? Can a parcel of rogues attempt to assassinate the governor of a town of war, in his own house, in mid-day, and, after they are discovered, and defeated, can there be none near them but friends? Is it not plain, from these words of Sempronius,
’Here, take these factious monsters, drag them forth
To sudden death’ —
and from the entrance of the guards upon the word of command, that those guards were within ear-shot? Behold Sempronius, then, palpably discovered. How comes it to pass, then, that instead of being hanged up with the rest, he remains secure in the governor’s hall, and there carries on his conspiracy against the government, the third time in the same day, with his old comrade Syphax, who enters at the same time that the guards are carrying away the leaders, big with the news of the defeat of Sempronius; though where he had his intelligence so soon is difficult to imagine? And now the reader may expect a very extraordinary scene: there is not abundance of spirit indeed, nor a great deal of passion, but there is wisdom more than enough to supply all defects.
‘Syph.
Still there remains an after-game to play:
My troops are mounted, their Numidian steeds
Snuff up the winds, and long to scour the desert.
Let but Sempronius lead us in our flight,
We’ll force the gate, where Marcus keeps his guard,
And hew down all that would oppose our passage;
A day will bring us into Caesar’s camp.
’Semp. Confusion! I have fail’d of half my purpose;
Marcia, the charming Marcia’s left b
ehind.’
“Well! but though he tells us the half-purpose that he has failed of, he does not tell us the half that he has carried. But what does he mean by,
‘Marcia, the charming Marcia’s left behind?’
He is now in her own house; and we have neither seen her, nor heard of her, any where else since the play began. But now let us hear Syphax:
’What hinders then, but that thou find her out,
And hurry her away by manly force?’
But what does old Syphax mean by finding her out? They talk as if she were as hard to be found as a hare in a frosty morning.
‘Semp. But how to gain admission?’
Oh! she is found out then, it seems —
But how to gain admission! for access
Is giv’n to none, but Juba and her brothers.’
But, raillery apart, why access to Juba? For he was owned and received as a lover neither by the father nor by the daughter. Well! but let that pass. Syphax puts Sempronius out of pain immediately; and, being a Numidian, abounding in wiles, supplies him with a stratagem for admission, that, I believe, is a non-pareille.
‘Syph. Thou shalt have Juba’s dress, and Juba’s guards; The doors will open when Numidia’s prince Seems to appear before them.’
“Sempronius is, it seems, to pass for Juba in full day at Cato’s house, where they were both so very well known, by having Juba’s dress and his guards: as if one of the marshals of France could pass for the duke of Bavaria, at noonday, at Versailles, by having his dress and liveries. But how does Syphax pretend to help Sempronius to young Juba’s dress? Does he serve him in a double capacity, as general and master of his wardrobe? But why Juba’s guards? For the devil of any guards has Juba appeared with yet. Well! though this is a mighty politick invention, yet, methinks, they might have done without it: for, since the advice that Syphax gave to Sempronius was,
‘To hurry her away by manly force,’
in my opinion, the shortest and likeliest way of coming at the lady was by demolishing, instead of putting on an impertinent disguise to circumvent two or three slaves. But Sempronius, it seems, is of another opinion. He extols to the skies the invention of old Syphax:
‘Semp. Heav’us! what a thought was there!’
“Now I appeal to the reader, if I have not been as good as my word. Did I not tell him, that I would lay before him a very wise scene?
“But now let us lay before the reader that part of the scenery of the fourth act, which may show the absurdities which the author has run into, through the indiscreet observance of the unity of place. I do not remember that Aristotle has said any thing expressly concerning the unity of place. ’Tis true, implicitly he has said enough in the rules which he has laid down for the chorus. For, by making the chorus an essential part of tragedy, and by bringing it on the stage immediately after the opening of the scene, and retaining it there till the very catastrophe, he has so determined and fixed the place of action, that it was impossible for an author on the Grecian stage to break through that unity. I am of opinion, that if a modern tragick poet can preserve the unity of place, without destroying the probability of the incidents, ’tis always best for him to do it; because, by the preservation of that unity, as we have taken notice above, he adds grace, and clearness, and comeliness, to the representation. But since there are no express rules about it, and we are under no compulsion to keep it, since we have no chorus, as the Grecian poet had; if it cannot be preserved, without rendering the greater part of the incidents unreasonable and absurd, and, perhaps, sometimes monstrous, ’tis certainly better to break it.
“Now comes bully Sempronius, comically accoutred and equipped with his Numidian dress and his Numidian guards. Let the reader attend to him with all his ears; for the words of the wise are precious:
‘Semp. The deer is lodg’d, I’ve track’d her to her covert.’
“Now I would fain know why this deer is said to be lodged, since we have not heard one word, since the play began, of her being at all out of harbour; and if we consider the discourse with which she and Lucia begin the act, we have reason to believe that they had hardly been talking of such matters in the street. However, to pleasure Sempronius, let us suppose, for once, that the deer is lodged:
‘The deer is lodg’d, I’ve track’d her to her covert.’
“If he had seen her in the open field, what occasion had he to track her, when he had so many Numidian dogs at his heels, which, with one halloo, he might have set upon her haunches? If he did not see her in the open field, how could he possibly track her? If he had seen her in the street, why did he not set upon her in the street, since through the street she must be carried at last? Now here, instead of having his thoughts upon his business, and upon the present danger; instead of meditating and contriving how he shall pass with his mistress through the southern gate, where her brother Marcus is upon the guard, and where she would certainly prove an impediment to him, which is the Roman word for the baggage; instead of doing this, Sempronius is entertaining himself with whimseys:
’Semp. How will the young Numidian rave to see
His mistress lost! If aught could glad my soul,
Beyond th’ enjoyment of so bright a prize,
’Twould be to torture that young gay barbarian.
But hark! what noise? Death to my hopes! ’tis he,
’Tis Juba’s self! There is but one way left!
He must be murder’d, and a passage cut
Through those his guards.’
“Pray, what are ‘those his guards?’ I thought, at present, that Juba’s guards had been Sempronius’s tools, and had been dangling after his heels.
“But now let us sum up all these absurdities together. Sempronius goes at noonday, in Juba’s clothes, and with Juba’s guards, to Cato’s palace, in order to pass for Juba, in a place where they were both so very well known: he meets Juba there, and resolves to murder him with his own guards. Upon the guards appearing a little bashful, he threatens them:
’Hah! dastards, do you tremble!
Or act like men; or, by yon azure heav’n!’ —
But the guards still remaining restive, Sempronius himself attacks Juba, while each of the guards is representing Mr. Spectator’s sign of the Gaper, awed, it seems, and terrified by Sempronius’s threats. Juba kills Sempronius, and takes his own army prisoners, and carries them in triumph away to Cato. Now, I would fain know, if any part of Mr. Bayes’s tragedy is so full of absurdity as this?
“Upon hearing the clash of swords, Lucia and Marcia come in. The question is, why no men come in upon hearing the noise of swords in the governor’s hall? Where was the governor himself? Where were his guards? Where were his servants? Such an attempt as this, so near the person of a governor of a place of war, was enough to alarm the whole garrison: and yet, for almost half an hour after Sempronius was killed, we find none of those appear, who were the likeliest in the world to be alarmed; and the noise of swords is made to draw only two poor women thither, who were most certain to run away from it. Upon Lucia and Marcia’s coming in, Lucia appears in all the symptoms of an hysterical gentlewoman:
‘Luc. Sure ’twas the clash of swords! my troubl’d heart Is so cast down, and sunk amidst its sorrows, It throbs with fear, and aches at ev’ry sound!’
And immediately her old whimsey returns upon her:
‘O Marcia, should thy brothers, for my sake — die away with horrour at the thought.’
She fancies that there can be no cutting of throats, but it must be for her. If this is tragical, I would fain know what is comical. Well! upon this they spy the body of Sempronius; and Marcia, deluded by the habit, it seems, takes him for Juba; for says she,
‘The face is muffl’d up within the garment.’
“Now, how a man could fight, and fall with his face muffled up in his garment, is, I think, a little hard to conceive! Besides, Juba, before he killed him, knew him to be Sempronius. It was not by his garment that he knew this; it was by his face then
; his face, therefore, was not muffled. Upon seeing this man with the muffled face, Marcia falls a raving; and, owning her passion for the supposed defunct, begins to make his funeral oration. Upon which Juba enters listening, I suppose on tiptoe; for I cannot imagine how any one can enter listening in any other posture. I would fain know how it came to pass, that during all this time he had sent nobody, no, not so much as a candle-snuffer, to take away the dead body of Sempronius. Well! but let us regard him listening. Having left his apprehension behind him, he, at first, applies what Marcia says to Sempronius. But finding at last, with much ado, that he himself is the happy man, he quits his eve-dropping, and discovers himself just time enough to prevent his being cuckolded by a dead man, of whom the moment before he had appeared so jealous; and greedily intercepts the bliss which was fondly designed for one who could not be the better for it. But here I must ask a question: how comes Juba to listen here, who had not listened before throughout the play? Or how comes he to be the only person of this tragedy who listens, when love and treason were so often talked in so publick a place as a hall? I am afraid the author was driven upon all these absurdities only to introduce this miserable mistake of Marcia; which, after all, is much below the dignity of tragedy, as any thing is which is the effect or result of trick.
“But let us come to the scenery of the fifth act, Cato appears first upon the scene, sitting in a thoughtful posture; in his hand Plato’s treatise on the Immortality of the Soul, a drawn sword on the table by him. Now let us consider the place in which this sight is presented to us. The place, forsooth, is a long hall. Let us suppose, that any one should place himself in this posture, in the midst of one of our halls in London; that he should appear solus, in a sullen posture, a drawn sword on the table by him; in his hand Plato’s treatise on the Immortality of the Soul, translated lately by Bernard Lintot: I desire the reader to consider, whether such a person as this would pass, with them who beheld him, for a great patriot, a great philosopher, or a general, or for some whimsical person who fancied himself all these? and whether the people, who belonged to the family, would think that such a person had a design upon their midriffs or his own?
Complete Works of Samuel Johnson Page 462