THERE is, perhaps, nothing more uninteresting than the ge­nerality 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 al­most all occasions, to conform to a practice which he saw attend­ed 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 re­commended by the favourable decision of an Audience. The pomp of splendid scenery, and the illusions of the skilful per­former, have not awakened the public attention:—The Play ventures abroad, without having previously gained, by the ad­vantages 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 ac­cusations 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 [Page iv] his eyes, from pursuing a more important work, which has en­gaged 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 represent­ation 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 exact­ress, 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.' Notwithstand­ing this general account, Voltaire's observations, which trace the Author scene by scene, show that Madame de Sévigné was not mis­taken in her judgment.

[Page 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 re­quired to be conducted in a different manner, with more ra­pidity, and without those languid scenes which weaken the in­terest, and too often border upon the dialogue of Comedy. The characters were to be cast in a new mould; and instead of defini­tions of the passions, their conflict, their vehemence, and their va­rious 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 inven­tion, 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 in­tended 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 parti­cular [Page 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 For­tune.' The Play amused him while he was engaged in the writ­ing 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.