John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  As for the story, or plot, of the tragedy, it is purely fiction; for I take it up where the history has laid it down. We are assured by all writers of those times, that Sebastian, a young prince of great courage and expectation, undertook that war, partly upon a religious account, partly at the solicitation of Muley Mahomet, who had been driven out of his dominions by Abdelmelech, or, as others call him, Muley Moluch, his nigh kinsman, who descended from the same family of Xeriffs, whose fathers, Hamet and Mahomet, had conquered that empire with joint forces, and shared it betwixt them after their victory; that the body of Don Sebastian was never found in the field of battle, which gave occasion for many to believe, that he was not slain; 295 that some years after, when the Spaniards, with a pretended title, by force of arms, had usurped the crown of Portugal from the house of Braganza, a certain person, who called himself Don Sebastian, and had all the marks of his body and features of his face, appeared at Venice, where he was owned by some of his countrymen; but being seized by the Spaniards, was first imprisoned, then sent to the gallies, and at last put to death in private. It is most certain, that the Portuguese expected his return for almost an age together after that battle, which is at least a proof of their extreme love to his memory; and the usage they had from their new conquerors, might possibly make them so extravagant in their hopes and wishes for their old master.

  This ground-work the history afforded me, and I desire no better to build a play upon; for where the event of a great action is left doubtful, there the poet is left master. He may raise what he pleases on that foundation, provided he makes it of a 296 piece, and according to the rule of probability. From hence I was only obliged, that Sebastian should return to Portugal no more; but at the same time I had him at my own disposal, whether to bestow him in Afric, or in any other corner of the world, or to have closed the tragedy with his death; and the last of these was certainly the most easy, but for the same reason the least artful; because, as I have somewhere said, the poison and the dagger are still at hand to butcher a hero, when a poet wants the brains to save him. It being therefore only necessary, according to the laws of the drama, that Sebastian should no more be seen upon the throne, I leave it for the world to judge, whether or no I have disposed of him according to art, or have bungled up the conclusion of his adventure. In the drawing of his character, I forgot not piety, which any one may observe to be one principal ingredient of it, even so far as to be a habit in him; though I shew him once to be transported from it by the violence of a sudden passion, to endeavour a self-murder. This being presupposed, that he was religious, the horror of his incest, though innocently committed, was the best reason which the stage could give for hindering his return. It is true, I have no right to blast his memory with such a crime; but declaring it to be fiction, I desire my audience to think it no longer true, than while they are seeing it represented; for that once ended, he may be a saint, for aught I know, and we have reason to presume he is. On this supposition, it was unreasonable to have killed him; for the learned Mr Rymer has well observed, that in all punishments we are to regulate ourselves by poetical justice; and according to those measures, an involuntary sin deserves not death; from whence it follows, 297 that to divorce himself from the beloved object, to retire into a desert, and deprive himself of a throne, was the utmost punishment which a poet could inflict, as it was also the utmost reparation which Sebastian could make. For what relates to Almeyda, her part is wholly fictitious. I know it is the surname of a noble family in Portugal, which was very instrumental in the restoration of Don John de Braganza, father to the most illustrious and most pious princess, our queen-dowager. The French author of a novel, called “Don Sebastian,” has given that name to an African lady of his own invention, and makes her sister to Muley Mahomet; but I have wholly changed the accidents, and borrowed nothing but the supposition, that she was beloved by the king of Portugal. Though, if I had taken the whole story, and wrought it up into a play, I might have done it exactly according to the practice of almost all the ancients, who were never accused of being plagiaries for building their tragedies on known fables. Thus, Augustus Cæsar wrote an “Ajax,” which was not the less his own, because Euripides had written a play before him on that subject. Thus, of late years, Corneille writ an “Œdipus” after Sophocles; and I have designed one after him, which I wrote with Mr Lee; yet neither the French poet stole from the Greek, nor we from the Frenchman. It is the contrivance, the new turn, and new characters, which alter the property, and make it ours. The materia poetica is as common to all writers, as the materia medica to all physicians. Thus, in our Chronicles, Daniel’s history is still his own, though Matthew Paris, Stow, and Hollingshed writ before him; otherwise we must have been content with their dull relations, if a better pen had not been allowed to come after them, 298 and writ his own account after a new and better manner.

  I must further declare freely, that I have not exactly kept to the three mechanic rules of unity. I knew them, and had them in my eye, but followed them only at a distance; for the genius of the English cannot bear too regular a play: we are given to variety, even to a debauchery of pleasure. My scenes are therefore sometimes broken, because my underplot required them so to be, though the general scene remains, — of the same castle; and I have taken the time of two days, because the variety of accidents, which are here represented, could not naturally be supposed to arrive in one: but to gain a greater beauty, it is lawful for a poet to supersede a less.

  I must likewise own, that I have somewhat deviated from the known history, in the death of Muley Moluch, who, by all relations, died of a fever in the battle, before his army had wholly won the field; but if I have allowed him another day of life, it was because I stood in need of so shining a character of brutality as I have given him; which is indeed the same with that of the present emperor Muley-Ishmael, as some of our English officers, who have been in his court, have credibly informed me.

  I have been listening — what objections had been made against the conduct of the play; but found them all so trivial, that if I should name them, a true critic would imagine that I played booty, and only raised up phantoms for myself to conquer. Some are pleased to say — the writing is dull; but, ætatem habet, de se loquatur. Others, that the double poison is unnatural: let the common received opinion, and Ausonius his famous epigram, answer 299 that. Lastly, a more ignorant sort of creatures than either of the former maintain, that the character of Dorax is not only unnatural, but inconsistent with itself: let them read the play, and think again; and if yet they are not satisfied, cast their eyes on that chapter of the wise Montaigne, which is intitled, De l’Inconstance des Actions humaines. A longer reply is what those cavillers deserve not; but I will give them and their fellows to understand, that the earl of Dorset was pleased to read the tragedy twice over before it was acted, and did me the favour to send me word, that I had written beyond any of my former plays, and that he was displeased any thing should be cut away. If I have not reason to prefer his single judgment to a whole faction, let the world be judge; for the opposition is the same with that of Lucan’s hero against an army; concurrere bellum, atque virum.

  I think I may modestly conclude, that whatever errors there may be, either in the design, or writing of this play, they are not those which have been objected to it. I think also, that I am not yet arrived to the age of doting; and that I have given so much application to this poem, that I could not probably let it run into many gross absurdities; 300 which may caution my enemies from too rash a censure, and may also encourage my friends, who are many more than I could reasonably have expected, to believe their kindness has not been very undeservedly bestowed on me. This is not a play that was huddled up in haste; and, to shew it was not, I will own, that, besides the general moral of it, which is given in the four last lines, there is also another moral, couched under every one of the principal parts and characters, which a judicious critic will observe, though I point not to it in this preface. And there may be also some secr
et beauties in the decorum of parts, and uniformity of design, which my puny judges will not easily find out: let them consider in the last scene of the fourth act, whether I have not preserved the rule of decency, in giving all the advantage to the royal character, and in making Dorax first submit. Perhaps too they may have thought, that it was through indigence of characters that I have given the same to Sebastian and Almeyda, and consequently made them alike in all things but their sex. But let them look a little deeper into the matter, and they will find, that this identity of character in the greatness of their souls was intended for a preparation of the final discovery, and that the likeness of their nature was a fair hint to the proximity of their blood.

  To avoid the imputation of too much vanity, (for all writers, and especially poets, will have some,) I will give but one other instance, in relation to the uniformity of the design. I have observed, that the English will not bear a thorough tragedy; but are pleased, that it should be lightened with underparts of mirth. It had been easy for me to have given my audience a better course of comedy, I mean a more diverting, than that of Antonio and Morayma; but I dare appeal, even to my enemies, 301 if I, or any man, could have invented one, which had been more of a piece, and more depending on the serious part of the design. For what could be more uniform, than to draw from out of the members of a captive court, the subject of a comical entertainment? To prepare this episode, you see Dorax giving the character of Antonio, in the beginning of the play, upon his first sight of him at the lottery; and to make the dependence, Antonio is engaged, in the fourth act, for the deliverance of Almeyda; which is also prepared, by his being first made a slave to the captain of the rabble.

  I should beg pardon for these instances; but perhaps they may be of use to future poets, in the conduct of their plays; at least, if I appear too positive, I am growing old, and thereby in possession of some experience, which men in years will always assume for a right of talking. Certainly if a man can ever have reason to set a value on himself, it is when his ungenerous enemies are taking the advantage of the times upon him, to ruin him in his reputation. And therefore, for once, I will make bold to take the counsel of my old master Virgil,

  Tu ne cede mails, sed contrà audentior ito.

  PROLOGUES

  SENT TO THE AUTHOR BY AN UNKNOWN HAND, AND PROPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS MOUNTFORD, DRESSED LIKE AN OFFICER.

  Bright beauties, who in awful circle sit,

  And you, grave synod of the dreadful pit,

  And you the upper-tire of pop-gun wit,

  Pray ease me of my wonder, if you may;

  Is all this crowd barely to see the play;

  Or is’t the poet’s execution-day?

  His breath is in your hands I will presume,

  But I advise you to defer his doom,

  Till you have got a better in his room;

  And don’t maliciously combine together,

  As if in spite and spleen you were come hither;

  For he has kept the pen, tho’ lost the feather.

  And, on my honour, ladies, I avow,

  This play was writ in charity to you;

  For such a dearth of wit who ever knew?

  Sure ’tis a judgment on this sinful nation,

  For the abuse of so great dispensation;

  And, therefore, I resolve to change vocation.

  For want of petticoat, I’ve put on buff,

  To try what may be got by lying rough:

  How think you, sirs? is it not well enough?

  Of bully-critics I a troop would lead;

  But, one replied, — Thank you, there’s no such need,

  I at Groom-Porter’s, sir, can safer bleed.

  Another, who the name of danger loaths,

  Vow’d he would go, and swore me forty oaths,

  But that his horses were in body-clothes.

  A third cried, — Damn my blood, I’ll be content

  To push my fortune, if the parliament

  Would but recal claret from banishment.

  A fourth (and I have done) made this excuse —

  I’d draw my sword in Ireland, sir, to chuse;

  Had not their women gouty legs, and wore no shoes.

  Well, I may march, thought I, and fight, and trudge,

  But, of these blades, the devil a man will budge;

  They there would fight, e’en just as here they judge.

  Here they will pay for leave to find a fault;

  But, when their honour calls, they can’t be bought;

  Honour in danger, blood, and wounds is sought.

  Lost virtue, whither fled? or where’s thy dwelling

  Who can reveal? at least, ’tis past my telling,

  Unless thou art embarked for Inniskilling.

  On carrion-tits those sparks denounce their rage,

  In boot of wisp and Leinster frise engage;

  What would you do in such an equipage?

  The siege of Derry does you gallants threaten;

  Not out of errant shame of being beaten,

  As fear of wanting meat, or being eaten.

  Were wit like honour, to be won by fighting,

  How few just judges would there be of writing!

  Then you would leave this villainous back-biting.

  Your talents lie how to express your spite;

  But, where is he who knows to praise aright?

  You praise like cowards, but like critics fight.

  Ladies, be wise, and wean these yearling calves,

  Who, in your service too, are meer faux braves;

  They judge, and write, and fight, and love — by halves.

  PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY A WOMAN.

  The judge removed, though he’s no more my lord,

  May plead at bar, or at the council-board:

  So may cast poets write; there’s no pretension

  To argue loss of wit, from loss of pension.

  Your looks are chearful; and in all this place

  I see not one that wears a damning face.

  The British nation is too brave, to show

  Ignoble vengeance on a vanquished foe.

  At last be civil to the wretch imploring;

  And lay your paws upon him, without roaring.

  Suppose our poet was your foe before,

  Yet now, the business of the field is o’er;

  ’Tis time to let your civil wars alone,

  When troops are into winter-quarters gone.

  Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian;

  And you well know, a play’s of no religion.

  Take good advice, and please yourselves this day;

  No matter from what hands you have the play.

  Among good fellows every health will pass,

  That serves to carry round another glass:

  When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine,

  Though at the mighty monarch you repine,

  You grant him still Most Christian in his wine.

  Thus far the poet; but his brains grow addle,

  And all the rest is purely from this noddle.

  You have seen young ladies at the senate-door,

  Prefer petitions, and your grace implore;

  However grave the legislators were,

  Their cause went ne’er the worse for being fair.

  Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps, I bring;

  But I could bribe you with as good a thing.

  I heard him make advances of good nature;

  That he, for once, would sheath his cutting satire.

  Sign but his peace, he vows he’ll ne’er again

  The sacred names of fops and beaus profane.

  Strike up the bargain quickly; for I swear,

  As times go now, he offers very fair.

  Be not too hard on him with statutes neither;

  Be kind; and do not set your teeth together,

  To stretch the laws, as coblers do their leather

  Horses by Papists are not to be ridden,

  But sure the muses�
� horse was ne’er forbidden;

  For in no rate-book it was ever found

  That Pegasus was valued at five pound:

  Fine him to daily drudging and inditing:

  And let him pay his taxes out in writing.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  Don Sebastian, King of Portugal.

  Muley-Moluch, Emperor of Barbary.

  Dorax, a noble Portuguese, now a renegade; formerly Don Alonzo de Sylvera, Alcade, or Governor of Alcazar.