If there exists a person so barbarous, so classic, who would dare maintain the opposite, I should like to ask him whether he does not take the word "drama" or "play" to mean a truthful picture of the actions of human beings? He ought to read the novels of Richardson; these are true dramas, since the drama is the conclusion, the most interesting moment in every novel. He should be told, if he does not know, that many scenes in L'Enfant prodigue, all of Nanine, Mélanide, Celle, Le Père de famille, L'Ecossaise, Le Philosophe sans le savoir, are living proofs of the beautiful treatment of which the Serious form is susceptible; that these have taught us to enjoy the touching spectacle of domestic unhappiness, which has all the greater claim upon our attention because it is something which is more likely to enter our own lives. Results of this sort can never elsewhere be hoped for—at least to so great a degree—in the vast panorama of heroic tragedy.
Before proceeding any farther, I may say that what I am about to discuss does not apply to our celebrated writers of tragedy: they would have shone bright in any other career: genius is born of itself, it owes nothing to the themes which it treats, and is universal in its application. I am discussing fundamentals, respecting the authors at the same time. I am comparing dramatic forms, not individual dramatic talents. This is what I have to say:The essential object of the Serious Drama is to furnish a more direct and appealing interest, a morality which is more applicable than can be found in heroic tragedy; and, everything else being equal, a more profound impression than light comedy.
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