IRENE
16 February 1749
4. A Criticism on Mahomet and Irene. In a Letter to the Author
1749
| Text from the Harvard College Library copy. Irene was produced by Garrick at Drury Lane on 6 February 1749; it ran for nine nights and was published on 16 February. Five days later the anonymous ‘Criticism on Mahomet and Irene’ was announced in the General Advertiser. Only two copies of it are known: one in the Hyde Collection, the other in the Houghton Library, Harvard (see Robert F.Metzdorf, ‘A newly recovered criticism of Johnson’s Irene’, Harvard Library Bulletin, iv (1950), 265). The author, who is unsympathetic to heroic drama, makes some valid observations; others are easily refuted. See Introduction, pp. 21–2. |
Sir,
You must not wonder that your Tragedy of Irene engross’d, for some Months before its Appearance, the Conversation of the Town, and every one was big with Expectation of seeing a Piece plann’d, and wrote up to the highest Pitch of a Dramatic Performance; but as they are, in some Measure, disappointed in both Particulars, you can’t be surpriz’d they now grow clamorous in their Censures: And tho’ some may take you to Pieces without Mercy, behind your Back, I think it more generous to do it to your Face, and will handle you as tenderly as the Nature of your Offence will admit of. —And that I may not destroy your Virtues among the Crowd of your Vices, I will singly call ’em before me, and convict ’em one by one.
The first Thing I have to enquire into, is your Scene; which, I think, you have plac’d in the Garden of the Seraglio:1 Nay, in the most private and sequester’d Walks of it; which the Sultan, being deep in Love and fond of Melancholly, had chosen for his own Retirement. —This, I think, is the Place where your two Grecian Heroes, in Turkish Habits, open the Play; which, I doubt not, amaz’d every Body, to think how they got there: For the Seraglio being a Place so guarded by Slaves, and kept sacred to the Sultan’s Pleasures, how should it be possible two strange Turks (suppose they were really so) durst appear, dress’d in all the Magnificence of eastern State, in the most retir’d Walks of the Palace Garden, and never be enquir’d after? It is certain, there is not a Janizary upon Duty, or Servant at his Labour, but knows every Person who has Authority to frequent those Shades, as well as the Gate-Keepers do who has a Right to ride through St. James’s-Park. —I can hardly think their Friend Cali wou’d place ’em there to be out of Sight. No; ’tis plain he knew better—for when he was dispos’d to break his Mind to Demetrius ONLY, he very cautiously advis’d his Friend Abdalla to a properer Place, as you have very judiciously describ’d:
——He seiz’d my doubtful Hand,
And led me to the Shore where Cali stood
Pensive, and list’ning to the beating Surge, &c.
[I. i. 126ff.]
This Shore mention’d, cou’d not be within the Bounds of the Seraglio; for, it is well known, that Palace is guarded next the Sea by very strong and high Fortifications, and no other Building near the Place. Here Cali told Demetrius his Purpose; and, I suppose, desir’d to see his Friend Leontius for the same End, and, I shou’d think, at the same Place: But whether Leontius was afraid of catching Cold, or daubing his Feet by the Waterside, I can’t tell; yet it is certain, the Place is chang’d from the silent Shore to the Sultan’s Gardens, where Cali meets him and his Friend, and they talk Treason as loud as Syphax and Sempronius do in the Hall of Utica— An Error very wisely remark’d by a deceas’d Critic.
In the Course of these Traitors Conversation, Cali, talking of tyrannic Government, breaks out in an Ecstasy:
If there be any Clime, as Fame reports,
Where common Laws restrain the Prince and People, &c.
[I. ii. 55f.]
If, quotha! There’s a Statesman indeed! that cou’d not be certain
whether there was any Country, whose Constitution differ’d from his own—After that Confession of his Ignorance, I did not at all doubt, but he introduc’d the Greeks into the Palace to be private.
Cali here gives a very odd Account of the Sultan’s Temper—Really, such a sudden, undeterminated Character he gives him, that we may, without great Absurdity, take him for a Madman. —He says—Aspasia being brought before the Sultan, he was so struck with her uncommon Beauty and Behaviour, that he immediately offer’d to make her his Queen; which she, from some nice Scruples of Conscience and Religion, join’d to her strong Attachment to Demetrius, refus’d. This so inflam’d him, that he was almost incens’d to offer Violence—But very lucky for her, another Plunderer (so he is stil’d) just in that Moment brought in Irene; upon which, the Sultan turn’d round, and offer’d, in the same Moment he was courting Aspasia, the Crown to her; and finding not so much Aversion there, as in the other Lady, pursu’d his Point with Irene, and never once thought of Aspasia more. —What wou’d this unhappy Monarch have done, if she had behav’d like Aspasia? Why, he must certainly, just in that Moment, as he was so violent in his Love, have married the first Wench he had met, or have perish’d in his own Flames.
The Scheme of over-turning the Government, and destroying the Sultan, being very well plann’d, and agreed to, I am a little puzzled how the Mutineers shou’d escape; for I can hear of but one Galley that was provided, and that wou’d not more than accommodate the Lovers and their Ladies, with proper Mariners to conduct ’em: For if Purchas may be believ’d, at the Time of Amurath, a Turkish Galley was look’d upon as very large, and of great Use, that wou’d carry eight Sailors (or Oar-Men) twenty fighting Men, their Officers, and Provision for two Months. —If this Account be true, what was to become of all the rest of the Associates? For, by Leontius’s Account,
Above a hundred Voices thunder’d round him,
And every Voice was Liberty and Greece.
[II. iv. 29–30.]
Which, by the Bye, was not quite so wise, to make such an Uproar so near the Palace. For Shouting and Hollowing will naturally bring People to enquire the Cause; and, had this happen’d now, the whole Plot had been unravell’d, and the Grecians lost their Liberty for a Huzza.
The Conspirators, in the Midst of their Consultations, are suddenly dispers’d by the Approach of Mustapha; who comes to tell Cali, that the Emperor is walking that Way, and wou’d be private. —The Emperor appears, and is met with a fine Panegyric from Cali, who receives it very kindly, orders a Counsellor to Death, and puts Irene into the Protection of the Bassa; not from any great Opinion of his Virtue, but because
His Blood, frozen with sixty Winters Camps,
At Sight of Female Charms will glow no more.
[I. v. 5–6.]
The pious Bassa refuses this great Charge, and begs Leave to perform a Pilgrimage to Mecca; which the hasty Monarch denies, and perswades him rather to stay, spill some more Blood, and do a few more Mischiefs first; then, quoth he,
’Tis Time to think of Pray’rs, of Pilgrimage, and Peace.
[I. v. 45.]
Mahomet, tho’ the greatest Man in the Play, I don’t think the wisest; for when he hears of Cali’s Treachery, instead of instantly putting him to Death and secure his own Person, resolves to have a little Sport with him, by Way of hunting him round the World; as we turn Foxes loose, only to have the Pleasure of finding ’em again: And indeed, he proposes a pretty long Chase; I think, it is from Pole to Pole; and is determin’d to have him, tho’ the North Wind shou’d stand his Friend—But Mustapha, who, it seems, was not so keen a Sportsman as his Master, is for making sure of him now they have him, and not trust to a future Chace. —Yet Mahomet was so much in Love, that Call’s Crime slipt over, without any particular Notice taken of it—and tho’ the Aga gives a long Description of the two Strangers he had seen with Cali in the Garden, Mahomet never gave himself the Trouble to have ’em enquir’d after, or even to ask who they were suspected to be.
The next Thing that struck me, was Mahomet’s uncommon Courtship of Irene; for instead of Flattery, and other gay Delusions to engage Affection, generally made use of by an eager Lover, he courts her out of the Alcoran; or, as my Lord Foppington says, seems to think a Woman shou’d fall in Love with him, for his endeavouring to perswade her she has not one single Virtue in the whole Composition of her Soul and Body2 —In short, his Arguments are so strong, or her Understanding so weak, that at last she seems to be quite of his Opinion, and throws herself, without farther Trouble, into the Sultan’s Embraces. —What Pity ’tis a virtuous Christian cou’d not make a better Defence against an amorous Heathen!
I was greatly surpriz’d at the sudden Passion of Abdalla, which broke
out in such extravagant Gusts of Rage and Tumult, that one wou’d have thought the Turk had been seiz’d with a sudden Frenzy; and whatever Mahomet may think of his Passion, Abdalla’s is as much above him for Fire, high Flights, and precepitate Designs, as Champaign, in its Effect, is above the Operations of Small Beer. —’Tis well Abdalla had not Mahomet’s Power; for, if he had, we shou’d doubtless have seen the Palace, Gardens, Cali, and all his Friends in a Flame, in one Moment’s Time.
His Passion (as I imagin’d it wou’d) prov’d fatal to the Scheme of Liberty; for we find his Rage set him upon Baseness, to the Ruin of old Cali, and the rest of the Conspirators, except Demetrius; and how he came to escape is a most surprizing Piece of good Fortune. What! the only Man at whom his Rage was levell’d, that he should be the only one that escap’d; nay more, had still Power enough to fetch his Mistress away, even when Abdalla was present? —who, instead of seizing the Lady, or destroying Demetrius, very kindly slipt aside, while the two Lovers whip’d into the Galley so often mention’d, and sail’d away. —This Incident, tho’ very-diverting, I must confess, savours greatly of the Marvellous.
The Death of Irene, tho’ not approv’d of by some of the Spectators,3 I think very natural and decent. The Reason for her Death, and the Manner of executing it, may be highly justified—Cali’s dying Confession, that Mahomet was to have been murder’d in Irene’s Chamber, must, doubtless, alarm a less passionate Monarch than Mahomet: Nor am I at all surpriz’d, at the speedy Vengeance he took of her—I doubt not, but some of our Conoisseurs expected, according to the old Story, to have seen her Head taken off by Mahomet, at one Stroke of his Scymitar; which when perform’d to the Height of Expectation, cou’d have been but a Pantomime Trick, and beneath the Dignity of a Tragedy; unless you cou’d suppose, the Hero was bred a Butcher. —As to the Trick, perhaps, some of our tender hearted Countrymen, wou’d have eas’d that Objection, by having her Head cut off in good Earnest, and so have had the Pleasure of a new Irene every Night.
But, I think it is better as it is, and the Tale finely adapted to the Stage. —Irene’s Innocence being prov’d to the Sultan, gives him Occasion to reflect upon his hasty Sentence, and may be the Means of preventing many an innocent Subject from falling unheard, under his Displeasure.
As to the Epilogue,4 it is of too delicate, too refin’d, too noble, too
eloquent, too witty, and too new a Kind to deserve Applause, or incur Censure. It is its own Satire, and he that has a mind to Burlesque it, has nothing to do but to Copy it.
I am,
SIR,
Your humble Servant, &c.
5. John Hippisley (?), An Essay on Tragedy, with a Critical Examen of Mahomet and Irene
1749
| Extracts from the Essay, 12–34. This anonymous pamphlet—possibly by the actor John Hippisley (d. 1767) —was published on 8 March 1749. The author sets his criticism in the context of observations on tragedy as a genre; his principles are Aristotelian; and his view of tragedy has a traditional loftiness. ‘Of the many species of dramatic Writings, there is none so noble in its nature, so useful in its end, as tragedy; ’tis this that gives the sublimest lessons of virtue and morality’ (p. 3). See Introduction, pp. 3, 21–2 |
In the first place then, my good reader, I spy a fault in the very title-page,* Mahomet and Irene is an errant misnomer, for ’tis evident (notwithstanding the author’s intention) the episodical is in fact the principal action. Demetrius is the hero, Mahomet in point of character, but the second of the drama.
Another error, which is by no means inconsiderable, (and what I shall particularly consider, as it is the source from whence the principal faults in this poem arise) is the wilful deviation from History: for, although no author is under a necessity of adhering to it, when either for the embellishment of his work, or for the utility of the moral, he can depart from it with advantage; yet when the Plan is of itself compleat, interesting, and adapted to the stage, the least alteration, as it must be for the worse, argues an affected petulance, or a great weakness of judgment in him who suffers himself, by any inducements whatever, to attempt it.
And what story was ever more uniform, or truly dramatic, than that of the Fair Greek? How many affecting scenes? what an important moral it would have conveyed? Here follow the facts: my friends judge for yourselves.
Mahomet, Sultan of Turkey, inclined by nature, as well as stimulated by the ambitious precepts of the Koran, to aim at universal monarchy, pushes his conquests, with the utmost vigour and rapidity through the Grecian empire, in the midst of which he becomes so deeply enamoured of a captive Greek, that, dissolved in the soft dalliance of a Seraglio, and deaf to the repeated remonstrances of his soldiers, he neglects all imperial cares, as well civil, as military, till at last, their hopes of plunder being defeated, they break out into a mutiny, and, in high terms, loudly complain of the Emperor’s inactivity. In this desperate emergency, he convenes the divan, and leading in the Sultaness, dressed with the utmost magnificence, to the council-chamber, where they were sitting, demands of them whether all publick concerns were not justly sacrificed to the enjoyment of so illustrious an object? and whether the whole world was not a trifling acquisition when put in competition with IRENE? They, struck with the commanding dignity of her Demeanour, the blaze of charms which darted from her whole form, and the brilliance of her appearance, acquiesced in the sentiments of their monarch, unanimously declaring that nothing inferiour to divinity could withstand so irresistable, so consummate a beauty. Upon this, the Sultan drew his sabre, and with a greatness and ferocity of mind truly Turkish, at one blow sever’d her head from her body; saying at the same time (in these, or words to this effect) ‘Thus perish all private gratifications, when incompatible with the publick emolument: and learn how to esteem a King who sacrifices more than his life, his happiness, to his people’s welfare.’
[expounds the Aristotelian view of tragedy and the tragic hero.]
And now ’tis time to see how far Mahomet and Irene tallies with these [Aristotelian] rules, and where it is defective. And I must confess whatever beauties it may have, that of touching the passions is by no means to be allow’d it. IRENE’s character is not badly drawn. Her apostacy is owing to predominating fears; and a feminine fondness for glare and splendor, a weakness so inseparable from the sex, that VIRGIL (who was an exact copier of nature) has given it to his favourite CAMILA; tho’ in every thing else he has drawn her more than man, yet
Femineo spoliorum ardebat amore. Aen. XI.1
Her disloyalty to ASPASIA, and the long train of deceit subsequent to that, are the necessary consequences of her apostacy, as one lapse from virtue, is generally the parent of another, according to that beautiful remark,
The soul once tainted with so foul a crime,
No more shall glow with friendships hallow’d ardour
[quotes to III. viii. 20.]
But to return,
It is then universally allowed, that terror and pity are the two passions which every good tragic poet will in some measure affect,
—They aim to draw the melting sigh,
Or steal the trickling tear from beauty’s Eye,
To touch the strings that humanize our kind,
Man’s sweetest strain the Musick of the mind.2
But so languid and unaffecting is this poem, that I very much question, if one maudling girl squeez’d out a single tear, either at the theatre, or in the closet. The precipitate fate of Irene (who although innocent as to the crimes she suffers for, yet as guilty of others of a more malignant nature) makes no Impression on the audience: Unless that of a gloomy pleasure, in observing the just and swift-wing’d vengeance of heav’n overtake a wretch, who can be so impious to prefer the momentary charms of a transient splendour, with the wild chimeras, and extravagant fopperies of Mahometanism to the more durable, though less pompous satisfactions of virtue, and Christianity.
And here reader give me leave to remark that our author endeavouring to observe the 
3 of the stage, by strangling his heroine behind the scenes, has been guilty of a flagrant absurdity.
The Sultan, enraged at the supposed guilt of Irene, gives orders for
her immediate death, which sentence Abdallah (for any thing that at that juncture appears to the contrary) is sent from Mahomet to confirm, and hasten the execution of. To carry her out therefore, from the place where she is found, to another part of the gardens, merely to preserve a fancied decorum, is extreamly trifling and ridiculous.
Another fault that he has run into by the alteration of the story, is, that the love which is there truly great and noble, is here too mean and insignificant to deserve a place in tragedy, according to the opinion of a celebrated author among our neighbours. In order, says he, to make love worthy of the tragic muse, it must be an essential part of the plot, and not brought in at random, to fill up the void: It must be a passion truly tragical, considered as a weakness, and combated by remorse. Love must lead either to unhappiness or guilt, in order to point out the danger of that passion, or else virtue must triumph over it, to shew that it is not invincible: without these qualities, ’tis merely a pastoral, or comic love. See Voltaire’s discourse on tragedy, in a letter to Lord Bolinbroke.4
The unities of time and place are preserved, even to scrupulous nicety: As indeed the unity of action: But that of character, which is certainly prior in dignity, is mangled in a miserable manner: Shakespear for the most part, religiously adhered to this, though he broke all the rest at will.
[comments on the leading characters.]
Now Mahomet, who is (or at least ought to be) the chief person of the drama, is represented so vague and undetermined, that it is impossible to fix any precise criterion, whereby to regulate our judgment concerning him: He is a madman, instead of an hero, a monstrous caricatura, rather than a just and proportion’d picture. Every thing he says, and does, is so outré, so odd, and unaccountable, that it is evident no such person ever had existence, but in the confused imagination of a romantic Quixot in poetry. In short, instead of Mahomet and Irene, I would have him give us a second edition of his tragedy, under the title of human nature burlesqued….
Having thus far consider’d the conduct of the fable and characters, it is now time to speak to the diction and sentiments, which may not improperly be called the colouring and drapery of the piece. And here our author triumphs over almost every opponent. Never do any strain’d metaphors, unmeaning epithets, turgid elocution, high sounding rants, disgrace his scenes. He is sensible, that the true sublime does not consist in
smooth rounding periods, and the pomp of verse, but in just and noble sentiments, strong and lively images of nature: And to this for the most part he closely adheres: He seems fully convinced of the truth of that admirable precept of the great Boileau.
Et que tout ce qu’il dit facile à retenir,
De son ouvrage en vous laisse un long souvenir.5
And indeed rarely loses sight of it.
But as I have been pretty copious on the defective, so it is but scanty justice, that I should dwell a little on the unexceptionable parts of this poem, and enumerate their particular excellencies: And in order to [do] this, I know no better way, than to select some remarkable instances of the justness and propriety of his sentiments, the masculine and harmonious turn of his numbers.
And under the first head, I beg leave, in an especial manner, to recommend to the attention of every British reader, that beautiful apostrophe of Cali, to the civil constitution of these Kingdoms; and hope every dissatisfied malcontent, will particularly consider the severe sarcasm couch’d in the conclusion.
[quotes I. ii. 55–64.]
Nor is that charming dissuasive from that surprizing, yet too prevailing error of putting off to some future, the business of the present period, less worthy our notice. The visier Cali, and the captive Greeks, having resolved on the assassination of Mahomet, Cali is for delaying it till the morrow: upon which Demetrius breaks out in the following exclamation.
[quotes III. ii. 19–33.]
But the scene between Irene and Aspasia in the third act, is so truly great, so admirably calculated for the service of religion, abounds with such just observations on life, such strength of reasoning, such noble sentiments of virtue, that it would be an injury to the world, as well as ingratitude to Mr. Johnson, to pass it over in silence. But as there is no other way of doing it justice, I shall beg leave to transcribe it.
[quotes III. viii.]
It is now time to speak to the second thing proposed, namely, the
harmony of his versification; but having so largely expatiated on the excellence of his sentiments, I shall only select one passage (from many) and that is, the charming description that concludes the second act.
[quotes II. vii. 84–91.]
In a word, was I to give my sentiments in general of this tragedy, I should pronounce it a heap of splendid materials, rather than a regular structure: But whatever may be its faults, as its sole tendency is warmly to promote, and earnestly to encourage the practice of virtue and religion, it deserves the highest applause.