Omnes. This is the true Amphitryon.
Jup. May your lordship please——
Grip. No, sirrah, it does not please me: hold your tongue, I charge you, for the case is manifest.
Jup. By your favour then, this shall speak for me. [Bares his arm, and shows it.
Tran. 'Tis just in the same muscle.
Polid. Of the same length and breadth; and the scar of the same blueish colour.
Grip. [To Jup.] Did not I charge you not to speak? 'twas plain enough before; and now you have puzzled it again.
Amph. Good gods, how can this be!
Grip. For certain there was but one Pterelas; and he must have been in the plot against himself too; for he was killed first by one of them, and then rose again out of respect to the other Amphitryon, to be killed twice over.
Enter Alcmena, Phædra, and Bromia.
[Jupiter re-enters the house; with him Amphitryon Alcmena, Polidas, Tranio, and Guards.
Brom. But, an't please your lordship, is my fellow Phædra to be exalted into the heavens, and made a star?
Phæd. When that comes to pass, if you look up a-nights, I shall remember old kindness, and vouch-safe to twinkle on you.
Enter Sosia, peeping about him; and, seeing Mercury, is starting back.
Sos. Here he is again; and there's no passing by him into the house, unless I were a sprite, to glide in through the key-hole. I am to be a vagabond, I find.
Merc. Sosia, come back.
Sos. No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog has always the wit to avoid his master.
Merc. I permit thee to be Sosia again.
Sos. 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;—What have I said now! I mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.
Merc. But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself to be god Mercury.
Sos. You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.
Merc. You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of a divinity.
Sos. I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?
Merc. Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.
Sos. Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be contented with it.
Brom. Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that there's no god lurking under your appearance.
Sos. Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head, and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.
Merc. In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.
Phæd. You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god; for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.
Merc. But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.
Phæd. But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so; for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign—Come on, Gripus, that I may have him under black and white.
[Here Gripus gets ready pen, ink, and paper.
Merc. With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white hereafter.
Phæd. [To Gripus.] Begin, begin—Heads of articles to be made, &c. betwixt Mercury, god of thieves——
Merc. And Phædra, queen of gypsies.——Imprimis, I promise to buy and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land, in any part of Bœotia, to her own liking.
Phæd. Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be fobbed off with a poetical estate.
Merc. Memorandum, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no other lover.
Phæd. Memorandum, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the constancy shall not exceed the settlement.
Merc. Item, that she shall keep no male servants in her house: Item, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: Item, that she shall never pray to any of the gods.
Phæd. What, would you have me an atheist?
Merc. No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.
Brom. Here's no provision made for children yet.
Phæd. Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.
Merc. That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.
Phæd. That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger children—But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss; for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.
Merc. Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr for it.
Phæd. O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.
Sos. I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it: now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she intends to sue him?
Phæd. The fool has hit upon't:—Gods, and great men, are never to be sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me, you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her fortune by a wit.
It thunders; and the company within doors, Amphitryon, Alcmena, Polidas, and Tranio, all come running out, and join with the rest, who were on the stage before.
Merc. Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to take it. [Aside.
Sos. Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to gild a bitter pill. [Aside.
Omnes. We all congratulate Amphitryon.
Merc. Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better. Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.
Sos. I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously relieve his aged parents.—Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as handsome and as young as Phædra!—I say no more, but somebody might have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man neither.
The Seventeenth century was still familiar with
Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when he touches upon the "shores of old romance." The sublime glow of his imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors, would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed, was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which, although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force, which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it, and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur, as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of Blackmore.
It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected, are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama, are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects, gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy. The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented, never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea, so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which makes also the subject of an Italian opera.
From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur." We may therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution, while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious, and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale, as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage of which the poet had already complained:
Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the following account in his "History of Music:"
"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could, with truth, be said of a composer, that he had devancé son siecle, Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in "King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle, all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their imagination, would reject." vol. iii. p. 492.
The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur."
This opera was acted and printed in 1691.
MY LORD,
This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do for my gracious master King Charles II.; and, though he lived not to see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign: but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out, by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but those are all of them invidious topics,—they are too green in our remembrance, and he, who touches on them, Incedit per ignes suppositos cineri doleso. But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth diminished,—are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play, (whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory of King Charles II., they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true, his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils, and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs, who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former. But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few, and those selected of that sort who were amici omnium horarum, able to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age, when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could be trusted,—and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve him,—he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.
If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours, it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of acknowledgement more than favour.
But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay, like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to the trial[14].
In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times, nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant, ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me, because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion, ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits, and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets, who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore, I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain as King Arthur.
All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation, that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication, is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition, amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,
My Lord,
Your Lordship's most obedient servant,
John Dryden.
SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.