and such like, nothing that is not to be shunned. In Cyrus, Aeneas,
Ulysses, each thing to be followed; where the historian, bound to tell
things as things were, cannot be liberal (without he will be poetical)
of a perfect pattern: but as in Alexander or Scipio himself, show
doings, some to be liked, some to be misliked. And then how will you
discern what to follow but by your own discretion, which you had without
reading Quintus Curtius? And whereas a man may say, though in universal
consideration of doctrine the poet prevaileth, yet that the history,
in his saying such a thing was done, doth warrant a man more in that
he shall follow; the answer is manifest: that if he stand upon that
was; as if he should argue, because it rained yesterday, therefore it
should rain to-day; then indeed it hath some advantage to a gross
conceit: but if he know an example only informs a conjectured
likelihood, and so go by reason, the poet doth so far exceed him, as
he is to frame his example to that which is most reasonable: be it in
warlike, politic, or private matters; where the historian in his bare
Was, hath many times that which we call fortune, to overrule the best
wisdom. Many times he must tell events, whereof he can yield no cause:
or if he do, it must be poetical; for that a feigned example hath as
much force to teach, as a true example (for as for to move, it is
clear, sith the feigned may be tuned to the highest key of passion),
let us take one example, wherein a poet and a historian do concur.
Herodotus and Justin do both testify that Zopyrus, King Darius' faithful
servant, seeing his master long resisted by the rebellious Babylonians,
feigned himself in extreme disgrace of his king: for verifying of
which, he caused his own nose and ears to be cut off: and so flying
to the Babylonians, was received: and for his known valour so far
credited, that he did find means to deliver them over to Darius. Much
like matter doth Livy record of Tarquinius and his son. Xenophon
excellently feigneth such another stratagem, performed by Abradates
in Cyrus' behalf. Now would I fain know, if occasion be presented unto
you, to serve your prince by such an honest dissimulation, why you do
not as well learn it of Xenophon's fiction, as of the others' verity:
and truly so much the better, as you shall save your nose by the
bargain: for Abradates did not counterfeit so far. So then the best
of the historian is subject to the poet; for whatsoever action or
faction, whatsoever counsel, policy or war stratagem, the historian
is bound to recite, that may the poet (if he list) with his imitation
make his own; beautifying it both for further teaching, and more
delighting, as it pleaseth him: having all, from Dante his heaven, to
his hell, under the authority of his pen. Which if I be asked what
poets have done so, as I might well name some, yet say I, and say
again, I speak of the art, and not of the artificer.
Now to that which commonly is attributed to the praise of histories,
in respect of the notable learning is gotten by marking the success,
as though therein a man should see virtue exalted, and vice punished;
truly that commendation is peculiar to poetry, and far off from history.
For indeed poetry ever setteth virtue so out in her best colours,
making fortune her well-waiting handmaid, that one must needs be
enamoured of her. Well may you see Ulysses in a storm and in other
hard plights; but they are but exercises of patience and magnanimity,
to make them shine the more in the near-following prosperity. And of
the contrary part, if evil men come to the stage, they ever go out (as
the tragedy writer answered, to one that misliked the show of such
persons) so manacled, as they little animate folks to follow them. But
the historian, being captived to the truth of a foolish world, is many
times a terror from well-doing, and an encouragement to unbridled
wickedness.
For see we not valiant Miltiades rot in his fetters? The just Phocion,
and the accomplished Socrates, put to death like traitors? The cruel
Severus live prosperously? The excellent Severus miserably murdered?
[Footnote: Of the two Severi, the earlier, who persecuted the
Christians, was emperor 194-210; the later (Alexander), who favoured
them, 222-235.] Sulla and Marius dying in their beds? Pompey and Cicero
slain then, when they would have thought exile a happiness?
See we not virtuous Cato driven to kill himself? and rebel Caesar so
advanced, that his name yet after 1600 years, lasteth in the highest
honour? And mark but even Caesar's own words of the fore-named Sulla,
(who in that only did honestly, to put down his dishonest tyranny,)
_literas nescivit_, as if want of learning caused him to do well. He
meant it not by poetry, which not content with earthly plagues deviseth
new punishments in hell for tyrants: nor yet by philosophy, which
teacheth _occidendos esse_: but no doubt by skill in history: for that
indeed can afford your Cypselus, Periander, Phalaris, Dionysius, and
I know not how many more of the same kennel, that speed well enough
in their abominable unjustice or usurpation. I conclude therefore that
he excelleth history, not only in furnishing the mind with knowledge,
but in setting it forward, to that which deserveth to be called and
accounted good: which setting forward, and moving to well-doing, indeed
setteth the laurel crown upon the poet as victorious, not only of the
historian, but over the philosopher: howsoever in teaching it may be
questionable.
For suppose it be granted (that which I suppose with great reason may
be denied) that the philosopher, in respect of his methodical
proceeding, doth teach more perfectly than the poet; yet do I think
that no man is so much _philophilosophos_, [Footnote: in love with
philosophy.] as to compare the philosopher, in moving, with the poet.
And that moving is of a higher degree than teaching, it may by this
appear: that it is well-nigh the cause and the effect of teaching. For
who will be taught, if he be not moved with desire to be taught? and
what so much good doth that teaching bring forth (I speak still of
moral doctrine) as that it moveth one to do that which it doth teach?
for as Aristotle saith, it is not _Gnosis_ but _Praxis_ [Footnote: not
knowledge but action.] must be the fruit. And how _Praxis_ cannot be,
without being moved to practice, it is no hard matter to consider.
The philosopher showeth you the way, he informeth you of the
particularities; as well of the tediousness of the way, as of the
pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey is ended, as of the
many by-turnings that may divert you from your way. But this is to no
man but to him that will read him, and read him with attentive studious
painfulness. Which constant desire, whosoever hath in him, hath already
passed half the hardness of the way, and therefore is beholding to the
philosopher but for the other half. Nay truly, learned men have
learnedly thought, that where once reason hath so much overmastered
passion, as that the mind hath a free desire to do well, the inward
light each mind hath in itself is as good as a philosopher's book;
seeing in nature we know it is well to do well, and what is well, and
what is evil, although not in the words of art, which philosophers
bestow upon us. For out of natural conceit, the philosophers drew it;
but to be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with desire
to know, _Hoc opus, hic labor est_.
Now therein of all sciences (I speak still of human, and according to
the human conceits), is our poet the Monarch. For he doth not only
show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will
entice any man to enter into it. Nay, he doth as if your journey should
lie through a fair vineyard, at the first give you a cluster of grapes:
that, full of that taste, you may long to pass further. He beginneth
not with obscure definitions, which must blur the margent with
interpretations, and load the memory with doubtfulness: but he cometh
to you with words sent in delightful proportion, either accompanied
with, or prepared for the well enchanting skill of music; and with a
tale forsooth he cometh unto you: with a tale which holdeth children
from play, and old men from the chimney corner. And pretending no more,
doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue: even
as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding
them in such other as have a pleasant taste: which, if one should begin
to tell them the nature of Aloes or Rhubarb they should receive, would
sooner take their physic at their ears than at their mouth. So it is
in men (most of which are childish in the best things, till they be
cradled in their graves), glad they will be to hear the tales of
Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, and Aneas; and hearing them, must needs
hear the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if
they had been barely, that is to say philosophically, set out, they
would swear they be brought to school again.
That imitation, whereof poetry is, hath the most conveniency to Nature
of all other, insomuch, that as Aristotle saith, those things which
in themselves are horrible, as cruel battles, unnatural monsters, are
made in poetical imitation delightful. Truly I have known men that,
even with reading _Amadis de Gaule_ (which God knoweth wanteth much
of a perfect poesy), have found their hearts moved to the exercise of
courtesy, liberality, and especially courage.
Who readeth Aneas carrying old Anchises on his back, that wisheth not
it were his fortune to perform so excellent an act? Whom do not the
words of Turnus move? (the tale of Turnus having planted his image in
the imagination)--
_Fugientem hoec terra videbit;
Usque adeone mori miserum est?_
Where the philosophers, as they scorn to delight, so must they be
content little to move: saving wrangling, whether virtue be the chief,
or the only good: whether the contemplative, or the active life do
excel: which Plato and Boethius well knew, and therefore made Mistress
Philosophy very often borrow the masking raiment of poesy. For even
those hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school name, and know
no other good but _indulgere genio_, and therefore despise the austere
admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not the inward reason they
stand upon, yet will be content to be delighted: which is all the good
fellow poet seemeth to promise: and so steal to see the form of goodness
(which seen they cannot but love) ere themselves be aware, as if they
took a medicine of cherries. Infinite proofs of the strange effects
of this poetical invention might be alleged; only two shall serve,
which are so often remembered, as I think all men know them.
The one of Menenius Agrippa, who when the whole people of Rome had
resolutely divided themselves from the Senate, with apparent show of
utter ruin: though he were (for that time) an excellent orator, came
not among them upon trust of figurative speeches, or cunning
insinuations: and much less, with far-fetched maxims of philosophy,
which (especially if they were Platonic [Footnote: Alluding to the
inscription over the door of Plato's Academy: _No entrance here without
Geometry._)], they must have learned geometry before they could well
have conceived: but forsooth he behaves himself, like a homely, and
familiar poet. He telleth them a tale, that there was a time, when all
the parts of the body made a mutinous conspiracy against the belly,
which they thought devoured the fruits of each other's labour; they
concluded they would let so unprofitable a spender starve. In the end,
to be short (for the tale is notorious, and as notorious that it was
a tale), with punishing the belly, they plagued themselves. This,
applied by him, wrought such effect in the people, as I never read
that ever words brought forth but then, so sudden and so good an
alteration; for upon reasonable conditions, a perfect reconcilement
ensued. The other is of Nathan the prophet, who when the holy David
had so far forsaken God, as to confirm adultery with murder: when he
was to do the tenderest office of a friend, in laying his own shame
before his eyes, sent by God to call again so chosen a servant: how
doth he it but by telling of a man, whose beloved lamb was ungratefully
taken from his bosom? the application most divinely true, but the
discourse itself feigned: which made David (I speak of the second and
instrumental cause), as in a glass, to see his own filthiness, as that
heavenly psalm of mercy well testifieth.
By these therefore examples and reasons, I think it may be manifest,
that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw the mind more
effectually than any other art doth; and so a conclusion not unfitly
ensueth: that, as virtue is the most excellent resting-place for all
worldly learning to make his end of, so poetry, being the most familiar
to teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent
work is the most excellent workman. But I am content not only to
decipher him by his works (although works in commendation or dispraise
must ever hold an high authority), but more narrowly will examine his
parts: so that (as in a man) though altogether he may carry a presence
full of majesty and beauty, perchance in some one defectious piece we
may find a blemish: now in his parts, kinds, or species (as you list
to term them), it is to be noted, that some poesies have coupled
together two or three kinds, as tragical and comical, whereupon is
risen the tragi-comical. Some in the like manner have mingled prose
and verse, as Sanazzar and Boethius. Some have mingled matters heroical
and pastoral. But that cometh all to one in this question; for if
severed they be good, the conjunction cannot be hurtful. Therefore
perchance forgetting some, and leaving some as needless to be
remembered, it shall not be amiss in a word to cite the special kinds,
to see what faults may be found in the right use of them.
Is it then the pastoral poem which is misliked? for perchance, where
the hedge is lowest, they will soonest leap over. Is the poor pipe
disdained, which sometime out of Melibeus's mouth, can show the misery
of people under hard lords, or ravening soldiers? And again, by Tityrus,
what blessedness is derived to them that lie lowest from the goodness
of them that sit highest? Sometimes, under the pretty tales of wolves
and sheep, it can include the whole considerations of wrong-doing and
patience. Sometimes show, that contention for trifles can get but a
trifling victory. Where perchance a man may see that even Alexander
and Darius, when they strave who should be cock of this world's
dunghill, the benefit they got, was that the after-livers may say,
_Hac memini et victum frustra contendere Thyrsin; Ex illo Corydon,
Corydon est tempore nobis._ [Footnote: All these instances are taken
from Virgil's _Eclogues_.]
Or is it the lamenting Elegiac, which in a kind heart would move rather
pity than blame, who bewails with the great philosopher Heraclitus the
weakness of mankind, and the wretchedness of the world: who surely is
to be praised, either for compassionate accompanying just causes of
lamentation, or for rightly painting out how weak be the passions of
woefulness. Is it the bitter, but wholesome Iambic [Footnote: Originally
used by the Greeks for satire], which rubs the galled mind, in making
shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out against
naughtiness; or the satirist, who
_Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico?_
Who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at folly, and
at length ashamed, to laugh at himself: which he cannot avoid, without
avoiding the folly. Who while
_Circum pracordia ludit_,
giveth us to feel, how many headaches a passionate life bringeth us
to. How when all is done,
_Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit aquus_ [Footnote: _i.e._ The
wise can find happiness even in a village.]_?_
No perchance it is the comic, whom naughty play-makers and stage-
keepers have justly made odious. To the argument of abuse [Footnote:
To the argument that, because comedy is liable to abuse, it should
therefore be prohibited altogether.], I will answer after. Only thus
much now is to be said, that the comedy is an imitation of the common
errors of our life, which he representeth in the most ridiculous and
scornful sort that may be. So as it is impossible that any beholder
can be content to be such a one.
Now, as in geometry, the oblique must be known as well as the right:
and in arithmetic, the odd as well as the even, so in the actions of
our life, who seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil
to perceive the beauty of virtue. This doth the comedy handle so in
our private and domestical matters, as with hearing it we get as it
were an experience, what is to be looked for of a niggardly Demea: of
a crafty Davus: of a flattering Gnatho: of a vainglorious Thraso
[Footnote: All characters in the Plays of Terence.]: and not only to
know what effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by the
signifying badge given them by the comedian. And little reason hath
any man to say that men learn evil by seeing it so set out: sith, as
I said before, there is no man living but, by the force truth hath in
nature, no sooner seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them
in Pistrinum [Footnote: the tread-mill.]: although perchance the sack
of his own faults lie so behind his back, that he seeth not himself
dance the same measure: whereto yet nothing can more open his eyes,
than to find his own actions contemptibly set forth. So that the right
use of comedy will (I think) by nobody be blamed, and much less of the
high and excellent tragedy, that openeth the greatest wounds, and
showeth forth the vicers [Footnote: sinners.], that are covered with
tissue: that maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants manifest
their tyrannical humours: that, with stirring the effects of admiration
and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and upon
how weak foundations golden roofs are builded. That maketh us know,
_Qui sceptra scevus duro imperio regit,
Timet timentes, metus in auctorem redit._
But how much it can move, Plutarch yieldeth a notable testimony, of
the abominable tyrant, Alexander Pheraus; from whose eyes, a tragedy
well made and represented drew abundance of tears: who, without all
pity, had murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood. So as
he, that was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet could not
resist the sweet violence of a tragedy.
And if it wrought no further good in him, it was, that he in despite
of himself withdrew himself from hearkening to that, which might mollify
his hardened heart. But it is not the tragedy they do mislike: for it
were too absurd to cast out so excellent a representation of whatsoever
is most worthy to be learned. Is it the lyric that most displeaseth,
who with his tuned lyre, and well accorded voice, giveth praise, the
reward of virtue, to virtuous acts? who gives moral precepts and natural
problems, who sometimes raiseth up his voice to the height of the
heavens, in singing the lauds of the immortal God. Certainly I must
confess my own barbarousness, I never heard the old song of Percy and
Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet: and
yet is it sung but by some blind crouder [Footnote: fiddler.], with
no rougher voice than rude style: which being so evil apparelled in
the dust and cobwebs of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed
in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar? In Hungary I have seen it the
manner at all feasts and other such meetings, to have songs of their
ancestors' valour; which that right soldier-like nation think the
chiefest kindlers of brave courage. The incomparable Lacedemonians did
not only carry that kind of music ever with them to the field, but
even at home, as such songs were made, so were they all content to be
the singers of them, when the lusty men were to tell what they did,
the old men what they had done, and the young men what they would do.
And where a man may say that Pindar many times praiseth highly victories
of small moment, matters rather of sport than virtue: as it may be
answered, it was the fault of the poet, and not of the poetry; so
indeed, the chief fault was in the time and custom of the Greeks, who
set those toys at so high a price, that Philip of Macedon reckoned a
horse-race won at Olympus, among his three fearful felicities. But as
the inimitable Pindar often did, so is that kind most capable and most
fit to awake the thoughts from the sleep of idleness, to embrace
honourable enterprises.
There rests the heroical, whose very name (I think) should daunt all
backbiters; for by what conceit can a tongue be directed to speak evil
of that which draweth with it no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus,
Aneas, Turnus, Tydeus, and Rinaldo? who doth not only teach and move
to a truth, but teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent
truth? who maketh magnanimity and justice shine, throughout all misty
fearfulness and foggy desires? who, if the saying of Plato and Tully
be true, that who could see Virtue, would be wonderfully ravished with
the love of her beauty, this man sets her out to make her more lovely
in her holiday apparel, to the eye of any that will deign, not to
disdain, until they understand. But if anything be already said in the
defence of sweet poetry, all concurreth to the maintaining the heroical,
which is not only a kind, but the best, and most accomplished kind of
poetry. For as the image of each action stirreth and instructeth the
mind, so the lofty image of such worthies most inflameth the mind with
desire to be worthy, and informs with counsel how to be worthy. Only
let Aneas be worn in the tablet of your memory, how he governeth himself
in the ruin of his country, in the preserving his old father, and
carrying away his religious ceremonies [Footnote: sacred vessels and
household gods.]: in obeying the god's commandment to leave Dido,
though not only all passionate kindness, but even the humane
consideration of virtuous gratefulness, would have craved other of
him. How in storms, how in sports, how in war, how in peace, how a
fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how besieging, how to strangers,
how to allies, how to his enemies, how to his own: lastly, how in his
inward self, and how in his outward government. And I think, in a mind
not prejudiced with a prejudicating humour, he will be found in
excellency fruitful: yea, even as Horace saith:
_Melius Chrysippo et Crantore_
[Footnote: A better teacher than the philosophers.].
But truly I imagine, it falleth out with these poet-whippers, as with
some good women, who often are sick, but in faith they cannot tell
where. So the name of poetry is odious to them; but neither his cause,
nor effects, neither the sum that contains him, nor the particularities
descending from him, give any fast handle to their carping dispraise.
Sith then poetry is of all human learning the most ancient, and of
most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken
their beginnings: sith it is so universal, that no learned nation doth
despise it, nor no barbarous nation is without it: sith both Roman and
Greek gave divine names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other of
making: and that indeed that name of making is fit for him; considering,
that whereas other arts retain themselves within their subject, and
receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet only bringeth his
own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a matter, but maketh
matter for a conceit: sith neither his description, nor his end,
containeth any evil, the thing described cannot be evil: sith his
effects be so good as to teach goodness and to delight the learners:
sith therein (namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges),
he doth not only far pass the historian, but for instructing is well-
nigh comparable to the philosopher: and for moving, leaves him behind
him: sith the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no uncleanness) hath
whole parts in it poetical: and that even our Saviour Christ vouchsafed
to use the flowers of it: sith all his kinds are not only in their
united forms, but in their severed dissections fully commendable, I
think (and think I think rightly), the laurel crown, appointed for
triumphing captains, doth worthily (of all other learnings) honour the
poet's triumph. But because we have ears as well as tongues, and that
the lightest reasons that may be, will seem to weigh greatly, if nothing
be put in the counter-balance: let us hear, and as well as we can
ponder, what objections may be made against this art, which may be
worthy, either of yielding or answering.
First truly I note, not only in these _mysomousoi_ poet-haters, but
in all that kind of people, who seek a praise by dispraising others,
that they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words, in quips,
and scoffs; carping and taunting at each thing, which, by stirring the
spleen, may stay the brain from a through beholding the worthiness of
the subject.