Again, Epic poetry must have as many kinds as Tragedy: it must be
simple, or complex, or 'ethical,' or 'pathetic.' The parts also, with
the exception of song and spectacle, are the same; for it requires
Reversals of the Situation, Recognitions, and Scenes of Suffering.
Moreover, the thoughts and the diction must be artistic. In all these
respects Homer is our earliest and sufficient model. Indeed each of
his poems has a twofold character. The Iliad is at once simple and
'pathetic,' and the Odyssey complex (for Recognition scenes run through
it), and at the same time 'ethical.' Moreover, in diction and thought
they are supreme.
Epic poetry differs from Tragedy in the scale on which it is
constructed, and in its metre. As regards scale or length, we have
already laid down an adequate limit:--the beginning and the end must be
capable of being brought within a single view. This condition will be
satisfied by poems on a smaller scale than the old epics, and answering
in length to the group of tragedies presented at a single sitting.
Epic poetry has, however, a great--a special--capacity for enlarging
its dimensions, and we can see the reason. In Tragedy we cannot imitate
several lines of actions carried on at one and the same time; we must
confine ourselves to the action on the stage and the part taken by the
players. But in Epic poetry, owing to the narrative form, many events
simultaneously transacted can be presented; and these, if relevant to
the subject, add mass and dignity to the poem. The Epic has here an
advantage, and one that conduces to grandeur of effect, to diverting the
mind of the hearer, and relieving the story with varying episodes. For
sameness of incident soon produces satiety, and makes tragedies fail on
the stage.
As for the metre, the heroic measure has proved its fitness by the test
of experience. If a narrative poem in any other metre or in many metres
were now composed, it would be found incongruous. For of all measures
the heroic is the stateliest and the most massive; and hence it most
readily admits rare words and metaphors, which is another point in which
the narrative form of imitation stands alone. On the other hand, the
iambic and the trochaic tetrameter are stirring measures, the latter
being akin to dancing, the former expressive of action. Still more
absurd would it be to mix together different metres, as was done by
Chaeremon. Hence no one has ever composed a poem on a great scale in any
other than heroic verse. Nature herself, as we have said, teaches the
choice of the proper measure.
Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit of being the
only poet who rightly appreciates the part he should take himself. The
poet should speak as little as possible in his own person, for it is not
this that makes him an imitator. Other poets appear themselves upon the
scene throughout, and imitate but little and rarely. Homer, after a few
prefatory words, at once brings in a man, or woman, or other personage;
none of them wanting in characteristic qualities, but each with a
character of his own.
The element of the wonderful is required in Tragedy. The irrational, on
which the wonderful depends for its chief effects, has wider scope in
Epic poetry, because there the person acting is not seen. Thus, the
pursuit of Hector would be ludicrous if placed upon the stage--the
Greeks standing still and not joining in the pursuit, and Achilles
waving them back. But in the Epic poem the absurdity passes unnoticed.
Now the wonderful is pleasing: as may be inferred from the fact that
every one tells a story with some addition of his own, knowing that his
hearers like it. It is Homer who has chiefly taught other poets the
art of telling lies skilfully. The secret of it lies in a fallacy, For,
assuming that if one thing is or becomes, a second is or becomes, men
imagine that, if the second is, the first likewise is or becomes. But
this is a false inference. Hence, where the first thing is untrue, it is
quite unnecessary, provided the second be true, to add that the first
is or has become. For the mind, knowing the second to be true, falsely
infers the truth of the first. There is an example of this in the Bath
Scene of the Odyssey.
Accordingly, the poet should prefer probable impossibilities to
improbable possibilities. The tragic plot must not be composed of
irrational parts. Everything irrational should, if possible, be
excluded; or, at all events, it should lie outside the action of the
play (as, in the Oedipus, the hero's ignorance as to the manner of
Laius' death); not within the drama,--as in the Electra, the messenger's
account of the Pythian games; or, as in the Mysians, the man who
has come from Tegea to Mysia and is still speechless. The plea that
otherwise the plot would have been ruined, is ridiculous; such a plot
should not in the first instance be constructed. But once the irrational
has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we must
accept it in spite of the absurdity. Take even the irrational incidents
in the Odyssey, where Odysseus is left upon the shore of Ithaca. How
intolerable even these might have been would be apparent if an inferior
poet were to treat the subject. As it is, the absurdity is veiled by the
poetic charm with which the poet invests it.
The diction should be elaborated in the pauses of the action, where
there is no expression of character or thought. For, conversely,
character and thought are merely obscured by a diction that is over
brilliant.