Chapter XIII: Part III (8)

Now, as before, in asserting the honour of the stage-poets he every where supposes the emperor’s _disgust_ to have sprung from the wrong conduct of the poets themselves, and then extenuates the blame of such _conduct_, by considering, still further, the _causes_ which gave rise to it; so he prudently observes the like method here. The politeness of his address concedes to Augustus, the just _offence_ he had taken to his brother poets; whose honour, however, he contrives to save by softening the _occasions_ of it. This is the drift of what follows [from v. 214 to 229] where he pleasantly recounts the several foibles and indiscretions of the muse; but in a way, that could only dispose the emperor to smile at, or at most, to pity her infirmities, not provoke his serious censure and disesteem. They amount, on the whole, but to certain idlenesses of _vanity_, the almost inseparable attendant of _wit_, as well as _beauty_; and may be forgiven in _each_, as implying a strong _desire_ of pleasing, or rather as _qualifying_ both to please. One of the most exceptionable of these _vanities_ was a fond persuasion, too readily taken up by men of parts and genius, that _preferment is the constant pay of merit_; and that, from the moment their talents become known to the public, distinction and advancement are sure to follow. They believed, in short, they had only to convince the world of their superior abilities, to deserve the favour and countenance of their prince. But fond and presumptuous as these hopes are (continues the poet [from v. 229 to 244] with all the insinuation of a courtier, and yet with a becoming sense of the dignity of his own character) it may deserve a serious consideration, what poets are fit to be entrusted with the glory of princes; what _ministers_ are worth retaining in the service of an illustrious VIRTUE, whose honours demand to be solemnized with a religious reverence, and should not be left to the profanation of vile, unhallowed hands. And, to support the authority of this remonstrance, he alledges the example of a great Monarch, who had dishonoured himself by a neglect of this care; of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, who, when master of the world, as Augustus now was, perceived, indeed, the importance of gaining a poet to his service; but unluckily chose so ill, that his encomiums (as must ever be the case with a vile panegyrist) but tarnished the native splendor of those virtues, which his office required him to present, in their fullest and fairest glory, to the admiration of the world. In his appointment of _artists_, whose skill is, also, highly serviceable to the fame of princes, he shewed a truer judgment. For he suffered none but an APELLES and a LYSIPPUS to counterfeit the form and fashion of his _person_. But his _taste_, which was thus exact and even _subtile_ in what concerned the mechanic execution of the _fine arts_, took up with a CHOERILUS, to transmit an image of his _mind_ to future ages; so grosly undiscerning was he in works of poetry, and the liberal _offerings of the muse_!

And thus the poet makes a double use of the illjudgment of this imperial critic. For nothing could better demonstrate the importance of _poetry_ to the honour of _greatness_, than that this illustrious conqueror, without any particular knowledge or discernment in the _art_ itself, should think himself concerned to court its assistance. And, then, what could be more likely to engage the emperor’s further protection and love of _poetry_, than the insinuation (which is made with infinite address) that, as he honoured it equally, so he understood its merits much better? For [from v. 245 to 248, where, by a beautiful concurrence, the flattery of his prince falls in with the honester purpose of doing justice to the memory of his friends] it was not the same unintelligent liberality, which had cherished Choerilus, that poured the full stream of Caesar’s bounty on such persons, as VARIUS and VIRGIL. And, as if the spirit of these inimitable poets had, at once, seized him, he breaks away in a bolder run of verse [from v. 248 to 250] _to sing the triumphs of an art_, which expressed the _manners and the mind_ in fuller and more durable _relief_, than painting or even sculpture had ever been able to give to the external _figure_: And [from v. 250 to the end] _apologizes for himself_ in adopting the humbler epistolary _species_, when a warmth of inclination and the unrivaled glories of his prince were continually urging him on to the nobler, _encomiastic_ poetry. His excuse, in brief, is taken from the conscious inferiority of his genius, and a tenderness for the fame of the emperor, which is never more disserved than by the officious sedulity of bad poets to do it honour. And with this apology, one while condescending to the unfeigned humility of a person, sensible of the _kind and measure_ of his abilities, and then, again, sustaining itself by a freedom and even familiarity, which real merit knows, on certain occasions, to take without offence, the epistle concludes.

If the general opinion may be trusted, this, which was one of the _last_, is also among the _noblest_, of the great poet’s compositions. Perhaps, the reader, who considers it in the plain and simple order, to which the foregoing analysis hath reduced it, may satisfy himself, that this praise hath not been undeservedly bestowed.

NOTES

ON THE

EPISTLE TO AUGUSTUS.

EPISTOLA AD AUGUSTUM.] The epistle to AUGUSTUS is _an apology for the Roman poets_. The epistle to the PISOS, _a criticism on their poetry_. _This_ to Augustus may be therefore considered as a sequel of _that_ to the Pisos; and which could not well be omitted; for the author’s design of forwarding the study and improvement of the _art of poetry_ required him to bespeak the public favour to its _professors_.

But as, _there_, in correcting the abuses of their poetry, he mixes, occasionally, some encomiums on _poets_; so, _here_, in pleading the cause of the poets, we find him interweaving instructions on _poetry_. Which was but according to the writer’s _occasions_ in each work. For the freedom of his censure on the _art of poetry_ was to be softened by some expressions of his good-will towards the poets; and this apology for their _fame_ had been too direct and unmanaged, but for the qualifying appearance of its intending the further benefit of the _art_. The coincidence, then, of the same general _method_, as well as _design_, in the two epistles, made it not improper to give them together, and on the same footing, to the public. Though both the _subject_ and _method_ of this last are so clear as to make a continued commentary upon it much less wanted.

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4. SI LONGO SERMONE MORER TUA TEMPORA, CAESAR.] The poet is thought to begin with apologizing for the _shortness of this epistle_. And yet ’tis one of the longest he ever wrote. How is this inconsistency to be reconciled? “Horace parle pêutêtre ainsi pour ne pas rebuter Auguste, et pour lui faire connôitre, qu’il auroit fait une lettre, beaucoup plus longue, s’il avoit suivi son inclination.” This is the best account of the matter we have, hitherto, been able to come at. But the familiar civility of such a compliment, as M. Dacier supposes, though it might be well enough to an _equal_, or, if dressed up in spruce phrases, might make a figure in the _lettres familieres et galantes_ of his own nation; yet is surely of a cast, entirely foreign to the Roman gravity, more especially in an address to the emperor of the world. Mr. Pope, perceiving the absurdity of the common interpretation, seems to have read the lines _interrogatively_; which though it saves the sense, and suits the purpose of the English poet very well, yet neither agrees with the language nor serious air of the original. The case, I believe, was this. The genius of epistolary writing demands, that the subject-matter be not abruptly delivered, or hastily obtruded on the person addressed; but, as the law of decorum prescribes (for the rule holds in _writing_, as in _conversation_) be gradually and respectfully introduced to him. This obtains more particularly in applications to the _great_, and on important subjects. But, now, the poet, being to address his prince on a point of no small delicacy, and on which he foresaw he should have occasion to hold him pretty long, prudently contrives to get, as soon as possible, into his subject; and, to that end, hath the art to convert the very transgression of this rule into the justest and most beautiful compliment.

That cautious preparation, which is ordinarily requisite in our approaches to _greatness_, had been, the poet observes, in the present case, highly unseasonable, as the business and interests of the empire must, in the mean time, have stood still and been suspended. By _sermone_ then we are to understand, not the _body_ of the epistle, but the proeme or _introduction_ only. The _body_, as of public concern, might be allowed to engage, at full length, the emperor’s attention. But the _introduction_, consisting of _ceremonial_ only, the _common good_ required him to shorten as much as possible. It was no time for using an insignificant preamble, or, in our English phrase, of making _long speeches_. The reason, too, is founded, not merely in the elevated rank of the emperor, but in the peculiar diligence and sollicitude, with which, history tells us, he endeavoured to promote, by various ways, the interests of his country. So that the compliment is as _just_, as it is _polite_. It may be further observed, that _sermo_ is used in Horace, to signify the ordinary style of conversation [See Sat. i. 3, 65, and iv. 42.] and therefore not improperly denotes the familiarity of the epistolary address, which, in its easy expression, so nearly approaches to it.

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13. URIT ENIM FULGORE SUO, QUI PRAEGRAVAT ARTES INFRA SE POSITAS: EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] The poet, we may suppose, spoke this from experience. And so might _another_ of later date when he complained:

Unhappy Wit, like most mistaken things,
Attones not for that envy which it brings.
_Essay on Crit._ v. 494.

Unless it be thought, that, as this was said by him very early in life, it might rather pass for a prediction of his future fortunes. Be this as it will, the sufferings, which _unhappy wit_ is conceived to bring on itself from the _envy_ it excites, are, I am apt to think, somewhat aggravated; at least if one may judge from the effects it had on this _Complainant_. That which would be likely to afflict him most, was the _envy_ of his friends. But the generosity of these deserves to be recorded. The _wits_ took no offence at his fame, till they found it eclipse their _own_: And his _Philosopher and Guide_, ’tis well known, stuck close to him, till another and brighter star had gotten the ascendant. Or supposing there might be some malice in the case, it is plain there was little mischief. And for this little the poet’s creed provides an ample recompence. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM: not, we may be sure, by _those_ he most improved, enlightened, and obliged; but by late impartial posterity; and by ONE at least of his surviving friends; who generously took upon him the patronage of his fame, and who inherits his genius and his virtues.

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14. EXTINCTUS AMABITUR IDEM.] _Envy_, says a discerning ancient, _is the vice of those, who are too weak to contend, and too proud to submit_: _vitium eorum, qui nec cedere volunt, nec possunt contendere_[33]. Which, while it sufficiently exposes the folly and malignity of this hateful passion, secures the honour of human nature; as implying at the same time, that its worst corruptions are not without a mixture of generosity in them. For this false pride in _refusing to submit_, though absurd and mischievous enough, when unsupported by all _ability to contend_, yet discovers such a sense of superior excellence, as shews, how difficult it is for human nature to divest itself of all virtue. Accordingly, when the too powerful _splendor_ is withdrawn, our natural veneration of it takes place: _Extinctus amabitur idem._ This is the true exposition of the poet’s sentiment; which therefore appears just the reverse of what his French interpreter would fix upon him. “La justice, que nous rendons aux grands hommes après leur mort, ne vient pas de l’AMOUR, que nous avons pour leur _vertu_, mais de la HAINE, dont notre cœur est rempli pour ceux, qui ont pris leur PLACE.” An observation, which only becomes the misanthropy of an old cynic virtue, or the selfishness of a modern system of ethics.

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15. PRAESENTI TIBI MATUROS, &c. to v. 18.] We are not to wonder at this and the like extravagances of adulation in the Augustan poets. They had ample authority for what they did of this sort. We know, that altars were erected to the Emperor by the command of the Senate; and that he was publicly invoked, as an established, tutelary divinity. But the seeds of the corruption had been sown much earlier. For we find it sprung up, or rather (as of all the ill weeds, which the teeming soil of human depravity throws forth, none is more thriving and grows faster than this of _flattery_) flourishing at its height, in the tyranny of J. CAESAR. Balbus, in a letter to Cicero [Ep. ad Att. l. ix.] _Swears by the health and safety of Caesar_: _ità, incolumi Caesare, moriar_. And Dio tells us [L. xliv.] that it was, by the express injunction of the Senate, decreed, even in Caesar’s life-time, that the Romans should bind themselves by this oath. The Senate also, as we learn from the same writer, [L. xliii.] upon receiving the news of his defeat of Pompey’s sons, caused his statue to be set up, in the temple of Romulus, with this inscription, DEO INVICTO[34].

’Tis true, these and still greater honours had been long paid to the Roman governors in their provinces, by the _abject, slavish Asiatics_. And this, no doubt, facilitated the admission of such idolatries into the capital[35]. But that a people, from the highest notions of an independent republican equality, could so soon be brought to this prostrate adoration of their first _Lord_, is perfectly amazing! In this, they shewed themselves ripe for servitude. Nothing could keep them out of the hands of a master. And one can scarcely read such accounts, as these, without condemning the vain efforts of dying patriotism, which laboured so fruitlesly, may one not almost say, so weakly? to protract the liberty of such a people, Who can, after this, wonder at the incense, offered up by a few court-poets? The adulation of Virgil, which has given so much offence, and of Horace, who kept pace with him, was, we see, but the authorized language of the times; presented indeed with address, but without the heightenings and privileged licence of their profession. For, to their credit, it must be owned, that, though in the office of _poets_, they were to comply with the popular voice, and echo it back to the ears of sovereignty; yet, as _men_, they had too much good sense, and too scrupulous a regard to the dignity of their characters, to exaggerate and go beyond it.

It should, in all reason, surprize and disgust us still more, that modern writers have not always shewn themselves so discrete. The grave and learned LIPSIUS was not ashamed, even without the convenient pretext of popular flattery, or poetic _coloring_, in so many words, to make a God of his patron: who though neither King, nor Pope, was yet the next best material for this manufacture, an Archbishop. For, though the critic knew, that it was _not every wood, that will make a Mercury_, yet no body would dispute the fitness of that, which grew so near the altar. In plain words, I am speaking of an Archbishop of MECHLIN, whom, after a deal of fulsome compliment (which was the vice of the man) he exalts at last, with a pagan complaisance, into the order of Deities. “Ad haec, says he, erga omnes humanitas et facilitas me faciunt, ut omnes te non tanquàm hominem aliquem de nostro coetu, sed tanquam DEUM QUENDAM DE COELO DELAPSUM INTUEANTUR ET ADMIRENTUR.”

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16. JURANDASQUE TUUM PER NUMEN PONIMUS ARAS.] On this idea of the APOTHEOSIS, which was the usual mode of flattery in the Augustan age, but, as having the countenance of public authority, sometimes inartificially enough employed, Virgil hath projected one of the noblest allegories in ancient poetry, and at the same time hath given to it all the force of _just_ compliment, the _occasion_ itself allowed. _Each_ of these excellencies was to be expected from his talents. For, as his genius led him to the _sublime_; to his exquisite judgment would instruct him to palliate this bold fiction, and qualify, as much as possible, the shocking adulation, implied in it. So singular a beauty deserves to be shewn at large.

The _third_ GEORGIC sets out with an apology for the low and simple argument of that work, which, yet, the poet esteemed, for its novelty, preferable to the sublimer, but trite, themes of the Greek writers. Not but he intended, on some future occasion, to adorn a nobler subject. This was the great plan of the Aeneïs, which he now _prefigures_ and unfolds at large. For, taking advantage of the noblest privilege of his _art_, he breaks away, in a fit of _prophetic_ enthusiasm, to foretel his successes in this projected enterprize, and, under the imagery of the ancient _triumph_, which comprehends, or suggests to the imagination, whatever is most august in human affairs, to delineate the future glories of this ambitious design. The whole conception, as we shall see, is of the utmost grandeur and magnificence; though, according to the usual management of the poet (which, as not being apprehended by his critics, hath furnished occasion, even to the best of them, to charge him with a want of the _sublime_) he hath contrived to soften and _familiarize_ its appearance to the reader, by the artful manner, in which it is introduced. It stands thus:

_tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim
Tollere humo_, VICTORQUE _virûm volitare per ora_.

This idea of _victory_, thus casually dropped, he makes the basis of his imagery; which, by means of this gradual preparation, offers itself easily to the apprehension, though it thereby loses, as the poet designed it should, much of that broad _glare_, in which writers of less judgment love to shew their ideas, as tending to set the common reader to a gaze. The allegory then proceeds:

_Primus ego patriam mecum (modo vita supersit)
Aonio rediens deducam vertice Musas_.

The projected conquest was no less than that of all the _Grecian Muses_ at once; whom, to carry on the decorum of the allegory, he threatens, 1. to force from their high and advantageous situation on the summit of the _Aonian mount_; and, 2. bring _captive_ with him into Italy: the _former_ circumstance intimating to us the difficulty and danger of the enterprize; and the _latter_, his complete execution of it.

The _palmy_, triumphal entry, which was usual to victors on their return from foreign successes, follows:

_Primus Idumaeas referam tibi, Mantua, palmas_.

But ancient conquerors did not hold it sufficient to reap this transient fruit of their labours. They were ambitious to consecrate their glory to immortality, by a _temple_, or other public monument, which was to be built out of the spoils of the conquered cities or countries. This the reader sees is suitable to the idea of the great work proposed; which was, out of the old remains of Grecian art, to compose a _new_ one, that should comprize the virtues of them all: as, in fact, the Aeneïd is known to unite in itself whatever is most excellent, not in Homer only, but, universally, in the wits of Greece. The everlasting monument of the _marble_ temple is then reared:

_Et viridi in campo templum de_ MARMORE _ponam_.

And, because ancient superstition usually preferred, for these purposes, the banks of _rivers_ to other situations, therefore the poet, in beautiful allusion to the site of some of the most celebrated pagan temples, builds _his_ on the MINCIUS. We see with what a scrupulous propriety the allusion is carried on.

_Propter aquam, tardis ingens ubi flexibus errat_
MINCIUS, _et tenera praetexit arundine ripas_.

Next, this temple was to be dedicated, as a monument of the victor’s _piety_, as well as glory, to some propitious, tutelary deity, under whose auspices the great adventure had been atchieved. The _dedication_ is then made to the poet’s _divinity_, Augustus:

_In medio mihi_ CAESAR _erit, templumque tenebit_.

TEMPLUM TENEBIT. The expression is emphatical; as intimating to us, and prefiguring the secret purpose of the Aeneïs, which was, in the person of Aeneas, to shadow forth and consecrate the character of Augustus. His divinity was to fill and _occupy_ that great work. And the ample circuit of the epic plan was projected only, as a more awful enclosure of that august presence, which was to _inhabit_ and solemnize the vast round of this poetic building.

And now the wonderful address of the poet’s artifice appears. The mad servility of his country had _deified_ the emperor in good earnest; and his brother poets made no scruple to _worship_ in his temples, and to come before him with handfuls of _real_ incense, smoking from the altars. But the sobriety of Virgil’s adoration was of another cast. He seizes this circumstance only to _embody_ a poetical fiction; which, on the supposition of an actual _deification_, hath all the force of compliment, which the _fact_ implies, and yet, as presented through the chast veil of allegory, eludes the offence, which the _naked_ recital must needs have given to sober and reasonable men. Had the emperor’s _popular_ divinity been flatly acknowledged, and adored, the praise, even under Virgil’s management, had been insufferable for its extravagance; and, without some support for his poetical _numen_ to rest upon, the figure had been more forced and strained, than the rules of just writing allow. As it is, the historical truth of his _apotheosis_ authorizes and supports the _fiction_, and the fiction, in its turn, serves to refine and palliate the _history_.

The Aeneïs being, by the poet’s improvement of this circumstance, thus naturally predicted under the image of a _temple_, we may expect to find a close and studied analogy betwixt them. The great, component parts of the _one_ will, no doubt, be made, very faithfully, to represent and adumbrate those of the _other_. This hath been executed with great art and diligence.

1. The _temple_, we observed, was erected on the banks of a river. This site was not only proper, for the reason already mentioned, but also, for the further convenience of instituting _public games_, the ordinary attendants of the _consecration_ of temples. These were generally, as in the case of the Olympic and others, celebrated on the banks of rivers.

_Illi victor ego, et Tyrio conspectus in ostro,
Centum quadrijugos agitabo ad flumina currus.
Cuncta mihi, Alpheum linquens lucosque Molorchi,
Cursibus et crudo decernet Graecia caestu._

To see the propriety of the _figure_ in this place, the reader needs only be reminded of the _book of games_ in the Aeneïd, which was purposely introduced in honour of the Emperor, and not, as is commonly thought, for a mere trial of skill between the poet and his master. The emperor was passionately fond of these sports, and was even the author, or restorer, of _one_ of them. It is not to be doubted, that he alludes also to the _quinquennial games_, actually celebrated, in honour of his temples, through many parts of the empire. And this the poet undertakes in the _civil_ office of VICTOR.

2. What follows is in the _religious_ office of PRIEST. For it is to be noted, that, in assuming this double character, which the decorum of the solemnities, here recounted, prescribed, the poet has an eye to the _political_ design of the Aeneïs, which was to do honour to Caesar, in either capacity of a _civil_ and _religious_ personage; both being essential to the idea of the PERFECT LEGISLATOR, whose office and character (as an eminent critic hath lately shewn us[36]) it was his purpose, in this immortal work, to adorn and recommend. The account of his _sacerdotal functions_ is delivered in these words:

_Ipse caput tonsae foliis ornatus olivae
Dona feram. Jam, nunc solemnes ducere pompas
Ad delubra juvat, caesosque videre juvencos;
Vel scena ut versis discedat frontibus, utque
Purpurea intexti tollant aulaea Britanni._

The imagery in this place cannot be understood, without reflecting on the customary form and disposition of the pagan temples. DELUBRUM, or DELUBRA, for either _number_ is used indifferently, denotes the shrine, or sanctuary, wherein the statue of the presiding God was placed. This was in the center of the building. Exactly before the _delubrum_, and at no great distance from it, was the ALTAR. Further, the shrine, or _delubrum_, was inclosed and shut up on all sides by _doors_ of curious carved-work, and ductile _veils_, embellished by the rich embroidery of _flowers_, _animals_, or _human figures_. This being observed, the progress of the imagery before us will be this. The procession _ad delubra_, or shrine: the sacrifice on the _altars_, erected before it; and lastly, the painted, or rather wrought _scenery_ of the purple _veils_, inclosing the image, which were ornamented, and seemed to be sustained or held up by the figures of _inwoven Britons_. The meaning of all which, is, that the poet would proceed to the celebration of Caesar’s praise in all the gradual, solemn preparation of poetic pomp: that he would render the most grateful _offerings_ to his divinity in those occasional _episodes_, which he should consecrate to his more immediate honour: and, finally, that he would provide the richest texture of his fancy, for a covering to that admired _image_ of his virtues, which was to make the sovereign pride and glory of his poem. The choice of the _inwoven Britons_, for the support of his _veil_, is well accounted for by those, who tell us, that Augustus was proud to have a number of these to serve about him in quality of slaves.

The ornaments of the DOORS of this _delubrum_, on which the sculptor used to lavish all the riches of his _art_, are next delineated.

_In foribus pugnam ex auro solidoque elephanto
Gangaridum faciam, victorisque arma Quirini;
Atque hic undantem bello, magnumque fluentem
Nilum, ac navali surgentes aere columnas.
Addam urbes Asiae domitas, pulsumque Niphatem,
Fidentemque fugâ Parthum versisque sagittis;
Et duo rapta manu diverso ex hoste trophaea,
Bisque triumphatas utroque ex littore gentes._

Here the covering of the _figure_ is too thin to hide the _literal_ meaning from the commonest reader, who sees, that the several triumphs of Caesar, here recorded in _sculpture_, are those, which the poet hath taken most pains to _finish_, and hath occasionally inserted, as it were, in _miniature_, in several places of his _poem_. Let him only turn to the prophetic speech of Anchises’ shade in the VI^{th}, and to the description of the shield in the VIII^{th} book.

Hitherto we have contemplated the decorations of the _shrine_, i. e. such as bear a more direct and immediate reference to the honour of Caesar. We are now presented with a view of the remoter, surrounding ornaments of the temple. These are the illustrious Trojan chiefs, whose story was to furnish the materials, or, more properly, to form the body and _case_, as it were, of his august structure. They are also connected with the idol deity of the place by the closest ties of relationship, the Julian family affecting to derive its pedigree from this proud original. The poet then, in his arrangement of these additional figures, with admirable judgment, completes and rounds the entire fiction.

_Stabunt et Parii lapides, spirantia signa,
Assaraci proles, demissaeque ab Jove gentis
Nomina: Trosque parens et Trojae Cynthius auctor._

Nothing now remains but for _fame_ to eternize the glories of what the great architect had, at the expence of so much art and labour, completed; which is predicted in the highest sublime of ancient poetry, under the idea of ENVY, whom the poet personalizes, shuddering at the view of such transcendent perfection; and tasting, beforehand, the pains of a remediless vexation, strongly pictured in the image of the worst, infernal tortures.

INVIDIA _infelix furias amnemque severum
Cocyti metuet, tortosque Ixionis angues,
Immanemque rotam, et non exuperabile saxum_.

Thus have I presumed, but with a religious awe, to inspect and declare the mysteries of this ideal temple. The attempt after all might have been censured, as prophane, if the great _Mystagogue_ himself, or some body for him[37], had not given us the undoubted key to it. Under this encouragement I could not withstand the temptation of disclosing thus much of one of the noblest fictions of antiquity; and the rather, as the propriety of allegoric composition, which made the distinguished pride of ancient poetry, seems but little known or attended to by the _modern_ professors of this fine art.

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17. NIL ORITURUM ALIAS, NIL ORTUM TALE FATENTES.] _Il n’est impossible_, says M. DE BALZAC, in that puffed, declamatory rhapsody, intitled, LE PRINCE, _de resister au mouvement interieur, qui me pousse. Je ne sçaurois m’empecher de parler du_ ROY, _et de sa vertu; de crier à tous les princes, que c’est l’exemple, qu’ils doivent suivre_; DE DEMANDER A TOUS LES PEUPLES, ET A TOUS LES AGES, S’ILS ONT JAMAIS RIEN VEU DE SEMBLABLE. This was spoken of a king of France, who, it will be owned, had his virtues. But they were the virtues of the _man_, and not of the _Prince_. This, however, was a distinction, which the eloquent encomiast was not aware of, or, to speak more truly, his business required him to overlook. For the whole elogy is worth perusing, as it affords a striking proof of the uniform genius of flattery, which, alike under all circumstances, and indifferent to all characters, can hold the same language of the weakest, as the ablest of princes, of LOUIS LE JUSTE, and CAESAR OCTAVIANUS AUGUSTUS.

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23. SIC FAUTOR VETERUM, &c. to v. 28.] The folly, here satyrized, is common enough in all countries, and extends to all arts. It was just the same preposterous affectation of venerating antiquity, which put the connoisseurs in _painting_, under the emperors, on crying up the simple and rude sketches of AGLAOPHON and POLYGNOTUS, above the exquisite and finished pictures of PARRHASIUS and ZEUXIS. The account is given by Quintilian, who in his censure of this absurdity, points to the undoubted source of it. His words are these: “Primi, quorum quidem opera non vetustatis modò gratiâ visenda sunt, clari pictores fuisse dicuntur Polygnotus et Aglaophon; quorum simplex color tam sui studiosos adhuc habet, ut illa propè rudia ac velut futurae mox artis primordia, maximis, qui post eos extiterunt, auctoribus praeferantur, PROPRIO QUODAM INTELLIGENDI (ut mea fert opinio) AMBITU.” [L. xii. c. 10.] The lover of painting must be the more surprized at this strange _preference_, when he is told, that Aglaophon, at least, had the use of only _one single colour_: whereas Parrhasius and Zeuxis, who are amongst the _maximi autores_, here glanced at, not only employed _different colours_, but were exceedingly eminent, the one of them for _correct drawing, and the delicacy of his outline_; the _other_, for his _invention_ of that great secret of the _chiaro oscuro_. “Post Zeuxis et Parrhasius: quorum prior LUMINUM UMBRARUMQUE INVENISSE RATIONEM, secundus, EXAMINASSE SUBTILIUS LINEAS DICITUR.” [Ibid.]

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28. SI, QUIA GRAIORUM SUNT ANTIQUISSIMA QUAEQUE SCRIPTA vel OPTIMA, &c.] The common interpretation of this place supposes the poet to admit _the most ancient of the Greek writings to be the best_. Which were even contrary to all experience and common sense, and is directly confuted by the history of the Greek learning. What he allows is, the _superiority_ of the oldest Greek writings _extant_; which is a very different thing. The turn of his argument confines us to this sense. For he would shew the folly of concluding the same of the _old Roman_ writers, on their _first_ rude attempts to copy the finished models of Greece, as of the _old Greek writers_ themselves, who were furnished with the means of producing those _models_ by long discipline and cultivation. This appears, certainly, from what follows:

_Venimus ad summum fortunae: pingimus atque
Psallimus et luctamur Achivis doctius unctis_.

The design of which hath been entirely overlooked. For it hath been taken only for a _general expression_ of falsehood and absurdity, of just the same import, as the proverbial line,

_Nil intra est oleâ, nil extra est in nuce duri_.

Whereas it was _designedly_ pitched upon to convey a _particular illustration_ of the very absurdity in question, and to shew the maintainers of it, from the nature of things, how senseless their position was. It is to this purpose: “As well it may be pretended, that we _Romans_ surpass the _Greeks_ in the arts of _painting, music, and the exercises of the palaestra_, which yet it is confessed, we do not, as that our _old_ writers surpass the _modern_. The absurdity, in either case, is the same. For, as the Greeks, who had long devoted themselves, with great and continued application, to the practice of these arts (which is the force of the epithet UNCTI, here given them) must, for that reason, carry the prize from the Romans, who have taken very little pains about them; so, the modern Romans, who have for a long time been studying the _arts of poetry and composition_, must needs excel the old Roman writers, who had little or no acquaintance with those arts, and had been trained, by no previous discipline, to the exercise of them.”

The conciseness of the expression made it necessary to open the poet’s sense at large. We now see, that his intention, in these two lines, was to expose, in the way of _argumentative illustration_, the ground of that absurdity, which the preceding verses had represented as, at first sight, so shocking to _common sense_.

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33. UNCTIS.] This is by no means a general unmeaning epithet: but is beautifully chosen to express the unwearied _assiduity_ of the Greek artists. For the practice of _anointing_ being essential to their agonistic trials, the poet elegantly puts the attending _circumstance_ for the _thing_ itself. And so, in speaking of them, as UNCTI, he does the same, as if he had called them “the industrious, or _exercising_ Greeks;” which was the very idea his argument required him to suggest to us.

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43.—HONESTE.] Expressing the _credit_ such a piece was held in, as had the fortune to be ranked _inter veteres_, agreeably to what he said above—PERFECTOS _veteresque_ v. 37—and—_vetus atque_ PROBUS v. 39: which affords a fresh presumption in favour of Dr. Bentley’s conjecture on v. 41, where, instead of _veteres poetas_, he would read,

_Inter quos referendus erit? veteresne_ PROBOSQUE,
_An quos &c._

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54. ADEO SANCTUM EST VETUS OMNE POEMA.] The reader is not to suppose, that Horace, in this ridicule of the foolish adorers of antiquity, intended any contempt of the old Roman poets, who, as the old writers in every country, abound in strong sense, vigorous expression, and the truest representation of life and manners. His quarrel is only with the critic:

_Qui redit in fastos et virtutem aestimat annis._

An affectation, which for its _folly_, if it had not too apparently sprung from a worse principle, deserved to be laughed at.

For the rest, he every where discovers a candid and just esteem of their earlier writers; as may be seen from many places in this very epistle; but more especially from that severe censure in 1 S. x. 17. (which hath more of acrimony in it, than he usually allows to his satyr) when, in speaking of the writers of the old comedy, he adds,

_Quos neque pulcher
Hermogenes unquam legit, neque simius iste
Nil praeter Calvum et doctus cantare Catullum._

With all his zeal for correct writing, he was not, we see, of the humour of that delicate sort, who are for burning their old poets; and, to be well with women and court critics, confine their reading and admiration to the innocent sing-song of some soft and fashionable rhymer, whose utter insipidity is a thousand times more insufferable, than any barbarism.

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56. PACUVIUS DOCTI FAMAM SENIS, ACCIUS ALTI:] The epithet _doctus_, here applied to the tragic poet, _Pacuvius_, is, I believe, sometimes misunderstood, though the opposition to _altus_ clearly determines the sense. For, as this last word expresses the _sublime_ of sentiment and expression, which comes from _nature_, so the former word must needs be interpreted of that _exactness_ in both, or at least of that _skill_ in the conduct of the scene (the proper _learning_ of a dramatic poet) which is the result of _art_.

The Latin word _doctus_ is indeed somewhat ambiguous: but we are chiefly misled by the English word, _learned_, by which we translate it, and by which, in general use, is meant, rather extensive reading, and what we call _erudition_, than a profound skill in the rules and principles of any art. But this last is frequently the sense of the Latin term _doctus_, as we may see from its application, in the best classic writers, to other, besides the literary professions. Thus, to omit other instances, we find it applied very often in Horace himself. It is applied to a _singing-girl_—_doctae_ psallere Chiae—in one of his Odes, l. iv. 13. It is applied to several _mechanic arts_ in this epistle—“_doctius_ Achivis pingimus atque psallimus et luctamur:” It is even applied, _absolutely_, to the player Roscius—_doctus_ Roscius, in v. 82, where his skill in _acting_ could only be intended by it. It is, also, in this sense, that he calls his imitator, _doctus_, i. e. skilled and knowing in his art, A. P. v. 319. Nay, it is precisely in this sense that Quinctilian uses the word, when he characterizes this very Pacuvius—_Pacuvium videri_ doctiorem, _qui esse docti affectant, volunt_ [l. x. c. 1.] i. e. _they, who affect to be thought knowing in the rules of dramatic writing, give this praise to Pacuvius_. The expression is so put, as if Quinctilian intended a censure of these critics; because this pretence to dramatic art, and the strict imitation of the Greek poets, was grown, in his time, and long before it, into a degree of pedantry and _affectation_; no other merit but this of _docti_, being of any significancy, in their account. There is no reason to think that Quinctilian meant to insinuate the poet’s want of this merit, or his own contempt of it: though he might think, and with reason, that too much stress had been laid upon it by some men.

It is in the same manner that one of our own poets has been characterized; and the application of this term to him will shew the force of it, still more clearly.

In Mr. Pope’s fine imitation of this epistle, are these lines—

In all debates, where critics bear a part,
Not one but nods, and talks of Jonson’s _art_—

One sees, then, how Mr. Pope understood the _docti_, of Horace. But our Milton applies the word _learned_ itself, and in the Latin sense of it, to Jonson—

When Jonson’s _learned_ sock is on—

For what is this _learning_? Indisputably, his _dramatic learning_, his skill in the scene, and his observance of the ancient rules and practice. For, though Jonson was indeed _learned_, in every sense, it is the learning of his profession, as a comic artist, for which he is here celebrated.

The Latin substantive, _doctrina_, is used with the same latitude, as the adjective, _doctus_. It sometimes signifies the _peculiar sort_ of learning, under consideration; though sometimes again it signifies _learning_, or erudition, at large. It is used in the _former_ sense by Cicero, when he observes of the satires of Lucilius, that they were remarkable for their wit and pleasantry, not for their _learning_—_doctrina_ mediocris. So that there is no contradiction in this judgment, as is commonly thought, to that of Quinctilian, who declares roundly—_eruditio_ in eo mira—For, though _doctrina_ and _eruditio_ be sometimes convertible terms, they are not so here. The _learning_ Cicero speaks of in Lucilius, as being but _moderate_, is his learning, or skill in the art of writing and composition.—That this was the whole purport of Cicero’s observation, any one may see by turning to the place where it occurs, in the proeme to his first book DE FINIBUS.

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59. VINCERE CAECILIUS GRAVITATE, TERENTIUS ARTE.] It should be observed, that the judgment, here passed [from v. 55 to 60] on the most celebrated Roman writers, being only a representation of the _popular_ opinion, not of the poet’s _own_, the commendations, given to them, are deserved, or otherwise, just as it chances.

_Interdum volgus rectum videt, est ubi peccat._

To give an instance of this in the line before us.

A critic of unquestioned authority acquaints us, wherein the _real distinct merit_ of these two dramatic writers consists. “In ARGUMENTIS, Caecilius palmam poscit; in ETHESIN, TERENTIUS.” [Varro.] Now by _gravitate_, as applied to Caecilius, we may properly enough understand the _grave and affecting cast_ of his comedy; which is further confirmed by what the same critic elsewhere observes of him. “PATHE Trabea, Attilius, et CAECILIUS facile moverunt.” But Terence’s characteristic of _painting the manners_, which is, plainly, the right interpretation of Varro’s ETHESIN, is not so significantly expressed by the attribute _arte_, here given to him. The word indeed is of large and general import, and may admit of various senses; but being here applied to a _dramatic_ writer, it most naturally and properly denotes the _peculiar_ art of his profession, that is, _the artificial contexture of the plot_. And this I doubt not was the very praise, the town-critics of Horace’s time intended to bestow on this poet. The matter is easily explained.

The simplicity and exact unity of the plots in the Greek comedies would be, of course, uninteresting to a people, not thoroughly instructed in the genuin beauties of the drama. They had too thin a contexture to satisfy the gross and lumpish taste of a Roman auditory. The Latin poets, therefore, bethought themselves of combining two stories into one. And this, which is what we call the _double plot_, affording the opportunity of more incidents, and a greater variety of _action_, was perfectly suited to their apprehensions. But, of all the Latin Comedians, _Terence_ appears to have practised this secret most assiduously: at least, as may be concluded from what remains of them. _Plautus_ hath very frequently _single plots_, which he was enabled to support by, what was natural to him, a force of buffoon pleasantry. _Terence_, whose genius lay another way, or whose taste was abhorrent from such ribaldry, had recourse to the other expedient of _double plots_. And this, I suppose, is what gained him the popular reputation of being the most _artificial_ writer for the stage. The HECYRA is the only one of his comedies, of the true ancient cast. And we know how it came off in the representation. That ill-success and the simplicity of its conduct have continued to draw upon it the same unfavourable treatment from the critics, to this day; who constantly speak of it, as much inferior to the rest; whereas, for the genuin beauty of dramatic design, and the observance, after the ancient Greek manner, of the nice dependency and coherence of the _fable_, throughout, it is, indisputably, to every reader of true taste, the most masterly and exquisite of the whole collection.

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63. INTERDUM VOLGUS RECTUM VIDET: EST UBI PECCAT.] The capricious levity of _popular opinion_ hath been noted even to a proverb. And yet it is this, which, after all, _fixes_ the fate of authors. This seemingly odd phaenomenon I would thus account for.

What is usually complimented with the high and reverend appellation of _public judgment_ is, in any single instance, but the repetition or echo, for the most part eagerly catched and strongly reverberated on all sides, of a few leading voices, which have happened to gain the confidence, and so direct the _cry_ of the public. But (as, in fact, it too often falls out) this prerogative of the _few_ may be abused to the prejudice of the _many_. The partialities of friendship, the fashionableness of the writer, his compliance with the reigning taste, the lucky concurrence of time and opportunity, the cabal of a party, nay, the very freaks of whim and caprice, these, or any of them, as occasion serves, can support the dullest, as the opposite disadvantages can depress the noblest performance; and give the currency or neglect to _either_, far beyond what the genuin character of each demands. Hence the _public voice_, which is but the aggregate of these corrupt judgments, infinitely multiplied, is, with the wise, at such a juncture, deservedly of little esteem. Yet, in a succession of such _judgments_, delivered at different times and by different sets or juntos of these sovereign arbiters of the fate of authors, the public opinion naturally gets clear of these accidental corruptions. Every fresh succession shakes off some; till, by degrees, the work is seen in its proper form, unsupported of every other recommendation, than what its native inherent excellence bestows upon it. Then, and not till then, _the voice of the people_ becomes sacred; after which it soon advances into _divinity_, before which all ages must fall down and worship. For now Reason alone, without her corrupt assessors, takes the chair. And her sentence, when once promulgated and authorized by the general voice, fixes the unalterable doom of authors. ΟΛΩΣ ΚΑΛΑ ΝΟΜΙΖΕ ΥΨΗ ΚΑΙ ΑΛΗΘΙΝΑ, ΤΑ ΔΙΑΠΑΝΤΟΣ ΑΡΕΣΚΟΝΤΑ ΚΑΙ ΠΑΣΙΝ [Longinus, § vii.] And the reason follows, agreeably to the account here given. Ὅταν γὰρ τοῖς ἀπὸ διαφόρων ΕΠΙΤΗΔΕΥΜΑΤΩΝ, ΒΙΩΝ, ΖΗΛΩΝ, ΗΛΙΚΙΩΝ, λόγων, ἕν τι καὶ ταὐτὸν ἅμα περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν ἅπασι δοκῇ, τόθ’ ἡ ἐξ ἀσυμφώνων ὡς κρίσις καὶ συγκατάθεσις τὴν ἐπὶ τῷ θαυμαζομένῳ ΠΙΣΤΙΝ ΙΣΧΥΡΑΝ ΛΑΜΒΑΝΕΙ ΚΑΙ ΑΝΑΜΦΙΛΕΚΤΟΝ. [Ibid.]

This is the true account of _popular fame_, which, while it well explains the ground of the poet’s aphorism, suggests an obvious remark, but very mortifying to every candidate of literary glory. It is, that, whether he succeeds in his endeavours after public applause, or not, _fame_ is equally out of his reach, and, as the moral poet teaches, _a thing beyond him, before his death_, on either supposition. For at the very time, that this bewitching music is sounding in his ears, he can never be sure, if, instead of the divine consentient harmony of a just praise, it be not only the discordant din and clamour of ignorance or prepossession.

If there be any exception to this melancholy truth, it must be in the case of some uncommon genius, whose superior power breaks through all impediments in his road to fame, and forces applause even from those very prejudices, that would obstruct his career to it. It was the rare felicity of the poet, just mentioned, to receive, in his life-time, this sure and pleasing augury of immortality.

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88. INGENIIS NON ILLE FAVET, &c.] MALHERBE was to the French, pretty much what HORACE had been to the Latin, poetry. These great writers had, each of them, rescued the lyric muse of their country out of the rude, ungracious hands of their old poets. And, as their talents of a _good ear_, _elegant judgment_, and _correct expression_, were the same, they presented her to the public in all the air and grace, and yet _severity_, of beauty, of which her form was susceptible. Their merits and pretensions being thus far resembling, the reader may not be incurious to know the fate and fortune of _each_. _Horace_ hath very frankly told us, what befel himself from the malevolent and low passions of his countrymen. _Malherbe_ did not come off, with the wits and critics of his time, much better; as we learn from a learned person, who hath very warmly recommended his writings to the public. Speaking of the envy, which pursued him in his _prose-works_, but, says he, “Comme il faisoit une particuliere profession de la _poesie_, c’est en cette qualité qu’il a de plus severes censeurs, et receu des injustices plus signalées. Mais il me semble que je fermerai la bouche à ceux, que le blament, quand je leur aurai monstré, que sa façon d’escrire est excellente, quoiqu’elle s’eloigne un peu de celle des NOS ANCIENS POETES, QU’ILS LOUENT PLUSTOT PAR UN DEGOUST DES CHOSES PRESENTES, QUE PAR LES SENTIMENTS D’UNE VERITABLE ESTIME.” [DISC. DE M. GODEAU SUR LES OEUVRES DE M. MALHERBE.]

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97. SUSPENDIT MENTEM VULTUMQUE.] The expression hath great elegance, and is not liable to the imputation of _harsh, or improper construction_. For _suspendit_ is not taken, with regard either to _mentem_ or _vultum_, in its _literal_, but _figurative_, signification; and, thus, it becomes, in one and the _same_ sense, applicable to _both_.

Otherwise, this way of coupling _two substantives_ to a _verb_, which does not, in strict grammatical usage, _govern_ both; or, if it doth, must needs be construed in different senses; hath given just offence to the best critics.

Mr. Pope censures a passage of this kind, in the _Iliad_, with severity; and thinks _the taste of the ancients was, in general, too good for those fooleries_[38].

Mr. Addison is perfectly of the same mind, as appears from his criticism on that line in Ovid, _Consiliis, non curribus utere nostris_, “This way of joining, says he, two such different ideas as chariot and counsel to the same verb, is mightily used by _Ovid_, but is a very low kind of wit, and has always in it a mixture of _pun_; because the verb must be taken in a different sense, when it is joined with one of the things, from what it has in conjunction with the other. Thus in the end of this story he tells you, that Jupiter flung a thunderbolt at Phaëton; _pariterque animaque rotisque expulit aurigam_: where he makes a forced piece of _Latin_ (_animâ expulit aurigam_) that he may couple the soul and the wheels to the same verb[39].”

These, the reader will think, are pretty good authorities. For, in matters of _taste_, I know of none, that more deserve to be regarded. The _mere verbal critic_, one would think, should be cautious, how he opposed himself to them. And yet a very learned Dutchman, who has taken great pains in _elucidating_ an old Greek love-story, which, with its more passionate admirers, may, perhaps, pass for the MARIANNE of antiquity, hath not scrupled to censure this decision of their’s very sharply[40].

Having transcribed the censure of Mr. Pope, who, indeed, somewhat too hastily, suspects the line in Homer for an Interpolation, our critic fastens upon him directly. EN COR ZENODOTI, EN JECUR CRATETIS! But foul language and fair criticism are different things; and what he offers of the _latter_ rather accounts for than justifies the _former_. All he says on the subject, is in the good old way of _authorities_, which, he diligently rakes together out of every corner of Greek and Roman antiquity. From all these he concludes, as he thinks, irresistibly, not that the passage in question _might_ be _genuin_ (for that few would dispute with him) but that the kind of expression itself is a _real beauty_. _Bona elocutio est: honesta figura._ Though, to the praise of his discretion be it remembered, he does not even venture on this assertion, without his usual support of _precedent_. And, for want of a better, he takes up with old _Servius_. For so, it seems, this grammarian hath declared himself, with respect to some expressions of the same kind in _Virgil_.

But let him make the best of his authorities. And, when he has done that, I shall take the liberty to assure him, that the persons, he contends against, do not think themselves, in the least, concerned with them. For, though he believes it an undeniable maxim, _Critici non esse inquirere, utrum recte autor quid scripserit, sed an omnino sic scripserit_[41]: yet, in the case before us, he must not be surprized, if others do not so conceive of it.

Indeed, where the critic would defend the _authenticity_ of a word or expression, the way of _precedent_ is, doubtless, the very best, that common sense allows to be taken. For the evidence of _fact_, at once, bears down all suspicion of _corruption_ or _interpolation_. Again; if the _elegance_ of single words (or of intire phrases, where the suspicion turns on the _oddity or uncommoness of the construction_, only) be the matter in dispute, full and precise authorities must decide it. For _elegance_, here, means nothing else but the practice of the best writers. And thus far I would join issue with the learned censurer; and should think he did well in prescribing this rule to himself in the correction of _approved ancient authors_.