A more signal example of revolt was furnished by the commentator Upton. He was steeped in the literature of the classics; yet he spoke somewhat contemptuously of Ben Jonson for his deeming it a poetical sin to transgress the rules of the Greeks and Romans. He was himself not inclined to look with disapprobation upon the disregard of the unities which had been exhibited by Shakespeare. Dramatic poetry was, in his opinion, the art of imposing. Accordingly, if the story is one whole that is, if the unity of action has been preserved the spectator does not take into consideration the length of time necessary to produce the incidents that occur. It is the same with the unity of place. The artificial contrivance of scenes equally imposes upon the audience. It enables the hearer to accompany without difficulty the poet in the transitions he makes from one spot to another. But it is characteristic of the timidity of his age that Upton, after showing that neither the unity of time nor of place is essential, proceeded to remark that he was unable to determine whether they are essential or not. All he professed to do was to question the justice of insisting upon them as necessary. Others there were, however, who were bolder. Daniel Webb, a writer who had then some vogue, brought out in 1762 a work entitled 'Remarks on the Beauties of Poetry.' In it he maintained that to Shakespeare's neglect of the unities is due the singular energy and beauty of his style; that regard for these rules is sure to end in substituting narration for action, the tumidity of declamation for the excitement of passion.

After Johnson had given the weight of his authority to the denial of the obligatory nature of the unities, the number of those protesting became greater, and their expression of opinion much more decided. A perusal of the periodical literature of that day shows that dissent was steadily increasing in volume and energy. It manifested itself also in formal works, and in some instances where it could hardly have been expected. A writer of miscellaneous productions, named William Cooke, who flourished at that time, published in 1775 a treatise on the Elements of Dramatic Criticism.' On many of the questions at issue between the classicists. and the now encroaching romanticists, he took very conservative ground. Still he did not consider unity of time and place as essential to the modern drama. All that he insisted upon was that the time should not be exceptionally long, that, for instance, a child at the beginning of the play should not appear a full-grown person at the end. This was no uncommon view on the part of the disbelievers in the unities; it had been expressed but a little while before by Kames. But the extent to which the revolt against the doctrine was now beginning to go was evidenced in the biographical history of English literature which still preserves, so far as it is preserved, the name of Berkenhout. This work was published in 1777. The independence of its author was exhibited by one peculiarity. Berkenhout was an ardent admirer of Voltaire. There was little limit to the homage which he paid to the character, the genius, and the philanthropy of that writer. In this very volume he spoke of him as the scourge of sancti

fied tyranny, and the advocate of oppressed innocence who deserved the thanks of all mankind. On the subject of the unities, however, he considered that Voltaire was wholly wrong. Of these rules Berkenhout spoke in terms of vituperation rather than censure. According to him they were the inventions of dulness, and served merely as leading-strings for puny poetasters. Shakespeare was perfectly right in rejecting them. The result of obeying them led, in Berkenhout's opinion, to nothing but the production of monstrosities. "I never saw or read,” he asserted, “a tragedy or comedy fettered by the unities, which did not seem improbable, unnatural, or tedious." 1

As the century approached its close this voice of dissent became bolder and louder. The critical world gradually ranged itself into two distinct parties; but it is plain that the one opposed to the unities grew steadily more numerous and aggressive. Some there were who sought to take a middle course, such as Chesterfield had advocated at an earlier period. The time was to be somewhat extended, and change of place allowed to spots adjacent to the principal scene of the action. But compromises never satisfy in time of war. In general the old belief was stoutly maintained by the writers for the periodical press, and these were not unfrequently reinforced by men occupying prominent positions in the learned world. Shakespeare's "inattention to the laws of unity" was

1 Biographia Literaria, Preface, p. xxxii.

2 See Chesterfield, Letter to his son, Jan. 23, 1752; and 'Observations on Tragedy,' appended to Hodson's 'Zoraida' (1780), p. 87.

massor of humanity in us author was in many admirer of the poet. But the public taste from becoming tainted, all obstacles which retarded the immade writing, compelled him to fings by censuring the grave committed in disregarding these Set on the part of the poet condemnation of Richardson's eighboring university of Edinectly conventional critic of the appearing type.

e possibly to the influence anties seems to have lingered

the United Kingdom; as if ance with France had been Still it is fair to add thern university joined the the doctrine, by taking the to its requirements was not mechanical rule of comthe acquaintance or gained in vain; and in his Disserwhich he brought out in footsteps of his leader. He ve acts.1 He repeated with Nebler speech Johnson's arguSo some years previously A done in the reply which he

2 Ibid. p. 188.

had made to Voltaire's attack upon Shakespeare before the French Academy. At a still later period we find the historian and essayist, Belsham, insisting that the unity of action was the only thing of importance in the drama; that the supposed necessity of imposing upon the hearers was a pure illusion; that in the representation of a tragedy not only are we not deceived, but we should be miserable if we were.1 These are the sort of ideas which were becoming more and more prevalent. By the time the century had reached its close, belief in the doctrine of the unities had largely faded away. It did not actually die with its expiring breath, but it was in a dying condition.

Yet for nearly the whole of the latter half of the eighteenth century all this dissent, all these attacks had but little influence upon the practice of the prominent playwrights of the time. These accepted the unities sometimes gladly, sometimes grudgingly; but in any case they accepted them. Those who found most difficulty in conforming to their requirements might hope that relief was coming; but if so, it was not advanced by any action on their own part. In truth, they lived in perpetual awe of the adherents of the classical school. These men still held the post of control in the official organs of critical opinion, and they generally stood ready to fall foul of the venturesome author who did not heed strictly the proper observance of time and place. It was the one thing over which these petty critics kept constant watch. Other offences might find palliation, if not forgive

1 Essays Historical and Literary (ed. of 1799), vol. ii. p. 551.