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The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of 18) by John Dryden

J >> John Dryden >> The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of 18)



THE

WORKS

OF

JOHN DRYDEN,

NOW FIRST COLLECTED

_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES._



ILLUSTRATED

WITH NOTES,

HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

AND

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

BY

WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.



VOL. IV.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,

BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.


1808.


* * * * *


CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME FOURTH.

Almanzor and Almahide, or the Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards, a
Tragedy, Part First
Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of York
Of Heroic Plays, an Essay
Part II
Defence of the Epilogue; or an Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of
the last Age


Marriage-a-la-Mode, a Comedy
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester


The Assignation, or Love in a Nunnery, a Comedy
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir Charles Sedley, Bart.


* * * * *


ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE:

OR, THE

CONQUEST OF GRANADA

BY THE

_SPANIARDS._

A TRAGEDY.


_--Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo;
Majus opus moveo._
VIRG. AENEID.




THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.


This play,--for the two parts only constitute an entire drama betwixt
them,--seems to have been a favourite with Dryden, as well as with the
public. In the Essay upon Heroic Plays, as well as in the dedication,
the character of Almanzor is dwelt upon with that degree of
complacency which an author experiences in analyzing a successful
effort of his genius. Unquestionably the gross improbability of a
hero, by his single arm, turning the tide of battle as he lists, did
not appear so shocking in the age of Dryden, as in ours. There is no
doubt, that, while personal strength and prowess were of more
consequence than military skill and conduct, the feats of a single man
were sometimes sufficient to determine the fate of an engagement, more
especially when exerted by a knight, sheathed in complete mail,
against the heartless and half-armed mass, which constituted the
feudal infantry. Those, who have perused Barbour's History of Robert
Bruce, Geoffrey de Vinsauf's account of the wars of Richard Coeur de
Lion, or even the battles detailed by Froissart and Joinville, are
familiar with instances of breaches defended, and battles decided, by
the prowess of a single arm. The leader of a feudal army was expected
by his followers not only to point out the path to victory but to lead
the way in person. It is true, that the military art had been changed
in this particular long before the days of Dryden. Complete armour was
generally laid aside; fire-arms had superseded the use of the lance
and battle-axe; and, above all, the universal institution of standing
armies had given discipline and military skill their natural and
decisive superiority over untaught strength, and enthusiastic valour.
But the memory of what had been, was still familiar to the popular
mind, and preserved not only by numerous legends and traditions, but
also by the cast of the fashionable works of fiction. It is, indeed,
curious to remark, how many minute remnants of a system of ancient
manners can be traced long after it has become totally obsolete. Even
down to the eighteenth century, the portrait of every soldier of rank
was attired in complete armour, though, perhaps, he never saw a suit
of mail excepting in the Tower of London; and on the same principle of
prescriptive custom, Addison was the first poet who ventured to
celebrate a victorious general for skill and conduct, instead of such
feats as are appropriated to Guy of Warwick, or Bevis of Hampton. The
fashion of attributing mighty effects to individual valour being thus
prevalent, even in circumstances when every one knew the supposition
to be entirely gratuitous, the same principle, with much greater
propriety, continued to be applied in works of fiction, where the
scene was usually carried back to times in which the personal strength
of a champion really had some efficacy. It must be owned, however,
that the authors of the French romances carried the influence of
individual strength and courage beyond all bounds of modesty and
reason. In the Grand Cyrus, Artamenes, upon a moderate computation,
exterminates with his own hand, in the course of the work, at least a
hundred thousand fighting men. These monstrous fictions, however,
constituted the amusement of the young and the gay[1], in the age of
Charles II., and from one of these very books Dryden admits his having
drawn, at least in part, the character of his Moorish warrior. The
public was, therefore, every way familiarised with such chivalrous
exploits as those of Almanzor; and if they did not altogether command
the belief, at least they did not revolt the imagination, of an
audience: And this must certainly be admitted as a fair apology for
the extravagance of his heroic achievements.

But, it is not only the actual effects of Almanzor's valour, which
appear to us unnatural, but also the extraordinary principles and
motives by which those exertions are guided. Here also, we must look
back to the Gothic romances, and to those of Scudery and Calprenede.
In fact, the extravagance of sentiment is no less necessary than the
extravagance of achievement to constitute a true knight errant; and
such is Almanzor. Honour and love were the sole deities worshipped by
this extraordinary race, who, though their memory and manners are
preserved chiefly in works of fiction, did once exist in real life,
and actually conducted armies, and governed kingdoms, upon principles
as strained and hyperbolical as those of the Moorish champion. If
Almanzor, at the command of his mistress, aids his hated rival to the
destruction of his own hopes, he only discharges the duty of a good
knight, who was bound to sacrifice himself, and all his hopes and
wishes, at the slightest command of her, to whom he had vowed his
service, and who, in the language of chivalry, was to him as the soul
is to the body. The reader may recollect the memorable invasion of
England by James IV. of Scotland, in which he hazarded and actually
lost his own life, and the flower of his nobility, because the queen
of France, who called him her knight, had commanded him to march three
miles on English ground for her sake.

Less can be said to justify the extravagant language in which Almanzor
threatens his enemies, and vaunts his own importance. This is not
common in the heroes of romance, who are usually as remarkable for
their modesty of language as for their prowess; and still more seldom
does, in real life, a vain-glorious boaster vindicate by his actions
the threats of his tongue. It is true, that men of a fervent and
glowing character are apt to strain their speech beyond the modesty of
ordinary conversation, and display, in their language, the fire which
glows in their bosoms; but the subject of their effusions is usually
connected not with their own personal qualities, or feats, but with
some extraneous object of their pursuit, or admiration. Thus, the
burst of Hotspur concerning the pursuit of honour paints his
enthusiastic character; but it would be hard to point out a passage
indicating that exuberant confidence in his own prowess, and contempt
of every one else, so liberally exhibited by Almanzor. Instances of
this defect are but too thickly sown through the piece; for example
the following rant.

If from thy hands alone my death can be,
I am immortal, and a God to thee.
If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low,
That I must stoop ere I can give the blow.
But mine is fixed so far above thy crown,
That all thy men,
Piled on thy back, can never pull it down.
But, at my ease, thy destiny I send,
By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend.
Like heaven, I need but only to stand still;
And, not concurring to thy life, I kill.
Thou canst no title to my duty bring;
I am not thy subject, and my soul's thy king.
Farewell! When I am gone,
There's not a star of thine dare stay with thee:
I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me;
And whirl fate with me wheresoe'er I fly,
As winds drive storms before them in the sky.

This curious passage did not escape the malicious criticism of Settle,
who, besides noticing the extravagant egotism of the hero, questions,
with some probability, whether Abdalla would have chosen to scale
Almanzor's fate, at the risque of the personal consequences of having
all his men piled on his own back. In the same scene, Almanzor is so
unreasonable as to tell his rival,

--Thou shalt not dare
To be so impudent as to despair.

And again,

What are ten thousand subjects, such as they?
If I am scorned, I'll take myself away.

Dryden's apology for these extravagancies seems to be, that Almanzor
is in a passion. But, although talking nonsense is a common effect of
passion, it seems hardly one of those consequences adapted to shew
forth the character of a hero in theatrical representation.

It must be owned, however, that although the part of Almanzor contains
these and other bombastic passages, there are many also which convey
what the poet desired to represent--the aspirations of a mind so
heroic as almost to surmount the bonds of society and even the very
laws of the universe, leaving us often in doubt whether the vehemence
of the wish does not even disguise the impossibility of its
accomplishment.

Good heaven! thy book of fate before me lay,
But to tear out the journal of this day.
Or, if the order of the world below
Will not the gap of one whole day allow,
Give me that minute when she made her vow.
That minute, even the happy from their bliss might give,
And those, who live in grief, a shorter time would live.
So small a link, if broke, the eternal chain
Would, like divided waters, join again.
It wonnot be; the fugitive is gone,
Pressed by the crowd of following minutes on:
That precious moment's out of nature fled,
And in the heap of common rubbish laid,
Of things that once have been, and now decayed.

In the less inflated parts, the ideas are usually as just, as
ingenious and beautiful; for example.

No; there is a necessity in fate.
Why still the brave bold man is fortunate;
He keeps his object ever full in sight,
And that assurance holds him firm and right.
True, 'tis a narrow path that leads to bliss, }
But right before there is no precipice; }
Fear makes men look aside, and then their footing miss. }

The character of Almanzor is well known as the original of Drawcansir,
in "The Rehearsal," into whose mouth parodies of some of Dryden's most
extravagant flights have been put by the duke of Buckingham.
Shaftesbury also, whose family had smarted under Dryden's satire,
attempts to trace the applause bestowed on the "Conquest of Granada"
to what he calls "the correspondence and relation between our _Royal
Theatre_ and popular _Circus_, or _Bear-Garden_. For, in the former of
these assemblys, 'tis undeniable that, at least, the two upper
regions, or galleries, contain such spectators as indifferently
frequent each place of sport. So that 'tis no wonder we hear such
applause resounded on the victories of an _Almanzor_, when the same
parties had possibly no later than the day before bestowed their
applause as freely on the victorious _Butcher_, the hero of another
stage." _Miscellaneous Reflections. Miscell. 5._

The other personages of the drama sink into Lilliputians, beside
the gigantic Almanzor, although the under plot of the loves of
Ozmyn and Benzayda is beautiful in itself, and ingeniously managed.
The virtuous Almahide is a fit object for the adoration of
Almanzor; but her husband is a poor pageant of royalty. As
for Lyndaraxa, her repeated and unparalleled treachery can only be
justified by the extreme imbecility of her lovers.

The plot of the play is, in part, taken from history. During
the last years of its existence, Granada, the poor remnant of the
Moorish empire in Spain, was torn to pieces with intestine discord,
and assailed without by the sword of the Christians. The history
of the civil wars of Granada, affirmed to be translated into Spanish
from the Arabian, gives a romantic, but not altogether fabulous
account of their discord. But a romance in the French taste,
called Almahide, seems to have been the chief source from which
our author drew his plot.

In the conduct of the story there is much brilliancy of event. The
reader, or spectator, is never allowed to repose on the scene before
him; and although the changes of fortune are too rapid to be either
probable, or altogether pleasing, yet they arrest the attention by
their splendour and importance, and interest us in spite of our more
sober judgment. The introduction of the ghost of Almanzor's mother
seems to have been intended to shew how the hero could support even an
interview with an inhabitant of the other world. At least, the
professed purpose of her coming might have been safely trusted to the
virtue of Almahide, and her power over her lover. It afforded an
opportunity, however, to throw in some fine poetry, of which Dryden
has not failed to avail himself. Were it not a peculiar attribute of
the heroic drama, it might be mentioned as a defect, that during the
siege of the last possession of the Spanish Moors, by an enemy hated
for his religion, and for his success, the principle of patriotism is
hardly once alluded to through the whole piece. The fate, or the
wishes, of Almahide, Lyndaraxa, and Benzayda, are all that interest
the Moorish warriors around them, as if the Christian was not
thundering at their gates, to exterminate at once their nation and
religion. Indeed, so essentially necessary are the encouragements of
beauty to military achievement, that we find queen Isabella ordering
to the field of battle a _corps de reserve_ of her maids of honour to
animate the fighting warriors with their smiles, and counteract the
powerful charms of the Moorish damsels. Nor is it an inferior fault,
that, although the characters are called Moors, there is scarce any
expression, or allusion, which can fix the reader's attention upon
their locality, except an occasional interjection to Alha, or Mahomet.

If, however, the reader can abstract his mind from the qualities now
deemed essential to a play, and consider the Conquest of Granada as a
piece of romantic poetry, there are few compositions in the English
language, which convey a more lively and favourable display of the
magnificence of fable, of language, and of action, proper to that
style of composition. Amid the splendid ornaments of the structure we
lose sight of occasional disproportion and incongruity; and, at an
early age particularly, there are few poems which make a more deep
impression upon the imagination, than the Conquest of Granada.

The two parts of this drama were brought out in the same season,
probably in winter, 1669, or spring, 1670. They were received with
such applause, that Langbaine conceives their success to have been the
occasion of Dryden's undervaluing his predecessors in dramatic
writing. The Conquest of Granada was not printed till 1672.


Footnote:
1. There is something ludicrous in the idea of a beauty, or a
gallant, of that gay and licentious court poring over a work of
five or six folio volumes by way of amusement; but such was the
taste of the age, that Fynes Morison, in his precepts to
travellers, can "think no book better for his pupils' discourse
than Amadis of Gaule; for the knights errant and the ladies of
court do therein exchange courtly speeches."




TO

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

THE

DUKE[1].


SIR,

Heroic poesy has always been sacred to princes, and to heroes. Thus
Virgil inscribed his AEneids to Augustus Caesar; and of latter ages,
Tasso and Ariosto dedicated their poems to the house of Este. It is
indeed but justice, that the most excellent and most profitable kind
of writing should be addressed by poets to such persons, whose
characters have, for the most part, been the guides and patterns of
their imitation; and poets, while they imitate, instruct. The feigned
hero inflames the true; and the dead virtue animates the living.
Since, therefore, the world is governed by precept and example, and
both these can only have influence from those persons who are above
us; that kind of poesy, which excites to virtue the greatest men, is
of the greatest use to human kind.

It is from this consideration, that I have presumed to dedicate to
your royal highness these faint representations of your own worth and
valour in heroick poetry: Or, to speak more properly, not to dedicate,
but to restore to you those ideas, which in the more perfect part of
my characters I have taken from you. Heroes may lawfully be delighted
with their own praises, both as they are farther incitements to their
virtue, and as they are the highest returns which mankind can make
them for it.

And certainly, if ever nation were obliged, either by the conduct, the
personal[2] valour, or the good fortune of a leader, the English are
acknowledging, in all of them, to your royal highness. Your whole life
has been a continued series of heroick actions; which you began so
early, that you were no sooner named in the world, but it was with
praise and admiration. Even the first blossoms of your youth paid us
all that could be expected from a ripening manhood. While you
practised but the rudiments of war, you out-went all other captains;
and have since found none to surpass, but yourself alone. The opening
of your glory was like that of light: You shone to us from afar; and
disclosed your first beams on distant nations: Yet so, that the lustre
of them was spread abroad, and reflected brightly on your native
country. You were then an honour to it, when it was a reproach to
itself. When the fortunate usurper sent his arms to Flanders, many of
the adverse party were vanquished by your fame, ere they tried your
valour.[3] The report of it drew over to your ensigns whole troops and
companies of converted rebels, and made them forsake successful
wickedness, to follow an oppressed and exiled virtue. Your reputation
waged war with the enemies of your royal family, even within their
trenches; and the more obstinate, or more guilty of them, were forced
to be spies over those whom they commanded, lest the name of York
should disband that army, in whose fate it was to defeat the
Spaniards, and force Dunkirk to surrender. Yet, those victorious
forces of the rebels were not able to sustain your arms. Where you
charged in person you were a conqueror. It is true, they afterwards
recovered courage; and wrested that victory from others which they had
lost to you; and it was a greater action for them to rally, than it
was to overcome. Thus, by the presence of your royal highness, the
English on both sides remained victorious and that army, which was
broken by your valour, became a terror to those for whom they
conquered. Then it was, that at the cost of other nations you informed
and cultivated that valour, which was to defend your native country,
and to vindicate its honour from the insolence of our encroaching
neighbours. When the Hollanders, not contented to withdraw themselves
from the obedience which they owed their lawful sovereign, affronted
those by whose charity they were first protected; and, being swelled
up to a pre-eminence of trade, by a supine negligence on our side, and
a sordid parsimony on their own, dared to dispute the sovereignty of
the seas, the eyes of three nations were then cast upon you; and by
the joint suffrage of king and people, you were chosen to revenge
their common injuries; to which, though you had an undoubted title by
your birth, you had a greater by your courage. Neither did the success
deceive our hopes and expectations: The most glorious victory which
was gained by our navy in that war, was in the first engagement;
wherein, even by the confession of our enemies, who ever palliate
their own losses, and diminish our advantages, your absolute triumph
was acknowledged: You conquered at the Hague, as entirely as at
London; and the return of a shattered fleet, without an admiral, left
not the most impudent among them the least pretence for a false
bonfire, or a dissembled day of public thanksgiving. All our
achievements against them afterwards, though we sometimes conquered,
and were never overcome, were but a copy of that victory, and they
still fell short of their original: somewhat of fortune was ever
wanting, to fill up the title of so absolute a defeat; or perhaps the
guardian angel of our nation was not enough concerned when you were
absent, and would not employ his utmost vigour for a less important
stake, than the life and honour of a royal admiral.

And if, since that memorable day,[4] you have had leisure to enjoy in
peace the fruits of so glorious a reputation; it was occasion only has
been wanting to your courage, for that can never be wanting to
occasion. The same ardour still incites you to heroick actions, and
the same concernment for all the interests of your king and brother
continues to give you restless nights, and a generous emulation for
your own glory. You are still meditating on new labours for yourself,
and new triumphs for the nation; and when our former enemies again
provoke us, you will again solicit fate to provide you another navy to
overcome, and another admiral to be slain. You will then lead forth a
nation eager to revenge their past injuries; and, like the Romans,
inexorable to peace, till they have fully vanquished. Let our enemies
make their boast of a surprise,[5] as the Samnities did of a
successful stratagem; but the _Furcae Caudinae_ will never be forgiven
till they are revenged. I have always observed in your royal highness
an extreme concernment for the honour of your country; it is a passion
common to you with a brother, the most excellent of kings; and in your
two persons are eminent the characters which Homer has given us of
heroick virtue; the commanding part in Agamemnon, and the executive in
Achilles. And I doubt not from both your actions, but to have abundant
matter to fill the annals of a glorious reign, and to perform the part
of a just historian to my royal master, without intermixing with it
any thing of the poet.

In the mean time, while your royal highness is preparing fresh
employments for our pens, I have been examining my own forces, and
making trial of myself, how I shall be able to transmit you to
posterity. I have formed a hero, I confess, not absolutely perfect,
but of an excessive and over-boiling courage; but Homer and Tasso are
my precedents. Both the Greek and the Italian poet had well
considered, that a tame hero, who never transgresses the bounds of
moral virtue, would shine but dimly in an epic poem; the strictness of
those rules might well give precepts to the reader, but would
administer little of occasion to the writer. But a character of an
eccentrick virtue is the more exact image of human life, because he is
not wholly exempted from its frailties; such a person is Almanzor,
whom I present, with all humility, to the patronage of your royal
highness. I designed in him a roughness of character, impatient of
injuries, and a confidence of himself, almost approaching to an
arrogance. But these errors are incident only to great spirits; they
are moles and dimples, which hinder not a face from being beautiful,
though that beauty be not regular; they are of the number of those
amiable imperfections which we see in mistresses, and which we pass
over without a strict examination, when they are accompanied with
greater graces. And such in Almanzor are a frank and noble openness of
nature, an easiness to forgive his conquered enemies, and to protect
them in distress; and, above all, an inviolable faith in his
affection.

This, sir, I have briefly shadowed to your royal highness, that you
may not be ashamed of that hero, whose protection you undertake.
Neither would I dedicate him to so illustrious a name, if I were
conscious to myself that he did or said any thing which was wholly
unworthy of it. However, since it is not just that your royal highness
should defend or own what possibly may be my error, I bring before you
this accused Almanzor in the nature of a suspected criminal. By the
suffrage of the most and best he already is acquitted; and by the
sentence of some, condemned. But as I have no reason to stand to the
award of my enemies, so neither dare I trust the partiality of my
friends: I make my last appeal to your royal highness, as to a
sovereign tribunal. Heroes should only be judged by heroes; because
they only are capable of measuring great and heroick actions by the
rule and standard of their own. If Almanzor has failed in any point of
honour, I must therein acknowledge that he deviates from your royal
highness, who are the pattern of it. But if at any time he fulfils the
parts of personal valour, and of conduct, of a soldier, and of a
general; or, if I could yet give him a character more advantageous
than what he has, of the most unshaken friend, the greatest of
subjects, and the best of masters, I should then draw to all the world
a true resemblance of your worth and virtues; at least, as far as they
are capable of being copied by the mean abilities of,

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