PREFACE

THERE is, perhaps, nothing more unintereſting than the ge⯑nerality of thoſe preliminary diſcourſes, in which Authors too frequently lay out much of their time in talking of themſelves and their works. The importance of a Man to himſelf is fully diſplayed, while the Reader yawns over the tedious page, or laughs at the rhetoric, that would perſuade him he ought to be pleaſed. The preſent Writer has been unwilling, upon al⯑moſt all occaſions, to conform to a practice which he ſaw attend⯑ed with ſo little ſucceſs: But the following Tragedy is ſent into the worla in a manner that may require ſome explanation. It has not gone through the ſiery trial of the Theatre; nor is it re⯑commended by the favourable deciſion of an Audience. The pomp of ſplendid ſcenery, and the illuſions of the ſkilful per⯑former, have not awakened the public attention:—The Play ventures abroad, without having previouſly gained, by the ad⯑vantages of repreſentation, a character, which in the leiſure of the cloſet is not always ſupported. But this circumſtance, while it raiſes no expectation, may, on the other hand, excite a prejudice not caſy to be ſarmounted. If it be of any value, why was it not produced in the uſual form of a Public Exhibition? The reaſons that influenced the Author, would lead to a long and frivolous detail. Whatever thoſe reaſons were, whether caprice, whim, peeviſhneſs, or delicacy, they were of weight to determine his conduct. His work, however, does not go forth with ac⯑cuſations of any kind againſt the Proprietors of either Theatre: it makes no appeal from their judgment. The fact is, it never was in their hands; and where there was no refuſal, there can be no room for complaint.

It need not be diſſambled, that the Play was written with a view to the Stage. It was begun and finiſhed in the Summer 1783, at a time when the Author was diſabled, by a nervous diſorder in [iv] his eyes, from purſuing a more important work, which has en⯑gaged ſeveral years of his life. It was painful to read, and he found amuſement neceſſary. He walked in green fields, made verſes, and threw them upon paper in characters almoſt illegible. For a ſubject, he was not long at a leſs. He remembered that Madame de Sévigné ^* mentions her having attended the repreſent⯑ation of ARIANE, a Tragedy by the younger Corneille. The play, ſays that amiable Writer, though in its general ſtyle and conduct flat and inſipid; was, notwithſtanding, followed by all Paris, not for the ſake of the poetry, but the Actreſs, La Champmélé, whom ſhe calls the greateſt prodigy the Stage ever beheld. The others were diſguſting; but when the Champmélé entered the ſcene, a murmur of applauſe ran through the Theatre; every heart was intereſted, and every eye diſſolved in tears.

WHEN this country could, with pride, boaſt of an Actreſs equally followed, and perhaps with better reaſon; it occurred that a Tragedy, with the beauties of the original, but freed from it's defects, might, at ſuch a ſeaſon, be acceptable to the Public. The defects, which drew down the judgment of ſo enlightened a Critic as Madame de Sévigné, are pointed out with minute exact⯑reſs, by the judicious Voltaire. ^† From that pleaſing Writer we learn, that the Tragedy in queſtion ſtill keeps it's rank upon the Stage, whenever an Actreſs of eminence wiſhes for an opportunity to diſplay her talents in a principal character. The ſituation he obſerves, is intereſting and pathetic: "A princeſs, who has done every thing for her hero; who has delivered him from a cruel death, and ſacrificed all conſiderations for his ſake; who loves him generouſly; who thinks herſelf loved in return, and deſerves to be ſo; who finds herſelf, at laſt, abandoned by the Man whom ſhe adores, and betrayed by a Siſter whom ſhe alſo loved: 'A woman thus ſituated,' ſays I Voltaire, 'forms the happieſt ſubject that has come down to as from antiquity.' Notwithſtand⯑ing this general account, Voltaire's obſervations, which trace the Author ſcene by ſcene, ſhow that Madame de Sévigné was not miſ⯑taken in her judgment.

[v]SHALL the preſent Writer flatter himself that he has removed the vices of the firſt concoction, and ſubſtituted what is better? He has certainly endeavoured to do it. For this purpoſe a New Fable was neceſſary. The progreſs of the buſineſs re⯑quired to be conducted in a different manner, with more ra⯑pidity, and without thoſe languid ſcenes which weaken the in⯑tereſt, and too often border upon the dialogue of Comedy. The characters were to be caſt in a new mould; and inſtead of defini⯑tions of the paſſions, their conflict, their vehemence, and their va⯑rious tranſitions, were to be painted forth in higher colouring, than are to be found in the French compoſition. The Reader, therefore, is not to expect a mere tranſlation. The Author does not ſcruple to ſay that he entered into a competition with the original; that he has aimed at a better Tragedy; and to uſe the words of a late elegant Writer, he hopes he has ſhown ſome inven⯑tion, though he has built upon another man's ground.

BUT here again the queſtion recurs, if the new ſuperſtructure raiſed upon the old foundation has any merit, why not produce it with all the advantage of that celebrated Actreſs, who, it ſeems inſpired the firſt deſign? The plain truth ſhall be the anſwer: When the piece was finiſhed, the Author had his moments of ſelf-approbation, and in his firſt ardour, hinted to a friend, that he in⯑tended to give it to the Stage. But ſelf-approbation did not laſt long:—That glow of imagination, which (to speak the truth) is ſometimes heated into a pleaſing delirium with its own work, ſubſided by degrees, and doubt and diffidence ſucceeded. A Play, that might linger nine nights upon the Stage, was not the object of the Author's ambition; Whether he has been able to execute any thing better, he has not conſidered for a long time, nor has he now courage to determine. He has often ſaid to himſelf, in the words of TULLY, Nihil hue, niſi perfectum ingenio, Elaboratum Induſtriâ, afferri oportere; and after adopting, in his own case, ſo rigid a rule, how ſhall he preſume to ſay, that the production of a ſummer can boaſt either of genius, or the elaborate touches of induſtry?

IN this irreſolute ſtate of mind, the Author's reſpect for the Public, who have done him, upon former occaſions, very parti⯑cular [vi] honour, increaſed his t'midity: he was unwilling to appear a candidate for their favour, when he was not ſure of adding to their pleaſure. At preſent, being to give an edition of ſuch pieces, as he has been able to produce, he could not think of keeping back the only dramatic work left upon his hands. He, therefore, ſends it into the world an humble adventurer: with one of, his predeceſſors, he ſays, 'Va mon Enfant; prens ta For⯑tune.' The Play amuſed him while he was engaged in the writ⯑ing of it, and ſhould the candid Reader find an hour of leiſure not entirely thrown away in the peruſal, the Author will not think his time altogether miſ-employed. He now diſmiſſes the Piece, if not with indifference, at leaſt with resignation; content to leave the honours of the Theatre to Writers of more ambition than he poſſeſſes at preſent.

LINCOLN'S-INN, March 4, 1786.