Kitabı oku: «Prefaces to Terence's Comedies and Plautus's Comedies (1694)», sayfa 4

As for the Division of the Acts and Scenes, all the common Terences are most notoriously false: The Acts are often wrong, but the Scenes oftener; and these have bred some obscurity in our Author’s Rules. Madam Dacier has been more exact in this than all others before her; yet, still she’s once mistaken in her Acts, and very often in her Scenes. We have follow’d her as to her Acts, except one in the Phormio; but we have not divided the Scenes at all by Figures, because they are of no such use; only the Reader may take notice that whenever any particular Actor enters upon the Stage, or goes off, that makes a different Scene; for the Ancients never had any other that we know of. The Prologues, by the Advice of several Judicious Persons, are left out, as being the Meanest, the fullest of Quibbles, and the least Intelligible of any thing he wrote: They relating chiefly to private Squabbles between our Author and the Poets of his time: The Particulars of which ’tis impossible for us to understand now, and we need not be much concern’d that we don’t. Besides, in the main, they are so much beneath the Author, that ’tis much question’d whether they are his or no, especially the Third. The Arguments are certainly none of his, and so far from being useful, that they only serve to forestall the Plots, and take away the Pleasure of surprizing.

Lastly, That there might be nothing wanting that might make this Translation as intire and clear as possible; we’ve all the way intermix’d Notes of Explanation, such as, Enter, Exit, Asides, and all other things of Action, necessary to be known, and constantly practis’d among our Modern Dramatick Poets. These serve extreamly to the clearing of the Plots which wou’d be obscure without ’em; especially since their Theatres were so different from ours. And as this sort of Notes are the shortest, that are generally us’d, so they are most compleat, useful and clear, by the help of which any Child almost may apprehend every thing. Perhaps we might have omitted some of ’em, but we have better offend this way than the other.

Thus have we said as much as we thought requisite in Vindication of our Master’s Honour, and of our own Undertaking. And if we had said ten times as much; and ne’re so much to the purpose, People will still think, and talk what they please, and we can’t help it.

PREFACE

THis Nations Excellencies in Dramatick Poetry have been so extraordinary, and our Performance both in Tragedy and Comedy have discover’d such strange Genius’s, that we have some reason to believe, that we have not only surpass’d our Neighbours the Moderns, but likewise have excell’d our Masters the Ancients. But the want of Knowledge of the Ancients has been one great Reason for our setting our selves so very much above ’em; for tho’ we have many Beauties which they wanted, yet it must be own’d, that they have more which we have not, except that it may be some very few of our Pieces. But then their Excellencies are far less known to us than ours; for the Common People are unacquainted with their Languages, and the more Learned sort, for want of due Observance and Penetration, have been ignorant enough of their essential Beauties; they, for the most part, contenting themselves with considering the superficial ones, such as the Stile, Language, Expression, and the like, without taking much notice of the Contrivance and Management, of the Plots, Characters, &c.

But a considerable Discovery of these Excellencies has been made by means of a late Version of Terence, especially by the help of the Preface and Remarks: And this has made me hope, that two or three Plays of Plautus’s cou’d not be very unacceptable after them; and since the principal Fault of the Remarks in that Version was their being too short, I have made these somewhat longer and clearer, hoping they will prove the principal means of recommending this Book to the World, even tho’ the Translation had been brought to the utmost Perfection it was capable of: a Thing which I dare never pretend to. I made Choice of the same three which Madam Dacier had done before me; those being, in many respects, fitter for my purpose. But before I come to Particulars in those Things, I shall give some Character and Account of my Author.

Plautus, if consider’d as a Dramatick Poet, may justly enough be stil’d the Prince of the Latin Comedians, for tho’ most of ’em are lost, and consequently little capable of being judg’d of, yet, from all Circumstances, we have good reason to presume that they never came up to Plautus; so that there is no one to stand in competition with him but Terence: But if Comedy consists more in Action than Discourse, then Terence himself must be oblig’d to give place to our Author; and as Terence ought to be esteem’d as a Man who spoke admirably, Plautus is to be admir’d as a Comick-Poet. The principal Differences of these two Poets have been touch’d upon in the Preface to the English Terence; and from thence it will appear, that Plautus had the vaster Genius, and Terence the more exquisite Judgment; and, considering what Persons they copied, as the later was call’d the Half Menander, so the former may be stil’d the Half Aristophanes.

Terence’s Stile was generally more refin’d and pure, and withal more elaborate than this Poet’s; yet undoubtedly, Plautus was a most absolute Master of his Tongue, and in many Places there appear such a Sharpness and Liveliness of Expression, nay and such a Neatness and Politeness too, that is scarce to be found in Terence; and this, perhaps, may have occasion’d Varro to say, That if the Muses were to speak Latin, they wou’d certainly make use of his very Stile; and Tanaquill Faber to call Plautus, The very Fountain of pure Latin. As to Wit and Raillery, Terence might by no means be compared to him; then he is not always so happy, but often degenerates to a Meanness that Terence wou’d never have been guilty of; and tho’ his Jests and Repartees were sometimes admirable, and often far above Terence’s, yet they were many times as much below him, and by their Trifling and Quibbling, appear to have been calculated for the Mob. This, probably, made Rapin observe, That he says the best Things in the World, and yet very often he says the most wretched. A little before he says, Plautus is ingenious in his Designs, happy in his Imaginations, fruitful in his Invention; yet, that there are some insipid Jests that escape from him in the Taste of Horace; and his good Sayings that make the People laugh, make sometimes the honester sort to pity him. The most remarkable Thing in his Stile, is the natural and unaffected Easiness of it, I mean in opposition to Stiffness, which with the true Elegance and Propriety of the Latin Tongue in Common Discourse, seems almost its distinguishing Character, and sets him above any other Roman Author in that respect. ’Tis true, Terence has all these Excellencies, and perhaps is more exact in Propriety of Terms, and in his Choice of Words, yet his extream Closeness and great Elaborateness, I presume, has made it somewhat less Free and Familiar, or at least it wou’d be so if any other Man of less Judgment had managed it. So that what I mean is, that Plautus’s Stile ought rather to be imitated for Common Discourse than Terence’s. Plautus had the Misfortune of living in a worser Age than Terence, therefore there must be a larger Allowance for his Obsolete Words, his Puns, and Quibbles, as well as those Words that were peculiar to the Theatre and his Subjects, which, if once transplanted, wou’d never thrive elsewhere.

Next, may be consider’d our Authors Characters; and in that point indeed, Terence triumphs without a Rival, as was observ’d in the Preface to that Author; and for a just and close Observance of Nature, perhaps no Man living ever excell’d him. It ought to be observ’d, that Plautus was somewhat poor, and made it his principal Aim to please and tickle the Common People; and since they were almost always delighted with something new, strange, and unusual, the better to humour them, he was not only frequently extravagant in his Expressions, but likewise in his Characters too, and drew Men often more Vicious, more Covetous, more Foolish, &c. than generally they were; and this to set the People a gazing and wondering. With these sort of Characters many of our modern Comedies abound, which makes ’em too much degenerate into Farce, which seldom fail of pleasing the Mob. But our Author had not many of these; for a great part of ’em were very true and natural, and such as may stand the Test of the severest Judges. His two most remarkable Characters, are his Miser, and his Bragadocio; and that the Reader may the more clearly understand the nature of these Characters, their Resemblance to some of ours, and their Unlikeness to those of Terence, I shall give a Translation of some part of ’em. First then, take the First Act of his Third Comedy call’d Aulularia, which begins with the Old Covetous Fellow and his Maid.

Euclio and Staphila

Euc. Out-a-doors, I say: Come out. I’ll fetch ye out with a Horse-pox, for a damnable, prying, nine-ey’d Witch.

Sta. Why do you misuse a poor Rogue at this rate?

Euc. To make ye a poor Rogue as long as you live, like a Jade as you are.

Sta. But why, Sir, am I thrust out-a-doors now?

Euc. Must I give you an account, you hempen Bitch? – Get you from the Door: – that way: – See how the Jade moves. – Observe what you’ll meet with. If I take a good Cudgel or a Whip, ’sbud, I shall soon put you out o’ your Snails pace.

Sta. softly:] Wou’d I were hang’d out o’ the way, rather than be bound to serve such an old Rogue.

Euc. How the Jipsey mutters to her self! – Faith, I shall spoil those damn’d eyes, then look what I’m doing if you can. – Huzzy, go further off: – Further still: – Further still: – Still, I say. – So! stand there. – Now, you Baggage, stir one step, move a hairs breadth, or look back i’ the least till I speak, and by Cocks-nowns, I’ll hang y’ up in an instant. – [To himself, going off.] I ne’re met with a more subtle old Hag than this i’ my days: I’m cursedly afraid this Witch shou’d trap me in my discourse, and discover the place where I’ve hid my Gold: Troth, I believe the consuming Jade has Eyes in her Breech. – Now for my Gold, that has cost me such a woful deal of trouble, I’ll go see whether that be safe as I hid it. Exit Euclio.

Staphila alone

As I live, I can’t devise or imagine what Evil Genius or Madness has possess’d my Master; he uses me so inhumanely; and kicks me out a doors ten times a day. Troth, it puzzles me strangely to find out the meaning of his crazy Whims: He watches whole Nights together; and sits all day long within doors, like a lame Cobler upon his Stall. – Well, considering these Plagues, and the difficulty of concealing my young Mistresses Labour, now at hand, I find no way but making a short cut, and hanging my self.

Re-enter Euclio

Euc. Now I’ve found all well within doors, my mind’s a little at ease. – Now come in, and keep House.

Sta. What, for fear it shou’d be stolen away? There’s no Plunder for Thieves; there’s nothing but Emptiness and Cobwebs.

Euc. I’ll warrant ye, I must keep a House like an Emperor for your sake, you old Sorceress? Huzzy, I’ll have every Cobweb taken care of, and preserv’d.

I’m very poor, I confess; but I patiently bear what the Gods lay upon me. – Get ye in, and make fast the door; I’ll be back presently. Take a special care you don’t let e’re a Soul come within the doors; and that they mightn’t pretend an Excuse to borrow Fire, I’ll ha’ ye put it all out: If there be any now, out with’t in an instant. If they want Water, tell ’em the Pump is dry; if they wou’d borrow a Knife, an Axe, a Mortar, or a Pestil, as Neighbours us’d to do, tell ’em the House was robb’d, and they’re all stolen. ’Sbud, I’ll ha’ no body set a step within my House when I’m gone; therefore if Good-luck her self shou’d come, I charge ye keep her out.

Sta. Troth, you needn’t fear her coming; for were she at the Threshold, she’d ne’re come in.

Euc. Hold your prating Tongue, and get ye in.

Sta. To please you, I’ll do both.

Euc. And besure you secure the Door with two great Bolts: I’ll be here instantly. Exit Staphila.

Euclio alone

O, I’m wretchedly perplex’d that I’m forc’d to go out a doors now; and troth, it goes sore against my mind; however, ’tis upon sure grounds. For now’s the time for our Officer to distribute the Money to the Poor: Now if I shou’d be negligent, and not be among the Beggars, I’m afraid the World wou’d presently conclude, that I had got Gold at home. For ’tis n’t likely such a poor Fellow as I pretend to be, shou’d so little value Money, as not to be there. Notwithstanding my restless care of concealing this Gold, it strangely runs in my Head, that all the World knows of it, and every body seems to be more obliging, and to complement me more than ever. They meet me, stay me, embrace me, enquire after my Health, my Welfare, and every thing. – Well, I’ll go, and be back again as soon as possibly. Exit.

Here we see a considerable deal of the strange Nature of this old miserable Fellow; and this Character he has carry’d through the whole Play: But to see his Humour a little more perfectly, take part of the fourth Scene of the second Act; where the Servant Strobulus and the two Cooks are discoursing about this Miser.

Strobulus and Congrio

Stro. A Pumice-stone is not half so dry as that old Huncks.

Con. Say ye so, introth?

Stro. Take this from me. If the least Smoke shou’d chance to fly out of his House, he strait allarms the Town, exclaims against Heaven and Earth, that he’s undone, and ruin’d for ever! – I’ll tell ye: whene’re he goes to Bed he tyes a Bladder at his Nose.

Con. What for?

Stro. For fear of losing part of his Soul when he’s asleep.

Con. And doesn’t he plug up his lower Bung-hole too, lest any shou’d steal out that way?

Stro. ’Tis civil to believe me, since I do you.

Con. Why, truly, I do believe ye.

Stro. Did you never hear, how it goes to the Soul of him to pour out the Water he has once wash’d his hands in?

Con. Do’st think, Boy, we shall be able to squeeze out a swinging sum of Money of this old Gripes, to purchase our Freedom with?

Stro. Troth, shou’d ye beg Hunger it self of him, the Wretch wou’d deny ye. Nay more; whenever he gets his Nails to be cut, he carefully scrapes up all the Parings, and saves ’em.

Con. Why, faith, this is the most miserable Cur upon the face of the Earth. – But is he really such a pinching Wretch as you say?

Stro. Why t’other day a Kite chanc’d to steal a bit of something from him; this poor Devil goes strait to my Lord Chief Justice’s, crying, roaring, and houling for his Warrant to apprehend it. – O, I cou’d tell ye a thousand of these Stories, if I had leisure.

This is stretching of a Character a degree above Nature and Probability; yet these sort, at first sight, will glare and dazle a common Audience, and sometimes give a superficial Pleasure to a more judicious one; but are carefully to be avoided by any correct Writer.

His Miles Gloriosus, or Braggadocio, is as remarkable a Character as this, and there you may see another too in the same place, one who wheadles as much as the other boasts, and plays the Knave as much as the other does the Fool. For the Reader’s Satisfaction, here follows a Translation of the first Act of the Miles Gloriosus, which begins between that Blockhead and his Buffoon.

Pyrgopolinices, with his Servant Artotrogus, and his Soldiers

Pyr. to his Soldiers.] Take care to have my Buckler out-shine the resplendent Sun, when the Heavens are serene; so that in the midst o’ the Battel, I may dazle the Eyes of my Enemies, and confound every man of ’em. – In the mean time, I’ll comfort my bold Bilbo, that he might n’t be dull and melancholly for want of use this long time; for the poor Rogue is damnably eager to slice all my Foes, and make a Hash of ’em. – But where’s Artotrogus?

Art. Here, an’t like your Honour, ready to wait upon a Man o’ the greatest Fortitude and Fortune i’ th’ Universe, and o’ the most majestick Air; then for personal Valour, Lord, Mars himself dare n’t pretend to measure Swords with you.

Pyr. You mean him in the spatious Gurgustidonian Plains, the mighty Generalissimo, Bombomachides – Cluninstaridy – Sarchides, great Neptune’s Grand-child? —

Art. – The same, Sir. Him with the golden Armour, whose whole Army you blew away with a single Puff, like Leaves before the Wind, and Feathers in a Storm.

Pyr. By Hercules, ’twas nothing.

Art. No, faith, Sir, nothing at all to what I can relate, – [Aside] but the Devil a bit of Truth’s in’t. If any Man can shew me a greater Lyer, or a more bragging Coxcomb than this Blunderbuss, he shall take me, make me his Slave, and starve me with Whey and Butter-milk – Well, Sir?

Pyr. Where are you?

Art. Here, Sir: – Wonderful! how you broke the great Indian Elephants Arm with your single Fist?

Pyr. What Arm?

Art. I wou’d ha’ said Thigh.

Pyr. Pshaw, I did that with ease.

Art. By Jove, Sir, had you us’d your full Strength, you’d ha’ flead, gutted, and bon’d the huge Beast at once.

Pyr. I wou’d not ha’ ye relate all my Acts at this time.

Art. Really, Sir, ’tis impossible to innumerate all your noble Acts that I have been Spectator of. – [Aside.] ’Tis this Belly of mine creates me all this Plagues. My Ears must bear this Burden, for fear my Teeth shou’d want Work; and to every Lye he tells, I must swear to.

Pyr. What was I going to say? —