Chapter XI: Part III (6)

288. VEL QUI PRAETEXTAS, VEL QUI DOCUERE TOGATAS.] There hath been much difficulty here in settling a very plain point. The question is, whether _prætextas_ means _tragedy_, or a species of _comedy_? The answer is very clear from Diomedes, whose account is, in short, this. “^{1}_Togatæ_ is a general term for all sorts of Latin plays, adopting the Roman customs and dresses; as _Palliatæ_ is, for all, adopting the Græcian. Of the _Togatæ_, the several ^{2}species are, 1. _Prætexta_, or _Prætextata_, in which Roman kings and generals were introduced, and is so called, because the _prætexta_ was the distinguishing habit of such persons. 2. _Tabernaria_, frequently called ^{3}_Togata_, though that word, as we have seen, had properly a larger sense. 3. _Atellana._ 4. _Planipedis._” He next marks the difference of these several sorts of _Togatæ_, from the similar, corresponding ones of the _Palliatæ_, which are these: “1. ^{4}Tragœdia, absolutely so styled. 2. ^{5}Comœdia, 3. ^{6}Satyri. 4. ^{7}Μῖμος.” [These four sorts of the _palliatæ_ were also probably in use at Rome; certainly, at least, the two former.] It appears then from hence, that _prætextata_ was properly the Roman tragedy. But he adds, “_Togata prætextata à tragœdia differt_, and it is also said, _to be only like tragedy_, _tragœdiæ similis_.” What is this difference and this likeness? The explanation follows. “^{8}Heroes are introduced in _tragedy_, such as Orestes, Chryses, and the like. In the _prætextata_, Brutus, Decius, or Marcellus.” So then we see, when Græcian characters were introduced, it was called simply _tragœdia_; when Roman, _prætextata_; yet both, tragedies. The sole difference lay in the persons being foreign or domestic. The correspondence in every other respect was exact. The same is observed of the Roman comedy; when it adopted ^{9}Greek characters, it was called _comœdia_: when Roman, ^{20}_Togata Tabernaria_, or ^{3}_Togata_, simply. That the reader may assure himself of the fidelity of this account, let him take it at large, in the Grammarian’s own words. “^{1}Togatæ fabulæ dicuntur, quæ scriptæ sunt secundum ritus et habitus hominum togatorum, id est, Romanorum (Toga namque Romana est), sicut Græcas fabulas ab habitu æque palliatas Varro ait nominari. ^{3}Togatas autem cum sit generale nomen, specialiter tamen pro tabernariis, non modo communis error usurpat, sed et poetæ.—Togatarum fabularum ^{2}species tot fere sunt, quot et palliatarum. Nam prima species est togatarum, quæ prætextatæ dicuntur, in quibus imperatorum negotia agebantur et publica, et reges Romani vel duces inducuntur, personarum et argumentorum sublimitate ^{4}tragœdiis similes: Prætextatæ autem dicuntur, quia fere regum vel magistratuum, qui prætexta utuntur, in hujusmodi fabulis acta comprehenduntur. Secunda species togatarum, quæ tabernariæ dicuntur, humilitate personarum et argumentorum similitudine ^{5}comœdiis pares—Tertia species est fabularum latinarum, quæ—Atellanæ dictæ sunt, similes ^{6}satyricis fabulis, Græcis. Quarta species est planipedis, Græce dicitur ^{7}Μῖμος.—Togata prætextata, à ^{4}tragœdia differt. In tragœdia ^{8}heroes introducuntur. Pacuvius tragœdias nominibus heroicis scripsit Oresten, Chrysen, et his similia. Item Accius. In prætextata autem scribitur, Brutus, vel Decius, vel Marcellus. ^{19}Togata tabernaria à ^{5}comœdia differt, quod in ^{9}comœdia Græci ritus inducuntur, personæque Græcæ, Laches, Sostrata. In illa vero Latinæ.” [L. iii. c. de Com. et Trag. diff.] With this account of Diomedes agrees perfectly that of _Festus_; from which, however, M. Dacier draws a very different conclusion. “Togatarum duplex est genus: prætextarum—et tabernariarum.” His inference is, that prætextatæ, as being a species of the togatæ, must needs be comedies; not considering that togata is here a generic term, comprehending under it all the several species both of the Roman tragedy and comedy. After what hath been said, and especially, after the full and decisive testimony of Diomedes, there can no longer be any doubt about the meaning of _prætextas_; and one must be surprized to find M. Dacier prefacing his long note on this place in the following important manner: _C’est un des plus difficiles passages d’Horace, et peutêtre celui qu’il est le plus mal aisé d’eclaircir à cause du peu de lumiere que nous donnent les auteurs Latins sur tout ce qui regarde leurs pieces de theatre_.

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281. SUCCESSIT VETUS HIS COMOEDIA, &c.] _i. e._ Comedy began to be cultivated and improved from the time that tragedy had obtained its end, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν, under Æschylus. There is no reason to suppose, with some critics, that Horace meant to date its origin from hence. The supposition is, in truth, contradicted by _experience_ and the _order of things_. For, as a celebrated French writer observes, “_Le talent d’imiter, qui nous est naturel, nous porte plutôt à la comedie qui roule sur des choses de nôtre connoissance qu’à la Tragedie, qui prend des sujets plus èloignés de l’usage commun; et en effet, en Gréce aussi bien qu’en France, la Comedie est l’aînée de la tragedie_.” [Hist. du Theat. Franc. par M. de Fontenelle.] The _latter_ part of this assertion is clear from the piece referred to; and the _other_, which respects Greece, seems countenanced by Aristotle himself [περ. ποιητ. κ. ε.] ’Tis true, Comedy, though its rise be every where, at least, as early as that of tragedy, is perfected much later. Menander, we know, appeared long after Æschylus. And, though the French tragedy, to speak with Aristotle, ἔσχε τὴν ἑαυτῆς φύσιν in the hands of Corneille, this cannot be said of their comedy, which was forced to wait for a Moliere, before it arrived at that pitch of perfection. But then this is owing to the superior difficulty of the comic drama. Nor is it any objection that the contrary of this happened at Rome. For the Romans, when they applied themselves in earnest to the stage, had not to invent, but to imitate or rather _translate_, the perfect models of Greece. And it chanced, for reasons which I shall not stay to deduce, that their poets had better success in copying their _comedy_, than _tragedy_.

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284. TURPITER OBTICUIT—] Evidently because, though the _jus nocendi_ was taken away, yet that was no good reason, why the chorus should entirely cease. M. Dacier mistakes the matter. _Le chœur se tût ignominieusement, parceque la loi reprima sa licence, et que ce fut, à proprement parler, la loi qui le bannit; ce qu’ Horace regarde comme une espece de flétrissure. Properly speaking_, the law only abolished the _abuse_ of the chorus. The ignominy lay in dropping the entire use of it, on account of this restraint. Horace was of opinion, that the chorus ought to have been retained, though the state had abridged it of the licence, it so much delighted in, of an illimited, and intemperate satyr. _Sublatus chorus fuit_, says Scaliger, _cujus illæ videntur esse præcipuæ partes, ut potissimum quos liberet, læderent_.

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286. NEC MINIMUM MERUERE DECUS VESTIGIA GRÆCA AUSI DESERERE ET CELEBRARE DOMESTICA FACTA.] This judgment of the poet, recommending domestic subjects, as fittest for the stage, may be inforced from many obvious reasons. As I. that it renders the drama infinitely more _affecting_: and this on many accounts. 1. As a subject, taken from our own annals, must of course carry with it an air of greater probability, at least to the generality of the people, than one borrowed from those of any other nation. 2. As we all find a personal interest in the subject. 3. As it of course affords the best and easiest opportunities of catching our minds, by frequent references to our manners, prejudices, and customs. And of how great importance this is, may be learned from hence, that, even in the exhibition of foreign characters, dramatic writers have found themselves obliged to sacrifice truth and probability to the humour of the people, and to dress up their personages, contrary to their own better judgment, in some degree according to the mode and manners of their respective countries[27]. And 4. as the writer himself, from an intimate acquaintance with the character and genius of his own nation, will be more likely to draw the manners with life and spirit.

II. Next, which should ever be one great point in view, it renders the drama more generally useful in its moral destination. For, it being conversant about domestic acts, the great instruction of the fable more sensibly affects us; and the characters exhibited, from the part we take in their good or ill qualities, will more probably influence our conduct.

III. Lastly, this judgment will deserve the greater regard, as the conduct recommended was, in fact, the practice of our great models, the Greek writers; in whose plays, it is observable, there is scarcely a single scene, which lies out of the confines of Greece.

But, notwithstanding these reasons, the practice hath, in all times, been but little followed. The Romans, after some few attempts in this way (from whence the poet took the occasion of delivering it as a dramatic precept), soon relapsed into their old use; as appears from Seneca’s, and the titles of other plays, written in, or after the Augustan age. Succeeding times continued the same attachment to Grecian, with the addition of an equal fondness for Roman, subjects. The reason in both instances hath been ever the same: that strong and early prejudice, approaching somewhat to adoration, in favour of the illustrious names of those two great states. The account of this matter is very easy; for their writings, as they furnish the business of our younger, and the amusement of our riper, years, and more especially make the study of all those, who devote themselves to poetry and the stage, insensibly infix in us an excessive veneration for all affairs in which they were concerned; insomuch that no other subjects or events seem considerable enough, or rise, in any proportion, to our ideas of the dignity of the tragic scene, but such as time and long admiration have consecrated in the annals of their story. Our Shakespeare was, I think, the first that broke through this bondage of classical superstition. And he owed this felicity, as he did some others, to his want of what is called the advantage of a learned education. Thus uninfluenced by the weight of early prepossession, he struck at once into the road of nature and common sense: and without designing, without knowing it, hath left us in his historical plays, with all their anomalies, an exacter resemblance of the Athenian stage, than is any where to be found in its most professed admirers and copyists.

I will only add, that, for the more successful execution of this rule of celebrating domestic acts, much will depend on the æra, from whence the subject is taken. Times too remote have almost the same inconveniences, and none of the advantages, which attend the ages of Greece and Rome. And, for those of later date, they are too much familiarized to us, and have not as yet acquired that venerable cast and air, which tragedy demands, and age only can give. There is no fixing this point with precision. In the general, that æra is the fittest for the poet’s purpose, which, though fresh enough in our minds to warm and interest us in the event of the action, is yet at so great a distance from the present times, as to have lost all those mean and disparaging circumstances, which unavoidably adhere to recent deeds, and, in some measure, sink the noblest modern transactions to the level of ordinary life.

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295. INGENIUM MISERA, &c.] _Sæpe audivi poetam bonum neminem (id quod à Democrito et Platone in scriptis relictum esse dicunt) sine inflammatione animorum existere posse et sine quodam afflatu quasi furoris._ [Cic. De orat. l. ii. c. xlvi.] And so Petronius, _præcipitandus liber spiritus, ut furentis animi vaticinatio appareat_. [c. cxviii.] And to the same purpose every good critic, ancient or modern. But who can endure the grimace of those minute _genii_, who, because the truly inspired, in the ravings of the fit, are _touched_ with the flame and fury of enthusiasm, must, therefore, with a tame, frigid fancy, be laying claim to the same fervent and fiery raptures? The fate of these _aspirants_ to divinity is that ἐνθουσιᾷν ἑαυτοῖς δοκοῦντες, οὐ βακχεύουσιν, ἀλλὰ παίζουσιν [Longin. περ. ὕψ. τμημ. χ.] And Quintilian opens the mystery of the whole matter: _Quo quisque ingenio minus valet, hoc se magis attollere et dilatare conatur: ut statura breves in digitos eriguntur et plura infirmi minantur. Nam tumidos et corruptos et tinnulos et quocunque alio cacozeliæ genere peccantes, certum habeo, non virium, sed infirmitatis vitio laborare: ut corpora non robore, sed valetudine inflantur: et recto itinere lapsi plerumque divertunt._ [L. ii. c. 3.]

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298. BONA PARS NON UNGUES, &c.] The constant and pitiful affectation of the race before spoken of, who, with the modesty of laying claim to the _thing_, will be sure not to omit the _sign_, and so, from fancying an inspiration, they have _not_ come to adopt every foppery, that has ever disgraced it in those who _have_.

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308. QUID DECEAT, QUID NON:] _Nihil est difficilius quam_, quid deceat, _videre._ Πρέπον _appellant hoc Græci: nos dicamus sane_ Decorum. _De quo præclare et multa præcipiuntur, et res est cognitione dignissima. Hujus ignoratione non modo in vitâ, sed sæpissime in_ POEMATIS _et in oratione peccatur._ [Orator. xxi.]

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309. SCRIBENDI RECTE, SAPERE EST ET PRINCIPIUM ET FONS.] The Orator was of the same mind, when he sent his pupil to the academy for instruction. _Quis nescit maximam vim existere oratoris in hominum mentibus vel ad iram, aut dolorem incitandis, vel ab hisce iisdem permotionibus ad lenitatem misericordiamque revocandis? quæ, nisi qui naturas hominum, vimque omnem humanitatis, causasque eas quibus mentes aut incitantur aut reflectuntur, penitus perspexerit, dicendo, quod volet, perficere non poterit. Atqui_ TOTUS HIC LOCUS PHILOSOPHORUM PROPRIUS VIDETUR. [De Orat. l. i. c. xii.] And he spoke, we know, from his own experience, _having acquired his oratorial skill not in the schools of the rhetoricians, but the walks of the academy_: _fateor me oratorem, si modo sim, aut etiam quicunque sim, non ex rhetorum officinis, sed ex Academiæ spatiis extitisse_. [Orat. p. 622. Elz. ed.] But the reason he gives for this advice, though common to the poet; whose character, as well as the orator’s, it is, _posse voluntates impellere, quo velis, unde velis, deducere_, is yet, not the only one, which respects the poet. For his business is to _paint_, and that not only, as the orator does, in order to move, but for the sole end of _pleasing_: _solam petit voluptatem_. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The boast of his art is to catch every different aspect of nature, and more especially to exhibit the human character in every varying light and form, under which it presents itself. But this is not to be done without an exquisite study, and philosophical knowledge of man; to which end, as is remarked in _n._ on v. 317. the Socratic philosophy is more peculiarly adapted. Add to this, that it is the genius of true poetry, not only to animate, but to _personalize_ every thing, _omnia debent esse morata_. Hence the indispensable necessity of moral science: all poetry being, in effect, what Mr. Dryden somewhere calls comedy, THE THEFT OF POETS FROM MANKIND.

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310. SOCRATICAE CHARTAE.] An admired writer, in many respects deservedly so, thus comments on these words: “The philosophical writings, to which our poet refers, were in themselves a kind of poetry, like the _mimes_, or personated pieces of early times, before philosophy was in vogue, and when as yet _Dramatical imitation_ was scarce formed: or at least, in many parts, not brought to due perfection. They were pieces, which, besides their force of style, and hidden numbers, carried a sort of _action_ and _imitation_, the same as the _Epic_ and _Dramatic_ kinds. They were either real dialogues, or recitals of such personated discourses; where the persons themselves had their characters preserved throughout; their manners, humours, and distinct turns of temper and understanding maintained, according to the most exact poetical truth. ’Twas not enough, that these pieces treated fundamentally of morals, and, in consequence, pointed out real characters and manners: They exhibited them alive, and set the countenances and complexions of men plainly in view. And by this means they not only taught us to know others; but, what was principal and of highest virtue in them, they taught us to know ourselves.” Thus far then these models are of unquestioned use to writers of every denomination. I forbear to mention, what this noble author finds occasion frequently to insinuate, and, by his own practice, labours to recommend, the superior excellency of the _manner_, as well as _matter_, of these highly-rated originals. Not that I presume to think it unworthy of imitation. But the public taste, as appears, is running full fast that way, insomuch that some may even doubt, if the state of literary composition be more endangered by the neglect, or vicious imitation, of the Platonic manner. Its graces, when sparingly employed by a real genius, for the embellishment of strong sense, have, it must be owned, great beauty. But when this humour of _platonizing_ seizes on some minuter spirit, bent on ennobling a trivial matter, and all over-run with academic delicacy and affectation, nothing, to a just and manly relish, can be more disgusting. One must wink hard not to see frequent examples of this, in the master Platonist himself. But his mimics, of late, have gone much farther. There is no need, in such a croud of instances, to point to particulars. What I would rather observe is, that this folly, offensive as it is, may perhaps admit of some excuse from the _present state of our literature_, and _the character of the great original himself_, whom these writers aspire to imitate. When a language, as ours at this time, hath been much polished and enriched with perfect models of style in almost every way, it is in the order of things, that the next step should be to a _vicious affectation_. For the simplicity of true taste, under these circumstances, grows insipid. Something _better than the best_ must be aimed at; and the reader’s languid appetite raised by the provocatives of an ambitious refinement. And this in _sentiment_, as well as _language_. Whence we see how it happened, that even in _Greece_ itself, where composition was studied with a more than common accuracy, _Philosophy_, when it passed out of the hands of its great masters, degenerated by degrees into the subtilties of sophistry, as did _Eloquence_, likewise, into the tricks of rhetoric.

But there was something, as I hinted, too, in the _character of the writer imitated_, of a very ticklish and dangerous nature; and of which our tribe of imitators were not sufficiently aware. A very exact critic of antiquity hath told us what it was. It lay in Plato’s _bringing the tumor of poetic composition into discourses of philosophy_, ΟΤΙ ΤΟΝ ΟΓΚΟΝ ΤΗΣ ΠΟΙΗΤΙΚΗΣ ΚΑΤΑΣΚΕΥΗΣ ΕΠΙ ΛΟΓΟΥΣ ΗΓΑΓΕ ΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΥΣ[28]. And though the experiment, for the most part, succeeded not amiss (as what contradiction is there which superior genius cannot reconcile?) yet it sometimes failed even in his hands. And as a French writer well expresses it, Le DIVIN _Plato, pour avoir voulu s’elever trop au dessus des hommes, est souvent tombè dans un_ GALIMATIAS _pompeux que quelques uns confondent avec le_ SUBLIME. The PHAEDRUS, though the most remarkable, is not the only example of such mischance in the writings of this great man.

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317. VERAS HINC DUCERE VOCES.] _Truth_, in poetry, means such an expression, as conforms to the general nature of things; _falsehood_, that, which, however suitable to the particular instance in view doth yet not correspond to such _general nature_. To attain to this _truth_ of expression in dramatic poetry two things are prescribed: 1. A diligent study of the Socratic philosophy; and 2. A masterly knowledge and comprehension of human life. The _first_, because it is the peculiar distinction of this school _ad veritatem vitæ propius accedere_. [Cic. de Or. i. 51.] And the _latter_, as rendering the imitation more universally striking. This will be understood by reflecting that _truth_ may be followed too closely in works of imitation, as is evident in two respects. For, 1. the artist, when he would give a Copy of nature, may confine himself too scrupulously to the exhibition of _particulars_, and so fail of representing the general idea of the _kind_. Or, 2. in applying himself to give the _general_ idea, he may collect it from an enlarged view of _real_ life, whereas it were still better taken from the nobler conception of it as subsisting only in the _mind_. This last is the kind of censure we pass upon the _Flemish_ school of painting, which takes its model from real nature, and not, as the _Italian_, from the contemplative idea of beauty[29]. The _former_ corresponds to that other fault objected also to the Flemish masters, which consists in their copying from particular odd and grotesque nature in contradistinction to general and graceful nature.

We see then that in deviating from particular and partial, the poet more faithfully imitates _universal_, truth. And thus an answer occurs to that refined argument, which Plato invented and urged, with much seeming complacency, against poetry. It is, that _poetical imitation is at a great distance from truth_. “Poetical expression, says the Philosopher, is the copy of the poet’s own conceptions; the poet’s conception, of things, and things, of the standing archetype, as existing in the divine mind. Thus the poet’s expression, is a copy at third hand, from the primary, original truth.” [Plat. De rep. l. x.] Now the diligent study of this rule of the poet obviates this reasoning at once. For, by abstracting from existences all that peculiarly respects and discriminates the _individual_, the poet’s conception, as it were neglecting the intermediate particular objects, catches, as far as may be, and reflects the divine archetypal idea, and so becomes itself the copy or image of truth. Hence too we are taught the force of that unusual encomium on poetry by the great critic, _that it is something more severe and philosophical than history_, φιλοσοφώτερον καὶ σπουδαιότερον ποίησις ἱστορίας ἐστίν. The reason follows, which is now very intelligible; ἡ μὲν γὰρ ποίησις μᾶλλον τὰ καθόλου, ἡ δ’ ἱστορία τὰ καθ’ ἕκαστον λέγει. [Περ. ποιητ. κ. θ.] And this will further explain an essential difference, as we are told, between the two great rivals of the Greek stage. Sophocles, in return to such as objected a want of truth in his characters, used to plead, _that he drew men such as they ought to be, Euripides such as they were_. Σοφοκλῆς ἔφη, αὐτὸς μὲν οἵους δεῖ ποιεῖν, Εὐριπίδης δὲ οἷοί εἰσι. [Περ. ποιητ. κ. κε.] The meaning of which is, Sophocles, from his more extended commerce with mankind, had enlarged and widened the narrow, partial conception, arising from the contemplation of _particular_ characters, into a complete comprehension of the _kind_. Whereas the philosophic Euripides, having been mostly conversant in the academy, when he came to look into life, keeping his eye too intent on single, really existing personages, sunk the _kind_ in the _individual_; and so painted his characters naturally indeed, and _truly_, with regard to the objects in view, but sometimes without that general and universally striking likeness, which is demanded to the full exhibition of poetical truth.

But here an objection meets us, which must not be overlooked. It will be said, “that philosophic speculations are more likely to render men’s views _abstract_ and _general_ than to confine them to _individuals_. This latter is a fault arising from the _small number_ of objects men happen to contemplate: and may be removed not only by taking a view of many _particulars_, which is knowledge of the world; but also by reflecting on the _general nature_ of men, as it appears in good books of morality. For the writers of such books form their _general_ notion of human nature from an extensive experience (either their own, or that of others) without which their writings are of no value.” The answer, I think, is this. _By reflecting on the general nature of man_ the philosopher learns, what is the tenor of action arising from the predominancy of certain qualities or properties; _i. e._ in general, what that conduct is, which the imputed character requires. But to perceive clearly and certainly, how far, and with what degree of strength this or that character will, on particular occasions, most probably shew itself, this is the fruit only of a knowledge of the world. Instances of a want of this knowledge cannot be supposed frequent in such a writer, as Euripides; nor, when they occur, so glaring as to strike a common reader. They are niceties, which can only be discerned by the true critic; and even to _him_, at this distance of time, from an ignorance of the Greek manners, that may possibly appear a fault, which is a real beauty. It would therefore be dangerous to think of pointing out the places, which Aristotle might believe liable to this censure in Euripides. I will however presume to mention one, which, if not justly criticized, will, at least, serve to illustrate my meaning.

The story of his _Electra_ is well known. The poet had to paint, in the character of this princess, a virtuous, but fierce, resentful woman; stung by a sense of personal ill treatment; and instigated to the revenge of a father’s death, by still stronger motives. A disposition of this warm temperament, it might be concluded by the philosopher in his closet, would be prompt to shew itself. _Electra_ would, on any proper occasion, be ready to avow her resentment, as well as to forward the execution of her purpose. But to what lengths would this _resentment_ go? _i. e._ what degree of fierceness might _Electra_ express, without affording occasion to a person widely skilled in mankind, and the operation of the passions, to say, “this is improbable?” Here abstract theories will be of little service. Even a moderate acquaintance with real life will be unable to direct us. Many individuals may have fallen under observation, that will justify the poet in carrying the expression of such a _resentment_ to any extreme. History would, perhaps, furnish examples, in which a virtuous resentment hath been carried even farther than is here represented by the poet. What way then of determining the precise bounds and limits of it? Only by observing in numerous instances, _i. e._ from a large extensive knowledge of practical life, how far it usually, in such characters, and under such circumstances, prevails. Hence a difference of representation will arise in proportion to the extent of that _knowledge_. Let us now see, how the character before us, hath, in fact, been managed by Euripides.

In that fine scene, which passes between Electra and Orestes, whom as yet she suspects not to be her brother, the conversation very naturally turns upon Electra’s distresses, and the author of them, Clytæmnestra, as well as on her hopes of deliverance from them by the means of Orestes. The dialogue upon this proceeds:

_Or._ What then of Orestes, were he to return to this Argos?

_El._ Ah! wherefore that question, when there is no prospect of his return at all?

_Or._ But supposing he should return, how would he go about to revenge the death of his father?

_El._ In the same way, in which that father suffered from the daring attempts of his enemies.

_Or._ And could you then dare to undertake with him the murder of your mother?

_El._ Yes, with that very steel, with which she murdered my father.

_Or._ And am I at liberty to relate this to your brother, as your fixed resolution?

_El._ I desire only to live, till I have murdered my mother. The Greek is still stronger:

_May I die, as soon as I have murdered my mother!_

Now that this last sentence is absolutely unnatural, will not be pretended. There have been doubtless many examples, under the like circumstances, of an expression of revenge carried thus far. Yet, I think, we can hardly help being a little shocked at the fierceness of _this_ expression. At least _Sophocles_ has not thought fit to carry it to that extreme. In him, _Electra_ contents herself with saying to _Orestes_, on a similar occasion:

“The conduct of this affair now rests upon you. Only let me observe this to you, that, had I been left alone, I would not have failed in one of these two purposes, either to deliver myself gloriously, or to perish gloriously.”

Whether this representation of Sophocles be not more agreeable to _truth_, as collected from wide observation, i. e. from human nature at large, than that of Euripides, the capable reader will judge. If it be, the reason I suppose to have been, _that Sophocles painted his characters, such, as, from attending to numerous instances of the same kind, he would conclude they ought to be; Euripides, such, as a narrower sphere of observation had persuaded him they were_.

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319. INTERDUM SPECIOSA LOCIS, &c.] The poet’s science in _ethics_ will principally shew itself in these two ways, 1. in furnishing proper matter for general reflexion on human life and conduct; and, 2. in a due adjustment of the manners. By the former of these two applications of moral knowledge a play becomes, what the poet calls, _speciosa locis_, i. e. (for the term is borrowed from the rhetoricians) _striking in its moral topics_: a merit of the highest importance on the ancient stage, and which, if prudently employed in subserviency to the _latter_ more essential requisite of the drama, _a just expression of the manners_, will deserve to be so reputed at all times and on every theatre. The danger is, lest a studied, declamatory _moral_, affectedly introduced, or indulged to excess, should prejudice the natural exhibition of the _characters_, and so convert _the image of human life_ into an unaffecting, philosophical dialogue.

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319. MORATAQUE RECTE FABULA, &c.] This judgment of the poet, in regard of the superior efficacy of _manners_, is generally thought to be contradicted by Aristotle; who in treating this subject, observes, “that let a piece be never so perfect in the _manners_, _sentiments_, and _style_, it will not so well answer the end and purpose of tragedy, as if defective in these, and finished only in the fable and composition.” Ἐάν τις ἐφεξῆς θῇ ῥήσεις ἠθικὰς καὶ λέξεις καὶ διανοίας εὖ πεποιημένας, οὐ ποιήσει ὃ ἦν τῆς τραγῳδίας ἔργον, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον ἡ καταδεεστέροις τούτοις κεχρημένη τραγῳδία, ἔχουσα δὲ μῦθον καὶ σύστασιν πραγμάτων. Κεφ. ϛʹ. M. Dacier thinks to clear this matter by saying, “that what Aristotle remarks holds true of tragedy, but not of comedy, of which alone Horace is here speaking.” But granting that the artificial contexture of the fable is less necessary to the perfection of comedy, than of tragedy (as it certainly is), yet the tenor of this whole division, exhorting to correctness in general, makes it unquestionable, that Horace must intend to include _both_. The case, as it seems to me, is this. The poet is not comparing the respective importance of the _fable_ and _manners_, but of the _manners_ and _diction_, under this word including also _numbers_. He gives them the preference _not_ to a _good plot_, nor even to _fine sentiments_, but to _versus inopes rerum nugæque canoræ_. The _art_ he speaks of, is the art of _expressing_ the thoughts properly, gracefully, and harmoniously: the _pondus_ is the force and energy of good _versification_. _Venus_ is a general term including both kinds of beauty. _Fabula_ does not mean the _fable_ (in distinction from the rest) but simply _a play_.

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323. GRAIIS INGENIUM, &c.] The Greeks being eminent for _philosophy_, especially _morals_; the last observation naturally gives rise to this. For the transition is easy from their superiority, as philosophers, to their superiority as poets; and the more easy, as the latter is shewn to be, in part, the effect of the former. Now this superiority of the Greeks in genius and eloquence (which would immediately occur, on mentioning the _Socraticæ chartæ_) being seen and confessed, we are led to ask, “whence this arises.” The answer is, from their making _glory_, not _gain_, the object of their wishes.

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330. AERUGO ET CURA PECULI CUM SEMEL IMBUERIT, &c.] This _love of gain_, to which Horace imputes the imperfect state of the Roman poetry, hath been uniformly assigned, by the wisdom of ancient times, as the specific bane of arts and letters. _Longinus_ and _Quintilian_ account, from hence, for the decay of eloquence, _Galen_ of physic, _Petronius_ of painting, and _Pliny_, of the whole circle of the liberal arts. An ingenious modern is indeed for carrying his views much further. He, it seems, would account [Refl. sur la Poes. et sur la Peint. v. ii. § xiv.] for this _public degeneracy_ of taste and literature, not from the malignity of the selfish passions, but the baleful influences of the air, emulating, I suppose, herein, the wisdom of that philosophy, which teaches to lay the _private degeneracy_ of individuals on the stars. Thus much however may be true, that other causes have generally co-operated with it. Some of these, as might be shewn, did not escape the attention of these wise ancients. Yet they did right to insist chiefly on _this_, which is every way equal to the effect ascribed to it. It is so in its _nature_: For being, as Longinus calls it, νόσημα μικροποιὸν, _a disease which narrows and contracts the soul_, it must, of course, restrain the generous efforts and expansions of genius; cramp the free powers and energies of the mind, and render it unapt to open itself to wide views, and to the projection of great, extensive designs. It is so in its _consequences_. For, as one says elegantly, _when the passion of avarice grows general in a country, the temples of Honour are soon pulled down, and all men’s sacrifices are made to Fortune_[30]. Thus extinguishing the sense of honour, that divinest movement in our frame, and the only one, which can invigorate the mind under the long labours of invention, it must needs be, that the fire and high spirit of genius go out with it; and dragging in its train the _love of pleasure_, that unmanliest of all the passions, it diffuses such a languor and impotency over the mind, as must leave it at length a prey to a supine wasting indolence; till, as Longinus observes of his own age (and let every friend to letters deprecate the omen), Πάντες ἐγκαταβιοῦμεν, οὐκ ἄλλως πονοῦντες, ἢ ἀναλαμβάνοντες, εἰ μὴ ἐπαίνου καὶ ἡδονῆς ἕνεκα, ἀλλὰ μὴ τῆς ζήλου καὶ τιμῆς ἀξίας ποτὲ ὠφελείας.

* * * * *

333. AUT PRODESSE VOLUNT, AUT DELECTARE POETAE, &c.] Though these lines have the appearance of general criticism, yet do they more especially respect the dramatic poesy. This will be evident from attending to the context. The full boast and glory of the drama is to _delight_ and _instruct_ mankind. 1. The latter praise was more especially due to the ancient tragic muse, who did not think it sufficient to paint lovely pourtraitures of _public_ and _social_ virtue, and to call in the moralizing chorus to her assistance, but, which was one of her discriminating characters, she was perpetually inculcating every branch of true moral in those brief sententious precepts, which inform and solemnize her page. To these precepts then the poet manifestly refers in those lines,

_Quicquid præcipies, esto brevis; ut cito dicta
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles_.

But what follows is still clearer, [2.] The other end of the drama is to _entertain_, and this by the means of _probable fiction_.

_Ficta, voluptatis causa, sint proxima veris._

And the poet applies this to the case of the drama in express words:

_Ne quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi:
Neu pransæ Lamiæ vivum puerum extrahat alvo_.

The instance of _Lamia_, as Mr. Dacier observes, is certainly taken from some poet of that time, who had been guilty of this misconduct. The reader may learn from hence, how intently Horace pursues his design of criticizing the _Roman_ stage, when, in treating a subject, from its nature, the most general of any in the epistle, _viz. critical correctness_, we yet find him so industriously recurring to this point.

* * * * *

343. MISCUIT UTILE DULCI.] The unnatural separation of the DULCE ET UTILE hath done almost as much hurt in _letters_ as that of the HONESTUM ET UTILE, which Tully somewhere complains of, hath done in _morals_. For while the polite writer, as he is called, contents himself with the _former_ of these qualities, and the man of erudition with the _latter_, it comes to pass, as the same writer expresses it, that ET DOCTIS ELOQUENTIA POPULARIS, ET DISERTIS ELEGANS DOCTRINA DESIT [Orat. iii.]

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363. HAEC AMAT OBSCURUM, VOLET HAEC SUB LUCE VIDERI.] Cicero hath given the same precept in relation to oratory, _habeat illa in dicendo admiratio ac summa laus umbram aliquam et recessum, quo magis id, quod erit illuminatum, extare atque eminere videatur_. [De orat. l. iii. c. xxvi.]

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373. MEDIOCRIBUS ESSE POETIS NON HOMINES, &c.] This judgment, however severe it may seem, is according to the practice of the best critics. We have a remarkable instance in the case of _Apollonius Rhodius_, who, though, in the judgment of Quintilian, the author of no contemptible poem, yet on account of that _equal mediocrity_, which every where prevails in him, was struck out of the list of good writers by such sovereign judges of poetical merit, as Aristophanes and Aristarchus. [Quint. l. x. c. i.]

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403. DICTAE PER CARMINA SORTES,] The oracles here spoken of, are such as respect not _private persons_ (whom a natural curiosity, quickened by anxious superstition, has ever prompted to pry into their future fortunes) but _entire communities_; and for these there was little place, till Ambition had inspired great and eventful designs, and by involving the fate of nations, had rendered the knowledge of futurity _important_. Hence, in marking the progress of ancient poesy, Horace judiciously postpones _oracles_, to the _celebration_ of martial _prowess_, as being that, which gave the principal _eclat_ to them. This species of poetry then is rightly placed, though it be true, as the commentators have objected, that oracles were much ancienter than Homer, and the Trojan war.

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404. ET VITAE MONSTRATA VIA EST;] Meaning the writings of _Theognis_, _Phocylides_, _Hesiod_, and others, which, consisting wholly of moral precepts, are elegantly said to lay open, or discover _the road of life_. Mr. Dacier’s interpretation, which makes the poet mean _physics_ by _viam vitæ_, is supported by no reason. _Il ne faut pas_, says he, _entendre ceci de la philosophie et des mœurs_; CAR _Horace se contrediroit, puisque il a dit que ce fut le premier soin de la poesie_. The learned critic did not consider, that the first care of poesy, as explained above, and as employed by _Orpheus_ and _Amphion_, was to inculcate _policy_, not _moral_.

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404. ET GRATIA REGUM, PIERIIS TENTATA MODIS, LUDUSQUE REPERTUS, ET LONGORUM OPERUM FINIS: NE FORTE PUDORI SIT TIBI MUSA LYRAE SOLERS, ET CANTOR APOLLO.] This is one of those master-strokes, which make the sovereign charm of this poet. But the way in which it hath been understood, extinguishes all its grace and beauty. _On les vers employa_, says an interpreter, who speaks the sense of the rest, _à gagner la faveur des rois, et on les mit de tous les jeux et de tous les spectacles, qu’on inventa pour se delasser de ses longs travaux et de toutes ses fatigues. Je vous dis cela afin que vous n’ayez point de honte de faire la cour aux Muses et à Apollon._ And, lest this should not seem explicit enough, he adds in a couple of notes, that by _ludus repertus_, &c. _il_ [le poete] _veut parler des tragedies et des comedies que l’on faisoit jour dans les fêtes solemnelles_. And then, as to the _ne forte pudori_, _Cela prouve qu’ Horace ne fait cet eloge de la poesie que pour empecher que Pison n’en fût degouté_. Can any thing be more insipid? For could the poet think so meanly of his art, as to believe it wanted an apology? Or had the _courtier_ so little address, as to direct that apology immediately to the Pisos? Besides, what species of poesy is it that he labours to excuse? Why, according to this interpretation, the _dramatic_: the supreme boast of his art, and the main subject of the epistle. And in what _manner_ does he excuse it? Why, in recommending it, as an agreeable amusement. But his master, Aristotle, would have furnished him with a nobler plea: and ’tis certain, the ancients talked at another rate of the use and end of the drama. Let us see then, if the sense, given in the commentary, will bring any relief to the poet. In fact, this whole passage [from _et vitæ_, &c. to _cantor Apollo_] obliquely glances at the two sorts of poetry peculiarly cultivated by himself, and is an indirect apology for his own choice of them. For 1. _vitæ monstrata via est_ is the character of his _sermones_. And 2. all the rest, of his _Odes_. These are recommended, agreeably to their nature, 1. as of use to _conciliate the favour of princes_; hereby glancing at the success of his own odes, and, with the happiest address, insinuating the regard, which Augustus paid to letters. 2. As contributing to the mirth and entertainment of feasts, and especially as holding a principal place in the celebration of those more sacred, secular festivities (_longorum operum finem_) which could not be duly solemnized, without the ministration of the lyric muse.

_Castis cum pueris ignara puella mariti,
Disceret unde preces, vatem ni musa dedisset?_
2 Ep. i. 132.

And again:

_ego Diis amicum,
Sæculo festas referente luces,
Reddidi carmen docilis modorum
Vatis Horatî_.
Carm. Sec.

In another place both ends are expressed:

_testudo
Divitum_ MENSIS _et amica_ TEMPLIS.
3 Od. xi.

Where it may be observed, this double character of lyric poetry exactly corresponds to that, which the poet had before expressly given of it in this very epistle: the _gratia regum_ being the same as

_Musa dedit fidibus Divos puerosque Deorum
Et pugilem victorem et equum certamine primum_.
v. 83.

And _ludusque repertus_, describing its other office,

_Et juvenum curas et libera vina referre_.
ib.

In this view the following line, which apologizes, not for poesy in general, or its noblest species, the drama, but for his own lyrics only, hath, as the reader perceives, infinite grace; and is peculiarly marked with that vein of exquisite humour, so suited to the genius of the epistle, and which makes one of the distinguishing beauties of the poet. It hath also an extreme _propriety_; the levity of the ode admitting, or rather requiring some apology to the Pisos; who would be naturally led to think but meanly of it, in comparison of the sublimer dramatic poetry. I must add, the very terms of the apology so expresly define and characterize lyric poetry, that it is something strange, it should have escaped vulgar notice: _musa lyræ solers_ being evidently explained by _Romanæ fidicen lyræ_ [4 Od. iii. 23.] and the epithet _cantor_, describing Apollo, as clearly as words can do it, in the peculiar character of _Lyric_.

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407. CANTOR APOLLO. NATURA FIERET, &c.] The transition is delicate, and a fine instance of that kind of method, which the Epistle demands. The poet had just been speaking of the ode, and its inspirer, _cantor Apollo_; and this, in the natural train of his ideas, suggested that enthusiasm, and stretch of genius, which is at once the characteristic and glory of the lyric composition. And this was ground enough, in an Epistle, to pass on to say something concerning the power and influence of genius in poetry in general. It was for want of attending to so plain a reflexion as this, that the excellent Heinsius trifled so egregiously, in his transpositions of the Epistles, and in particular of this very place. And the hasty censures, which M. Dacier passed on the poet’s method, are apparently owing to no other cause. [See his introduct. remarks.] But to declare my sense at parting, of the _latter_ of these critics, I would say, as he himself does of the former, _C’est assez parlé contre M._ DACIER, _dont j’estime et admire autant la profonde érudition, que je condamne la mauvais usage qu’il en a fait en quelques rencontres_.

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410. ALTERIUS SIC ALTERA POSCIT OPEM RES, ET CONJURAT AMICE.] This conclusion, “that art and nature must conspire to the production of a perfect piece,” is, in the general, unquestionably just. If we would know the distinct powers and provinces of each, a fine passage in Longinus will inform us. For, of the five sources of the sublime, enumerated by that critic, two only, “a grandeur of conception, and the pathetic,” come from _nature_: the rest, “a just arrangement of figures,” “a splendid diction,” and “dignity of composition,” are of the province of _art_. Yet, though their powers are thus distinct, each, in order to attain its due perfection, must conspire, and be consociated, with the other. For that “sublime of conception” and “pathetic enthusiasm” never make a more sure and lasting impression, than when cloathed in the graces, and moderated by the sober sense of _art_: as, on the contrary, the milder beauties of “language” and “artificial composition” are never so secure of seizing the attention, as when raised and inspirited by the _pathos_, or _sublime_. So that the nature of the union, here recommended, is such, as makes it not only necessary to the completion of that great end, _viz._ the glory of perfect composition; but that either part, in the alliance, may fully effect its own. All which is but the larger explication of another passage in Longinus, who teaches, that ΤΟΤΕ Η ΤΕΧΝΗ ΤΕΛΕΙΟΣ, ΗΝΙΚ’ ΑΝ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΔΟΚΗΙ· Η Δ’ ΑΥ ΦΥΣΙΣ ΕΠΙΤΥΧΗΣ, ΟΤΑΝ ΛΑΝΘΑΝΟΥΣΑ ΠΕΡΙΕΧΗΙ ΤΗΝ ΤΕΧΝΗΝ. [περ. ὑψ. τμη. κβʹ.]

But here, in parting, it will be amusing, perhaps, to the curious reader to observe, what perpetual matter of debate this question hath furnished to the ancient learned.

It seems first to have taken its rise from the high pretension of poets to inspiration [see Pind. Od. iii. Nem.], which was afterwards understood in too literal a sense, and in time extended to all works of genius or imitation. The orator, who, as Cicero tells us, is _near a-kin to the poet_, set up the same claim; principally, as it should seem, on the authority of Socrates, who, taking occasion from the ill use that had been made of _rhetoric_, to decry it as an _art_, was herein followed by the most illustrious of his scholars; amongst whom was Aristotle, [Quinct. l. ii. c. 17.] who had written a set treatise professedly with this view, though his books of rhetoric proceed on very different principles. The question afterwards appeared of so much moment to Cicero, that he discussed it in form, in one of his dialogues De Oratore. And Quinctilian, in still later times, found himself obliged to resume the same debate, and hath accordingly considered it in an entire chapter.

The long continuance of so frivolous a dispute, and which admits so easy a decision, would go near to persuade one, if, as Shakespeare speaks, _they had not the privilege of antiquity upon them_, that the pens of the ancient _literati_ were not always more wisely employed, than those of modern controversialists. If we ask the reason, it would seem to be owing to that ambitious spirit of subtlety and refinement, which, as Quintilian observes, _puts men upon teaching not what they believe to be true, but what, from the falsehood or apparent strangeness of the matter, they expect the praise of ingenuity from being able to maintain_. This, I say, might seem to be the cause of so much perversity, on the first view, and unquestionably it had its influence. But the truth is, the real cause was something more general and extensive. It was, in fact, that _natural proneness_, so Longinus terms it, _in mankind, to censure and degrade things present_, ἴδιον ἀνθρώπου καταμέμφεσθαι τὰ παρόντα. This in nothing holds truer, than in what concerns the state of literature; as may be seen from that unwearied industry of the learned to decry whatever appears to be the prevailing taste of the times; whether it be in suggesting some defect to be made good by future improvements; or, as is more common, because the easier and less invidious task, in setting up, and magnifying some former examples of a different cast and merit. Thus, in the case before us, exquisite art and commanding genius, being the two only means of rising to superior literary excellence, in proportion as any age became noted for the one, it was constantly defamed, and the preference given to the other. So, during the growth of letters in any state, when a sublimity of sentiment and strength of expression make, as under those circumstances they always will, the characteristic of the times, the critic, disgusted with the rude workings of nature, affects to admire only the nicer finishings and proportions of art. When, let but the growing experience of a few years refine and perfect the public taste, and what was before traduced as roughness and barbarity, becomes at once nerves, dignity, and force. Then art is effeminacy; and judgment want of spirit. All now is rapture and inspiration. The exactest modern compositions are unmanly and unnatural, _et solos veteres legendos putant, neque in ullis aliis esse naturalem eloquentiam et robur viris dignum arbitrantur_. [Quinct. l. x. c. i.] The truth of this observation might he justified from many examples. The learning and art of _Pacuvius_ (for so I understand the epithet _doctus_) carried it before the sublime of _Accius_; just as in elder Greece the smooth and correct _Simonides_, _tenuis Simonides_, as Quinctilian characterizes him, bore away the prize from the lofty and high-spirited _Æschylus_. Afterwards indeed the case was altered. The Athenians, grown exact in the rules of good writing, became so enamoured of the bold flights of Æschylus, as with a little correction to admit him on the stage, who, by this means, frequently gained the prize from a polite and knowing people, for what had certainly lost it him in the simpler, and less informed theatre of his own times. Thus too it fared with the elder Latin poets, who, though admired indeed in their own age, but with considerable abatement from the reason before assigned, were perfectly idolized in that of Augustus; so as to require the sharpest satire of our poet, to correct the malevolent principle from whence the affectation arose. But the observation holds of our own writers. There was a time, when the art of JONSON was set above the divinest raptures of SHAKESPEARE. The present age is well convinced of the mistake. And now the genius of SHAKESPEARE is idolized in its turn. Happily for the public taste, it can scarcely be too much so. Yet, should any, in the rage of erecting trophies to the genius of ancient poesy, presume to violate the recent honours of more correct poets, the cause of such critical perversity will be ever the same. For all admiration of past times, when excessive, is still to be accounted for the same way,

_Ingeniis non ille favet plauditque sepultis,
Nostra sed impugnat, nos nostraque lividus odit_.

THE END OF THE NOTES ON THE ART OF POETRY.

Q. HORATII FLACCI

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.

TO THE REVEREND

MR. WARBURTON.

REVEREND SIR,

Give me leave to present to you the following Essay on the _Epistle to Augustus_; which, whatever other merit it may want, is secure of this, that it hath been planned upon the best model. For I know not what should hinder me from declaring to you in this public manner, that it was the early pleasure I received from what you had written of this sort, which _first_ engaged me in the province of criticism. And, if I have taken upon me to illustrate _another_ of the finest pieces of antiquity after the _same method_, it is because I find myself encouraged to do so by higher considerations, than even the Authority of your example.

CRITICISM, considered in its ancient and noblest office of doing justice to the merits of great writers, more especially in works of poetry and invention, demands, to its perfect execution, these two qualities: _a philosophic spirit_, capable of penetrating the fundamental reasons of excellence in every different species of composition; and _a strong imagination_, the parent of what we call _true taste_, enabling the critic to feel the full force of his author’s excellence himself, and to impress a lively sense of it upon others. Each of these abilities is necessary. For by means of philosophy, criticism, which were otherwise a vague and superficial thing, acquires the soundness and solidity of science. And from the _power of fancy_, it derives that light and energy and spirit, which are wanting to provoke the public emulation and carry the general conclusions of reason into practice.