Comedy

I am surprised that the judicious and ingenious Mr. de Muralt, who has published some letters on the English and French nations, should have confined himself; in treating of comedy, merely to censure Shadwell the comic writer. This author was had in pretty great contempt in Mr. de Muralt’s time, and was not the poet of the polite part of the nation. His dramatic pieces, which pleased some time in acting, were despised by all persons of taste, and might be compared to many plays which I have seen in France, that drew crowds to the playhouse, at the same time that they were intolerable to read; and of which it might be said, that the whole city of Paris exploded them, and yet all flocked to see them represented on the stage. Methinks Mr. de Muralt should have mentioned an excellent comic writer (living when he was in England), I mean Mr. Wycherley, who was a long time known publicly to be happy in the good graces of the most celebrated mistress of King Charles II. This gentleman, who passed his life among persons of the highest distinction, was perfectly well acquainted with their lives and their follies, and painted them with the strongest pencil, and in the truest colours. He has drawn a misanthrope or man-hater, in imitation of that of Molière. All Wycherley’s strokes are stronger and bolder than those of our misanthrope, but then they are less delicate, and the rules of decorum are not so well observed in this play. The English writer has corrected the only defect that is in Molière’s comedy, the thinness of the plot, which also is so disposed that the characters in it do not enough raise our concern. The English comedy affects us, and the contrivance of the plot is very ingenious, but at the same time it is too bold for the French manners. The fable is this:—A captain of a man-of-war, who is very brave, open-hearted, and inflamed with a spirit of contempt for all mankind, has a prudent, sincere friend, whom he yet is suspicious of; and a mistress that loves him with the utmost excess of passion. The captain so far from returning her love, will not even condescend to look upon her, but confides entirely in a false friend, who is the most worthless wretch living. At the same time he has given his heart to a creature, who is the greatest coquette and the most perfidious of her sex, and he is so credulous as to be confident she is a Penelope, and his false friend a Cato. He embarks on board his ship in order to go and fight the Dutch, having left all his money, his jewels, and everything he had in the world to this virtuous creature, whom at the same time he recommends to the care of his supposed faithful friend. Nevertheless the real man of honour, whom he suspects so unaccountably, goes on board the ship with him, and the mistress, on whom he would not bestow so much as one glance, disguises herself in the habit of a page, and is with him the whole voyage, without his once knowing that she is of a sex different from that she attempts to pass for, which, by the way, is not over natural.

I am surprised that the thoughtful and inventive Mr. de Muralt limited his discussion of comedy to criticizing Shadwell. Mr. de Muralt has published letters on the English and French nations. In his time, Shadwell was widely despised and was not admired by the nation’s cultured readers. Shadwell’s plays pleased audiences for a time, but all people of taste despised them. They resembled many plays I have seen in France, which drew crowds to the theater but were unbearable to read. You might say that all Paris condemned those plays, yet everyone flocked to see them performed. I think Mr. de Muralt should have mentioned an excellent comic playwright who was alive during his visit to England. I mean Mr. Wycherley. For a long time, Wycherley was publicly known to enjoy the favors of King Charles II’s most celebrated mistress. He spent his life among people of the highest rank and knew their lives and follies perfectly. He portrayed them with the boldest strokes and the truest colors. He created a misanthrope, or hater of humanity, modeled on Molière’s. Wycherley’s strokes are all stronger and bolder than Molière’s, but they are less subtle. His play also pays less attention to the rules of propriety. The English playwright has corrected the only flaw in Molière’s comedy: its thin plot. Molière also arranges the plot so that the characters do not engage our sympathies enough. The English comedy moves us, and its plot is very cleverly constructed. But it is also too daring for French tastes. The story goes like this: A naval captain is very brave, open-hearted, and filled with contempt for all humanity. He has a sensible, sincere friend, yet he distrusts him. He also has a woman who loves him with the most passionate devotion. Far from returning her love, the captain will not even lower himself to look at her. Instead, he trusts completely in a false friend, the most worthless scoundrel alive. Meanwhile, he has given his heart to the most flirtatious and treacherous woman of her sex. He is gullible enough to believe she is a Penelope and his false friend a Cato. He boards his ship to fight the Dutch. He has left all his money, his jewels, and everything he owns with this virtuous woman. He also entrusts her to the care of his supposedly faithful friend. Nevertheless, the truly honorable man, whom he distrusts so inexplicably, joins him aboard the ship. The woman he would not even glance at disguises herself as a page and accompanies him throughout the voyage. He never once realizes that she is a woman rather than the boy she pretends to be. This, by the way, is not especially believable.

The captain having blown up his own ship in an engagement, returns to England abandoned and undone, accompanied by his page and his friend, without knowing the friendship of the one or the tender passion of the other. Immediately he goes to the jewel among women, who he expected had preserved her fidelity to him and the treasure he had left in her hands. He meets with her indeed, but married to the honest knave in whom he had reposed so much confidence, and finds she had acted as treacherously with regard to the casket he had entrusted her with. The captain can scarce think it possible that a woman of virtue and honour can act so vile a part; but to convince him still more of the reality of it, this very worthy lady falls in love with the little page, and will force him to her embraces. But as it is requisite justice should be done, and that in a dramatic piece virtue ought to be rewarded and vice punished, it is at last found that the captain takes his page’s place, and lies with his faithless mistress, cuckolds his treacherous friend, thrusts his sword through his body, recovers his casket, and marries his page. You will observe that this play is also larded with a petulant, litigious old woman (a relation of the captain), who is the most comical character that was ever brought upon the stage.

After blowing up his own ship in battle, the captain returns to England, abandoned and ruined. His page and his friend accompany him. He knows nothing of his friend’s friendship or his page’s tender love. He immediately visits that jewel among women, whom he expects to have remained faithful. He also expects her to have kept safe the treasure he left with her. He does find her, but she has married the honest scoundrel he trusted so much. He discovers she has been equally treacherous with the casket he entrusted to her. The captain can hardly believe that a woman of virtue and honor could behave so shamefully. But to make her treachery still clearer, this very worthy lady falls in love with the young page. She insists on forcing the page into her arms. But justice must be done, and in a play virtue ought to be rewarded and vice punished. So, in the end, the captain takes his page’s place and sleeps with his unfaithful mistress. He thus makes a cuckold of his treacherous friend, then runs his sword through him. He recovers his casket and marries his page. You will notice that the play is also peppered with a bad-tempered old woman, forever bringing lawsuits. She is a relative of the captain and the funniest character ever put on the stage.

Wycherley has also copied from Molière another play, of as singular and bold a cast, which is a kind of Ecole des Femmes, or, School for Married Women.

Wycherley has also copied another play from Molière, just as unusual and bold. The play is a kind of Ecole des Femmes, or School for Married Women.

The principal character in this comedy is one Homer, a sly fortune hunter, and the terror of all the City husbands. This fellow, in order to play a surer game, causes a report to be spread, that in his last illness, the surgeons had found it necessary to have him made a eunuch. Upon his appearing in this noble character, all the husbands in town flock to him with their wives, and now poor Homer is only puzzled about his choice. However, he gives the preference particularly to a little female peasant, a very harmless, innocent creature, who enjoys a fine flush of health, and cuckolds her husband with a simplicity that has infinitely more merit than the witty malice of the most experienced ladies. This play cannot indeed be called the school of good morals, but it is certainly the school of wit and true humour.

The main character in this comedy is a man named Homer, a sly fortune hunter who terrifies all the City husbands. To improve his chances, he spreads a rumor about his last illness. According to the rumor, his surgeons had found it necessary to castrate him. When he appears in this noble role, all the husbands in town flock to him with their wives. Now poor Homer’s only problem is choosing among them. But he especially favors a young peasant woman, a harmless, innocent creature glowing with good health. She cheats on her husband with a simplicity infinitely more appealing than the clever malice of the most experienced ladies. This play certainly cannot be called a school of good morals, but it certainly teaches wit and true humor.

Sir John Vanbrugh has written several comedies, which are more humorous than those of Mr. Wycherley, but not so ingenious. Sir John was a man of pleasure, and likewise a poet and an architect. The general opinion is, that he is as sprightly in his writings as he is heavy in his buildings. It is he who raised the famous Castle of Blenheim, a ponderous and lasting monument of our unfortunate Battle of Hochstet. Were the apartments but as spacious as the walls are thick, this castle would be commodious enough. Some wag, in an epitaph he made on Sir John Vanbrugh, has these lines:—

Sir John Vanbrugh has written several comedies, more humorous than Mr. Wycherley’s but less inventive. Sir John was a man devoted to pleasure, as well as a poet and an architect. People generally think his writing is as lively as his buildings are heavy. He built the famous Castle of Blenheim, a massive, lasting monument to our unfortunate Battle of Hochstet. If the rooms were only as spacious as the walls are thick, the castle would be roomy enough. Some wit wrote an epitaph for Sir John Vanbrugh that includes these lines:

Sir John having taken a tour into France before the glorious war that broke out in 1701, was thrown into the Bastille, and detained there for some time, without being ever able to discover the motive which had prompted our ministry to indulge him with this mark of their distinction. He wrote a comedy during his confinement; and a circumstance which appears to me very extraordinary is, that we don’t meet with so much as a single satirical stroke against the country in which he had been so injuriously treated.

Sir John toured France before the glorious war that broke out in 1701. He was thrown into the Bastille and held there for some time. He never discovered why our ministers had chosen to honor him with this mark of distinction. He wrote a comedy during his imprisonment. And what seems very extraordinary to me is that it contains not a single satirical jab at France. Yet France was the country where he had been treated so unjustly.

The late Mr. Congreve raised the glory of comedy to a greater height than any English writer before or since his time. He wrote only a few plays, but they are all excellent in their kind. The laws of the drama are strictly observed in them; they abound with characters all which are shadowed with the utmost delicacy, and we don’t meet with so much as one low or coarse jest. The language is everywhere that of men of honour, but their actions are those of knaves—a proof that he was perfectly well acquainted with human nature, and frequented what we call polite company. He was infirm and come to the verge of life when I knew him. Mr. Congreve had one defect, which was his entertaining too mean an idea of his first profession (that of a writer), though it was to this he owed his fame and fortune. He spoke of his works as of trifles that were beneath him; and hinted to me, in our first conversation, that I should visit him upon no other footing than that of a gentleman who led a life of plainness and simplicity. I answered, that had he been so unfortunate as to be a mere gentleman, I should never have come to see him; and I was very much disgusted at so unseasonable a piece of vanity.

The late Mr. Congreve brought comedy to greater heights than any English writer before or since his time. He wrote only a few plays, but all are excellent examples of their kind. They strictly follow the rules of drama and are full of characters drawn with the greatest subtlety. There is not a single crude or coarse joke. His characters always speak like men of honour, but they act like scoundrels. This contrast proves that he understood human nature perfectly and moved in what we call polite society. He was frail and near the end of his life when I knew him. Mr. Congreve had one fault: he thought too little of his original profession as a writer. Yet he owed his fame and fortune to writing. He spoke of his works as trifles beneath his dignity. In our first conversation, he hinted that I should visit him only as a gentleman living a plain, simple life. I replied that if he had been unfortunate enough to be merely a gentleman, I would never have visited him. I was deeply disgusted by such a misplaced display of vanity.

Mr. Congreve’s comedies are the most witty and regular, those of Sir John Vanbrugh most gay and humorous, and those of Mr. Wycherley have the greatest force and spirit. It may be proper to observe that these fine geniuses never spoke disadvantageously of Molière; and that none but the contemptible writers among the English have endeavoured to lessen the character of that great comic poet. Such Italian musicians as despise Lully are themselves persons of no character or ability; but a Buononcini esteems that great artist, and does justice to his merit.

Mr. Congreve’s comedies are the wittiest and best structured. Sir John Vanbrugh’s are the liveliest and funniest. Mr. Wycherley’s have the greatest force and spirit. It may be worth noting that these brilliant writers never spoke badly of Molière. Only contemptible English writers have tried to damage the reputation of that great comic playwright. Italian musicians who despise Lully have no standing or ability themselves. But a musician like Buononcini respects that great artist and gives his talent its due.

The English have some other good comic writers living, such as Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Cibber, who is an excellent player, and also Poet Laureate—a title which, how ridiculous soever it may be thought, is yet worth a thousand crowns a year (besides some considerable privileges) to the person who enjoys it. Our illustrious Corneille had not so much.

The English have some other good comedy writers still living, such as Sir Richard Steele and Mr. Cibber. Mr. Cibber is an excellent actor and also Poet Laureate. However ridiculous the title may seem, the holder still receives a thousand crowns a year, besides some considerable privileges. Our illustrious Corneille did not receive as much.

To conclude. Don’t desire me to descend to particulars with regard to these English comedies, which I am so fond of applauding; nor to give you a single smart saying or humorous stroke from Wycherley or Congreve. We don’t laugh in rending a translation. If you have a mind to understand the English comedy, the only way to do this will be for you to go to England, to spend three years in London, to make yourself master of the English tongue, and to frequent the playhouse every night. I receive but little pleasure from the perusal of Aristophanes and Plautus, and for this reason, because I am neither a Greek nor a Roman. The delicacy of the humour, the allusion, the à propos—all these are lost to a foreigner.

To conclude, don’t ask me for details about these English comedies I so love to praise. Nor should you ask for a single witty remark or comic touch from Wycherley or Congreve. We don’t laugh when reading a translation. If you want to understand English comedy, there is only one way: go to England. Spend three years in London, master the English language, and go to the theater every night. I get little pleasure from reading Aristophanes and Plautus because I am neither Greek nor Roman. The subtle humor, the allusions, the perfectly timed remarks, all these are lost on a foreigner.

But it is different with respect to tragedy, this treating only of exalted passions and heroical follies, which the antiquated errors of fable or history have made sacred. Œdipus, Electra, and such-like characters, may with as much propriety be treated of by the Spaniards, the English, or us, as by the Greeks. But true comedy is the speaking picture of the follies and ridiculous foibles of a nation; so that he only is able to judge of the painting who is perfectly acquainted with the people it represents.

But tragedy is different. Tragedy deals only with lofty passions and heroic follies that age-old errors in myth or history have made sacred. The Spanish, the English, or we may portray Œdipus, Electra, and similar characters just as appropriately as the Greeks. But true comedy is a living portrait of a nation’s follies and ridiculous weaknesses. So only someone who knows the people portrayed thoroughly can judge the portrait.